Pocketbooks and Pistols

by Dorothy Howell

  A wide variety of upscale stores, both large and small, was located here, along with restaurants and a movie theater. The storefronts ringed a pedestrian-only street where an old-fashioned trolley carried shoppers from the stores to the farmer’s market located at the other end of the complex. A water fountain danced and swayed to all different types of music.

  I checked my phone and read a text from Marcie telling me she was already here. I was about to call her when I spotted her standing outside Nordstrom.

  “Ready to shop?” she asked, when I walked up.

  I was always ready to shop.

  “Okay if we hit the Coach store first?” I asked.

  Marcie froze. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  She gave me her BFF look and said, “If you need to get a handbag fix first thing, something’s wrong. Come on.”

  Is she a great friend or what?

  We walked down the street to the first restaurant we came to and got a seat on the outdoor patio. It was almost dark now, so the twinkle lights were on and candles burned on the tables. Faint music played somewhere.

  “Wine?” Marcie asked, when the waiter stopped at our table.

  Yikes! No way was I drinking wine after what had happened the last time.

  “Just a soda,” I told him.

  Marcie ordered the same, plus chips and salsa, and he left.

  “Okay, what is it?” she asked.

  Jeez, where to start?

  I hadn’t told Marcie about waking up at Jack’s place. I’d intended to, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it right now—maybe this was one of those things even a BFF shouldn’t know.

  I decided to tackle first the problem that put me in the best light—which is kind of bad, but there it was.

  “Liam,” I said. “When I saw him yesterday, he gave me one of those looks and asked if we could have dinner. Soon.”

  “You’re kidding.” Marcie leaned forward. “Like maybe he wants to move your relationship further along?”

  I nodded, then paused while the waiter served our food and drinks.

  “But that’s great,” Marcie insisted. She stopped with a chip half dunked into the salsa. “Isn’t it?”

  “Well, yes,” I said.

  “You like him, don’t you?”

  “I do. He’s smart, he’s funny, he pays attention when I talk,” I said. “He’s always been there if I needed something, but he doesn’t smother me. He was super understanding when I had to work so much over the holidays.”

  “He’s totally hot,” Marcie insisted, munching on a chip. “So what’s the problem—oh my God, Haley. It’s Ty, isn’t it?”

  She’d said it like she was shocked and disappointed.

  I couldn’t blame her.

  As a best friend would, she took a breath and calmed down.

  “You’re not over him,” she said. “Still.”

  “What’s wrong with me?” I asked.

  Jeez, I knew I was being an idiot about the whole thing with Ty, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

  “There’s something about Ty,” I said, “that I can’t let go of.”

  Marcie nodded thoughtfully and said, “Is he back from his sabbatical, or whatever it is, yet?”

  “I haven’t heard a word from him.”

  “Have you called him?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “I figured he needed time and solitude to work out whatever is going on with him.”

  “But if you knew he was back but hadn’t called you, that would pretty much end things with him, wouldn’t it?” she asked.

  “He wouldn’t do something that crappy.”

  “Have you tried to find out if he’s back—without contacting him directly?” Marcie asked. “Have you called the corporate office and asked to speak to him? Did you go to his apartment and see if the lights were on? Called his grandma or his personal assistant? Facebook stalked him?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  Marcie was right. She was almost always right. I was way off my game here. This was basic stuff. Why hadn’t I done it?

  She seemed to read my thoughts and said, “You don’t want to know the truth about Ty because you’re afraid it will be hurtful. And, really, who can blame you? He’s disappointed you so many times.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “You’re right.”

  “Look at what’s in front of you. Liam is a great guy. Don’t let him get away while you’re waiting for somebody who might never be there.”

  “He asked me out for our soon dinner, but I was busy. I haven’t heard from him since,” I said. “Now I’m wondering if he’s changed his mind.”

  “He’s probably just busy doing whatever it is lawyers do all day,” Marcie said. “Maybe he’s waiting for a sign from you? A little encouragement? Have you called him lately?”

  “No,” I realized.

  Wow, I’m the worst sort-of girlfriend ever.

  Marcie drew in a breath and said, “Look, Haley, you need to decide what it’s going to be. If it’s Ty, then you’d better find out what’s going on with him. If it’s Liam, then you should forget Ty and focus on him. It’s not fair to keep Liam dangling.”

  Okay, now I felt like the most horrible sort-of girlfriend in the history of the entire world.

  “I guess that’s what I’ve been doing,” I said. “I didn’t realize.”

  “Hey, that’s what best friends are for.” Marcie grinned. “Now, any more problems I can solve for you tonight?”

  No way was I telling her about Jack now.

  “Yes,” I said. “I need a new dress to go with the new Mystique clutch.”

  “Me, too.” Marcie downed the last of her soda. “Let’s hit it.”

  * * *

  Marcie and I didn’t find new dresses we liked but, of course, that didn’t stop us from buying other things. We hit Nordstrom, where I found some awesome jeans and a how-have-I-lived-without-it-this-long jacket, and she got some killer boots, two fabulous sweaters, and pants that were perfect for work.

  Everything Marcie had told me tonight was circling through my head as we left the Grove, especially the part about how I wasn’t being fair to Liam.

  Not a great feeling.

  I figured she was likely also right about giving him some encouragement, so I called him. His voicemail picked up.

  Huh. That was disappointing. Here I was, ready to move things forward between us, and he didn’t even answer his phone.

  He was probably working.

  Or maybe he was out with somebody else.

  Crap.

  I’d dealt with enough problems for one evening, I decided. I only had one more thing to handle, then I was going home, putting on my comfy pajamas, and breaking out my emergency package of Oreos.

  I’d need them after dealing with Mom.

  Traffic wasn’t too bad as I took the surface streets to the 101, then headed north on the 2, and then east on the 210. My parents’ place looked dark when I pulled into the circular driveway and parked.

  Juanita must keep a constant vigil out the window because she opened the front door as I walked up. I held out the large envelope I’d picked up from the travel agent and said, “Would you give this to Mom?”

  Yeah, I know, that was kind of bad of me but, jeez, I was running really low on emotional energy right now.

  I desperately needed those Oreos.

  “No,” Juanita said, shaking her head. “You should go talk to your mother. She’s in that room again.”

  Mom was seated on one of the big sofas in the media room when I walked in. The television was off and she was staring at the movie posters. I really didn’t understand her sudden infatuation with Doc Brown and the 1950s gang in Hill Valley.

  “Got your travel info,” I said, and dropped the envelope on the sofa next to her.

  I froze in horror.

  She had on sweatpants and a T-shirt. Old, faded sweatpants. A stretched-out T-shirt.

  Oh my
God, where was my real mother?

  “Mom, are you okay?” I asked.

  “Of course, sweetie.”

  She picked up a glass of wine from the end table.

  I relaxed a little. She was looking more normal now.

  “Where’s Dad?” I asked.

  “Working late.” She sipped her wine. “He’s always working late.”

  “Courtney says she put together a great itinerary for you,” I said.

  Mom looked at the envelope for a moment, then turned away. “Good. Four months abroad is just what I’m looking for.”

  “Four months?” I might have said that kind of loud.

  My parents took their share of vacations, but they’d never been away for that long.

  “That’s a really long time,” I said, and managed to sound more reasonable. “Can Dad take that much time off from work?”

  “Arrangements will be made,” she said and finished her wine. She held the glass out. “Do ask Juanita to bring me another, would you, sweetie?”

  I took the glass to Juanita—I didn’t bother to tell her why, she already knew—and left. As soon as I dropped into my car, my cell phone chirped letting me know I’d missed a call.

  Thank goodness. Liam had called.

  The notion zapped me like a jolt from a shorted-out curling iron.

  Yes, I really wanted to talk to Liam.

  But when I dug my cell phone out of my handbag, I saw Shuman’s name on the screen. He’d left me a voicemail.

  “We’ve had a break in the case,” he said, when I checked his message. “We have a suspect in Asha’s murder.”

  CHAPTER 10

  I’d called Detective Shuman back right away last night, but he hadn’t picked up. He’d sounded rushed in the message he’d left, so I figured he’d been working.

  I checked my phone yet again as I hurried into the Holt’s breakroom along with other employees reporting for our morning shift. Still nothing from him.

  Jeez, what was going on? Shuman hadn’t returned my call and neither had Liam. I still hadn’t heard anything from Jack, plus I’d had no word on the delivery of the Mystique.

  I stowed my handbag, fell in behind the other employees and clocked in, and checked the work schedule. I was assigned to the juniors’ clothing department today. This was a stroke of good luck—which I really thought I was due for. It was the perfect location for me today because I could crouch on the floor in front of the wall of jeans and use my cell phone unnoticed.

  As everyone was headed out of the breakroom, the door flew open and Rita came in wearing red stretch pants and shirt with a herd—yes, an entire herd—of llamas on the front, each embellished with fringe and bejeweled eyes. Yet that wasn’t the most unattractive thing about her.

  She drilled us with majorly serious bitch-face.

  “Listen up, people,” she shouted. “Somebody blew it.”

  She glared at me.

  Why was she doing that? I hadn’t done anything—well, nothing that I thought she’d found out about.

  “Somebody screwed up,” she went on.

  I hoped this wasn’t about the mannequins.

  No way am I doing new-hire orientation again.

  “Somebody here at Holt’s shot off their mouth,” Rita said.

  A murmur went through the group of employees, and everybody glanced around. I did the same, of course, just to blend in.

  “Somebody spilled the beans about our store closing,” Rita said. “Now that word is out, there might be more problems that Holt’s doesn’t want to deal with. News like this could keep customers away and affect sales, and that means everybody’s hours could be cut back.”

  The store—and the employees—didn’t need any more problems. Why would anybody—

  Oh, crap.

  I’d mentioned the store closing to Carrie at the bakery yesterday.

  She’d told me she never paid attention to rumors. But, apparently, she’d jumped on this savory bit of gossip and spread it through the shopping center like breaking news of a blowout sale at the mall.

  Okay, I could blame this on Carrie. Kind of.

  “So if anybody from the other stores in our shopping center asks, tell them you don’t know anything,” Rita said. She pinned me with a nasty glare and said, “Everybody needs to keep their mouth shut. Everybody.”

  The employees filed out of the breakroom, and instead of straggling along at my usual place at the end of the line, I wormed my way to the front of the group and headed across the store. I wasn’t about to hang around for any face time with Rita.

  I reached the juniors’ department and spent a few minutes pretending to size the pants on the jeans wall. The store officially opened for the day and customers began to roam the aisles. Luckily, shoppers in this department pretty much knew what they were looking for so I seldom had to actually interact with them. Still, I kept my gaze glued to the jeans and concentrated my efforts on looking like I was completely focused on the task.

  From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a customer moving straight toward me. Immediately, I turned my head and—yikes!—Detective Shuman was standing next to me.

  I hadn’t even heard him walk up. Was I losing my edge?

  Shuman had on his slightly mismatched shirt-tie-jacket combo, indicating he was in cop mode. A wave of worry shot through me. In the phone message he’d left me last night he’d said he had a suspect in Asha’s murder—I hoped that suspect wasn’t me.

  “Is this an official visit?” I asked, and managed to sound calm—at least, I hoped I did.

  “I’m not arresting you,” he said and grinned. “Not today, anyway.”

  “Where’s Madison?” I asked, glancing around.

  He nodded in the direction of the other shops in the complex and said, “We’re still canvassing the stores, trying to contact everyone and follow up on some leads.”

  “You found a suspect?” I asked.

  Shuman glanced around. I did the same, just so I’d look cool, too. A mother and daughter were checking out T-shirts at a nearby rack. I walked to the other side of the department. Shuman followed.

  He lowered his voice and said, “We got a tip that Asha was having an affair with a married man who works in the shopping center.”

  Wow, I hadn’t seen that coming.

  “Where does he work?” I asked.

  “Owner of the convenience store.”

  A few things clicked into place.

  “Asha was here that day to see him. That’s why she was out back. They were there together,” I realized

  “According to our witness, his wife had found out about the two of them.”

  “Oh my God,” I said. “Maybe she saw them together, became enraged, and shot Asha.”

  Shuman didn’t seem as excited about my I-have-a-great-theory moment as I was.

  “It’s too early to speculate. We still have a lot of ground to cover,” he said. “We’re running background checks on everyone who had access to the rear of the shopping center, conducting interviews, evaluating evidence, waiting for lab results, looking for witnesses.”

  That really was a lot to cover. No wonder he hadn’t jumped on board my oh-so brilliant and totally unfounded the-wife-probably-did-it idea.

  “What about the surveillance tapes?” I asked. “Did you see anything?”

  “Lots of activity. Cars coming and going. Employees arriving, leaving. Delivery trucks unloading,” Shuman said.

  I knew the surveillance cameras at the rear of the Holt’s store offered a very limited view of the area.

  “Nothing helpful,” I realized.

  “Not so far,” he said.

  Shuman looked slightly weary. I couldn’t blame him. Searching for clues and evidence apparently took a lot of time and patience.

  I’d never make a good detective.

  “If I hear anything, I’ll let you know,” I offered.

  Shuman nodded and left.

  I went back to the wall of jeans and started sizing the
m again. They didn’t need it, but it made me look busy in case a customer, or Rita, approached. It was mindless work, which was good because my brain was doing the hamster-on-a-wheel thing with the information I’d just learned from Shuman.

  Was Asha’s lover covering her rent on that expensive apartment and making the payments on her BMW? Was that how she managed to live in such luxury?

  Not likely, I decided. Shuman had told me the lease was in Asha’s name—her name alone. Apartment complexes didn’t let anyone move in unless proof of sufficient income was provided to cover the rent. Same with her expensive car.

  No way could she have swung those things on her minimum-wage jobs—or managed to sock away the fifty grand Shuman had learned was in her bank account. I needed to find out how Asha maintained her lifestyle and why she was leading a double life by pretending to be an average, minimum-wage gal.

  Of course, Jack could have gotten that info for me, but I still hadn’t heard from him.

  I was definitely moving beyond slightly miffed with Jack.

  Regardless of how Asha supported herself, she’d had an affair with a married man whose wife knew all about it— a tried and true motive for murder. I definitely needed more info on that whole situation.

  It occurred to me then that I’d been way off base when I’d gone to Cakes By Carrie. Apparently, there was no connection between the bakery and Asha’s death.

  I caught sight of Rita talking to the clerks in the jewelry department across the aisle, so I dropped to the floor and started shuffling the jeans around.

  I didn’t feel so great about having upset Carrie with the news of Asha’s murder. That whole thing had spun completely out of control, somehow. She’d gotten so upset I’d figured she and Asha had been good friends, yet, now that I thought about it, Carrie had never said that they were.

  Had her off-the-scale reaction been genuine sorrow over Asha’s death? Or had it been cover for something else?

  Either way, her behavior was suspicious.

  I added Carrie’s name to the mental list of suspects I’d started, along with the wronged wife of Asha’s love interest.

  After several more minutes of moving the jeans around, I stretched up and saw that Rita was no longer in the jewelry department. I got to my feet and spotted Bella winding her way through the clothing racks toward me.