That may sound selfish but, really, I was just being practical.
“Our corporate office has arranged for a team of investigative journalists from a major television network to come to the store,” she said. “They are doing an extensive exposé on us.”
I didn’t know why Jeanette was telling me this, unless maybe she really hadn’t heard that Ty and I had broken up.
I saw no reason to point it out.
“It’s felt that if the report goes well, our public image will be restored and closure won’t be necessary,” Jeanette said.
Then something else hit me and my heart beat a lot faster—but for a different reason.
Oh my God, corporate had done this? Did that mean Ty was back? Was he in his office now, calling the shots?
Jeanette kept talking, but it turned into blah-blah-blah. All I could focus on was Ty. Had he really returned? Was he back and hadn’t called me? Had his months of solitude and soul searching caused him to realize he never wanted to see me again? Or was he planning to surprise me with a fantastic I’m-back confession of how he couldn’t live without me, how miserable he’d been while he was away, how he’d longed for me every second of every day until—
“What do you think, Haley?” Jeanette asked.
Oh, crap.
At moments like this—which happened way too often, probably—I’d learned that if I kept quiet and looked thoughtful long enough, the other person would eventually say something that would give me some clue as to what the conversation had been about and just what kind of response I was expected to make.
Jeanette didn’t let me down.
“You know these two detectives. Do you think they can solve this case quickly?” she asked.
Okay. I had this.
“I spoke with Detective Shuman yesterday,” I said.
Jeanette looked surprised and impressed.
I hurried on before she could ask for details and said, “Progress has already been made in the case. Asha’s death is their top priority.”
“It’s imperative this investigation is concluded, the murder is solved, and everything is wrapped up before the journalists arrive,” Jeanette said. “This is a golden opportunity to save the store. We won’t get another chance like this.”
I decided this was a good time to try and get more information for my own investigation.
“Did you know Asha well?” I asked.
“I make it a point to know all my employees,” she told me.
I knew that was standard company b.s., but didn’t say so.
“Did it seem odd to you that Asha quit after working here for only a few weeks?” I asked.
“Some employees leave quickly.” Her expression soured a bit. “And others I can’t get rid of quickly enough.”
She wasn’t talking about me, was she?
Well, no sense in dwelling on that aspect of the conversation. I had a murder to solve.
I left Jeanette’s office feeling pretty darn good about the possibility that the store might remain open. Really, the investigative journalists’ report could be a blessing—or could blow up in corporate’s face—but at least something was in the works and there was a chance it would succeed.
As I made my way through the store to my assigned section of purgatory in housewares, my cell phone vibrated in my pocket. I slipped into the lingerie department, ducked down between two racks of bras, and checked its ID screen. Marcie had sent me a text.
She’d cancelled our shopping trip last night, which I had been okay with. She’d told me why, but, since I’d been kind of wrapped up in my own problems, I hadn’t been listening—which was bad of me, I know. If Marcie had noticed, she hadn’t said anything, a typical best-friend move.
In her text she asked if we could try again tonight. I texted back to count me there.
Since I was already in this secluded spot in lingerie and nobody was around—and because my morning could always use a boost—I called Nuovo.
Chandra answered. I identified myself and she immediately launched into an apology.
“I’m so very sorry for the inconvenience, Ms. Randolph,” she said. “Our shipment of Mystique bags hasn’t arrived yet. We expect it any day now.”
I was pretty sure that’s what she’d told me the last time I called.
“What’s the delay?” I asked.
“No delay,” Chandra insisted. “Simply time in transit. Nothing unusual. Nothing at all.”
I wasn’t sure I really believed her, but I didn’t want to put any bad mojo out into the world, so I thanked her and hung up.
Not exactly the boost I was looking for.
Crap.
I headed for housewares.
* * *
I clocked out exactly two seconds after my shift ended, grabbed my handbag—an adorable Coach tote—and left the store.
All I’d been able to think about during the last four hours of mindless shelf-stocking was Asha’s murder—with thoughts of the Mystique woven through occasionally—and now I was anxious to get on with my investigation. I figured the easiest—and probably the tastiest—place to start was the bakery.
According to Asha’s employment application and résumé, she’d worked at Cakes By Carrie for a few weeks before she’d taken the sales clerk position at Holt’s. I’d theorized that Asha had gone back to visit, and that she and a friend had stepped out so they could talk. I hoped that my idea was right and that whoever her friend was had seen something helpful.
Shuman had mentioned he and Madison were still canvassing the area, looking for witnesses. I didn’t know if they’d gotten to the bakery yet or, if they had, whether or not Shuman would tell me everything he’d uncovered. Yes, we were friends and exchanged info, but Shuman was still a cop and he had to be careful about leaking facts in an ongoing investigation.
I headed down the sidewalk toward the line of stores that spread out next to Holt’s. The parking lot was crowded. Lots of people were out.
While Holt’s anchored the center—it was by far the largest and the one that drew most of the shoppers—the other stores did a brisk business. They were mostly specialty shops—a craft store, a cigar shop, a convenience store, one of those mail and shipping centers. There was a furniture store that I was convinced was a drug front—but maybe I’d binged on Breaking Bad too many times—and, of course, the bakery.
The delicious smell of something sweet led me down the sidewalk, and just as I got to the bakery entrance, my cell phone rang. I checked the ID screen. Mom was calling. Against my better judgment, I answered.
“Hi, sweetie. How are you?” she asked.
She wanted to know how I was doing? Okay, that was weird.
“Are you all right, Mom?”
“Yes, of course. I’m fine. Perfectly fine. Absolutely nothing is wrong,” she said. “Would you mind running by my travel agent’s office and picking up something for me, honey? I would really appreciate it. If you have time, of course.”
Mom had been friends with her travel agent since before she’d married my dad, and she always enjoyed catching up on news when a vacation was in the works, so this was hardly the kind of thing she’d ever asked me to do before.
“You’re sure you’re feeling okay, Mom?”
“Certainly,” she told me. “Of course I’m fine.”
I wasn’t all that excited about going to the travel agent and listening to back-in-the-day stories about the two of them, but what could I do? Mom was Mom.
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll bring them to you later today.”
“Thank you, honey,” she said and we ended the call.
Now I desperately needed something from the bakery—and it had to be chocolate.
A little bell chimed when I walked inside. The place smelled great. It was decorated in pink and aqua, with splashes of white and just a touch of pale yellow. Several small tables and chairs with pink checked seats were arranged near the windows.
The display cases and shelves gleamed and were filled
with fanciful cupcakes, cakes, cookies, and jars of candy. A six-tier wedding cake, an extravagant kid’s birthday cake, and a lavish Valentine’s Day cake were featured in niches around the room.
The girl behind the counter had on an aqua apron with “Cakes By Carrie” written in white. I figured her for maybe a few years older than me. Her blond hair was tied up with a pink scarf, and her waistline looked as if she’d sampled every treat the bakery had ever produced.
I waited until she finished with the mom and little girl at the counter, then stepped up when they left.
“Hi, I’m Haley,” I said and smiled. “I work at Holt’s.”
She gave me a huge smile in return and said, “I’m Carrie.”
I was a little surprised, since she seemed kind of young to own a bakery. But the place looked and smelled great, and it had been open for a while now so I figured she must know what she was doing.
“What can I get for you?” Carrie asked.
I gestured around the room and said, “I’d like the left side of the shop, please.”
Her smile widened and she said, “Would you like that to go, or will you be enjoying it here?”
We both laughed.
“Just give me a half dozen of the every cupcake that has chocolate in it, please,” I said.
Carrie fetched a pink bakery box and started filling it.
Even though my brain was overloaded with thoughts of massive amounts of sugar and chocolate, I forced myself to get on with the reason I’d come here.
I can push through when I have to.
“I guess you were pretty upset about what happened at Holt’s the other day—you know, the murder,” I said. “Asha was a friend of yours, wasn’t she?”
Carrie froze. A few seconds ticked by as she stood as still as a cake topper. Then her eyes widened and she screamed, “Asha died? Asha McLean? It was her?”
I went into semi-panic mode—Carrie was in total-panic mode.
“Oh my God. I thought you knew,” I told her.
See how bad I am at this sort of thing?
“Oh, no . . . oh, no,” Carrie wailed.
She dropped the bakery box and wobbled back and forth. I thought she was going to faint. I dashed around the display counter and put my arm around her shoulders.
“Jeez, I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know you hadn’t heard the news. I wouldn’t have just blurted it out like that, if I’d known.”
“Oh no . . .” she moaned.
“Come sit down.”
I guided her across the shop and eased her into one of the chairs near the display window.
“Keep breathing,” I said, then dashed behind the counter again, got a cup of water from the soda machine, and brought it back. “Here, drink this.”
I dropped into the chair next to her and waited while she sipped the water and caught her breath. Finally, some of the color came back into her cheeks.
“I’m so sorry. Really,” I said.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I guess I should have known about it already. But I don’t have time for the gossip that circulates through the shopping center. I have too much to do. I can’t spare the time.”
“I know Asha used to work here,” I said. “I guess you two stayed friends after she left, huh?”
More color flooded Carrie’s cheeks, and she downed the water.
“Yes, you could say that, I guess, sort of,” she said.
“Did you see her that day? The day she, you know, died?” I asked.
Okay, maybe that seemed kind of heartless, but I had to find out if Carrie had been with Asha out back and had witnessed anything.
“I didn’t even know she was here that day,” Carrie said. She slumped into the chair and said, “I can’t believe this. My goodness, what’s going to happen now?”
“Don’t worry,” I said, glad I could give her some good news. “It looks like Holt’s might not close after all, so—”
“Holt’s is going to close?” She bolted upright in the chair. “It can’t close!”
Oh my God. Not again.
“It’s our anchor store! If it closes, my bakery will be ruined!”
“No, no, listen.”
I waved my hands trying to calm her.
“All the stores will be ruined!”
Note to self—hand waving accomplishes nothing.
“Listen—you have to listen,” I insisted.
I grabbed her hand and patted it—although I’m sure bitch-slapping her would have been more effective—until she calmed down a bit.
“Holt’s isn’t going to close,” I told her. “Plans are in the works. Everything is going to be fine.”
She gulped. “Are you sure?”
I was afraid to answer truthfully—can you blame me?
“You have a great shop here. It’s going to be fine, no matter what happens,” I said. “I know because I’ve been inside a lot of bakeries—a lot of them.”
“It’s terribly hard to keep a small business going,” she said and tears pooled in her eyes.
Oh, no, not tears. I couldn’t handle a crier right now.
“But yours is succeeding,” I told her and patted her hand a little harder.
She plastered her palm against her forehead and shook her head. “You don’t know what I’ve been through.”
“I know it’s tough,” I said. “Your bakery is fantastic. Really. Customers love it.”
I didn’t know that for an actual fact but, come on, it was a bakery—who wouldn’t love it?
Carrie was quiet for a minute or two, then withdrew her hand from mine and took in a deep breath.
“I shouldn’t go borrowing trouble—that’s what Mom always says,” she said softly.
“Good advice,” I said.
I gave it another minute—well, okay, about half that time—then hopped up and circled behind the display counter. I picked up the box of cupcakes she’d dropped which, luckily, had landed flat and nothing had spilled out.
“Are you going to be okay?” I asked.
“I think so,” Carrie said. “And thank you, Haley, thank you for giving me the news. You did the right thing.”
Her eyes were puffy. Her cheeks were red. Her cute little pink scarf was askew.
Oh yeah, I felt great about it.
I whipped a twenty from my wallet and stuck it next to the cash register, grabbed the box of cupcakes, and left.
CHAPTER 9
My interview with Carrie—okay, it wasn’t much of an interview, but it sounds better than calling it the I-thought-I-was-giving-her-a-stroke talk that it really was—hadn’t revealed anything substantial, as I’d hoped. All I’d gotten from her was that she hadn’t even known Asha was at the shopping center that day. She hadn’t been out back by the Dumpster. She hadn’t witnessed anything.
Still, Carrie had gotten so upset upon hearing that Asha was dead, I figured they’d been pretty good friends. Maybe I could talk to her again, though, really, I wasn’t looking forward to it.
I was on the 405 headed for Studio City, where Mom’s travel agent had her office. After leaving Cakes By Carrie, I’d dashed into my apartment and changed out of my Holt’s-appropriate jeans and sweater, and into yet another jeans and sweater outfit, this one costing considerably more.
I transitioned onto the 101, slightly bummed that the whole bakery thing had been a dead end. I wasn’t any closer to uncovering who was behind Asha’s death or what was up with the double life she had apparently been leading. I had to figure out my next move.
Jack Bishop popped into my head.
He was a private investigator so he had access to all sorts of databases that I didn’t, plus he seemed to know absolutely everyone and everything about them. I could ask him to check into Asha’s murder—except that I still didn’t know how to act around him.
That whole thing made me feel yucky.
Then it occurred to me that Jack still hadn’t called me, and I started to feel slightly miffed. What was that all about?
I mean, come on, I woke up at his place. Didn’t good manners require a phone call from him?
Honestly, I didn’t know. I’d never been in this situation before.
I definitely had to talk to Marcie about this during our shopping trip later today.
The Laurel Canyon exit came into view so I cut over two lanes, took the off-ramp, and turned into a shopping center near Ventura Boulevard. A wide variety of businesses occupied the complex, which was squeezed onto a lot that also included a restaurant, a yogurt shop, and a dance studio. The travel agency had a place on the ground floor. I parked and went inside.
The office was cluttered with travel posters, travel books, travel everything. The place was hopping. Several customers waited on comfy chairs, while others crowded around the desks of the agents who were helping them. The receptionist was on the phone, and two more lines were ringing.
I checked nameplates and spotted Courtney, Mom’s friend, sitting in the back corner. She was about the same age as my mom, tall, slender, with dark hair, very attractive. The two of them had been in pageants together back in the day. Mom had told me all about it—I think. I’d drifted off.
Courtney looked up from her computer, past the couple sitting at her desk, and spotted me.
“Haley?” she called, smiling as if I, rather than my mom, were her old friend, which was kind of weird because I didn’t recall ever meeting her. “You’re Haley, aren’t you? I knew it was you. Caroline said you were coming by. Come on back.”
She waved me over to her desk and held out a thick envelope.
“She’s going to love this,” Courtney told me. “The itinerary is perfect. It’s everything she asked for, and then some.”
“Thanks,” I said, and tucked the envelope into my tote.
Her smile widened. “And tell her to stop being such a stranger. We need to have that lunch.”
“Thanks, again,” I said, and left.
I’d told Marcie that I would meet her at The Grove, so I hopped back on the freeway. Since I’d worked at Holt’s this morning and I wasn’t on L.A. Affair’s schedule today, we were meeting somewhere closer for her. I made pretty good time, left my Honda in the parking garage, and took the elevator to the ground floor.
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