Duffel Bags And Drownings

by Howell, Dorothy

  He had a point.

  “Look, I had to get out of there,” Tanner said. “As soon as I heard that girl had been found dead, I had to take off.”

  My senses jumped to high alert. Was Tanner about to confess?

  Mentally, I rehearsed my I-solved-the-murder chant for Dan and his partner, and considered adding a Snoopy happy dance and a booty-pop or two.

  “Did you kill her?” I asked.

  “No,” Tanner said. He pulled back and looked stunned. “No. God, no. I didn’t kill her. I didn’t even know her.”

  “You have to admit that taking off dressed in a leprechaun costume makes you look guilty,” I pointed out.

  He nodded. “Yes, I realize that. But you have to see it from my point of view. I’m almost finished with school and I’m trying to get a job at JPL, the Jet Propulsion Lab near Pasadena. I’ll need a security clearance. I couldn’t take a chance that hanging around, getting questioned by the police might screw that up, somehow.”

  I definitely understood his problem, but I wasn’t willing to let it go so quickly.

  “Did you have anything to do with Jeri’s death?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “I work all kind of jobs. Anything, really, to bring in some money. I’ve worked for that catering company a couple of times, setting up, serving food, bartending sometimes. But I don’t really know anybody there.”

  He sounded sincere and his story made sense. I believed him.

  “Did you see anything suspicious going on?” I asked.

  Tanner thought for a couple of seconds, then said, “Nothing unusual.”

  “Have the police contacted you?” I asked.

  “No,” Tanner said. “I figured they might track me down, somehow, but they haven’t shown up. Just you.”

  It was kind of cool knowing I’d tracked down a lead that the detectives had missed. For a few seconds I considered telling them—just for the sake of full disclosure and not because I wanted to throw it in their faces, of course—then decided that I didn’t want to be responsible for blowing Tanner’s big chance at a job at JPL.

  I headed for the door.

  “Do you want the costume?” Tanner asked.

  “Wear it to the event,” I said, and left.

  * * *

  As soon as I arrived at L.A. Affairs and walked down the hallway toward my office, I spotted Kayla. Her gaze homed in on me like a couple of line-of-sight laser beams.

  “Run!” she exclaimed.

  I went into total panic mode.

  Oh my God, were Detectives Elliston and Grayson here? Were they waiting for me? Did they intend to arrest me?

  Kayla rushed to me, grabbed my arm, and pulled me into the photocopy room. She slammed the door and fell back against it.

  “You’ve got to keep out of sight,” she told me, in a low voice. “Don’t let Edie and Priscilla know you’re in the office.”

  I went into total double-panic mode.

  Edie and Priscilla must have finished their review of each planner’s workload and decided to let someone go—and it was me. Oh my God, they were going to fire me?

  Kayla opened the door a crack, peeked out, then turned to me again.

  “It’s worse than we thought,” she said.

  Yikes! Did that mean Edie and Priscilla had decided to fire several people?

  “It’s the Daughters of the Southland,” Kayla told me.

  Okay, now I was really confused.

  “Who are they?” I asked.

  “Some organization of old ladies who like to make everybody’s life miserable. Every year they come to us to plan their annual luncheon,” Kayla said, her voice rising slightly. “And they’re horrible. Terrible. Absolutely awful.”

  She must have read my what-the-heck-look because she kept talking.

  “The Daughters of the Southland are old. I mean, really old, like in their fifties and sixties—some of them are even older,” Kayla said. “And every one of them is cranky and crabby. They can’t agree on anything. They’re always changing their minds, calling us, wanting this, wanting that. Then, another one of them will call and insist on something totally different. They bicker and argue and make life hell for whoever is planning their event. It’s so bad nobody here wants to work with them.”

  “That’s what Edie and Priscilla have been doing behind closed doors?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Kayla said. “They know none of us can stand to be in the same room with those crazy old ladies, so now they’re forcing somebody to take on the event.”

  Oh my God. This was almost worse than thinking Edie and Priscilla were going to fire me—or that Detectives Elliston and Grayson were going to arrest me.

  “Who are they assigning the event to?” I asked.

  “I haven’t heard,” Kayla said. “Just try to avoid Edie and Priscilla.”

  “No problem,” I said.

  Kayla opened the door, checked the hallway, and we both hurried to our offices.

  Since I didn’t want to run the risk that Edie or Priscilla might spot me in the hallway or breakroom and assign me to that dreadful event, I was forced to stay in my office and do actual work.

  I still hadn’t heard back from Jack Bishop. I needed to find out why I’d seen his Land Rover in the surveillance video outside Cady Faye Catering twice, around the time of Jeri’s murder. Of course, I knew there could be for a perfectly innocent reason or perhaps just a coincidence, but I doubted it. I called him again and left another message.

  The afternoon dragged on. I only got through it by focusing on meeting tonight with Marcie at The Grove, one of our favorite shopping centers, to hunt down the new Flirtatious satchel. Shortly before my official quitting time—okay, really it was 45 minutes early—I shifted into stealth-mode and left the office undetected.

  On the drive, I couldn’t help thinking that with the two extra-large servers off my list, I was getting low on murder suspects. I pulled into the parking garage and circled up to the third level, then swung into a spot near the elevators.

  Marcie was going to meet me at Nordstrom, but I wanted to take another shot at talking to Jack Bishop before we began our Flirtatious search. I walked to a railing that overlooked shopping center, pulled out my phone and called Jack.

  The view from this spot was awesome. The sun was setting, painting the sky in a dozen shades of gray and blue. In the distance were high-rise office buildings. Stretched out to my right were shops and stores, and immediately below me was an Italian restaurant’s second-story balcony. A few tables were set up in the secluded dining area and were covered with snowy white linens; china and crystal sparkled beneath the twinkle lights.

  Only one table was occupied. A man sat there alone, though the table was set for two. He had on a dark suit. His hair was a light brown. Even though he was seated I could tell he was tall with an athletic build.

  From my angle above him I couldn’t see his face but something about him looked familiar. He drummed his fingers on the table, shifted in his chair, pushed his hand through his hair, then—

  My heart slammed against my ribs.

  Oh my God. It was Ty, my official—former—official boyfriend.

  I swayed against the railing. We’d broken up and it was over between us. Really. We’d seen each other only a couple of times, and it hadn’t gone well, but still.

  An image flashed in my head, taking my breath away: what if he was sitting at the table waiting for his date to show up?

  I didn’t know how I’d bear to see him jump up from his seat as she approached, greet her, probably kiss her. My whole body ached at the thought.

  No way could I stand here and watch that happen.

  I turned to go, then saw Ty rise from his chair. A man approached. They shook hands, then sat down.

  Business, I realized. It was only a business meeting.

  Marcie always said she doubted things would ever be over between Ty and me. I hadn’t believed her.

  But maybe, just maybe, she was right.


  Chapter 7

  As I headed through the parking garage toward the elevators the next morning, my cell phone rang. Kayla’s name appeared on the caller I.D. screen.

  Not a great way to start my day.

  A phone call from Kayla when I was only minutes from arriving at L.A. Affairs could only mean that something major had gone down this morning—already.

  Jeez, what now?

  Really, I had enough on my mind. That whole thing with seeing Ty last night at The Grove was still bouncing around in my head. I’d told Marcie about it—as a BFF would—and she’d been sympathetic and understanding. She’d also told me that Ty and I would probably never be done with each other—which was also something a BFF would do, only this time it was kind of annoying.

  I didn’t want her to be right.

  Our evening had ended on a high note when we’d gone into Nordstrom and—yahoo!—found that a friend of Marcie’s had just gotten a sales clerk job there. She’d confided that another shipment of the totally awesome Flirtatious satchel was expected in a day or so, and promised to hold back two of them for Marcie and me—making her, of course, our new BFF.

  I was tempted to ignore my ringing cell phone—it’s hard to face a problem before my first cup of breakroom coffee—but Kayla wouldn’t be calling me so early if it weren’t important. I hit the green button and answered.

  “Something major is going down,” Kayla said in a low voice.

  I pictured her crouched under her desk, cupping her hand over her phone.

  “I just heard that Edie and Priscilla have decided who’s going to handle the annual luncheon for the Daughters of the Southland,” Kayla whispered.

  “Is it me?” I asked.

  Okay, I guess it was kind of crappy to think of myself first but, jeez, it was early.

  “I don’t know,” Kayla said. “I’m telling you, Haley, working with these grouchy, cantankerous old women is a death sentence. You’ll end up as gray-haired and wrinkled as they are.”

  That wasn’t a look I was going for.

  “If Edie and Priscilla stick you with this event, you can still try to get out of doing it—and you should,” Kayla said.

  I wasn’t worried. I have excellent I-can-get-out-of-anything skills.

  “Thanks for the heads-up,” I said, and ended the call.

  Just as I was about to drop my phone into my handbag—a Gucci tote I’d paired with my killer gray suit and crisp white accessories—it rang again. Jack Bishop’s name flashed on the screen.

  I wasn’t in the best mood this morning—thanks to that whole Ty thing and those horrible Daughters of the Whatever that Edie and Priscilla might try to stick me with—and it kind of annoyed me that he’d taken so long to get back to me—which wasn’t reasonable but there it was.

  “Where have you been?” I barked, when I answered the phone.

  “Miss me?” Jack asked.

  Oh my God, he was using his Barry White voice. I’m totally helpless against his Barry White voice.

  Still, I pushed on.

  “You might want to start returning your calls,” I told him. “You could want a call-back one day when you need to find me for something.”

  “I can always find you,” Jack said.

  He sounded so sure of himself—which was totally hot, of course—but it annoyed me.

  “Yeah?” I asked. “Like you’re such a fabulous detective?”

  “Turn around.”

  Oh, crap.

  I whirled around and spotted Jack leaning against a support pillar, looking awesome in jeans, CAT boots, and a black polo shirt—and way too sure of himself.

  He walked toward me and tucked away his cell phone with a casual flip of his wrist. He was early thirties, tall with dark hair, a good build, and a killer grin.

  I melted a little—but, jeez, I hadn’t had my first cup of coffee yet.

  Anyone in my position would have done the same thing.

  “So what’s up?” he asked, stopping in front of me.

  It took me a few seconds to recall why I’d thrown a kind-of-sort-of fit about trying to contact him, and I finally said, “What were you doing cruising through that shopping center on Ventura two days ago?”

  “You were following me?” Jack grinned.

  Like I could be such a good P.I. he wouldn’t know I was tailing him. Something to shoot for, I guess.

  “I was at Cady Faye Catering,” I said. “I’m coordinating a St. Patrick’s Day party for a Hollywood couple, the Brannocks. Cady Faye is handling the food.”

  Jack tilted his head. “You were desperate to contact me so you could hand-deliver my invitation?”

  “What were you doing there?” I asked.

  Jack shrugged. “Working a case. A rather nasty divorce.”

  I resisted the urge to do a nah-nah-nah-I’m-working-a-murder, and said, “You were following someone?”

  “My client suspects her husband is involved with another woman. I was confirming it for her,” Jack said.

  Jeri’s married boyfriend popped into my head and, for a few seconds, I wondered if it was his wife who’d hired Jack. Then I remembered that Sierra had told me the soon-to-be ex-wife was already involved with someone else. Still, she could have had a change of heart.

  “Does your case involve Jeri Sutton?” I asked.

  Jack wouldn’t easily give up info in an investigation, but I knew he’d tell me if it were important.

  “Jeri was killed inside Cady Faye Catering,” I said. “I saw your Land Rover on the surveillance video.”

  Jack tensed. “You’re not investigating the case, are you?”

  His chest puffed out and his shoulders squared, so I figured he already knew I was involved. But no way was I getting into it with him—not this early in the morning—so what could I do but lie?

  “No,” I insisted.

  His eyes narrowed, as if he thought I wasn’t telling the truth, so what could I do but amp up my lie?

  “The employees at Cady Faye are worried about their safety,” I said. “I thought maybe you saw something when you were in the parking lot.”

  Jack’s gaze lingered on me for a few more seconds—but not in a good way—and finally he said, “What happened?”

  I gave him a rundown of what I knew, leaving out everything about how I was actually investigating the murder.

  Jack shook his head. “There’s no connection with your murder victim.”

  “But the guy you were following was cheating?” I asked.

  “He was cheating,” Jack said.

  I’d hoped for a red hot lead that would take me to Jeri’s murderer but it seemed that another of my theories had fizzled.

  “Stay out of this,” Jack told me. I didn’t promise that I would—Jack wouldn’t have believed me anyway. I said good-bye and took the elevator up to L.A. Affairs.

  The office was unusually quiet—I guess all the planners were lying low, afraid Edie or Priscilla would capture them in the hallway and give them that dreadful event to handle—so I went to the breakroom. No one else was there. I made myself a cup of coffee—which took no time at all, oddly enough—and went to my office.

  I was disappointed that Jack hadn’t been any help with my investigation into Jeri’s murder, but I still had another source of information I could turn to.

  Sierra, who worked at Cady Faye Catering and had been in culinary school with both Jeri and Lourdes, had told me that an attorney named Horowitz was handling the divorce of Jeri’s married boyfriend, and that Jeri’s roommate who worked in his office could confirm everything. Since I didn’t have much else to go on, I decided to check her out.

  I spent a couple of hours doing some actual work, then looked up the attorney on the Internet, gathered my things and headed out.

  * * *

  The office of attorney Rowland Horowitz was located on Alameda Avenue in Burbank. It was an older, one-story stucco building that looked as if it had been there for a while. I parked in the rear and went inside.
/>   The reception area was small with hardwood floors, nice furniture, a year’s worth of magazines on a side table, and a little glass window where the receptionist sat. Nobody was waiting. The place was silent. I figured most everybody was out for lunch.

  Sierra had told me that Jeri’s roommate was named Molly. The girl behind the glass could definitely have been a Molly. She was about my age, with red hair she’d styled in a ponytail.

  She looked like an open, honest person, not someone who’d hold back the info I was after concerning Jeri’s married boyfriend who, hopefully, had a psycho wife that might have attacked and killed Jeri.

  I mean that in the nicest way.

  “Hi,” I said, and introduced myself as I approached the window. “Are you Molly? Sierra said I should talk to you. It’s about Jeri.”

  She gasped and pressed her palms to her cheeks.

  “I can’t believe that happened to Jeri. Getting killed like that, at the place she loved,” she whispered. “She was so nice. I mean, really nice. The best roommate ever.”

  “Everybody says that about Jeri,” I agreed. “Well, except for some people at the catering company.”

  Molly frowned. “I know. That one girl there, what was her name, Lourdes? Jeri told me all about her.”

  “Some people were talking crap about Jeri because her boyfriend was still married,” I said.

  “They shouldn’t say those things about Jeri and him,” Molly told me. “He was definitely getting a divorce—not that he wanted one, to start with. His wife was cheating on him. But he was totally onboard with ending it. Mr. Horowitz is handling the whole thing.”

  “So there wasn’t a future ex-wife in the picture who might have had it in for Jeri?” I asked.

  Molly gasped and her eyes widened. “No way. Absolutely not.”

  Okay, so my theory hadn’t panned out.

  “I can’t believe people are saying those things.” Molly seemed angry now. “Well, fine. If the place goes out of business like Jeri thought it might, I guess they have it coming.”

  According to Fay, business had tripled in the last year. I’d seen for myself that they were expanding into the two storefronts that bordered their current location.

  Still, an oh-no vibe shook me. If Cady Faye Catering went under, they’d better hang on long enough to complete my St. Patrick’s Day party for the Brannocks or I’d be in major trouble.