“If he left in such a hurry he didn’t have time to change out of his costume,” I said, “maybe he left that duffel bag behind.”
“Yeah,” Wendy agreed. “His name is probably in it and I can contact him to get the costume back before Maisie finds out.”
My heart rate amped up as I grabbed the duffel bag and placed it on the table. Oh my God, could this really belong to the guy who murdered Jeri? I couldn’t believe the cops had overlooked it.
I flashed on calling Detectives Grayson and Elliston, insisting they come here in person, then presenting them with the major break in the case that I’d discovered.
Cool.
There was no name tag on the strap of the duffel bag, so I unzipped it, visions of I’m-a-better-detective-than-you dancing in my head. I looked inside and my spirits fell.
“Damn,” I muttered, as I pulled out a black lacy teddy and a handful of sexy lingerie.
Wendy sighed. “Well, I guess somebody is going to have a great getaway.”
I shoved the clothing into the duffel bag and tossed it onto the floor where I’d found it.
Yeah, okay, my brilliant idea to solve the murder hadn’t panned out, but oh well. It was really up to the detectives anyway.
Still, I couldn’t imagine an emergency big enough to cause an extra-large guy to run around in a leprechaun costume—unless he’d just murdered someone.
Chapter 3
I’d had enough of Cady Faye Catering for one day, but I couldn’t leave without talking to Faye. The Brannocks’ party was coming up in a few days. I had to make sure the staff was still up to handling the event.
I found Faye in her office, a windowless, cramped space furnished with thrift store cast-offs, where she was frowning at a spreadsheet on her computer.
I rapped on the doorframe. Faye looked up.
“Haley, please come in and sit down,” she said, with the same forced smile I’d seen on her face before. It was starting to freak me out.
Faye hopped up and moved a stack of file folders off a plastic chair in front of her desk. Even though there was little room to work, everything seemed neat and well organized. Faye had personalized the space by adding what I figured were family photos, shots of her, a man, and two tweens who must have been her husband and daughters. They were at the beach, gathered around a Christmas tree, and squeezed together at a picnic table.
“I’ll be so glad when all this construction is finished,” Faye said. “We so desperately need the space. I’ve tripled our business in the past year, you know.”
“How is Cady?” I asked, sitting down.
Fay rounded her desk and dropped into her chair. “Resting, resting, resting. Cady always needs rest.”
“She was really upset about Jeri,” I said. “Were they close?”
“Cady was just being Cady,” Faye said, and waved her hands as if her sister’s hysterical breakdown were nothing. “Completely over the top in her reaction to the news. She missed the entire episode, as usual, off somewhere doing something else, then falls to pieces in front of everyone. Typical.”
“So she wasn’t here earlier?” I asked. “Someone said they’d seen her car in the parking lot.”
“She drives a white Mercedes. There must be hundreds of them on the streets. Obviously, someone else’s car was mistaken for hers.” Faye paused, squeezed her eyes shut for a few seconds, then looked at me again. “I can’t believe this has happened—to Jeri, of all people.”
I remembered that Faye had referred to Jeri as a trusted agent, although Lourdes didn’t seem to think very highly of her.
“Was she a big part of your business?” I asked.
“Jeri was a hard worker, very anxious to learn all aspects of the business,” Faye said. “And believe me, I can use all the help I can get.”
“Any idea who might have killed her?” I asked.
Faye sat back in her chair and shook her head. “None whatsoever. I can’t imagine anyone here would do such a thing. I know my employees, and none of them are capable of something like this.”
I figured that Faye, like most business owners and supervisors, didn’t know her employees nearly as well as she thought. In fact, people in Faye’s position were usually the last to know if there was a problem among the employees.
I didn’t think this was the best time to say so.
“Look, I know none of what happened here today is your fault,” I said. “But I have to know if you’re okay with the Brannock party.”
Faye seemed taken aback. “Of course. Why, of course. Don’t worry about the party. Not for a minute. Cady will get with you on the menu and everything will be perfect. I promise.”
Faye was definitely confident about handling the event, which made me breathe a little easier. She was the kind of person who would make things happen—no matter what.
I thanked her and headed toward the rear of the building where I’d parked my car. Just as I reached the receiving area, I heard someone call my name. I turned and saw Lourdes hurrying after me.
“I just wanted to make sure you’re all right,” Lourdes said, after she’d caught up with me.
Okay, that was nice of her—but weird, at the same time. Then I realized she had an ulterior motive.
Lourdes forced a smile. “You know, Faye has worked super hard to build the business. Cady is artistic, but it’s Faye who makes this place run. If it weren’t for her, Cady would still be baking cupcakes in her kitchen and selling them to whoever. So, please, don’t hold this problem against Faye. Not because of Jeri, of all people. Okay?”
“We’re good,” I said. “I’ll come back tomorrow and talk to Cady about the menu.”
“Great,” Lourdes said, and backed away. “Thanks.”
I left the receiving area, jumped into my Honda and headed out, intent on finding a Starbucks, which I desperately needed. When I circled around to the front of the building, Jack Bishop popped into my head as I cruised through the parking lot toward the exit.
I’d seen him here when I arrived. Did he know he’d just missed a murder? That something huge had gone down and he’d driven away, totally oblivious?
For a few seconds I thought about calling him, telling him the whole story—except maybe for the part about that totally hot Detective Grayson—and flaunting the fact that, for once, my life was more cutting edge than his. But I was afraid he still might one-up me. I was in no mood.
I pulled out onto Ventura Boulevard, confident there had to be a Starbucks around here somewhere. I’d gone only a few blocks when I spotted the familiar green sign that always said “home” to me.
After I placed my order at the drive-thru, I pulled out my cell phone and saw that I had a message from Marcie. She absolutely loved the Flirtatious handbag I’d texted her about earlier and had already begun our usual three-pronged search mode—Internet, boutiques, and chain stores—to find one for each of us.
While I inched forward in line I called Kayla to get an update on what was going on at L.A. Affairs. She answered on the first ring.
“Oh my God, Haley, where are you?” she demanded.
I could tell immediately that she was in high-panic mode.
Jeez, I desperately needed that frappie now.
I eased up closer to the car in front of me.
“Edie and Priscilla are still behind closed doors,” Kayla said.
“Still?”
“Still,” Kayla said.
This was worse than I thought.
I leaned out my window. What the heck was taking that drive-thru guy so long?
“Eve found out that they are reviewing the caseloads of all the planners,” Kayla said. “All of us.”
Oh my God, if I didn’t get my frappie soon, I might scream.
“That means any one of us could be let go,” Kayla said.
Maybe I should abandon my car and go up on foot.
“They’re probably looking for reasons to fire someone,” Kayla said. “How are your events going? Is everything okay
with them? Are there any serious problems?”
“No, nothing,” I insisted. “I was just following up with the caterer at—”
Oh my God. Oh my God.
If anybody at L.A. Affairs learned about the murder at Cady Faye Catering today and there was bad publicity, I would be blamed. It had been my idea to hire them. I’d practically put the smack-down on Priscilla to let me use them for the Brannocks’ St. Patrick’s Day bash.
This could totally impact my probation period with L.A. Affairs. It could even get me fired, since Edie and Priscilla were in a management huddle and seemed anxious to cut someone loose.
Then another even worse thought hit me.
Oh crap.
What if things got totally out of control? L.A. Affairs’ reputation could be ruined—everybody would lose their job if the company went under. Cady Faye’s rep would take a major hit, too—they’d be lucky if they got to sell cupcakes out of Cady’s kitchen to whoever.
Then, without even drinking my frappie, I knew exactly what I had to do.
I sat straight up in my seat. I was going to have to solve this murder myself.
The line moved forward and I rolled up to the drive-thru window. The guy passed me my drink.
I passed it back and said, “Make it a venti.”
* * *
“Have you heard anything?” Kayla murmured.
“No,” I whispered back.
We were in the breakroom at L.A. Affairs the next morning making our usual let’s-stall-as-long-as-possible cup of coffee. Apparently, the outcome of Edie and Priscilla’s marathon meeting yesterday was still unknown.
I’m not big on suspense. If we didn’t learn something soon, I was going to have to barge into their offices and ask them straight-out what was going on.
Kayla glanced over her shoulder, then whispered, “I heard they’re considering shifting events around, reassigning them to different planners.”
This couldn’t be good.
“So they can fire someone?” I asked.
“Maybe. Or maybe not.” Kayla leaned closer. “It could mean there’s a huge event coming up, something prestigious. They want to make sure the planner they give it to isn’t overbooked.”
My spirits lifted. “So this could be good?”
Kayla nodded. “A successful A-list event can make your career here. Everybody wants to handle something high-profile.”
My spirits lifted even further. This would be the perfect time for me to take on a big event and demonstrate my superior event planning skills, especially since my probation period wasn’t up yet.
I’d managed to stay away from the office most of yesterday. Maybe I should stick around today and let Edie and Priscilla see how hard I’m working—even if it meant I’d have to actually work hard.
“I’ll let you know if I hear anything more,” Kayla said.
I dumped a few extra sugars into my coffee—just to celebrate the good news, of course—and headed for my office. I had a lot to do today so I started immediately by checking my Facebook page and making an appointment for a pedi. I logged onto my computer and spent a few minutes looking at the Macy’s site, then ordered myself two sweaters and a pair of jeans. Just for the heck of it, I checked for the fabulous Flirtatious satchel but it was out of stock everywhere. I texted Marcie with the search update.
So far, my morning was rolling along pretty well, I decided as I sat back in my chair. Somehow, today I had to find a way to let Edie and Priscilla know what a fabulous planner I was so I’d have a shot at the hopefully-it’s-true A-list event Kayla had speculated about. What better way to insure my continued employment?
A better way sprang into my head—solve Jeri’s murder before word got out and reputations were ruined. Or mine, anyway.
In my experience it’s always easier to find a murderer if there are suspects to choose from, and so far I had only two—well, one and a half, really.
The extra-large, giant leprechaun guy who’d taken off in the costume was at the top of my I-think-you-did-it list. All I needed to do was find out who he was. I dashed off a quick text to Wendy asking for the contact info for the two extra-large servers on her list.
My sort-of suspect was Lourdes. She’d made comments about not liking Jeri, which wasn’t much to go on, but I had to start somewhere.
As long as I was stretching for suspects, I added Cady’s name to my mental list. There had been some conflicting reports about whether or not she was actually on the premises when Jeri was killed, so I figured that was as good a reason as any to consider her a suspect.
My cell phone chimed and I saw I had a message from Wendy giving me the first names of the two extra-large servers, along with the explanation that Maisie’s Costume Shop had no additional information because the guys didn’t work for them. I sent her a thank-you reply.
I’d hoped she could give me all the info I needed, but no matter. I was, after all, a wannabe-semi-rock-star-detective and knew I could find their contact info somewhere.
Of course, this would be easier if I had a motive or maybe even some evidence. I was in good with Shuman, another LAPD homicide detective, and under normal circumstances I wouldn’t hesitate to call him for inside info on the case. But I hadn’t seen Shuman in a while—long story.
I knew there was no way I could pry anything out of Detective Elliston. Dan Grayson might be a different story—if he ever came to realize I wasn’t a suspect, which didn’t seem likely.
My office phone rang and I jumped out of my chair.
What if it was Edie and Priscilla calling me in to fire me?
What if it was Edie and Priscilla calling me in to assign me a kick-ass event?
I grabbed the phone and heard, “Are you ready to party?”
Good grief. It was Mindy, our receptionist. She was a nice enough person but she was forever getting things mixed up.
“Hello? Hello?” Mindy said. “Are you ready to party?”
“It’s me. Haley,” I said.
“Oh, jiminy, Haley,” she said. “I hope you’re not calling in sick today.”
See what I mean?
“I’m in my office,” I said. “You called me.”
“I did? Oh, well, okay then, I guess you’re ready to party, all right,” Mindy said, and chuckled at her own joke.
“Did you need something from me?” I asked.
“What? Oh, yes. There’s a man here to see you,” she said. “His name is—oh, let me see what I wrote down. It’s Don Brayman. No. It’s Tom. Yes, Tom somebody. Erickson, maybe. Yes, it’s Erickson. Tom Erickson—no, that’s not it.”
Mindy kept talking but I tuned out. I figured that sooner or later she’d be able to read her own handwriting—or I would just get up and walk to one of our interview rooms and see for myself who’d come to L.A. Affairs and asked for me specifically.
“—Dan Grayson.” Mindy’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Yes, it’s definitely Dan Grayson.”
I lurched out of my chair and slammed down the phone in one smooth Dancing-With-The-Stars move.
Detective Dan Grayson was here? At my office? He’d come to see me?
Oh my God. Was he going to arrest me?
No way was I going to stick around and find out.
I grabbed my handbag and three event portfolios, and charged out of my office and down the hallway. I spotted Detective Grayson sitting in the interview room on my right. But I didn’t stop, just paused long enough to say, “Sorry, I’m on my way out.”
I turned on the speed—not easy in four-inch pumps, but luckily I have Mom’s pageant legs—and passed the cube farm, the other interview rooms, Mindy’s receptionist desk, and went out the door. The elevator was at the end of the hallway. A man was getting off.
“Hold the doors,” I called.
I might have said that louder than I meant to.
The guy jumped out of the way as I ran inside. I jabbed the button for the parking garage six times.
Just as the doors slid closed, Dan
Grayson charged out of L.A. Affairs.
Chapter 4
The elevator doors opened into the ground floor of the parking garage and—yikes!—there stood Dan Grayson. Oh my God, he’d run down the stairs and beat me here.
Wow, how hot was that?
He wasn’t even breathing hard. I was—but that was only because I was afraid he’d arrest me. I swear.
“I need to talk to you, Miss Randolph,” he said.
He was using his serious-cop voice. It was totally hot.
“Detective Grayson?” I asked, and squinted—yes, I actually did that—as if I didn’t recognize him. “Was that you upstairs?”
He walked closer—wow, he was really tall—and gave me an are-you-kidding-me look.
I was in too deep to back out now.
“I don’t usually see walk-ins. Next time you should make an appointment.”
“I don’t make appointments. I make arrests.”
Oh, crap.
No way was I going to simply stand here and let him slap on the cuffs.
“I have several clients, important clients, very important clients, waiting for me,” I said, as I hefted the event portfolios a little higher and backed away.
“Who?” he wanted to know, and gave me a let’s-see finger wave.
I had no idea which portfolios I’d grabbed in my mad dash out of the office.
“These are confidential,” I said.
He rolled his eyes and yanked them out of my hand.
Damn, he was good.
Dan flipped open the top portfolio and read for a few seconds, then cut his gaze to me.
“Psychic readings? For cats?” he asked.
Okay, this was really embarrassing. But what could I do but push on?
“These cats are clients of Hollywood’s most respected animal actor talent agent, and are preparing for a pivotal role in a major motion picture,” I told him.
That was a total lie, of course. But it sounded better than admitting my clients were really over-indulged tweens in Calabasas, and I’d gotten stuck with the event after losing to Kayla in the best two-out-of-three in Rock Paper Scissors.
Duffel Bags And Drownings Page 3
