Duffel Bags And Drownings

by Howell, Dorothy

  Dan raised an eyebrow and tilted his head at me. He wasn’t buying it.

  “Look,” I said, “I don’t come up with these crazy requests, I just plan the events I’m given.”

  I yanked my portfolios away from him and stomped off.

  He was in front of me in two seconds, forcing me to stop. I glared up at him. He glared right back, then grinned.

  Wow, what a grin.

  I gave myself a mental shake. I had to keep my wits about me. Who knew why he was here and what he might be up to? Whatever it was, I figured it couldn’t be good for me.

  Still, his partner Detective Elliston wasn’t with him—unless he was on a nearby rooftop coordinating the S.W.A.T team that was back-up for my arrest—so maybe something else was going on.

  I made a show of huffing semi-irritably, straightening my shoulders and pushing my chin up, and said, “What can I do for you, Detective?”

  Dan Grayson shuffled his feet a little, then shrugged.

  “I wanted to let you know about your jacket,” he said.

  What the heck was he talking about?

  “The one you had on yesterday when you pulled the victim out of the water,” he said. “We took it into evidence.”

  This was the reason he’d scared the crap out of me? To let me know about my jacket I’d left hanging in the ladies room at Cady Faye to dry? Was this a supreme lame-o reason to come here, or what?

  Was this some sort of cop subterfuge? Did he think he could lull me into an I’m-here-to-help-you conversation, then get me to confess to something?

  I glanced around. Were there undercover cops in the garage shooting video of this meeting?

  I fluffed my hair, just in case.

  “So,” he said, and blew out a heavy breath, “I, ah, I just wanted to let you know so you wouldn’t think it had been stolen, or something.”

  He looked at me and I looked back. I couldn’t think of anything to say and, apparently, neither could he. We seemed to be suspended in some sort of middle-school moment that neither of us wanted to break free of.

  Finally, he seemed to give himself a little shake then said, “I’m not sure when it will be returned to you. At the conclusion of the case, whenever that happens.”

  “I don’t want it back,” I said. “It’s got dead-person cooties on it.”

  Dan grinned. “Those are the worst kind.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Something about Dan made me nervous and calm, all at the same time.

  Still, I saw no reason not to turn this conversation into something that would benefit me.

  “I didn’t kill Jeri,” I said.

  He kept grinning, as if he’d expected I’d say that and would have been disappointed if I hadn’t.

  “I can’t discuss the case,” he said.

  “I didn’t ask you to discuss it,” I told him. “I was simply telling you that I’m not the person you should be checking into.”

  Dan nodded. “And who do you think I should be investigating?”

  Was he asking for my help? Was he hoping for some info I hadn’t already divulged? Or, perhaps, had he uncovered no suspects and wondered if I had?

  I didn’t want to confess to my suspicion about Lourdes and Cady because, really, they were nothing but I’m-desperate-for-a-suspect thoughts. I figured that he already knew about the extra-large server who’d taken off without turning in his leprechaun costume, and I didn’t want to look like an idiot by telling him something he already knew.

  “I heard that Jeri wasn’t well liked,” I said.

  He frowned a cop-frown. “Faye Delaney indicated she was highly regarded.”

  “By Faye, yes,” I said. “But bosses are usually the last to know.”

  Dan nodded and was quiet for a while. “Did anyone mention that Jeri was romantically involved with someone?”

  I knew immediately that if he was asking me this question it was because he’d found some indication that Jeri had been murdered by a psycho she’d been dating, or a jealous lover.

  “Nobody said anything,” I told him. “Did she have a boyfriend? Do you think he killed her?”

  “Yes, and maybe,” Dan said. “Her boyfriend was married.”

  Visions of a wronged wife with angry friends and relatives, and any ex-boyfriends that Jeri might have had, flashed in my head.

  “Lots of people could have a motive for killing Jeri,” I said.

  Dan gave me a rueful smile. “And I’m checking out all of them.”

  I guess a homicide detective’s work is never done.

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

  “I would appreciate that,” Dan said, and sounded as if he really meant it. He pulled a business card from his jacket pocket and passed it to me. “Call if you learn anything.”

  I took his card and headed for my Honda. He walked along with me, then hurried a few steps ahead to open the door for me.

  I stood on one side, Dan on the other. Some sort of crazy heat circulated between us.

  “Am I still not allowed to leave town?” I asked.

  Dan leaned a little closer. He smelled great.

  “I’d come after you, if you did,” he said.

  Wow. It might be fun to give it a try.

  * * *

  My cell phone chimed as I drove down Ventura Boulevard. When I stopped at the next light, I glanced at the screen and saw that it was a text message from Marcie recommending we put boots on the ground and do a hard-target search for the Flirtatious handbag tonight.

  I was scheduled for a shift at Holt’s this evening. I’d blown off working there last night using the touch-of-the-stomach-flu excuse—a personal favorite of mine. I saw no reason it couldn’t stretch into a two-shift event.

  Of course jeopardizing my job at Holt’s, my sad-but-it’s-true only reliable employer, might not have been the smartest move with this whole someone-could-get-fired thing going on at L.A. Affairs, but oh well. I texted Marcie back promising to meet her later tonight.

  I had a number of events to follow up on, but the Brannocks’ St. Patrick’s Day party was the biggest in my windshield. It was just days away and I wasn’t feeling all that great about Cady Faye Catering. Even though Faye had promised everything would be handled smoothly, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on what was going on there.

  Plus, now I had another suspect in Jeri’s death. Detective Grayson had told me she was involved with a married man, a situation that offered a plethora of suspects. Maybe somebody who worked for Cady Faye Catering could give me some inside info on who the guy was, and how I could find him.

  As I turned left from Ventura Boulevard into the shopping center’s parking lot, Jack Bishop popped into my head. I’d seen him here yesterday. No sign of him today—so far, anyway. He could be super stealthy—as a way-hot private detective would be.

  I cruised around to the rear of the building and parked. The space was jammed with cars, pick-ups, delivery trucks, and Cady Faye Catering vans. Just like yesterday, a van was backed into the receiving area. I grabbed my portfolio and went inside.

  Nothing much had changed since yesterday. The catering staff formed an ant trail from somewhere deeper in the building to the van. Servers milled around getting into their Cady Faye vests and bow ties. Construction workers hustled back and forth, shouting and dragging equipment.

  I found my way through the maze of hallways to the offices near the front of the building. Lourdes was inside one of them—a bare bones space crying out for a high-limit credit card from Macy’s—working at her computer.

  I’d considered her a suspect simply because she hadn’t hesitated to let me know she didn’t like Jeri. I wanted to get some info from her today that would make me move her into my mental yeah-you-probably-did-it category, or disregard her as a suspect completely.

  “Hi,” I called from the doorway. “Got a minute?”

  Lourdes spotted me and said, “Sure, Haley. Come on in.”

  Lourdes’ office was n
eat and orderly. File folders were stacked uniformly on the edge of her desk; her pencil cup, stapler, and paperclip holder were in perfect alignment with her keyboard.

  “It looks like business as usual around here,” I said, taking the chair in front of her desk.

  “Of course,” Lourdes said, squaring off her stapler. “We’re extremely busy with multiple events every day. We can’t let anything slow us down.”

  “Not even a murder?” I asked.

  Okay, that sounded kind of stinky but I needed info and didn’t have a lot of time to wait around for it.

  Lourdes forced a smile. “I realize this might seem cold, but nothing can interfere with our work. Certainly not a personnel issue.”

  Finding an employee murdered seemed like more than a simple personnel issue, but I understood what Lourdes was getting at. Cady Faye Catering events were planned months in advance. Tons of preparation went into them—buying the food, preparing it, scheduling servers—and clients expected to get what they’d paid for, regardless.

  “Are any of your employees weirded-out about Jeri getting killed here in the building?” I asked.

  “Some,” Lourdes said. “But nobody is worried there’s a catering company employee murderer on the loose. Most of them let it roll off. They know Jeri was no saint.”

  “Because she was involved with a married man?” I asked.

  “Not everybody is okay with that sort of thing,” Lourdes told me.

  I got the impression that Lourdes was one of those people who wasn’t okay with it. I was one of those people also. I’ve got a thing about people being honest in their relationships.

  Even though we’d broken up, Ty Cameron flashed in my head—that still happened a lot. When he’d been my official boyfriend, I’d been a real stickler about not getting involved—no matter how slightly—with anyone else.

  Images of Ty lingered in my mind. I pushed hard to force them out.

  “Jeri always did what she wanted to do with no concern for anyone else,” Lourdes said. She stopped, as if she thought she’d said too much, and gestured to the portfolio in my lap. “Are there any questions I can answer about the Brannock party?”

  “I need to go over the menu with Cady,” I said. “Is she here today?”

  “Of course,” Lourdes said. “She’s in the kitchen.”

  Lourdes hadn’t exactly been mega-forthcoming with info on Jeri, but there was still something she could help me with.

  “One more thing,” I said. “One of the size extra-large leprechaun costumes wasn’t turned in. I need the contact info for the two guys who tried them on.”

  Lourdes hesitated, which didn’t suit me, so what could I do but push ahead with a total lie?

  “L.A. Affairs is responsible for the costumes,” I said. “It’s in our contract with the costume shop.”

  Lourdes stared at me. I could tell she didn’t really believe me.

  The important thing about telling a lie was to not oversell it. I sat there staring at Lourdes. I could almost see her brain working. Giving out confidential employee info could cause a problem, but offending me and possibly causing a dispute between L.A. Affairs and Maisie’s Costume Shop—two places essential to the success of Cady Faye’s Catering—would be a disaster.

  Lourdes turned to her computer. “Names?”

  I whipped out my cell phone and accessed Wendy’s text, and showed it to Lourdes. She clicked a few keys, and a sheet of paper glided out of the printer. She passed it across the desk to me.

  “Thank you,” I said, tucking it inside the portfolio, and struggling to suppress my I-won smile.

  I left her office. As I headed down the hallway, I spotted a young woman lingering nearby. She had on one of those white coats that a chef wears, and a funky red scarf covering her hair. I figured her for early twenties.

  “Excuse me,” she said quietly. “Is it okay if I talk to you?”

  I stopped. “Sure.”

  She glanced back toward Lourdes’ office. “Not here. Okay?”

  I followed her around a corner, then another corner. We stopped near the janitor’s closet. There wasn’t a lot of action in this part of the building, so we had the place pretty much to ourselves—but maybe that was because a little farther down the hallway yellow crime scene tape covered the door to the ice room.

  “My name is Sierra. I’ve worked here for a while,” she said quietly. “Look, I know Lourdes has been talking crap about Jeri, and I wanted you to know it’s not true.”

  “You and Jeri were friends?” I asked.

  She gave me a sad smile. “We’re in culinary school together. You know, the one in Pasadena. Faye’s really good about giving students a chance. She hired me a few months ago, so I told Jeri she should apply here, too. She did, but it wasn’t working out so well for her.”

  “Because Lourdes didn’t like her?” I asked.

  Sierra’s shoulder sagged and she shook her head. “I guess I shouldn’t have suggested it to Jeri. I knew Lourdes worked here but I didn’t think she disliked Jeri so much. I swear I didn’t.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Lourdes was struggling with some of her classes,” Sierra said. “But, I mean, who wasn’t? It’s not as easy as people think.”

  “Hang on a second,” I said. “Lourdes was in culinary school with you and Jeri?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Only Lourdes was having major money problems. She had to drop out. She kind of had it in for Jeri because Jeri was, you know, really great at everything, plus she got all kinds of scholarships that Lourdes thought she didn’t really need. Lourdes thought it robbed her of the money she could have used to stay in school.”

  “So it must have really ticked her off when Faye hired Jeri to work here,” I said.

  “Like you wouldn’t believe,” Sierra said. “She seemed to think Jeri was angling for her job, trying to take over. It didn’t help that Faye thought the world of Jeri.”

  I could understand how Lourdes must have felt. First, Jeri had been a stand-out in culinary school, eventually forcing her to drop out when Jeri got the scholarships Lourdes felt should have been hers. Then when she found a great job at Cady Faye, here comes Jeri, a darling in Faye’s eyes.

  “Despite what Lourdes says about her,” Sierra said, “Jeri is—was—a good person.”

  “Even though she was involved with a married man?” I asked.

  Okay, that was kind of crappy of me, but I wanted to get Sierra’s read on that whole thing.

  “They loved each other. Really,” Sierra insisted. “He was getting a divorce. Jeri confirmed it with her roommate who worked for the attorney who was handling everything. Her name is Molly. The lawyer is that Horowitz guy whose face is plastered on all the buses. You can ask her yourself, if you don’t believe me.”

  “So there’s no chance this had anything to do with Jeri’s death?” I asked.

  “No way,” Sierra said.

  “The guy she was involved with, he didn’t change his mind? Didn’t have a psycho wife? Kids who blamed Jeri for the breakup?” I asked.

  Sierra shook her head. “They didn’t have any kids. His wife was already involved with somebody else—they were getting a divorce before Jeri came along.”

  Damn. That pretty much destroyed my theory—and Detective Grayson’s—that Jeri’s death involved her married boyfriend.

  “So who do you think killed Jeri?” I asked.

  “There’s only person here who didn’t like Jeri,” Sierra said. “Lourdes.”

  Chapter 5

  Sierra went back to work and I stood outside the ice room for a few minutes thinking about what she’d told me. Lourdes, it seemed, had really disliked Jeri, maybe even hated her. But that situation had existed for a long time. Something major must have happened if Lourdes suddenly turned on Jeri and killed her.

  I had no idea what it could have been.

  I’d considered Cady a possible suspect also, since there was a question about her whereabouts during th
e time of the murder. But so far nobody had mentioned a problem between Cady and Jeri. Plus, Cady had had a serious melt-down when Lourdes had told her Jeri was dead.

  My major suspect was the giant leprechaun who’d run away so quickly he’d made a mad dash out of here in a costume. Hopefully, I could come up with a motive when I found him.

  I stared at the yellow tape crisscrossing the door to the ice room and thought about how Jeri had died. I’d seen a fresh scratch on her face, so obviously, there had been some sort of physical confrontation between her and her killer. Maybe it had started out small with an argument, then escalated. Things must have gotten crazy at that point because I’d seen that yucky dent in Jeri’s skull.

  Water had been pooled on the floor under the tank when I’d walked in and found Jeri, but there was no trail of water leading out the door. I wasn’t sure how that was possible, except that maybe the murderer had come prepared with some sort of bag to put wet clothing in after the deed was done.

  That made it premeditated. Whoever had done this to Jeri had put a lot of thought into it and had deliberately attacked, then drowned her.

  A really ugly picture popped into my head. I didn’t like it.

  I started walking, following the sounds of the hammers, electric saws and drills, and loud voices of the construction workers, and found my way to the space that was being remodeled next door. A dozen or so men were busy doing all sorts of things with all sorts of tools and equipment. The front door and rear doors were propped open.

  I knew the same thing was taking place on the other side of Cady Faye’s. Faye had told me she’d tripled their business in the last year. They needed triple the space—which, to me, meant even more ways for the murderer to escape unnoticed by the constructions workers intent on doing their jobs.

  Detective Grayson floated into my head. I wondered if he’d thought of these things, and figured that he must have. Still, it might be nice to compare notes with him—strictly in the line of duty, of course.

  I turned around and headed back, then followed my nose to the kitchen. It was a big room crowded with stoves, ovens, sinks, prep tables, and other equipment. A dozen or so workers wearing hairnets and plastic gloves were elbow-to-elbow preparing food.