Though I’d had my doubts, I could see that Faye did indeed have all phases of the business firmly in hand. No wonder it had grown three times over in the past year.
“And to ensure you’re completely happy with everything,” Faye said, “I will be at the Brannock party tonight overseeing things.”
“Thank you, Faye,” I said, rising from my chair.
“See you tonight,” she said.
I gave her a little wave and left the building.
I walked across the parking lot toward my Honda feeling as if a huge weight had lifted. Just as Faye had always told me, everything would be great for the Brannocks’ party tonight.
And things would look pretty darn good for me, too, I realized.
I pictured next week’s office meeting at L.A. Affairs. Everyone would be there. Priscilla would walk to the podium and announce that I’d discovered a fabulous new catering company. Everyone would be in awe. Priscilla would ask me to stand. I’d rise and channel my mother’s gracious smile and a pageant queen wave. Everything would be perfect. Unless—
I stopped in my tracks at the front fender of my car.
What if there really was another murder tonight? Suppose whoever had killed Jeri showed up and targeted another victim?
Oh, crap.
A new, horrifying scenario played out my head that might take place at L.A. Affairs’ next weekly office meeting: Priscilla announcing that the company’s reputation had been flushed and it was all my fault—followed by everyone watching as I was escorted out of the building by a security guard.
I couldn’t let that happen.
I unlocked my Honda and dropped into the driver’s seat. I’d looked at this case from several different sides but hadn’t come up with anything—except that there was a huge chunk of info missing. If only I could figure out what it was.
Then it hit me.
Yes, something big and important was missing from the investigation, but something equally big and important was holding it together. There was a common thread that connected everything—divorce and cheating spouses. Jeri and her married boyfriend; Jack’s divorce case that had brought him to the Cady Faye Catering shopping center; Jeri’s roommate who worked for a divorce attorney; the duffel bag packed for an illicit getaway.
I knew of only two places to find info on divorce and cheating spouses—Jack Bishop and Molly at the attorney’s office.
I pulled out my cell phone and called Jack. He didn’t answer so I left him a message asking for info on his cheating husband case.
“I’m going to the office of that divorce attorney who’s plastered his picture all over the place, Rowland Horowitz,” I said. “It’s in Burbank. Call me. I’ll meet you somewhere.”
I started my car and headed out.
* * *
I was passing Studio City on the 101 freeway when my cell phone rang. I switched on my Bluetooth thinking it was Jack calling back, but it was Marcie.
“Great news,” she said. “Are you sitting down?”
“Yes,” I said, because, technically, I was.
“Our Flirtatious bags came in!” Marcie exclaimed.
I nearly veered onto the shoulder.
“Oh my God! Your friend came through for us at Nordstrom?” I asked.
“She just called me,” Marcie said. “But here’s the thing.”
I hate it when there’s a thing.
“We have to pick them up right away,” Marcie said. “She can’t hold them long. Everybody wants one of these bags and there could be a throw-down right there in the handbag department if anybody realizes she’s holding them back.”
I mentally ran through my schedule for the day. I had to talk to Molly at the lawyer’s office, find out what was up with Jack’s divorce case, check on a few last minute details for the Brannock party, arrive at their house early enough to oversee the party prep—and, hopefully, solve Jeri’s murder or at least find a viable suspect.
Picking up two fabulous handbags from Nordstrom would be no problem.
“I got this,” I told her.
“Awesome,” Marcie said.
“I’ll call you when I have them,” I promised and we hung up.
I exited the freeway and drove to the office of attorney Rowland Horowitz on Alameda Avenue, parked in the lot behind the building and went inside. Two women were seated on opposite sides of the waiting room filling out forms. A woman I didn’t recognize was working at the desk behind the receptionist’s window. None of them looked happy to be there.
I approached the window and asked, “Is Molly here?”
A few seconds passed before she lifted her head to look at me. She was mid-forties and had a definite I-hate-everyone-especially-young-pretty-women look about her.
“She’s out.”
“Do you know when she’ll be back?” I asked.
“No,” she replied. “What do you need?”
I didn’t want to cause Molly any problems by admitting I was here for something personal, so I said, “I’ll come back later.”
I left the office mentally re-shuffling my plan for the day, then everything flew out of my head when I spotted Jack Bishop standing beside my car. I’d wanted to talk to him but I hadn’t expected him to meet me here. Still, it’s always a treat to see a hot-looking guy so early in the day.
Jack, however, didn’t seem so pleased to see me despite my fabulous brown business suit and my even more fabulous Louis Vuitton handbag. I decided to come right to the point.
“I’m thinking there’s a connection between your divorce case and the murder at Cady Faye Catering,” I said.
“The murder you’re not supposed to be involved with?” Jack asked.
“That’s the one.”
Really, I didn’t know why Jack wasted his breath cautioning me not to get involved with this sort of thing. He knew what I was like.
“So what happened?” I asked.
Jack gave me semi stink eye for a few seconds, just to show he wasn’t pleased with what I was doing, which I took as a semi compliment.
“I started tailing the guy as he left his apartment complex in Encino,” Jack said. “He drove to the shopping center, stopped near the construction site. A woman got out and he drove away.”
“Who was the woman?” I asked.
“Not my concern,” Jack said. “I followed him down Ventura Boulevard to the McDonald’s. He went inside, but came out again a few minutes later. The guy drove to his place, swapped cars, and went back to the shopping center. A block away, the same woman was on foot. He picked her up.”
I got a weird feeling.
“Pictures?” Jack asked.
My weird feeling got weirder.
“Sure,” I said, but I was pretty sure I already knew who’d I’d see in the photos.
Jack pulled his cell phone from his pocket, tapped the keys, then handed it to me. On the screen was the image of a white Mercedes parked in the shopping center. A man I didn’t recognize was behind the wheel. The woman getting out was Cady.
Oh, crap.
Chapter 10
I’d seen a photo of Cady’s husband in Faye’s office so I knew this guy wasn’t him. I told Jack who she was as I paged through the series of surveillance pictures he’d taken that day. When I came across a photo of Cady and the guy kissing, I knew she was having an affair. Jack didn’t seem surprised.
“The thing with her arriving, then leaving, and him picking her up on the street and driving back again in a different vehicle is suspicious,” I said.
It explained, though, why some of the employees at the catering company reported seeing Cady there earlier, and why they’d thought they’d seen her car was in the parking lot.
“It could have been something innocent,” Jack said. “They’re in love. Maybe she wanted to see him again. Maybe they had a fight and one of them wanted to apologize.”
“Cady is really high-strung,” I said. “I can totally see her walking into the kitchen and getting overwhelmed with the day�
��s work. Three events in one day. That’s a lot. Maybe she couldn’t face it without another hug from her boyfriend.”
“Maybe she forgot something,” Jack said. “She called him and he brought it to her.”
Those were all believable, reasonable scenarios. Still, something didn’t seem right.
“So why swap cars?” I asked. “Maybe the guy thought he was being followed.”
Jack looked mildly irked at my suggestion that he’d been discovered, but he didn’t say so.
“Or maybe Cady killed Jeri,” Jack said.
I’d considered that possibility before, but still couldn’t connect all the dots.
“There’s no motive—at least, not one I’ve found,” I said. “And Cady was a wreck when Lourdes told her Jeri was dead. An absolute wreck. She lost it, big-time.”
Jack and I both stood there for a while looking at the photos on his phone.
“The whole thing is suspicious,” I said.
“It is,” Jack agreed. “I talked to the cops.”
Okay, this surprised me, but I guess it shouldn’t have. Jack wasn’t some rogue private detective operating on the fringes of the law, dodging cops and formal investigations.
“The detectives assigned to the case?” I asked.
“Grayson,” he said.
That explained why Dan had gone been back to question Cady, and why he’d come to Holt’s and asked me about her arrival on the day of the murder. Obviously, he was investigating Cady. But since he’d made no arrest, it seemed he hadn’t uncovered any conclusive evidence.
I handed Jack’s phone back to him.
“Let me know if anything shakes loose,” he said.
“I will,” I said, and was pleased he hadn’t told me not to get further involved with the investigation.
Jack got in his Land Rover and drove away. I stood in the parking lot thinking about everything I’d just learned about Cady.
True, her behavior was odd, weird, and more than a little suspicious. But having an affair, arriving at Cady Faye Catering only to leave on foot and then return in a different vehicle was a long way from committing a murder.
I dug my keys out of my purse as a car pulled into the lot and swung into a space near the rear entrance to the law firm. Molly got out juggling her purse, a bundle of mail, and a tray of coffees from Starbucks.
I walked over. She didn’t look so happy to see me.
“I have to get inside,” Molly said, and hurried toward the building’s rear entrance.
I didn’t see any reason to finesse this conversation, so I asked, “Why did Jeri think Cady Faye Catering would go out of business?”
“She just did, that’s all,” Molly said.
Then something hit me.
I stepped in front of her, forcing her to stop and said, “Horowitz is handling Cady’s divorce, isn’t he?”
“We’re not supposed to talk about those things,” Molly said, and ducked around me.
“Jeri was your roommate. You mentioned it to her, right?” I got in front of her and put my hand on the door as if I was going to open it for her, but didn’t. “Right?”
“Yes, okay, fine,” Molly told me. “I mentioned it to her. We’re handling Jeri’s boyfriend’s divorce. I knew Jeri and Cady worked at the same place. I thought Jeri had told her to come here.”
“But Jeri hadn’t referred her?” I asked.
“No,” Molly said. “And she was really upset when I told her what was going on.”
“It had something to do with the terms of Cady’s divorce?” I asked.
“Don’t you think I feel bad enough about this?” Molly demanded. “I shouldn’t have said anything to Jeri about what was going on. Now she’s dead.”
Molly pushed past me and disappeared into the building.
I headed back to my car, my mind whirling.
Cady’s divorce had riled Jeri big-time and had caused her to predict the catering company would go out of business. But had that somehow evolved into a murder?
Maybe.
I got into my car and Detective Dan Grayson popped into my head. I considered telling him what I’d just learned from Molly, the possible motive I’d uncovered. But I didn’t know if he already knew about it.
No way did I want to look like an idiot by announcing my fantastic break in the case if it was old news to him. Yet, if he didn’t already know about it, I really didn’t want him to find his way to the law firm, question Molly, and learn that I’d already been there getting info that I hadn’t told him about.
I dug through my purse, found the business card he’d given me, and called him. His voicemail picked up so I left a message.
* * *
The Brannocks’ home was in an older neighborhood off Fairfax Avenue, on a street with small, well-maintained houses in the million-plus dollar range. Parking was always at a premium and today was no exception. As I drove past the house I saw that the street parking was all taken, and the Brannocks’ driveway and was jammed with a florist’s delivery van and trucks from the construction crew. A Cady Faye Catering van was just pulling up; I was relieved to see they were here on time.
I’d already been here once today, this afternoon when I’d come by to make sure everything was on schedule. The Brannocks wanted an outdoor party so I’d worked with Webber’s Florist and Lyle, the guy who owned the construction company that L.A. Affairs often used for this sort of event, to transform their backyard.
Green, orange, and white—the colors of the Irish flag—had been used in all the floral arrangements. Lyle and his crew had strung twinkle lights, wired the sound system for the band that would arrive later, and set up buffet tables, bars, and seating groups with comfy furniture. The swimming pool would be dyed green, filled with goldfish—I’d been assured the green water wouldn’t do them any harm—then covered with plexiglass and used as a dance floor.
It wouldn’t be a St. Patrick’s Day bash without lots of alcohol. The mixology crew I’d hired was keeping it green with emerald mint martinis, kiwi coladas, honeydew mimosas, and, of course, green beer.
Cady Faye Catering had planned a menu of Irish stew, corn chowder, corned beef brisket and cabbage, and an array of green finger foods. The dessert bar—where I intended to spent a great deal of my time this evening—would feature mint chocolate pudding, and cupcakes topped with sugar shamrocks.
On my earlier visit this afternoon, I’d seen that everything was going smoothly and was on schedule, so I’d seen no need to hang around—especially when I had pressing personal business to take care of.
I’d dashed over to Nordstrom at The Grove, just a few minutes away, to pick up the Flirtatious handbags Marcie’s friend was holding for us. She was at lunch, so I had to wait around for about fifteen minutes. No big deal. I’d distracted myself looking at—okay, trying on—capris and sundresses. I mean, really, I had to have something appropriate to wear with my fabulous, yummy yellow Flirtatious satchel, right?
Somehow, time had gotten away from me. I’d picked up the Flirtatious handbags—concealed in a shopping bag to avoid a stampede if they were seen—and headed back to the Brannock home. The party wasn’t schedule to start for another hour-plus, so I wasn’t seriously late.
I drove past their house and turned at the corner, looking for a parking space on a nearby street. As events went, the Brannocks’ was easier than most but I still had to focus on the job. That meant I had to put the whole thing about Cady’s divorce and Jeri’s murder out of my head.
I still hadn’t heard back from Dan. I guess my maybe-I-found-something-important message wasn’t all that important to him.
A spot at the curb was open so I swooped in, gathered my things, and headed back toward the Brannocks’ street. The neighborhood was quiet. The sun was setting, casting shadows. Tall trees rustled slightly.
Up ahead just a little farther down the block, a gray Honda Pilot stopped in the street. It idled there for a few seconds, then Cady got out.
I froze.
&nb
sp; Cady waved to the driver and blew a kiss. The Pilot drove off and she started walking toward the Brannock home.
Even though I knew Cady was having an affair and had been to an attorney, it made my blood boil seeing it played out in front of me. Of course, I knew nothing about Cady’s marriage, her husband, or what kind of relationship they had—except for a couple of unfavorable comments I’d heard from Faye and Lourdes. I knew I shouldn’t judge, but it bugged me just the same.
I followed Cady, my mind whirling with everything I knew about Jeri’s murder and my suspicion that Cady was involved. I knew this wasn’t the time to discuss it with her, not at tonight’s event, anyway. I could do it tomorrow.
Or could I?
The green duffel bag sprang into my head.
Oh my God, was it hers? Did it belong to Cady?
It was packed with sexy clothes for a romantic getaway and she was having an affair, so it definitely could have belonged to her.
What if Cady was planning to leave town tonight after the event? What if she was gone a long time and days passed before I got the chance to talk to her?
I quickened my pace. Cady didn’t seem to realize I was behind her. I followed her around the corner and down the Brannocks’ street, and caught up with her just as she got to the Cady Faye Catering van parked in the driveway.
The rear doors were open. Nobody else was around. I saw that the van was empty except for a couple of bins of cutlery, some aluminum foil and plastic wrap. I figured everyone had already ferried the food to the buffet tables out back and were busy setting up.
“Hi, Cady,” I said.
She gasped and spun around.
“Oh, Haley, it’s you.” She plastered both hands against her chest.
“I saw you get out of that Honda Pilot,” I said, and nodded down the block. “Your boyfriend’s SUV.”
Cady froze, then shook her head. “No. No, you’re mistaken.”
“Rowland Horowitz,” I said. “He’s your attorney.”
“How did you know? Who told you?” Her eyes widened. “Oh, God. You didn’t tell Faye, did you? Does Faye know?”
Duffel Bags And Drownings Page 8
