I’m not good at holding back.
He’d learn that soon enough.
Liam looked relieved. “You like to ski? Snowboard?”
“Sure,” I said, then gave him a little grin I only shared with official boyfriends. “But, honestly, I’m much better at indoor sports.”
“Oh, good, then—”
He froze and a few seconds passed before he realized what I was hinting at. Then I got a smile from him I’d never seen before.
“Could we move up our timetable?” he asked. “Maybe leave right now?”
Wow, this was really nice, having a special moment with Liam. He was great in so many ways, and I knew—
Oh my God, a Mystique clutch just passed by our booth.
I sprang out of my seat.
“Haley?” Liam said.
“I’ll be right back,” I told him, and hurried after the Mystique and the woman who was carrying it.
“Are you okay?” he called.
I didn’t have time to explain. I was on a mission.
Liam would just have to learn to deal with it.
I wound my way between the tables, the servers, and their trays of food, determined to keep her in sight. Honestly, I’d had it with waiting for Nuovo to locate their missing shipment. I wanted a Mystique and I was going to get one, even if I had to give up on my stunning eighty-percent employee discount.
I followed her toward the rear of the restaurant, figuring she was headed for the restroom. I intended to ask where she’d gotten her Mystique. Obviously, one of the shops, stores, or boutiques in Los Angeles had received a shipment. I needed to find out which one it was so I could go there myself.
When we reached the ladies’ room, a group of older women pushed in ahead of me. There was already a line so we all squeezed in along the wall to wait. The place was noisy, with all the chatter, the running water, and the hand dryers. I didn’t really want to shout over all the racket—it’s hard to sound casual under those circumstances—but no way was I going to let that Mystique out of my sight before I found out where it had come from.
Just as I was about to make my move, I realized something wasn’t quite right.
The girl carrying the handbag of my dreams looked familiar. She was probably about my age, tall, with dark hair. I definitely knew her from somewhere, but where?
My mind spun as the line for the stalls moved forward and I mentally placed her image in a variety of locations I’d been to lately, to see where it fit. A restaurant? L.A. Affairs? Holt’s—no, definitely not Holt’s.
Then it hit me.
She was Chandra, my personal shopper at Nuovo.
No wonder I didn’t recognize her. She was dressed in a YSL pencil skirt and jacket, and she had on Louboutin pumps—mega-expensive designer wear.
Wow, Nuovo must pay better than I’d thought.
I realized then that something else was amiss.
Chandra had told me that Nuovo was waiting to receive their very first order of Mystiques. I’d also been told by Kendal that the shipment was lost.
Yet here Chandra stood with the most fabulous clutch of the moment—which, really, should have been mine—in her possession.
Huh. Interesting.
And definitely something I intended to follow up on.
CHAPTER 19
I was pulling double duty this afternoon, working at Holt’s while I continued the planning of the festival. After lunch with Liam, I headed home, changed into jeans and an I-hope-nobody-who-matters-sees-me-in-this knit top, and drove to Holt’s.
Elise, my contact in the marketing department at the Holt’s corporate office, had given me the basics of what they wanted, a red, white, and blue Americana theme. The marketing wizards thought it would project a positive image of the shopping center and play well in the media. I agreed.
I’d already hired two bands to play during the event, along with four dance troupes. Holt’s would stage fashion shows featuring their own yes-I-have-to-call-them-fashions clothing line. There would be a kids’ area, of course, with games, face painting, and pony rides. I was also bringing in stilt-walkers, jugglers, and clowns. And all of that was just for starters.
The other businesses in the shopping center were running special sales and discounts. Jeanette had given me a preliminary list of who was doing what. I needed to check with each of them and find out exactly what they were planning. This was no time for last-minute surprises.
I stowed my handbag—an amazing Burberry satchel—but hung on to the Coach tote that held the tools of my event-planning trade as I clocked in. On the work schedule above the time clock, I saw that I was assigned to the lingerie department this afternoon. They would have to get along without me for a while.
As I left the breakroom I decided to stop by Jeanette’s office and let her know everything I’d accomplished. More than likely, Elise in marketing was keeping her up to speed on the preparations, but no way was I leaving that to chance.
When I walked down the hall and stopped in her office doorway, I saw that Jeanette was at her desk, talking on the phone. She spotted me and whispered, “I’m on with corporate.”
I gave her an I-understand nod, and went back into the breakroom. I mean, really, there was no reason for me to report to lingerie and do actual work for Holt’s when I could be powering up with a bag or two of M&M’s to get me through the afternoon’s festival planning.
I hit the vending machine, then settled into a chair at one of the tables and pulled out my iPad. There were a number of things that needed my attention that I could mark off my long-and-getting-longer list of things to do.
Then it hit me—since I was on company time, why not take care of some personal business?
This thing with my mom and the Miss California Cupid beauty contest really had to be resolved. Apparently, from the way she’d explained it, the issue of the conflict of interest with one of the pageant judges had blown up the Internet, so I figured I could track it down and get it handled easily enough.
To fortify myself, I dumped half a bag of M&M’s into my mouth, got out my cell phone, and did a Google search.
Three links appeared.
Not exactly the hot-button issue Mom had made it out to be.
I clicked on the links and skimmed the posts. They were mostly tirades about how demeaning beauty pageants were, how women’s bodies were being exploited, and that the contests were a relic of the past that should be shelved for good.
The pro-pageant bloggers had their say, too, commenting that the contests showcased the very highest standards in young women, and offered scholarships and opportunities most of the contestants wouldn’t otherwise have. Mention was made about how beauty pageants had propelled finalists on to important, high-profile careers in many industries.
Just as everything was about to turn into blah-blah-blah, another post jumped out at me, this one written by Crown Girl, that addressed the supposed conflict of interest. I clicked on the link and read the blog. It stated that Theodore Tremaine, a judge in the Miss California Cupid pageant, had slept with one of the contestants.
I couldn’t help it. My mouth fell open.
This wasn’t simply a conflict of interest. This was a major scandal.
I went back and read Crown Girl’s blog more carefully, then dug deeper and found links to more posts. Everybody—absolutely everybody—was totally outraged that the integrity of the beauty pageant had been compromised in this manner. And, of course, speculation and accusations ran rampant about the judging of other pageants, both past and future.
Crown Girl hadn’t mentioned the contestant’s name. I didn’t know why she’d held back, after dropping this huge bombshell, except that maybe she was trying to build momentum for some big reveal in the future. Perhaps there was money to be made, a book or movie deal, or something.
It was hard to know what motivated Crown Girl and people like her. Maybe it was a sense of justice, wanting to right a wrong. Or perhaps she was a disgruntled contestant herself who
’d had no success and wanted to ruin it for everybody else. Maybe, like Asha, she was just in it for the money.
Anyway, I didn’t need a degree in investigative journalism to figure out that the as-yet-unnamed guilty party was the winner of the pageant. It couldn’t be more obvious. Nor was Theodore Tremaine’s conquest a secret to anyone who’d been involved in the Miss California Cupid pageant that year. Everybody knew who had finished in first place.
Mom must have been furious when this story had broken and she’d learned that another contestant had slept her way into the first-place win, leaving Mom in second.
I would be.
I wondered if Mom had known what was going on between Theodore Tremaine and whoever-she-was back in the day when the pageant was in progress. Maybe she and Mom had been friends. Maybe they were still friends. The pageant queens were a tight group.
It was possible, too, that Mom believed the whole thing was a lie, a story contrived in an attempt to undermine pageants and build a case for discontinuing them. That would explain her burning desire to distance herself from the scandal. Mom would rather downplay the incident and throw her support behind keeping beauty pageants alive.
Mom was a queen who’d never abdicate her throne.
I found a few more links, but everything was a rehash of all the other posts. One glaring omission from everything that had been written was a comment from Theodore Tremaine. Nobody had contacted him, it seemed. No one from the pageant board of directors had been asked to chime in on the scandal either, apparently.
So much for balanced reporting.
I finished off my M&M’s. The sugar rush zinged through my brain, igniting an array of cells that presented me with the idea that maybe Mom was right—which was weird, I know—and the whole incident was better left alone. Too much energy given to this sort of thing just kept it going, caused it to grow and turn into more than it likely would have been if left to wither away unattended.
But if Mom really wanted to let the whole scandal simply go away, why was she suddenly thinking about moving to Sri Lanka?
I was definitely going to investigate further.
Just as I was tucking away my cell phone, off to my right loomed what in my childhood nightmares had been a giant, green Godzilla. As I was about to dive for the floor and pull my pink, pulsating, laser sword—my weapon of choice in those nightmares—I realized that it was Jeanette.
She stood in the doorway wearing a green skirt and jacket, which she’d accessorized with yet more green.
Let me simply say it wasn’t working for her.
“I just spoke with Elise at corporate,” she said. “Everyone there is very concerned about the success of the festival.”
“Really?” I said. “I spoke with Elise just a few hours ago and she seemed fine to me.”
Which was true. I guess. Really, I hadn’t paid that much attention.
The stress level of Elise, or anyone else at the corporate office, wasn’t something I could play into. I had to stay focused on preparations, schedules, and handling problems that arose, not babysitting the marketing department.
Besides, I’d staged massive high-profile events for L.A. Affairs involving celebrities, A-list stars, and major power players, in world-renowned venues with hundreds of guests. I was confident I could entertain the shopping center’s customers in the Holt’s parking lot.
“Everything has to go smoothly when the investigative journalists are here,” Jeanette said.
“I know you’re concerned about the media,” I told her.
“Flawlessly.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“No problems,” Jeanette said. “None at all.”
I was one annoying comment away from losing it. I mean, really, everything was in good shape at this point. Anything that might go wrong in the future would be handled. What more could I say?
“I’m heading to the other shops to confirm with the owners exactly what they’re doing for the festival,” I said, rising from my chair.
“Security,” Jeanette said. “Elise wanted to make sure you arranged for security at the festival.”
I hadn’t gotten to that yet, but it was on my list.
I saw no need to mention that to Jeanette.
“But their presence can’t be too obvious,” she told me. “We don’t want the customers—and certainly not those journalists—to know we have security forces on scene.”
“I have just the firm to handle it,” I told her.
I had Jack in mind, of course. And it wasn’t a conflict of interest. I’d have hired him even if we hadn’t had hot, sweaty jungle sex.
Before Jeanette could come up with more questions or concerns, I slipped around her and out of the breakroom.
As I crossed the sales floor, I pulled out my cell phone and called Elise in the marketing department. Rita spotted me and gave me major stink-eye. I gave it right back to her and kept walking.
Elise picked up as I left the store.
“I just wanted you to know that everything is on schedule for the festival,” I told her. “I have it handled. There are no problems, as of this minute.”
“Thanks, Haley.” She sighed. “The head of marketing is losing her mind over this thing. It’s so last minute, and so much is riding on it.”
I’d never met Elise, but she sounded young, maybe my age. I figured she was getting a lot of pressure from above in typical corporate fashion.
“I understand,” I said. “But you don’t have anything to worry about.”
“If something comes up, you’ll tell me?”
“If something comes up, I’ll handle it,” I said.
She sighed again. “That’s good to hear. Let me know if you need anything from our end. We’re all leaning forward to make this happen.”
“I will,” I said.
“Really, anything at all.”
I stopped outside Cakes By Carrie. The enticing aroma of vanilla drifted out, zapping my thoughts in a different direction.
“Maybe you could check on something for me,” I said. “I requested a handbag from Nuovo in Valencia, but they told me their shipment was lost.”
Elise huffed. “That figures. Everybody here at corporate is talking about Nuovo. That chain has been nothing but problems since Holt’s acquired it.”
Jeez, this didn’t exactly inspire my confidence.
“It’s the Mystique clutch,” I said. “Could you check and see when their next shipment is going to arrive?”
“Glad to,” Elise said.
I thanked her and we ended the call.
As I tucked my cell phone away, my gaze crossed with that of a young woman approaching the Holt’s entrance. She was attractive, a little older than me, probably, tall with dark hair. Something about her looked very familiar.
“Haley,” she called and walked over.
I had no idea who she was.
“You don’t remember me,” she said, stopping in front of me.
I got a weird feeling.
“I’m Gwen,” she said. “Gwen Bishop.”
My weird feeling got weirder.
“From the other night,” she said. “At Jack’s condo.”
My thoughts scattered.
She was related to Jack? How? Who was she?
Oh my God—was she his wife? I’d never asked if he was married—I’d never even asked if he had a serious girlfriend or was in a committed relationship.
“I have something for you,” Gwen said and reached into her handbag.
What was she reaching for? A gun? Was she one of those crazed, lunatic wives? Was she going to kill me right here on this spot?
No way was I dying in the Holt’s shopping center. If it took my last—literally—my last breath, I would crawl to Neiman Marcus or Nordstrom and—
“I found your credit card.” Gwen held out a small plastic bag with my Visa, a comb, and lip balm sealed inside.
I felt light-headed. What was going on?
“They must have fallen
out of your handbag. I found them under the hall table,” she said. “I know you probably already cancelled the card, but I was afraid you’d worry about where you’d left it. That kind of thing bugs me, too.”
“So you’re Jack’s . . .”
“Sister.” She smiled.
Jack had a sister? I don’t know why it surprised me, but it did—though I suppose even smoking-hot private detectives have families.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” Gwen said.
“Well, no,” I admitted.
“You’d been partying pretty good that night,” she agreed. “I wish you hadn’t left so soon. I was at Starbucks. Jack told me it was your favorite. He made me promise I’d get it for you.”
Okay, I was totally confused.
“If you were at Starbucks, where was Jack?” I asked.
“Beats me,” she said and rolled her eyes. “He called me at midnight and asked me to come to his condo. He carried you upstairs, then took off.”
Jack wasn’t there.
“He’s so busy, I don’t see him often,” Gwen said.
We hadn’t had hot, sweaty jungle sex—or any other kind.
“This is the first time he’s called me to look after someone at his place.”
He’d lied to me. He’d played me.
“You must be pretty special to him,” Gwen said.
Jack was about to find out just how special I could be.
CHAPTER 20
After Gwen left, I walked the length of the shopping center to pull myself together, then called Jack after I calmed down. I didn’t want to yell at him over the phone.
I would do that in person.
His voicemail picked up so I left a message asking him to meet me at the Holt’s store to discuss providing security for the festival.
He’d likely need a security team for himself when I got finished with him.
I still had work to do and needed to confirm exactly what each of the businesses was providing by way of special promotions during the festival, so I started at the convenience store at the far end of the shopping center. Raine was on duty again. She had no idea—and even less interest—what Owen was doing sales- and discount-wise. According to Jeanette and Elise, he’d committed to offering select snacks at a sizeable discount. I made a note to contact him later and confirm his plan.
Pocketbooks and Pistols Page 15
