Duffel Bags And Drownings

by Howell, Dorothy

  “Why would Jeri think Cady Faye would go out of business?” I asked.

  Molly pressed her lips together and her cheeks turned pink. “Oh, well, you know, there were problems—but every place has problems. Right?”

  That was a lame answer. But I figured Molly had decided she’d said enough so I didn’t push it. I’d gotten the information I’d come here for—even if it wasn’t all that helpful in finding a killer.

  “So, you need a divorce, too?” she asked.

  Her question took me surprise, though it would have been a great cover for coming here to talk to her.

  Wish I’d thought of it.

  “Me?” I asked. “No.”

  “Oh, I just thought that since you knew about Jeri and everything that was going on at the catering company with—” Molly stopped. “Well, never mind. Sorry. Listen, I’ve got to get back to work.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  I left the office and headed for my car with the distinct feeling that Molly had been holding back on me. But was it something important?

  I couldn’t be sure.

  Chapter 8

  “It’s all b.s.,” Bella mumbled. “You ask me, it’s nothing but b.s.”

  “What’s b.s.?” I asked, though I was more focused on the latest issue of People I was flipping through.

  We were seated in the breakroom of Holt’s Department Store. So far Bella and I had stretched our fifteen-minute break to twenty minutes—nice, but nowhere near our record.

  Other employees came in, chatting, heating their food in the microwave or getting a snack from the vending machine. Someone had decorated the place with paper leprechauns, pots of gold, rainbows, and Irish flags.

  I’d blown off my shifts at Holt’s for the last two nights, but couldn’t do it again. Sad as it was, I needed this job—at least until my probation was up at L.A. Affairs.

  “All of it,” Bella said. “All of it is nothing but b.s.”

  Bella—coffee to my vanilla—had been talking for a while now about something. I wasn’t sure what, exactly, because I’d drifted off. This in no way affected our status as BFFs at Holt’s. We’d worked together long enough to understand each other, as only BFFs can.

  I’d picked up a word or two in her rant about the price of getting a good education. Bella intended to be a hairdresser to the stars and was working here to save for beauty school. In the meantime, she practiced on herself. Tonight, in what I could only think was an ode to the Irish, she’d fashioned her hair into the shape of a shamrock atop her head.

  The breakroom door swung open and Sandy, another of my BFFs here at Holt’s, walked in. Sandy was about my age, blonde, really cute, and had a boyfriend who should have been smothered at birth. She met him on the Internet and he routinely treated her like crap, something everyone but Sandy could easily see.

  “Hey, how’s it going?” Sandy said, getting a soda from the vending machine. She sat down at the table with us. “Can one of you give me a ride home tonight?”

  “Something happen to your car?” Bella asked.

  “No, my car is great,” Sandy said. “My boyfriend’s car broke down.”

  “I’m not taking that dirt bag anywhere,” Bella told her.

  “Dump him,” I said, for about the millionth time. “He’s a loser.”

  “He isn’t a loser,” Sandy said. “He’s an artist.”

  “He does tattoos,” I said.

  “That’s art, Haley,” she insisted. “Anyway, we’re kind of in limbo right now.”

  “Let me guess,” Bella said. “That’s his idea.”

  “Well, yeah,” Sandy admitted. “Last night he called me because his car broke down and he wanted me to pick him up.”

  “So I guess you dropped everything and ran to get him?” I asked.

  “I had to,” Sandy said. “He was with someone and she had to get to work.”

  “She?” Bella’s eyes bugged out. “He was out with another girl and he called you to pick them up?”

  “And you did it?” I asked.

  “Well, she had to get to work,” Sandy pointed out. “But he says that just proves how much he cares for me.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Bella asked.

  Honestly, I was lost here, too.

  Sandy seemed clear on everything, however, and said, “Don’t you see? He lied to that other girl about being involved with someone else—me. But he told me the truth. He didn’t even make up a big story or anything—like she was his cousin, or something—when I picked them up. He says that just proves he holds me in a much higher regard than her.”

  “Lord have mercy,” Bella moaned, shaking her head.

  “So why do you need a ride home tonight?” I asked,

  “Because he needs my car,” Sandy said.

  “But he couldn’t pick you up after work?” I asked.

  “He has a date,” Sandy said.

  “I’m out of here.” Bella headed for the door.

  I was about to sprint out behind her when the door swung open and Rita, the cashiers’ supervisor, stormed in. She was about as wide as she was tall, and always wore stretch pants and a shirt with a farm animal on it. Tonight, it was a cow being ridden by a leprechaun.

  “Break time is over, princess,” she barked at me.

  I hated Rita. In fact, I double-hated her, triple-hated her, and now simply hated her to infinity.

  I’m pretty sure she felt the same way about me.

  I got up and dumped my trash, then walked out of the breakroom without so much as a glimpse in her direction.

  My little corner of retail purgatory tonight was the housewares department. I was okay working there because I could slip into the stock room often, pretending to look for something for a customer.

  I mean, really, just because you had a job, did that mean you had to actually work? Personally, I saw little correlation between the two.

  I spotted an old couple near the pots and pans looking confused, as if they needed help, and my own brand of customer service immediately took over. I whipped around to head in the opposite direction and ran smack into someone.

  Yikes! I jumped back, then looked up.

  Oh, crap.

  It was Detective Dan Grayson

  How had he sneaked up on me like that? I have excellent avoidance skills. Was he really stealthier than me? Jeez, how annoying.

  Then it hit me—why was he here? Whatever the reason, I figured it couldn’t be good for me.

  “I can’t talk now,” I told him in what I hoped was my most serious I’m-dedicated-to-my-job voice.

  I guess I didn’t pull it off very well because he shifted closer and said, “What I have to say won’t take long.”

  I hoped his short statement wouldn’t include the words “under” and “arrest.”

  “I understand you’re working for the costume police,” Dan said.

  Oh, crap. That’s the stupid excuse I’d given those extra-large guys when I’d gone to question them about Jeri’s murder.

  Still, I wasn’t going to stand here and let Dan Grayson get the upper hand. I gazed up at him trying for a combined look of innocence and nonchalance—which would have been a heck of a lot easier if he didn’t have those gorgeous blue eyes—but he seemed totally immune.

  Damn. I hate it when that happens.

  “What were you doing questioning a suspect?” he asked. He held up his hand to silence me as if he thought I’d deny it, which was true but insulting just the same. “I talked to them both a few minutes ago. They told me you were there.”

  “What took you so long?” I asked. “I was on to that lead ages ago.”

  I’d hoped to distract him from discussing my involvement in Jeri’s investigation, but he wasn’t having it.

  “On the day of the murder,” Dan said, “did you see Cady Wills arrive at the catering company?”

  Okay, this was a totally lame thing to ask me. He knew very well that I’d seen Cady’s arrival because he was there when sh
e’d walked in and had a total meltdown after Lourdes told her about Jeri.

  “I saw her come in at the same time you did,” I told him.

  “Not before?” he asked.

  Okay, now I got it.

  “Several people had mentioned they thought they’d seen Cady earlier,” I said. “But I didn’t see her.”

  Dan nodded and, for some reason, I felt disappointed that I hadn’t come up with some fabulous new info that would break the case wide open for him.

  I wished I had a lead or some evidence to share with him, but I didn’t. Everything I’d turned up so far had gone nowhere. All I had was suspicion and some unrelated loose ends.

  “Have you uncovered anything,” Dan asked, and gave me a little grin, “in your job as the costume police?”

  I grinned back—I couldn’t help it. He had one of those grins.

  “Nothing,” I said. “How about you? Want to share something?”

  His grin morphed into something totally different, and I got the impression he wasn’t thinking about Jeri’s homicide investigation.

  It made me forget about the case, too.

  He was giving off an I’m-going-to-ask-you-out vibe—which, hopefully, I wasn’t confusing with an I-still-think-you-might-be-a-suspect vibe—but he didn’t say anything. We shared a long, smoldering middle-school moment, then both of us seemed to come to our senses at the same time.

  “Maybe when this case is closed?” Dan asked.

  “Maybe,” I said.

  He gave me another little sideways grin which, in turn, caused my heart to do a weird little skip. But when he walked away I wasn’t thinking about my erratic heartbeat. I was thinking about Cady.

  Apparently, Dan considered her a suspect in Jeri’s death.

  But why?

  * * *

  “Something major just went down,” Kayla told me. “Have you heard?”

  I hadn’t but, of course, I wanted to—but only if it was something good, which I doubted, given the way my week had gone so far.

  We were walking through the hallway at L.A. Affairs. I’d just arrived—a few minutes late but oh well—and was headed for a rendezvous with a desperately needed first cup of coffee in the breakroom. Kayla, who always got there early, seemed wired already.

  “Priscilla assigned the Daughters of the Southland luncheon this morning first thing,” Kayla said. “She hired a new girl and stuck her with it.”

  I was in no mood to be toyed with.

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “Positive,” Kayla told me. She heaved a sigh of relief. “Looks like we’re in the clear.”

  She headed back the other way and I kept walking toward the breakroom.

  This was definitely good news—on a day when I could use some. The Brannocks’ St. Patrick’s Day party was this evening. Everything was pretty much done—I’m actually darn good at this job—but there were always a few last minute things to handle and, of course, a snag or two to deal with. Today’s possible snag was Cady Faye Catering.

  “Haley?”

  I heard Priscilla call my name as I passed her office. My Holt’s training immediately took over. I found another gear and walked faster.

  “Haley?” she called again. “Haley!”

  There was really no place I could escape Priscilla—this works much better when there’s a stockroom to hide in—so I stopped and turned around, as if I hadn’t heard her call my name three times already.

  Priscilla hurried toward me looking a bit grim. I flashed on the possibility that Kayla had been wrong and that Priscilla was about to assign the Daughter of Southland’s luncheon to me. Immediately, I mustered my I-can-get-out-of-this brain cells—not easy without the benefit of a mocha frappuccino from Starbucks, a Snickers bar, or a cup of coffee.

  “I need to check with you about the Brannock party today,” Priscilla said, in a low voice. “Is Cady Faye Catering handling everything to our standards?”

  Yikes! This might be worse than getting stuck with that dreadful old ladies’ luncheon. I’d convinced Priscilla to let me use Cady Faye. No way did I want her to know I was worried about their work—not with my probation period nearly over.

  “Great,” I lied—what else could I do? “Everything is great.”

  “Excellent.” Priscilla smiled. “Now that I have your recommendation, I’m going to let all the other planners know Cady Faye Catering is on our list of approved vendors. I’ll announce it at our next weekly office meeting—and I’ll let everyone know you discovered them.”

  Oh, crap.

  “Keep up the good work, Haley,” Priscilla said, and headed back down the hallway.

  If Cady Faye Catering screwed up this event today it would look bad, really bad, on me. I couldn’t let that happen. I grabbed the Brannocks’ portfolio out of my office and left.

  Chapter 9

  Of course, the food for the Brannock’s party wasn’t my only problem. Jeri had been murdered at the Cady Faye Catering location, which meant there was a good possibility that somebody who worked for the company had killed her—and that person just might also be working at the Brannocks’ party tonight.

  I hit the Starbucks drive-thru closest to the L.A. Affairs office and powered up my brain cells with a mocha frappuccino, then headed toward Cady Faye Catering on Ventura Boulevard.

  The biggest thought screaming in my head was that if something went down at the Brannocks’ tonight, L.A. Affairs’ reputation would be ruined—to say nothing of my chances of continued employment.

  I sipped my frappie and wondered if maybe there really was some psycho, catering-company-server killer on the loose who would do away with another Cady Faye employee tonight. It didn’t seem likely, but my investigation into Jeri’s death hadn’t turned up anything solid. Detectives Elliston and Grayson hadn’t made an arrest so, apparently, they weren’t doing any better than I was.

  The one crucial piece of this whole thing that was still missing was motive. Who would want to kill Jeri?

  Lourdes was the only person I’d found so far who didn’t like Jeri, but had she disliked her enough to kill her? Cady’s whereabouts were still unaccounted for at the time of Jeri’s murder, but so what?

  I’d gotten a weird vibe from Molly at the attorney’s office yesterday, like she knew more than she was telling. Was it anything important to the case? And what about her comment that Jeri thought Cady Faye Catering might go out of business? What was that all about? Did it have anything to do with Jeri’s death? I didn’t see how.

  If I was going to figure out who killed Jeri I needed to stretch my thinking, I decided. The only thing left to do was play a hunch, imagine the worst in somebody who seemed totally innocent, and connect the dots in a way I hadn’t considered before.

  I swung into the shopping center half expecting to see Jack Bishop and his black Land Rover there—or maybe that was just wishful thinking. I parked outside the front entrance to Cady Faye Catering, gulped down the last of my mocha frappuccino, grabbed my things, and went inside.

  Faye was talking with a mother and daughter—they had a definite we’re-planning-a-wedding look about them—so I went into her office to wait. I intended to go over the menu with her and make double-sure everything was set for tonight.

  I was too keyed up to sit, so I paced back and forth. Honestly, I didn’t know how Faye could work in the tiny office. The furniture was jammed together and packed with all kinds of stuff—including, I realized, the green duffel bag I’d seen in here earlier, which was still on the floor by the file cabinet.

  Okay, that was weird.

  I’d thought the duffel belonged to Faye but maybe it didn’t because she hadn’t taken it home. So it could have belonged to somebody who worked for her—someone who’d planned a getaway complete with sexy lingerie.

  But whoever it was apparently didn’t want to claim the duffel from the boss’ office, probably because the owner assumed Faye had gone through the bag looking for an I.D. tag, as Wendy and I had done when
we’d found it in the employee lounge. That would alert Faye to an illicit affair or perhaps a kinky lingerie fetish—something few people wanted to share with their employer.

  Then it hit me that the duffel must have belonged to Jeri. She’d probably planned a few days with her married boyfriend after her shift ended here at Cady Faye, but had been killed. After all, she was having an affair. The dating phase of a relationship called for sexy lingerie and hot getaways.

  Of course, maybe Jeri wasn’t the only person here who was having an affair. The duffel could belong to most anyone at the catering company or the girls from Maisie’s Costume Shop who’d been in the employee lounge the day Jeri died.

  “No need to worry about us,” Faye said, as she breezed into the office. She sat at her desk and plucked a file folder from one of the stacks. “Everything is under control.”

  Faye didn’t seem concerned or offended that I’d come to check on things, which was a real relief. While I enjoy an occasional confrontation, I didn’t want to get into anything with her, especially on a day as important as this one.

  “It’s all set?” I asked, sitting down in front of her desk.

  She opened the file. “Maisie’s will be here with the costumes this afternoon. The servers and bartenders are scheduled and will arrive shortly. The food is being prepared in our kitchen right now, exactly as the clients requested. Those detectives gave us access to the ice room so the ice sculptures will be on display. Everything—absolutely everything—we’re responsible for will come off flawlessly at the Brannock party tonight, just as I promised.”

  She didn’t come off smug or snarky about it, just confident and anxious to let me know she had everything under control.

  “Great,” I said, and heaved a little sigh of relief. “And Cady is okay? She’ll be at the event to oversee the food?”

  Faye’s high-wattage smile dimmed for a second or two, then beamed once more.

  “Cady is fine,” she assured me, with a calmness that made me think she’d said those same words a zillion times before. “Please believe me, Haley. I have everything under control at my company. Everything.”