I spotted Cady seated at a desk wedged into a tiny office at the rear of the room, and walked over. The place was a mess. File folders, magazines, and papers were stacked on every flat surface. Clothing was piled in a chair, shoes underneath. Print-outs, notes, and schedules were pinned to a giant bulletin board. Cady was crouched over her desk reading something.
“Hi, Cady,” I said.
She screamed—yes, actually screamed—and whirled around, throwing both arms in the air.
I noted that none of the workers came running, which made me think this wasn’t an unusual occurrence.
“Oh, it’s you,” Cady declared. She clasped both hands against her chest and drew in several huge breaths.
“Sorry,” I said, and stepped into the room.
“It’s okay,” Cady said, still heaving. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”
“Really?” I asked.
Her gaze darted around the room, then landed on me.
“No, I’m not fine,” she told me. “How could I be fine?”
Cady looked like she was going to lose it at any second.
I’m not good in that sort of situation.
“I wanted to discuss the menu for the Brannock party,” I said. “But I can come back later.”
“Oh, God,” Cady said. She pushed her hands through her hair and gave herself a shake. “Let’s do it now. Before Faye finds out and comes in here.”
Cady rifled through the stacks on her desk, knocking several folders into the floor, then finally came up with a single sheet of paper.
“Green,” she said, waving the paper in the air. “I’m making everything that’s green. Spinach, asparagus, lettuce, mint, pistachio. Any kind of food you can think of that’s green, I’m making it. And Irish. Irish beef stew, Irish soda bread, Irish corn chowder, Irish corned beef and cabbage. Green and Irish, green and Irish, green and Irish. I’ve got it, okay? Green and Irish.”
Lourdes had described Cady as artistic—which, apparently, was code for a complete emotional wreck. I’d talked with Cady before and, while she’d seemed a bit scattered, she’d never been this crazed.
I caught the paper Cady was waving over her head and looked at it. It was the list of food Nadine Brannock had suggested that I’d given to Cady on my initial visit weeks ago to discuss the event. Cady hadn’t expanded on anything or noted any comments on presentation. Not good.
Okay, now I was officially worried.
I knew expressing my concerns to Cady would be pointless, so I thanked her and headed for Faye’s office. She was seated at her desk when I walked in.
The green duffel bag Wendy and I had found in the employee lounge yesterday was sitting in the corner by a tall file cabinet. I guess it hadn’t been left behind, as I’d thought. I hadn’t pegged Faye for a sexy lingerie and black lacy teddy kind of gal, but obviously, I was wrong.
“What’s up with Cady?” I asked.
Faye looked lost. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I need you to shoot me straight, Faye. A lot is on the line here. I just saw Cady. She’s a mess. Does she need to see a doctor? Or maybe just go home until she can calm down?”
“Going home would serve no purpose,” Faye said. “Cady doesn’t have any children and that husband of hers would do more harm than good.”
Her gaze darted to one of the photos on her desk. Faye and Cady were posed side by side, flanked by two men. Their husbands, I figured.
“Let’s just say that Harry Wills’ primary interest in Cady is Cady Faye Catering,” Faye said.
Lourdes had mentioned there was trouble in Cady’s little corner of marital paradise, and it seemed that Faye’s opinion of her brother-in-law Harry confirmed it. I glanced at the pictures of Faye’s kids on her desk. Seemed family life had turned out very differently for the two sisters.
“Cady is really close to losing it,” I said. “Is it because of Jeri’s murder? Or is something else going on?”
“Oh, those detectives,” Faye muttered and tossed the pen she was holding onto her desk. “They were here again this morning asking more questions. It upset her.”
“Why were they asking Cady questions?” I asked.
“I have no idea. She wasn’t even here with it happened,” Faye said.
“Did she tell you what they wanted from her?” I asked.
“She wouldn’t discuss it. Typical Cady. Refusing to face anything head on. This whole thing is ridiculous. Jeri’s death was a tragic accident, not a murder.”
“What makes you so sure?” I asked.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Fay said. “Jeri went into the ice room looking for Cady, then somehow hit her head, fell into the water and drowned.”
Apparently, the police hadn’t told her about the scratches on Jeri’s face and the dent in her skull.
I saw no need to get into it with her.
“And I’m positive that nobody—absolutely nobody—who works here would murder a co-worker,” Faye said. “I don’t run that kind of company.”
“The police must have some sort of evidence,” I pointed out.
“And I have evidence, too,” Faye told me.
My senses jumped to high alert.
“Let me show you,” Faye said, and grabbed a DVD out of her desk drawer. “Come with me.”
I walked with her to the employee lounge. No one was inside. Faye switched on a television sitting on the counter that I hadn’t noticed before, and slid the DVD into the player.
“It’s the building’s surveillance tape from the day of Jeri’s death,” Faye explained. “The landlord gave it to the detectives, but he kept a copy for himself. Insurance reasons, he said. He brought it here and insisted I watch it to prove that his complex is safe.”
Faye pressed a button and the TV came alive with grainy black and white footage. It was a split-screen format, displaying views of the front and rear parking lots.
“Are these the only angles you have?” I asked.
“Some of the security cameras are off-line because of the construction,” Faye said. She fast-forwarded the DVD. “This is shortly before Jeri died.”
I glanced at the date and time stamp at the bottom of the screen, then studied the front parking lot. The stores in the shopping center formed a big “U” with parking spaces in the middle. The security camera that captured this footage must have been mounted near Cady Faye Catering because its field of view didn’t show the caterer’s storefront, the traffic lanes in front of it, or the first few rows of parking spaces, just a large area of the parking lot and a section of stores directly across from Cady Faye Catering.
The shopping center was busy. Lots of vehicles were coming and going. People flowed in and out of the stores.
“There,” Faye said, pointing at the television screen. “See that Mercedes? It’s just like Cady’s, which explains why someone thought she was here when she wasn’t.”
The film was too grainy to see the license plate, but it was definitely a light colored Mercedes.
“And look,” Faye said. “There’s another one.”
Both of the cars were too far away to get a view of the driver and any passengers who might be inside, but Faye had a point—a Mercedes similar to Cady’s in the parking lot wasn’t unusual.
A line of vehicles followed the Mercedes. They moved into the frame as they drove down one of the aisles, circled to the next aisle, then disappeared out of the picture. My breath caught when I realized that one of the vehicles was a black Land Rover—Jack Bishop’s Land Rover.
My heart did a little pitter-patter—that happens a lot where Jack is concerned—and it took a few seconds for me to focus on the screen again. Then it hit me—where was my car? I’d pulled into the parking lot as Jack was leaving. Why hadn’t I seen myself in the footage? I realized then that the entrance/exit to the shopping center wasn’t covered by the security camera.
I turned my attention to the other half of the split-screen and saw, a few minutes later, my Honda pull into the parking lot at
the rear of the building. The angle of the camera caught only a portion of my car.
“There’s a lot of the building and parking lot that isn’t covered by the footage,” I said.
“Just wait,” Faye said. “You’ll see what I’m talking about.
I did as she asked and watched the screen. Minutes ticked by. At the rear of the building the Cady Faye Catering delivery van that had been backed up to the double doors drove away. Other cars pulled out. Vehicles kept rolling into the front lot, swinging into spaces. Shoppers made their way to the stores while others hoofed it to their cars, some carrying bags, got in, backed out, and drove away.
The security camera hadn’t caught them, but black and white patrol units had pulled into the lot at some point, followed by a Crown Vic driven by Detectives Grayson and Elliston.
Jack Bishop’s black Land Rover pulled into the front parking lot again. My heart did its usual pitter-patter—but for a different reason this time.
Jack had driven back to the shopping center? Why?
As I watched, he pulled into a space near the dry cleaners.
Okay, that was weird.
Of course, there could be a number of reasons why Jack would return to the shopping center. Maybe his dry cleaning hadn’t been ready when he’d been in earlier. Maybe he’d forgotten something inside one of the stores he’d visited. Perhaps he was just looking for a spot to make a cell phone call.
Or perhaps he’d seen the flashing lights on the patrol cars and pulled in to see what was going down. Maybe he was just killing time. It didn’t sound likely, but I guess even look-at-me-I’m-really-cool private detectives could have a slow day.
Another few minutes ticked by. Jack didn’t get out of his Land Rover. Finally, he backed up and followed a gray Honda Pilot out of camera range.
I glanced at the date and time stamp on the screen and realized that while Jack was sitting in the parking lot, I’d been waiting inside Cady Faye Catering to talk to the homicide detectives, only to have my eventual interview interrupted by Cady’s arrival and the screaming fit she’d thrown upon learning about Jeri’s death.
I realized, too, that the security camera hadn’t caught her Mercedes as it had pulled into the parking lot.
“See?” Faye said. “Nothing unusual is going on.”
“There isn’t much on these tapes,” I pointed out.
“Exactly,” Faye declared. “If someone had actually murdered Jeri, wouldn’t we see some sign of it outside? Somewhere on this footage? But there’s nothing, no indication at all that a crime was committed.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
Faye gestured at the TV. “Nobody is running away. No cars are speeding off. No vehicles are racing through the parking lot—front or back. Nobody is jumping into a waiting car and tearing out of here.”
There was also no sign of a giant leprechaun leaving the building.
“Everything is calm. Nobody is panicked,” Faye said. She drew in a breath. “Which means there was no murder.”
I thought that was a big leap to make, but Faye didn’t give me a chance to say so.
“Those detectives are overzealous,” she declared. “They’re seeing a crime where one simply doesn’t exist. And in the process they’re threatening to damage the reputation of my company. I won’t have it. Not after everything I’ve put into this place.”
Faye popped the DVD out of the tray and switched off the television.
“Don’t worry about Cady,” she told me. “She will have the food prepared for the Brannocks’ party. Everything will be beautifully presented, delicious, and more than you or your clients could hope for.”
Faye left and I stood there in the employee lounge thinking. A lot was going on in my head, but one thing was perfectly clear.
I had to talk to Jack Bishop.
Chapter 6
As soon as I got into my car outside of Cady Faye Catering I called Jack’s cell phone. He didn’t answer so I left a message asking him to call me right away. Then I pulled the paper from my portfolio that Lourdes had printed out for me with the contact info for the two extra-large servers, picked one of them, and punched his address into my cell phone.
GPS took me to the 101 freeway. I headed east, then transitioned south onto the 405 and exited on Sunset Boulevard toward UCLA. Many apartment buildings surrounded the campus. I found the one where extra-large, possible-costume-thief-and-murderer Colby Harmon lived off Hilgard Avenue, and squeezed my Honda into a spot at the curb.
Like everything else in the area, the building was well maintained and surrounded by palm trees, shrubbery, and flowering plants. It looked great—on the outside. Since I suspected the building was occupied mostly by students, I doubted the interior would be as nice.
I followed the signs around the building, went through a door that had been propped open, and found apartment 112. The place had a barebones, industrial look to it. Music pounded from behind a closed door and voices floated down the stairwell from the upper floors. Something in here didn’t smell so great.
I knocked on Colby’s door. It opened right away.
“Hey! How’s it going?” he greeted.
Colby was extra-large, all right. Tall, blonde, big shoulders, early twenties, and kind of cute. He had on a stretched-out T-shirt and shorts, and was holding a beer.
On the drive over I’d thought about how to play this and had come up with a couple of scenarios. After all, this guy was possibly a murderer, one of my definite he-probably-did-it suspects. I had to be ready for anything.
But seeing Colby leaning against the door giving me a goofy life-is-great smile, I decided to take the most direct route.
“I’m here to pick up the costume,” I said.
“Well, hey, great! Come on in!” Colby stepped back and swung the door open wide.
Wow, could it be this easy? Colby seemed very cooperative—and a little drunk—so I was sure I could get any information out of him that I wanted, namely a confession to Jeri’s murder. I envisioned myself giving Dan Grayson a phone call and announcing that I’d solved the case.
Cool.
I walked inside. From the tiny entryway I could see the living room. It was cluttered with pizza boxes, take-out cartons, paper plates, fast-food bags and wrappers, and beer cans.
Something smelled really bad in here.
“Where’s the costume?” I asked, since I wasn’t all that excited about searching the place.
“What costume?” Colby asked, and tipped up his beer.
“The leprechaun costume,” I said. “The one from Maisie’s Costume Shop you wore when you left Cady Faye Catering.”
Colby frowned, as if he were thinking hard, then said, “Want a beer?”
“No,” I said.
“Okay, come on in the kitchen.”
Good grief.
I followed as Colby ambled down the short hallway into the kitchen. Yikes! The trashcan overflowed and the sink was filled with dirty dishes. Something really creepy looking was crusted on the stove and counter tops.
Colby opened the fridge—I didn’t dare look inside—studied it for a while, then turned back to me and said, “Hey. Want a beer?”
“Look, I’m here to get the costume,” I told him. “The leprechaun costume you stole from Cady Faye Catering yesterday.”
Colby frowned again and squeezed his eyes shut, causing him to sway for a bit, then he looked at me again.
“A leprechaun costume? I stole a leprechaun costume?” He threw back his head and laughed. “That’s killer, man. Hey, I can wear it to a St. Patrick’s Day party, huh? Do I—do I really have a leprechaun costume?”
I was beginning to doubt it.
Suddenly, the next name on Lourdes’ printout looked very promising. I headed for the door.
“Hey, want a beer?” Colby called.
* * *
His name was Tanner Stephens and he lived in one of Sherman Oaks’ less desirable apartment complexes. I found the location easily enough, parked
and went inside. The building retained its weren’t-the-‘80s-great vibe, but it was clean and quiet.
I found his apartment on the second floor and rang the doorbell. Nobody answered so I rang it again. Eventually, I heard muffled noises from inside, and the door opened slowly. An extra-large guy with close-cropped brown hair, dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt, looked out at me. I figured him for mid-twenties.
“Tanner Stephens?” I asked.
He glanced up and down the hallway, then looked at me.
“That’s me,” he said quietly.
Okay, he looked like a nice guy, but he definitely seemed weirded-out. Was it because he’d killed Jeri?
I should be so lucky. Once more I flashed on calling Detective Grayson and making him leprechaun-green with envy that I’d solved the case before he did.
“I’m here to pick up the costume,” I said.
Tanner drew back a little. “They really sent somebody for it?”
Oh my God. This guy had the costume. Had I found my murder suspect?
My heart beat a little faster. I didn’t want to spook him and have him run off before I got to call Dan and gloat. I forced myself to play it cool.
“Haley Randolph. I’m the costume police.”
I did look very official in my awesome black business suit I’d expertly complemented with white and gray accessories, and teamed with a no-nonsense black-and-white checked Kate Spade satchel.
“I can explain,” he said. “I just—wait, come inside.”
Tanner stood back and I walked in. I didn’t feel so great about going into the apartment of a possible murderer, but what choice did I have?
His place was small and decorated with what looked like yard sale treasures. The living room held a futon, a couple of chairs, crates that served as bookshelves, and a big computer desk.
Nothing smelled funny.
“Please, sit down,” he said, motioning me toward a futon.
I sat and he dropped next to me.
“I admit I took the costume,” he said. “But I wasn’t stealing it. Why would I want a leprechaun costume?”
Duffel Bags And Drownings Page 5
