Handbags and Homicide

by Dorothy Howell

  Oh, crap.

  CHAPTER 6

  My apartment was in a sprawling complex in Santa Clarita, just off the freeway about thirty minutes from downtown L.A., unless there’s traffic, of course, which there almost always was. Then the commute could take forever.

  I liked my place. It was a new, upscale area where lots of younger people live. Great bars, restaurants, shops, and stores. When I first moved in I couldn’t afford to do much with the apartment, but thanks to my job at Pike Warner—and my credit cards—I’d done the place up right. The very latest style, yet warm and inviting at the same time.

  But right now, my living room seemed to be tilted a little. Then I realized it was me. And the Corona I’d worked my way through—it’s always that last six-pack that gets you. I had help, of course.

  My best friend, Marcie Hanover, sat on the other end of the sofa. I’d stopped on the way home and bought beer, cheese sticks, hot wings, and chips—everyone knows calories don’t count when you’re upset—and now we were in sweats, and had ditched the chilled mugs I’d brought out when she arrived. We were guzzling straight from the bottles.

  “That Mrs. Drexler is a bitch,” Marcie said.

  “She’s always been a bitch,” I said, for probably the fifth time.

  When I’d left Holt’s tonight I’d phoned Marcie and she’d rushed over. I told her all about what had happened at Pike Warner. In fact, I’d told it several times now and, of course, the details kept growing and the story got worse, but that’s just the way these things are done.

  “And a fat cow too,” I added, which wasn’t true, but still…

  “She’s just jealous because you’re prettier,” Marcie said.

  “And younger.”

  “How does she keep her job?” Marcie wondered, waving her bottle around.

  “She must give one hell of a blow job,” I said, then took another sip of beer. “Kirk Keegan is checking around. He’ll let me know what’s going on.”

  “I saw Kirk the other night,” Marcie said.

  She’d been with me at the club several months ago when I met Kirk. She hadn’t been crazy about him, and even after he’d gotten me the great job at Pike Warner, Marcie still hadn’t changed her opinion of him.

  “You were working at Holt’s,” Marcie explained. “I went out with those girls from work, to that other girl’s going-away party, at that place at City Walk.”

  “Oh yeah, right,” I said and, somehow, knew exactly what she was talking about.

  “Kirk was there.”

  “Who was he with?” I asked.

  Marcie shrugged. “That dark-haired girl.”

  “Oh yeah. Her.” I’d seen her around, but had never met her. She seemed sort of standoffish.

  “I don’t think it was a date, or anything. She only stayed a little while, then left.”

  I know Marcie added that last part because she knew I used to have a thing for Kirk. We’d gone out a couple of times, but it never turned into anything, and it still kind of bothered me, even though I always knew Kirk wasn’t interested in a relationship with me. When we went to a club we always met there, and he never cared when I table-hopped or danced with other people. He did threaten to sue the club owner that night my purse was stolen, but I think that was just to show off.

  “So I guess it’s a good thing that you have that Holt’s job,” Marcie said.

  “Oh my God…” I moaned, then told her that whole story.

  “That’s awful.” Marcie shook her head. “Has anything good happened to you lately?”

  I thought about it for a few seconds. “There’s this really good-looking guy at the store.”

  I filled her in on Ty Cameron—but left out the part about the Laura Ashley bed-in-a-bag sets, the time he’d caught me talking crap about the store’s shoes, the way I’d blasted him about firing Todd the LP guy the night of Richard’s murder—which didn’t leave much to talk about.

  “He owns the store, or the chain of stores, or something,” I said.

  “He must be rich,” Marcie said.

  Rich is a relative term, according to my mom. As she says, there’s money, then there’s money.

  “You should come by the store and look at him sometime,” I suggested.

  “Okay,” Marcie said, then got up from the sofa. “I’ve got to go.”

  I glanced at the clock and saw that it was after midnight.

  “Thanks for coming over,” I said, and walked with her to the door.

  “No problem.” Marcie bumped into the table by the door and sent a stack of envelopes cascading onto the floor. Three days worth of mail. Unopened.

  She picked them up and glanced at the return addresses. I’d already seen them—mostly credit card companies, which was why I hadn’t bothered to open them. I knew what they said.

  Marcie looked hard at me, the way only a best friend can get away with.

  “Are you okay with your money?” she asked.

  “Yeah, sure,” I said, taking the stack of mail from her. “Kirk said everything at Pike Warner will be straightened out in a couple of days. I’ll be back to work by the end of the week.”

  “You could ask your parents for help,” she suggested.

  I’d rather dig out my left eye with a spoon.

  “You know, there’re lots of ways to make money these days. On the Internet, eBay. I’ll think of something.” Marcie studied me for a minute. “You need anything, you let me know.”

  “I will,” I said. “Thanks.”

  “I’ll come by the store and look at Ty,” she said. “Are you working tomorrow?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Marcie left and I glanced over the bills once more. Yep, credit card statements, plus one from the bank. My overdraft notice. Again.

  I dumped them on the table, ignored the mess in the living room, and went to bed. Marcie was right. I needed more money. An option that Marcie, mercifully, hadn’t mentioned sprang into my head.

  I could work more hours at Holt’s.

  I woke the next morning with a headache and two very clear thoughts.

  One, the only way to make real money on the Internet was with porn. Two, if Holt’s found out about what was going on at Pike Warner, they’d fire me.

  It was all too much to contemplate. The truth was I’d been through a lot. I didn’t know whether or not I still had medical benefits, so I couldn’t see a shrink, and that left only one way to heal.

  I got dressed and went shopping.

  The mall was quiet, mostly young mothers pushing baby strollers, older women with husbands standing outside dressing rooms holding their purses. This was a whole different side of shopping I hadn’t seen before. No hustle and bustle, no crowds, no pushing and shoving.

  I took a breath and strolled along, suddenly feeling comfortable here. No one around me knew I was on unpaid administrative leave, or that my checking account overdraft rivaled the national debt, or that I was the prime suspect in a murder investigation. To them, I was simply a woman of leisure. They probably thought I had a husband hard at work in some downtown high-rise, and I was wiling away the hours shopping for my next dinner party.

  Oh my God. That sounded just like my mother.

  I rushed into Banana Republic.

  The salesclerks didn’t pay much attention to me when I started yanking clothes off the rack—honestly, what sort of service was this?—and went into the dressing room. I tried on some DKNY jeans. They looked pretty hot, so I tried on a couple more pairs, plus the T-shirts I’d collected, and the two jackets. Everything looked great and actually fit comfortably, an alignment so rare in the fashion cosmos that I was obligated to buy them. I paid with my credit card and left the store with three shopping bags.

  Wow, this was kind of cool. Not a bad way to spend a few days until Pike Warner called me back to work. That little naggie feeling crept over me again. I decided it wouldn’t hurt to check on things. I pulled out my cell phone and called Kirk.

  “I’ve already
talked to people,” he said, before I could even say anything. “Everything is moving along. Things are happening.”

  “Great,” I said. I heard him rustling papers in the background. “How much longer before they’ll let me come back?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It will be this week, though, won’t it? Before—”

  “I told you not to worry,” Kirk said.

  “I’m not worried, it’s just that—”

  “I’ll call you.”

  Kirk hung up and I stood there for a minute after I tucked my phone away. Okay, that went all right. Kirk had things moving and everything was working out. I didn’t have anything to worry about. Well, I had plenty to worry about, but not my job at Pike Warner.

  So that left me with shopping. It occurred to me that this was a golden opportunity to get all my Christmas shopping done. The stores weren’t crowded, I wasn’t pinched for time, I could shop leisurely and select a great gift for everyone. If I got started today, I could have everything finished before I went back to work at Pike Warner. So where to begin?

  I looked up and down the long mall and spotted Macy’s. They carried great handbags. It occurred to me that the green croc Betsey Johnson purse I’d seen in there last week would look great with my new DKNY jeans. So why not start out with a gift for myself?

  I missed Pike Warner. At Pike Warner casual day meant wearing a suit without a lining. Nobody wore nice clothes at Holt’s. Nobody carried a designer purse. I just didn’t fit in here.

  I stood at the time clock waiting along with a half dozen other employees, and glanced at my watch. I hadn’t even punched in yet and already I was counting down the hours until I could leave.

  The girl in front of me looked back. It was that girl Julie, the Holt’s credit greeter who sat by the front door handing out credit applications.

  “You’re the one who found Richard, aren’t you?” she asked quietly.

  “Yep,” I murmured. I passed the lanyard holding my name badge back and forth; I couldn’t bring myself to put it on yet.

  “Isn’t it awful that he got murdered right here in the store?” she whispered. She gnawed on her fingernail. “My mom says I should quit. It’s too dangerous here.”

  I got a little jolt of excitement. Maybe I could get her job. It was a cool job. All you did was sit at a table and hand out credit applications. You didn’t have to actually wait on anybody.

  “Several people have already quit,” I told her, nodding wisely.

  “Really?” Julie’s eyes widened. “I liked Richard, kinda. I had no idea he was a perv.”

  I’d have to work on my of-course-you-can smile, though, which still kept morphing into a screw-you smile.

  “Is it true that when you found him in the stockroom, he was wearing a thong?” Julie asked.

  The time clock thunked as employees fed in their time cards and the line moved forward. I glanced at the work schedule on the clipboard and saw that I was assigned to the women’s department tonight. Glenna Webb was on the schedule too. I wondered if she’d be here tonight, or if she was still too distraught by the death of her illicit lover.

  As I headed down the aisle dodging two screaming kids, Evelyn Croft stepped out from behind mannequins dressed in workout clothes.

  “Haley, do you mind—could you—that is—”

  “I’m in women’s tonight,” I said.

  She glanced around and nodded. “Yes. Yes, I know. But could I talk to you for just a quick minute?”

  “Sure, Evelyn, take all the time you need.”

  She leaned closer. “Not here. In the office.”

  Okay, that’s odd. But it kept me off the sales floor for a few minutes, so I followed her to the back of the store. Rita was in the customer service booth when we walked past, and I saw her giving us the evil eye. I smiled and waved.

  I’d been in this office the night of Richard’s murder. The room seemed smaller this time, the light less harsh. Evelyn seemed just as upset now as she had been that night. She pushed the door closed quietly, then stood with her hand on the knob.

  “What’s up?” I asked, leaning back and bracing my hands against one of the desks.

  “Those police detectives were here again last night,” Evelyn said, still whispering. “They…they asked me about…what happened.”

  I figured the detectives had spoken with everyone working the night of Richard’s murder, including Evelyn.

  She pressed her lips together, then said, “They asked me about…you.”

  I straightened away from the desk, a little surprised. I’d wondered if Detective Shuman had told me the truth last night when he said he’d talked with Evelyn, and I’d considered that he’d made it up hoping to shock a confession out of me. Now I knew that he’d been telling the truth.

  “I had to tell them what happened,” Evelyn said, twisting her fingers together. “But they kept trying to make something different out of it. I’d say one thing and they would turn it around. I—I didn’t mean to say anything bad about you, or implicate you in anything, but they wouldn’t leave me alone.”

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  I didn’t know what it was about this woman that made me feel sorry for her all the time. She’d just told me that, thanks to her, the police thought I murdered Richard, and all I could do was try to make her feel better.

  “The whole thing is silly,” Evelyn declared, still wringing her hands. “I mean, you couldn’t possibly have killed Richard. And that other rumor going around that he was wearing pink panties and a Wonderbra—well, it’s just ridiculous. Anyway, I wanted to let you know.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up,” I said.

  We walked out of the office together, and just as I got to the customer service booth, I realized I didn’t have my name badge with me. I must have dropped it on the desk.

  “I left my badge,” I said to Evelyn, pointing back toward the office.

  She nodded and kept walking and I went inside again.

  I saw a personnel folder on the desk and my heart jumped. I looked closer and saw it wasn’t mine, thank God. It was Sophia Garcia’s.

  I’d just worked with her in the shoe department last night and she seemed okay. Maybe she’d changed her mind about working here. Lots of people were skittish now, after Richard’s death. Maybe Sophia was quitting.

  I stole a quick glance at the door, then moved around the desk and flipped open the folder. On top of the stack of papers clipped inside was a Holt’s employee action form. Sophia was being counseled for abusing the employee discount.

  You could do that? That was probably something else they covered in orientation.

  Attached to the form was a printout of the time, date, merchandise, sales price, and discount price of everything Sophia had purchased.

  They kept records of that?

  It didn’t seem like so many things to me, but apparently Holt’s didn’t like it.

  Or, at least, Richard hadn’t liked it.

  He’d stated on the form that Sophia was on notice and would lose her job if this continued. He’d signed the form the day of his murder. Sophia had signed it also, so that meant he’d actually talked to her about it.

  Okay, I’m no James Bond, but wasn’t this a motive for murder? Sophia had worked here for years, she didn’t like Richard, she had five kids, and couldn’t afford to lose her job.

  Hadn’t the police seen Sophia’s employee action form? If they had, surely they would have taken it for evidence. Hadn’t they searched this office? Were they blind and incompetent?

  Or had they stopped investigating when they got to me?

  CHAPTER 7

  So, Detective Shuman had told the truth when he said he’d talked to Evelyn Croft about me. Seems he’d also told the truth about investigating my credit cards and bank accounts, and contacting Pike Warner.

  I didn’t see how he could have found out anything from Pike Warner. First of all, they were lawyers. They wouldn’t have said anything. And eve
n if they had, how bad could it be? I mean, the worst thing I could have done there was use a wrong accounting code. Pike Warner had dozens of them, and they were mostly just alike, and really, anybody could have gotten them mixed up. I didn’t handle any money, except to send an authorization to the girls in cashiering to disburse a check, and all of that had been decided long before I went to work there. Every invoice I received was from a company already approved by Pike Warner. I had a file cabinet with folders of vendors I was authorized to pay, up to a certain dollar amount. It was a no-brainer job.

  And that certainly doesn’t constitute fraud, as Shuman claimed, and it certainly wouldn’t lead to Richard’s murder. Even a detective should be able to see that an accounting error could be corrected.

  All of these thoughts kept going around and around in my head as I worked in the women’s clothing department, straightening racks of clothes. I wondered if I should talk to Detective Shuman about Richard writing up Sophia Garcia the day of his murder. I didn’t want to get her into trouble. She had those five kids to take care of. She needed her job.

  Badly enough to kill for it?

  And what about Glenna Webb? Did the detectives know she’d been romantically involved with Richard? And that both Richard and Glenna were married?

  Up until yesterday, I didn’t know about Sophia or Glenna. It made me wonder who else at Holt’s might have a motive to kill Richard.

  It made me think that maybe I should do some investigating on my own.

  The store was quiet again tonight. Only a few women were in the clothing department. No one seemed interested in trying on anything, except this one girl who seemed desperate to find any two articles of clothing that looked good together.

  Not easy at Holt’s.

  She’d been at it for about fifteen minutes now, going through rack after rack with a kind of desperation that could only come from a last-minute occasion that requires clothing not already in your closet. She stopped suddenly, put her palm against her forehead, and heaved a heavy sigh.