Handbags and Homicide

by Dorothy Howell

  Oh my God, she looked like she was going to cry.

  I rushed over. “What’s the occasion?”

  She looked to be about twenty with a great figure. She could have found clothes anywhere.

  She sniffed and drew in a big breath. “I’ve got a job interview with a really great company. Tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow, huh?” I said, and got a great little adrenaline surge. “What sort of job?”

  “Receptionist for a recording company down on Sunset.”

  My eyes bulged. “Oh my God, that’s fabulous.”

  “Yeah, I know. And I need a fabulous outfit.”

  “Why on earth did you come here?” I asked, waving my arms toward the racks of clothing.

  She waved her hands too. She was with me all the way.

  “I had to. I don’t have any money, so my grandma said she’d help me, and this is the only place she has a credit card, so she got me a gift card and charged it to her account,” she said.

  “Okay. Don’t worry. We’ll find something great.” I turned in a circle, scanning all the racks of clothing. “You want to look businesslike, but cool. Edgy.”

  “Right.”

  “Follow me.”

  I made a sweep of the misses department, then crossed the aisle to Juniors, tossing clothes at her until she could hardly see over them, then loaded up my own arms. Somewhere between the black mini and the red cami, we introduced ourselves; it’s impossible to go through something like this and not know each other’s name.

  We hit the dressing room and I flipped through everything, teaming tops with bottoms.

  “Try these on, Jen,” I told her. “I’m going for accessories.”

  I made another pass through the store, grabbing belts, scarves, costume jewelry, then pulled a half dozen pairs of shoes.

  Oh, wow. I love this job.

  Jen was at the triple-mirror outside the dressing room. We both studied her reflection.

  “You can do better,” I said. “Try another one.”

  On the fourth outfit, we knew we had it. I had her try on some of the jewelry I’d picked out, which really cinched the look, then handed her a pair of shoes.

  “These look kind of slutty,” she said.

  “Yeah, I know. Aren’t they great?”

  “I love them.”

  While she changed back into her jeans, I went to the handbag section of the accessories department. I stiffened up, unable to move, unable to reach forward and pick up a single bag. I don’t do well with nondesigner handbags. I think it’s genetic. Once you’ve had designer, you can’t go back.

  But I forced myself. Jen needed a great bag for tomorrow and I had to find it for her. I gritted my teeth and plowed through the shelves until I came up with a beaded, black silk bucket. Perfect.

  I felt a little wave of accomplishment. It had been tough, almost painful, but I’d managed.

  Honestly, the things I do these days.

  When I got back to the dressing room, she was frowning again.

  “I can’t afford all these things,” she said. “My grandma’s gift card is for a hundred dollars. I’ll have to put some of them back.”

  I looked at the tags and did a quick calculation in my head.

  “There’s no way you’re going to that interview tomorrow without this really cool outfit,” I said. “Come on.”

  Bella was working one of the two registers that were open. I held back until she finished with her customer.

  “This is Jen,” I told her. “She’s got a job interview tomorrow.”

  “Wearing clothes from here?” Bella grunted. “Where’s she interviewing? Salvation Army?”

  “Take a look,” Jen said, holding up the wrap skirt.

  A customer got in line behind Jen, but I ignored her.

  Bella looked at each piece. “This is cool stuff. Where’d it come from?”

  She pointed. “Haley picked it out for me.”

  “This outfit was here? In Holt’s? All this time?” Bella rolled her eyes. “Jen, honey, you got yourself the only decent-looking outfit in the place. And you”—she pointed at me—“you the woman.”

  She rang everything up and it was more than the hundred-dollar gift card Jen’s grandmother had given her.

  Three people were in line now, waiting.

  “She needs a discount,” I told Bella in a low voice.

  “Glenna Webb is supposed to approve all discounts,” Bella said and huffed. “She’s as tight as the ass she wishes she had. She don’t give nobody a discount.”

  “Jen’s interview is with a recording company on Sunset,” I said.

  “Screw the bitch,” Bella said, and punched in Jen’s discount.

  I walked Jen to the door where she thanked me a dozen times and promised to come back and let me know how the interview went; then we hugged and she went on her way. I felt like a mom, or something, sending my kid out into the world. And I was really happy that I’d improved her chances of getting the job. The outfit was a killer, no doubt about it.

  I turned back and saw Ty Cameron walking away from Bella’s register. I got a little sick feeling in my stomach.

  “What’s up?” I asked Bella.

  “He asked why I gave that girl a discount,” she said as she scanned merchandise for the next woman in line.

  “How’d he know?” I asked, stunned.

  She bobbed her brows upward. “Security cameras. Everywhere.”

  “What else did he say?” I asked.

  “Nothing.”

  Okay, that was odd. But oh well. All I cared was that I hadn’t gotten Bella into trouble.

  “I told him you’d found that customer a cool outfit,” she said, swiping the customer’s credit card. “He still didn’t say anything.”

  That was sort of insulting. I’d located—and sold—probably the only cool outfit ever put together in the history of Holt’s, and the owner hadn’t said anything. Jeez, you’d think I’d get a plaque, or a certificate, or something.

  I went back to the women’s department and emptied out the dressing room Jen had used and put everything on hangers again. The outfits I’d put together looked really sharp. It was a shame to separate them, relegate the pieces to the depth of obscurity on the racks. A few minutes later I spotted Glenna Webb. She was the area manager for the women’s clothing department.

  Since she, obviously, didn’t buy her clothes here at Holt’s, Glenna dressed better than Jeanette Avery, the store manager. Suits, mostly, with sensible shoes. She took the dress-for-success mantra seriously.

  Tonight she looked rough. She’d gone heavy on the makeup. I wondered if that was to cover her grief over losing Richard, her lover. It’s hard to imagine Richard would arouse that sort of passion in anyone, so I wondered if something else was going on with Glenna.

  I held up one of the outfits I’d selected for Jen. “I think this would look great on a mannequin in the juniors department—”

  “We have trained personnel who do that,” Glenna barked, and kept walking.

  I hate this job.

  But I was not going to let it get me down. Seven bucks an hour doesn’t buy my self-esteem. I went back to work, returning the clothes Jen had tried on to the juniors department.

  Sandy was working there tonight. She hurried over.

  “Bella told me you put together a really hot outfit for a customer,” she said, her eyes wide with amazement. “Can you help me find something? I’ve got a date tonight with this guy from my mom’s office.”

  “Your mom, huh?” I asked, having a near-fatal flashback to the one time I’d allowed my mom to set me up.

  “I talked to him a couple of times. He seems nice,” Sandy said.

  Sandy was not lucky at love. Even though she was young and really cute, she was not the best judge of boyfriends. I say, it’s one thing to date an asshole; it’s another to keep dating one. Sandy didn’t seem to understand that.

  Then I remembered that Sandy already had a boyfriend. The tattoo artist s
he’d met on the Internet.

  “What about your tat guy?” I asked.

  Sandy frowned. “We broke up. He said I didn’t understand his art and I had no soul.”

  “He said that?” I exclaimed. “Well, you’re lucky to be rid of that guy.”

  “I miss him,” she said, with a heavy sigh.

  Jeez….

  “The guy from my mom’s office invited me out to dinner,” Sandy said, as if she were really excited about it. “I hope he takes me to the Olive Garden.”

  The Olive Garden is where relationships go to die. I’ve never heard of a single Olive Garden first date that worked out.

  But who was I to say anything? Maybe this guy would be the rare exception in Sandy’s love life, the one who treated her well. I shouldn’t judge.

  I sorted through the clothes draped over my arm. “Take this…and this…and, yes—no—this. Team them with those red, beaded slides on the end cap. The slutty ones.”

  “Cool.” Sandy took the clothes and hurried away.

  After what seemed an eternity, the store closed. That didn’t mean we could go home, however. All employees stayed a half hour after closing to “recover” the store, which meant refold and straighten the clothes, and make the place look as if no one had shopped there. This was the time of day when I worked really fast so I could be first in line at the time clock, but Glenna appeared at the last minute and told me to move some clothes around for the sale the next day.

  I hate that bitch.

  When I finally left the store, the parking lot was nearly deserted. The store had cut back on outdoor lighting, so it was always kind of dark out here. But that was okay with me since I parked near the building in one of the spaces designated for the customers.

  As I approached my Honda I realized a man was standing near the front bumper. Great. Was I going to get a Holt’s parking ticket now?

  Then I saw that it was Ty Cameron. What was he doing here?

  “Your car got hit,” he said.

  No, my car hadn’t gotten hit. I had scraped the fender against the retaining wall when I’d run off the freeway the morning I’d left Pike Warner. But I certainly wasn’t going to tell Ty that.

  “It’s nothing,” I said.

  He shook his head. “If it was hit here in the parking lot, you should file a police report.”

  Yeah, wouldn’t that be great? Shuman and Madison could come out and God knows what they’d accuse me of.

  “It’s nothing,” I said again. “Just a little mishap.”

  “You weren’t hurt, were you?” he asked, looking concerned.

  “No,” I said. “No, I just ran—swerved off the road. To miss an animal. A dog. It was a puppy, really.”

  He ran his hand along the fender. “This looks pretty bad.”

  “I’m getting it fixed. I have an appointment. Tomorrow,” I lied. “Tomorrow after work.”

  He frowned. “Tomorrow night? I’ve never known a body shop to be open at night. Which one is it?”

  Didn’t this guy have some place to go?

  “It’s a friend of the family. My uncle, actually. He’s doing it as a favor,” I told him.

  “So you missed it, didn’t you?”

  “Missed what?”

  “The puppy.”

  “Oh yeah,” I said, forcing a reassuring smile.

  “You didn’t just leave it there, did you?”

  “No. No, I…stopped and rescued it.”

  Ty frowned again. “You didn’t take it to the shelter, did you?”

  Jesus Christ, why wouldn’t he just let it go? “No, I wouldn’t do that. I kept it.”

  “What did you name it?” he asked.

  “Pancake.”

  He looked at me for a long time, and I stared back for as long as I could stand it.

  “Look,” I said, moving toward the driver’s-side door. “I’ve got to get going.”

  “You don’t want to leave Pancake alone for too long,” Ty said.

  “Right. Well, good night,” I called. I got into my car and backed out of the space.

  A few employees were still leaving the store, so I had to stop while they crossed in front of me. Glenna Webb walked behind everybody else, and I was surprised to see a man with her. He wore jeans and a T-shirt, so I figured he wasn’t an employee. Nobody at Holt’s dressed that bad, even on casual day.

  Then I realized it must be her husband. I sat in my Honda watching them walk past, wondering why he would be at the store. Was he worried for her safety because a murder had been committed in the stockroom? From the way they were walking—him out in front by two steps—I doubted it. Maybe, after seeing how distraught Glenna was, he suspected that she’d been having an affair with Richard. Maybe he’d figured it out, or someone had told him, and he’d decided to keep a closer eye on his wife.

  They got to their car, an older model Buick, and as Glenna’s husband turned to open the door, the security lighting caught him, and I realized I’d seen him before.

  A few seconds passed before I placed him. Then I got a cold chill.

  I’d seen him in the store. Near the lingerie department. The night Richard had been murdered.

  CHAPTER 8

  Not only were these few days off from Pike Warner a good opportunity to get my Christmas shopping done; it was also a great time to improve myself. I could stand to lose a pound or two—okay, maybe a few more than that—and it wouldn’t hurt me to eat healthier. I mean, how often in life do you get this sort of chance? I couldn’t see wasting it.

  I sat at my kitchen table the next morning, drinking coffee and eating my second chocolate cupcake—better to be rid of them so I wouldn’t be tempted—making a list of the things I needed to do.

  First, set some goals. I decided to keep it simple, since I didn’t want to overwhelm myself, especially at the beginning of my new lifestyle. I took another bite of cupcake, thought for a minute, then wrote down two goals.

  One: to be the after-girl. You know, the one in those TV and magazine ads who looks great after finishing the diet and exercise program. And this tied in directly with my second goal: to be at my driver’s-license weight.

  Okay, simple enough. I jotted down a list of things I’d need to accomplish this, then put on jeans and a T-shirt, grabbed my orange Dior tote, and headed for the mall.

  First, I hit the bookstore and picked up several eating-light cookbooks, along with every fitness magazine on the rack, all with an after-girl on the cover that I aspired to be. Great motivation. The sporting goods store was next on my list. I couldn’t start a workout plan without workout clothes and shoes. I put together several really sharp outfits, picked up a couple of water bottles, then finished off each look with a coordinating duffel bag to carry it all in.

  I hadn’t made it to the health food store yet and my energy level was pretty low, so I went to Starbucks, just to get that one last mocha Frappuccino with whipped cream and extra chocolate syrup out of my system, and sat outside at an umbrella table to review my list.

  I’d pretty much covered everything. Of course, it had cost me a couple hundred dollars, but hey, when it comes to changing your life you can’t cheap it out and expect results.

  I sat in the shade of the umbrella enjoying the sunny day and the light breeze, and looked across at the stores on the other side of the parking lot. Holt’s popped into my mind and my mood soured a little. Then I picked up my cell phone I’d laid on the table and checked for messages. None. And that soured my mood a little more.

  Why hadn’t Kirk called me back? I’d phoned him yesterday and again this morning, and nothing. What was going on at Pike Warner with my investigation? How long was it going to take? I’m not really good at being patient.

  Still, I needed some positive way to pass the time. I picked up my pen and started a new list, this one attacking the next big problem in my life: being a murder suspect. I flipped the page and made some notes.

  First, the motives for murder. Why would a person kill another pe
rson? Ambition, greed, envy, love, money, revenge, of course, and I almost added “clearance sale on designer fashions” but decided that was more like assault, rather than murder.

  Next I wrote down the names of the people whom I believed could have been involved in Richard’s murder.

  Sophia Garcia. Richard had threatened to fire her for abusing the employee discount. Would she have killed to keep her job? It was painful to think that someone would go to that extreme to keep a job at Holt’s, of all places, but stranger things have happened. Besides, I don’t think it was all about the job with Sophia. She didn’t like Richard. Nobody did, but since she was a longtime employee, I couldn’t help but think something else was going on there.

  Then there was that bitch-hag Glenna Webb. Had Richard broken off their affair? Had she been so outraged she’d grabbed the rail off the U-boat and hit him in the head? Or maybe it had been the other way around. Maybe she’d broken it off, he’d become angry, and she’d hit him in self defense.

  Now I could add Glenna’s husband to my list. I’d seen him in the store that night. Why was he there? Had he come to the store to confront Richard after learning about the affair? I wondered if Craig Matthews had ID’d him on the stockroom surveillance videotape when he’d looked at it with the detectives and Ty. I have no way of knowing, of course, unless I saw the tape myself, and that didn’t seem likely.

  I took another sip of my mocha Frappuccino—the caffeine and chocolate had me buzzing pretty good now—and thought more about Richard’s murder. Something had been bothering me about that night.

  I’d gotten that one look at the employee work schedule by the time clock, before it disappeared, and it had been stuck in the back of my mind ever since. Now I realized why. Craig Matthews. He’d been in the store that night but I hadn’t seen his name on the schedule. Why was that?

  I sat there a while longer, thinking, then finished my drink and checked my watch. I had time to swing by the health food store, then head to the gym and get started on my new lifestyle before my shift started at Holt’s. Plenty of time, actually. I could get some really healthy food, plus a really great workout.

  But no need to rush it, I decided. I might manage the health food store better if I was fresh, and I hadn’t worked out in a while and didn’t want to risk pulling something. Maybe I’d check out those stores across the parking lot.