Pocketbooks and Pistols

by Dorothy Howell

  The entire mind-numbing ordeal actually came down to two things—don’t touch the mannequins and make sure the customers don’t touch the mannequins. I could have conveyed the essence of the entire presentation with those two statements.

  Really, why wasn’t I running the entire world?

  “Listen up,” I announced to the group. “About the mannequins. Don’t touch them. Okay?”

  Everybody nodded—except, of course, for Darlene.

  I was starting to not like Darlene.

  “Is that a corporate policy?” she asked. “Or is it a store policy?”

  Like it mattered?

  “What if a customer can’t find the size they want?” Darlene proposed. “What if the size they want is on the mannequin?”

  “Don’t touch the mannequins,” I said.

  “So, you’re saying Holt’s is willing to lose a sale?” she asked.

  “The mannequins are new. The company paid a lot of money for them. Don’t touch the mannequins,” I told her.

  I mean, jeez, how hard was that to understand?

  “But what about providing good customer service?” Darlene asked. “The Holt’s employee guidebook states on page three that we’re to provide excellent customer service at all times. How is refusing to take something off of a mannequin providing good customer service?”

  No way am I cut out for doing new-hire orientation

  “Are we supposed to offend a paying customer and lose a sale?” Darlene asked.

  I’m definitely going to have to figure a way to get out of doing this again.

  “Are we?” She picked up her tablet and pen, ready to write something down.

  Okay, now I really don’t like Darlene.

  “Well?” she asked.

  I walked out of the room.

  The new hires fell in behind me as I headed down the hallway.

  “First, we’re checking out the stockroom,” I told them, then led the way through the double doors.

  I loved the stockroom. Its massive shelving units were stuffed to capacity with fresh, new merchandise. It was usually quiet back here, unless the truck team was unloading, except for the store’s canned music track that played quietly. Plus, it was a great place to hide out from customers.

  I decided I’d let the new hires figure that out on their own.

  I led the way through the shelving units, pointing and explaining as we passed the mannequin farm, the janitor’s closet, and the returns area, then told them that the huge staircase led to the upper floor, where smaller, lighter merchandise was stored. Two of the girls were whispering, another was texting. Everyone else was paying attention. Darlene, for some reason, was making notes on her tablet.

  “This is the loading dock,” I said, doing my very best Vanna White hand gesture.

  I hit a button and one of the big doors rose, groaning and clattering until it reached the top of its tracks. Outside, the afternoon sun shone in bright escape-now-while-you-can fashion, illuminating the building’s rear parking lot, the Dumpsters, and the backs of the other stores in the shopping center.

  We walked out onto the loading dock. Some of the new employees seemed restless, and I wondered if they were considering making a break for it—I know I was.

  “Ms. Randolph? You said we were supposed to be careful with the mannequins,” Darlene said. “It doesn’t look like everybody knew about that policy.”

  She pointed to two white legs sticking out from behind the Dumpster.

  I got a weird feeling.

  “Maybe the store needs another training class on the mannequins,” Darlene said.

  I went down the concrete steps and peered behind the Dumpster.

  The legs didn’t belong to a mannequin. They were attached to a girl.

  She was dead.

  CHAPTER 2

  “How’s the orientation going?” Bella asked.

  “Not that great,” I said.

  I was in the breakroom eyeing the candy in the vending machine—which I desperately needed. Only a few minutes ago, I’d broken the news to Jeanette, the store manager, that I’d spotted a dead body behind the Dumpster. She wasn’t happy—like it was my fault, or something. I’d left it up to her to make the phone calls. She knew the drill.

  “You heard?” I asked Bella.

  I figured she had—the only thing that moved through Holt’s faster than a shoplifter was weapons-grade gossip.

  Bella nodded. “The cops are out back doing their thing by now, huh?”

  I’d only hung around long enough to make sure the victim was actually dead. It wasn’t hard to figure out, thanks to that big yucky hole in the center of her chest.

  “You ask me, I think—” Bella paused. “Where are all the new hires?”

  Oh, crap. I’d sent them to the training room and forgotten about them.

  I’m really not cut out for conducting orientation.

  “Later,” I said, and left the breakroom.

  In the hallway, I could see that the door to Jeanette’s office was closed. I figured she was on the phone with the corporate office, explaining what had happened.

  I headed for the training room. Although I had hustled the new hires back into the stockroom right away, they’d seen the dead body. There was, of course, no way I could smooth that over. They were surely going to be upset.

  I’m not good with upset people.

  I was just going to have to wing it. I doubted there was a finding-a-dead-body-at-the-store chapter in the Holt’s trainer’s guide.

  I paused at the door, drew in an I’m-going-to-do-this breath, and went into the training room. It was empty.

  I went into semi-panic mode.

  Where the heck was everyone? I’d specifically told them to stay here so they could be questioned by the police. Plus, they all had their official Holt’s ID cards. Were they wandering willy-nilly through the store, wreaking havoc with the customers and merchandise?

  Not that I really cared, but still.

  Darlene popped up from a chair in the back corner.

  “Where is everybody?” I asked.

  “They quit.”

  Oh, crap.

  Darlene hoisted her tote bag onto her shoulder and walked closer.

  “They were freaked out,” she told me.

  Honestly, I couldn’t blame them.

  Darlene stopped in front of me and drew herself up taller. For a minute, I thought she might salute.

  “But I’m staying,” she told me. “I don’t care what the others said about the store.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “Or you.”

  “Me?”

  “Haley?”

  Jeanette stood in the doorway looking none too happy. Really, I wasn’t all that happy myself—but mostly because this was the second time today I’d been subjected to the dreadful outfit Jeanette had on.

  As the store manager, she made big bucks and could easily afford on-trend clothes that were appropriate for her position. Instead, she dressed in outfits straight off the Holt’s racks—most of which eventually ended up on the Holt’s clearance racks.

  I mean, really, our own who-cares-what-it-looks-likeit’s-cheap customers wouldn’t buy most of them—so what does that tell you?

  Today, Jeanette had on a dress and bolero jacket—not the best cut for a tall, plus-size gal—that featured swirls of yellow and orange on a gray background.

  It looked like one of those avant-garde pieces that nobody wanted to admit really looked like a second-grader’s art project.

  “The detectives are in my office,” Jeanette said. “They want to see you now.”

  Oh, crap.

  I knew I’d have to talk to the cops sooner or later—although I’d hoped for later.

  I headed out the door and down the hallway to her office, mentally reminding myself to remain calm—I don’t really like being calm—and to say as little as possible no matter what the detectives said—I’m not really good at that, either.

  Jeanette’s office do
or stood open. I stepped inside and—oh my God, there sat Detective Madison. I’d had several run-ins with him during other homicide investigations.

  He hates me.

  He’d convinced himself that I was some sort of one-person crime wave always getting away with—well, murder.

  “Look who’s here,” Detective Madison declared from his seat behind Jeanette’s desk. “Isn’t this a coincidence?”

  I knew he wasn’t talking about Jeanette, but I glanced back just in case. She’d disappeared. Great.

  Madison was an old-school detective who should have retired a long time ago.

  He was definitely past his best-by date.

  He had a comb-over and a beach-ball belly. I was pretty sure he had on that same sport coat and tie the last time I saw him.

  Standing behind him and off to the right was his much younger, more handsome partner, Detective Shuman. He was early thirties with light brown hair and a guy-next-door look about him.

  We’d gotten to know each other during several homicide investigations and some personal situations. Nothing romantic, but there was some sort of heat between us, which we managed to ignore since, for much of the time I’d known Shuman, I’d had an official boyfriend and he’d had an official girlfriend. I’m a stickler about that sort of thing.

  “Darlene, here. Darlene Phelps.”

  She pushed herself in front of me.

  What the heck was she doing in here?

  Madison looked surprised, Shuman slightly concerned.

  “My notes, sir.” Darlene pulled her legal tablet from her tote bag and placed it on the desk in front of Madison. “I included a chronological timeline of the events of the afternoon.”

  She did what?

  Detective Madison studied the tablet. Shuman peered over his shoulder.

  Darlene leaned forward and flipped the page. “I also prepared a diagram of the crime scene.”

  She made a what?

  “It’s color coded,” she said. “And it’s to scale.”

  Jeez, talk about a suck-up.

  “Why were you at the crime scene, Ms. Phelps?” Madison asked.

  “New-hire orientation, sir,” Darlene told him. “Tour of the premises conducted by Ms. Randolph.”

  Madison cut his gaze to me and smirked. “Oh, really? Ms. Randolph was in charge of the orientation? How’d she do with that?”

  “Honestly, sir,” Darlene said, “I don’t think she really liked the assignment.”

  Oh my God, why did she say that?

  It was true, of course, but why would she tell Madison? Didn’t she know what homicide detectives did with that kind of info? Hadn’t she ever watched a Law & Order rerun?

  Madison shot me a cat-who-swallowed-the-canary grin. “So why do you think she was doing it? Maybe to get off the sales floor and have the run of the building unnoticed?”

  Oh, crap.

  I didn’t need GPS to figure out where this was going.

  “Possibly,” Darlene agreed.

  “During the orientation, was Ms. Randolph present the entire time?” Madison asked.

  “No, sir,” she told him. “She left the training room. Frankly, I had to go search for her.”

  “She was gone that long, was she?”

  I could almost see Madison’s mind working. He was twisting everything around, making it seem like I was guilty of murder.

  “Why do you think Ms. Randolph took the new hires to the rear of the store to see the Dumpster?” Madison asked. “Maybe because she wanted one of the new hires to spot the body? So she wouldn’t look guilty?”

  “She didn’t seem upset or panicked by the discovery.” Darlene pointed to the tablet. “I noted that in my report.”

  Okay, now I officially hate Darlene.

  “Well, thank you, Ms. Phelps. You’ve certainly added a great deal to our investigation,” Detective Madison said, looking altogether pleased with himself and the situation.

  “Glad to help, sir.” Darlene left the office.

  Shuman caught my eye. He looked worried. I was bordering on panic mode.

  Several tense moments dragged by. Madison glared at me, apparently trying to force a confession by drilling me with cop stink eye. No way was I falling for that.

  “You’re pretty popular here at the store, wouldn’t you say, Ms. Randolph?” Madison asked. “You’re a long-time employee. Been here, what, over a year now, isn’t it?”

  I didn’t respond. Madison was going somewhere with this, somewhere I knew I wouldn’t like.

  “You’re well thought of, right?” he went on. “After all, you’re doing the orientation. That’s a step up, isn’t it? So you know people, don’t you? The other employees, I mean.”

  I got a yucky feeling.

  “You must have known Asha McLean,” Madison said.

  My yucky feeling got yuckier.

  “Did you know her?” Madison asked. “The murder victim. Asha McLean. She used to work here.”

  That was Asha’s body I’d found?

  Oh, crap.

  Yes, I remembered Asha—barely. She was in her late twenties, with dark hair, and an average build. In fact, everything about her was average. She’d worked here for a few weeks during the Christmas season so we sort-of knew each other. I hadn’t seen her since. No wonder I hadn’t recognized her.

  “You two didn’t get along?” Madison asked. “You two had a disagreement? A fight?”

  “That never happened.”

  “Maybe the two of you had some sort of business arrangement?” he asked. “Something on the illegal side?”

  “I hardly knew her.”

  “She didn’t come back to the store today looking for you?” he asked. “Trying to settle an old score, maybe? So you decided to strike first?”

  “And what—I just happened to have a gun on me that I shot her with?” I demanded.

  “Well? Did you?” Madison asked.

  “No! No, of course not.”

  Madison grinned again, as if he were enjoying seeing me squirm—which, I’m sure, he was. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

  Channeling my pageant mom’s I’m-better-than-you attitude, I said, “If you have further questions, Detective, you can talk to my lawyer.”

  I put my nose in the air, whipped around, and left the office. I’d only made it to the door of the employee breakroom when someone called my name. I looked back and saw Detective Shuman hurrying toward me.

  “You have a lawyer?” he asked.

  Of course I didn’t have a lawyer. I only said that to—

  Wait. Hang on.

  I’d been kind-of dating a really hot guy for a while, an attorney I’d met through my job at L.A. Affairs.

  “Yes, I have a lawyer,” I said. “Sort of.”

  “Is he a criminal attorney?”

  I wasn’t sure. He’d told me, but I’d drifted off.

  “Madison wishes I was guilty,” I said. “I’m not.”

  Shuman shook his head. “He’s got it in for you. You’d better take this seriously.”

  I didn’t want to think Shuman was right, but I knew he was.

  “Will you let me know what’s happening with the investigation?” I asked.

  Shuman hesitated. He couldn’t compromise his job or his integrity. I knew that. But we’d worked together on cases in the past. And I was, after all, me.

  “Look,” I said. “All I’m asking is that you let me know as much as you can.”

  Shuman still didn’t say anything.

  I nodded toward the sales floor. “Somebody here probably knows something. I’ll see what I can find out and pass it on.”

  He hesitated another few seconds, then nodded. “I’ll keep you in the loop as much as possible.”

  “Cool. Thanks.”

  Shuman nodded and headed back into the office.

  Oh my God, what a day I was having. I was upset and weirded out, big time. I had a little headache going.

  So what could I do but go shopping for a n
ew handbag?

  CHAPTER 3

  Nuovo had a shop near the mall in Valencia, just a few minutes’ drive from the Holt’s store and my apartment. I’d run by my place after my shift ended and changed into something I actually wanted to be seen in—a skirt, sweater, and boots—and freshened my makeup and hair. Marcie and I had agreed to meet at Nuovo, then have dinner and catch up.

  The mall was a good mix of upscale and mid-range stores. I shopped here often. An outside plaza opened at one end of the mall and gave way to several blocks of trendy shops, boutiques, art galleries, candy stores, a movie theater, office buildings, and restaurants. The narrow streets and wide sidewalks urged shoppers to stroll while oversized display windows invited them inside.

  I nosed in at the curb and sent Marcie a text message telling her I’d arrived. I didn’t get a response right away, so I figured that meant she was driving and would be here shortly.

  I could have waited in my Honda, but I got out. I’d just bought these killer boots and, really, people should have the opportunity to see me in them. I’ve got my mom’s long pageant legs—the only thing I inherited from her, as she often pointed out—so my short skirt was working for me, too.

  I strolled down the sidewalk, keeping my cell phone close for when I heard from Marcie. The trees and shrubs twinkled with tiny lights, and a sound system played a song that seemed vaguely familiar. The shop windows were lit, displaying a tempting variety of credit-card-busting must-haves.

  Thoughts of my ex-official boyfriend exploded in my head, as they always did when I shopped here. In addition to running the Holt’s chain and Holt’s International, Ty had opened Wallace, a boutique he’d named after some ancient ancestor, across the street. Down the block was the restaurant where we’d had our first sort-of date.

  Ty was tall, with light brown hair, deep blue eyes, and an athletic build. He was super smart, of course. We’d dated for a long time, but his commitment to Holt’s and the five generations of the family-owned business he had on his back made things tough—for me, anyway. Ty had told me right from the start that the family business would come first. He’d kept his word. Finally, we’d decided we just couldn’t make it work—no, really, Ty had decided and we’d broken up.

  I glanced at my cell phone. Still no word from Marcie. I wished she’d hurry up. As my BFF, she had a way of keeping me from venturing back into breakup zombieland, the place I’d called home for a long time after Ty and I called it quits—the place that tugged at me right now.