Slay Bells and Satchels (Haley Randolph Mystery Series)

by Dorothy Howell

  Oh my God, we couldn’t get caught up here. The Staffords would figure out what we were doing, they would move Hope, and Brooke might never get her back. Plus, I had an official boyfriend—who had become something of an inconvenience, but still—and I couldn’t be seen lurking in an upstairs corridor, three floors away from the party, with a hot guy like Jack.

  “We’ve got to hide.” I might have said that a little louder than I should have.

  “We’ll hide in plain sight.”

  Jack hustled me into a corner and planted himself in front of me, completely blocking my view of the hallway. His hand settled onto the curve of my hip, his other spread across my cheek.

  Oh my God.

  He leaned down and whispered, “Nobody will say anything if they see us like this.”

  His breath was warm against my ear. Oh wow, he smelled great.

  I felt his lips on my neck. His hand left my waist and crept higher.

  Every thought flew out of my head—except one: I still didn’t hear any footsteps.

  Huh.

  I put both palms against Jack’s chest—he had really great muscles—and shoved him away.

  “The nursery is this way,” I said, and took off down the hallway.

  The nursery was actually a suite of rooms, a bedroom for the nanny, a kitchenette, a bathroom, a play room, and two more bedrooms for children.

  I stopped outside the doorway to the playroom. Jack took up a position across from me. Lights burned low inside.

  The playroom was decorated in a jungle theme with a mural of friendly, laughing lions, giraffes, monkeys, and elephants painted on the walls. There was a bookshelf, a child-sized desk and chair, an easel, and a dozen bins filled with toys. It all looked new so I figured Alton and Sable must have had the room redecorated when Brooke started letting Hope visit them.

  Since it was late, I figured the nanny had put Hope to bed already and was enjoying some personal time in her own room.

  Jack pulled out his camera and activated its video feature. I stayed out of camera range as we crossed the playroom to a short corridor with several doors leading off of it. A beam of light shone from beneath one of the doors. The nanny’s room.

  Fainter light—probably from a night light—filtered from beneath the door across the hall. Jack slowly turned the knob and stepped inside. I leaned around him and saw a little girl lying in a canopy bed, sleeping soundly. She had on pink pajamas, and her curly blonde hair was splayed across a butterfly-print pillow.

  I recognized her right away from the photo Brooke had showed me at the restaurant. It was Hope.

  I wanted to grab her in my arms and run out of the house with her—which, I know, totally defeats the whole purpose of a covert op—but that’s the way I felt.

  Jack must have sensed it—or maybe he felt the same way—because he took my hand and pulled me out of the room. He kept his camera on as we left the nursery suite, went through the hallways, down the stairs, and back into the crowded party.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Jack said, tucking his phone into his pocket.

  He was in private-detective mode now, his mission accomplished, anxious to make a quick exit with his prize intact.

  “I took a car service here, but I left a car down the block,” Jack said, as we made our way through the crowd.

  We slipped past the ladies still welcoming guests to the party and went out onto the porch. It was dark now. The tiny golden lights in the shrubbery twinkled. The line of arriving cars had trickled to a few.

  One of them was a totally hot Porsche 911 Turbo.

  I knew that car.

  It pulled to a stop and the valet opened the door. Ty got out.

  I looked around for Jack.

  He was gone.

  Chapter 11

  “Aren’t you coming in?” I asked.

  I’d just opened the door to my apartment but Ty hadn’t followed me inside.

  He glanced at his watch. Not a good sign.

  We’d driven back to my place from the party at the Stafford home. It had taken all the patience I could muster—and, really, I didn’t have all that much to begin with—to stay at the party, circulate among the guests and make small talk.

  I’d been totally freaked out that somehow Alton and Sable Stafford would find out that I’d been upstairs with Jack shooting video of their granddaughter, would sound some kind of silent alarm, and all the doors and windows in their huge house would somehow slam shut holding me captive until the cops showed up.

  Not a great feeling.

  “I have a conference call with Tokyo tonight,” Ty said.

  This wasn’t a great feeling either. Apparently, Ty had squeezed my request to attend the Stafford party in between a meeting in New York and a telephone call.

  But, at least, he’d come to the party. I guess I should be happy about that. And he did look smoking hot in his tuxedo.

  I looped my arms around his neck.

  “You can come back after your conference call,” I suggested.

  Ty drew me closer. It felt really good.

  “I have to fly out first thing,” he said. “I’m personally awarding prizes to the store that finishes in first place for our charity drive.”

  Oh, crap. That contest. Talk about a mood killer.

  “We’ll know the official winner at close of business tomorrow—well, today, technically,” Ty said. “But one store is way out in front.”

  Since I knew it couldn’t possibly be my store, I didn’t ask which one it was.

  That, however, didn’t stop Ty from blabbing on about it.

  “So it looks like I’ll be in San Francisco,” he said.

  I couldn’t think of anything to say to that, and since I didn’t want to hear anything more about Holt’s—plus my feet hurt and I was six hours into a four-hour dress—I said, “I guess I’ll see you whenever.”

  Ty tilted my face up to his. “You could come with me. There’s lots of great shopping in San Francisco.”

  Yeah, that sounded great. But sitting around a hotel room, waiting for Ty to finish his meetings and actually show up, didn’t.

  “I have to work tomorrow,” I said.

  “You could take the day off,” he said.

  “So could you.”

  We just looked at each other for a few seconds, then Ty grinned.

  “You’re being stubborn,” he said.

  Like I didn’t already know that.

  “Do you think I invite just anybody to spend the night with me?” I asked.

  The playful look disappeared from his face.

  “No, Haley, I don’t think that at all,” he said. “But I have responsibilities. You know that.”

  Yes, I knew that. And I was getting a little tired of being reminded.

  “I’ll arrange something special for you when I get back,” Ty said. “It will be great. You’ll love it.”

  “Do you plan to go with me?” I asked.

  He chuckled. “You can count on it.”

  I gave him a kiss—just so he’d know what he was missing out on tonight—and he left.

  I closed the door, kicked off my shoes and headed for the bedroom. A knock sounded on the door.

  My heart fluttered—but not in a good way.

  Ty. He’d changed his mind. What nerve.

  Yeah, okay, just a minute ago I’d practically put the smack down on him to not leave, but now I was a little more than slightly annoyed that he hadn’t. He thought he could just change his mind, come back, and it would be okay?

  I stomped across the room and yanked the door open, ready to give Ty a huge piece of my mind.

  Only Ty wasn’t standing there.

  It was Trent Daniels.

  Oh, crap.

  “Hi, Haley,” he said. “Can I come in?”

  Oh my God. How did he know who I was? How did he know my name? How did he know where I lived?

  And where were my official boyfriend and my smoking hot private detective at a time like this?


  Trent looked bigger up close. He’d seemed tall when I saw him in the store, but now with him standing a couple of feet from me I could tell he was at least six-five. He had a lot of mass—not muscle—but it was still intimidating—especially at one o’clock in the morning, with the words psycho stalker blaring in my head, standing in the dark, on my doorstep, when all my neighbors were sound asleep and probably couldn’t hear me scream.

  “How did you find me?” I asked.

  “You sent me a message,” Trent said. “On Facebook.”

  Oh, yeah, that’s right. I’d totally forgotten.

  “But I didn’t tell you where I lived,” I said.

  “Yeah, I know.” He fidgeted for a few seconds, then said, “I followed you back from my apartment.”

  Oh my God.

  “That was hours ago,” I said. “Have you been waiting here all this time?”

  “Kind of,” Trent said.

  He had on sweat pants, a stretched-out T-shirt and flip-flops. His hair hung over his forehead and I don’t think he’d shaved in a couple of days.

  I’m not sure how Trent put everything together—seeing me outside his apartment, reading my name on the message I’d sent him—but maybe he’d talked to Nikki or Alyssa and they’d filled him in.

  Or maybe he’d figured it out online, somehow, like the other psycho stalkers did.

  “When I saw you outside my apartment, I remembered you from the store so I thought you could answer some questions for me about McKenna,” Trent said. “The cops, they won’t tell me anything.”

  Trent sounded upset about McKenna’s death. The other actresses had said he genuinely loved her.

  Or maybe it was obsession.

  “Where have you been?” I asked. “Nobody has seen or heard from you in a while.”

  He got a weird look on his face which creeped me out big-time.

  “Is that why you came to my apartment?” he asked. “You were worried about me?”

  “Lots of people were worried,” I said.

  Okay, that wasn’t exactly true, but I thought it better to minimize my concern.

  “I was too bummed out to talk to anybody,” Trent said. “So what happened? How did McKenna … die?”

  This hardly seemed the best time to get into this kind of conversation, but I didn’t know when I’d have a chance to talk to him again, so I rolled with it.

  “Don’t you know?” I asked. “You were in the store that morning.”

  “I thought it would be cool,” he said. “McKenna told me she was going to wear an elf costume, so I figured I’d dress up like Santa, get our picture together. McKenna takes great pictures. Look.”

  He reached into his shirt pocket where I could see the outline of his cell phone, but no way did I want to amble down memory lane with him.

  “So you saw McKenna that morning?” I asked.

  Trent’s face twisted into a frown. “I waited outside with the customers. I saw the elves inside, before the store opened, but I couldn’t spot McKenna.”

  That was because she was already dead, stuffed inside the giant toy bag in the stockroom.

  McKenna had been murdered before the store opened. Trent could have gone in through the rear door of the stockroom that Jasmine had left open, gotten McKenna to join him back there, killed her, then left through the same door and come around to the front of the store and hung out with the other customers. It made for a pretty good alibi.

  But why? Why would Trent have wanted McKenna dead?

  “I heard McKenna was moving out of your place,” I said.

  “No way.”

  Anger bubbled up in Trent. He took a step toward me. I wanted to step back but didn’t, since I figured he’d follow and that would put us both inside my apartment.

  “Who told you that?” he demanded. He curled his hand into a fist and pounded it against his palm. “It was that bitch Alyssa, wasn’t it? She was so jealous of McKenna. She got that great sitcom role, and Alyssa couldn’t stand it.”

  My heart pounded harder in my chest. My mind whirled trying to think of how to get away from this guy. I knew I couldn’t jump back, slam my front door and turn the lock before Trent pushed it open, and he was so big I couldn’t dash around him and get away—not barefoot, wearing a floor-length gown.

  Maybe instead of the Breathless purse I should have asked Jack for a gun.

  I hope I still get a chance to do that.

  “Getting that role was a big deal,” I said, trying to calm Trent down. “How did McKenna manage it?”

  “She met some big producer.” Trent fumed for another few seconds, then smiled. “McKenna was so beautiful. The guy just loved her. He cast her right away. I’ve got a picture of it. I downloaded it off of her phone the other day. Want to see?”

  Good grief. Enough with the pictures.

  “So McKenna got a fantastic role, but Alyssa didn’t,” I said. “Sounds like Alyssa blew her big chance, all right.”

  “Damn straight.”

  “Must have been exciting,” I said, “living with an upcoming big star, knowing you’d be going to premier parties, hanging out with celebrities.”

  Trent shook his head. “McKenna wasn’t into all of that. She loved me.”

  From what the other actresses had said about McKenna, I doubted that was true. But this was hardly the time to mention it.

  Trent seemed lost in thought for a minute to two, then said, “Can you tell me what happened to McKenna? You were in the store that morning, weren’t you? Do you know?”

  I never really understood why people wanted the sordid details surrounding the death of somebody they loved, but maybe knowing about those final minutes made them feel closer, somehow.

  Maybe telling Trent something about that morning would make him feel better.

  Maybe it would get him to leave.

  But no way was I telling him that I was the one who’d found McKenna. I was far from convinced that Trent hadn’t murdered her, and knowing that I’d witnessed the crime scene might make him think he had to murder me, too.

  “I heard a few things mentioned in the store,” I said. “She hit her head.”

  Trent flinched and rocked back a little, as if he could feel the same pain McKenna must have felt.

  “Do you … do you think she suffered?” he asked quietly.

  I flashed on the Christmas decorations that had been knocked onto the stockroom floor in what must have been one heck of a struggle, the heavy nutcracker she’d been struck with, the big pool of blood.

  “No,” I said. “I don’t think so.”

  Trent just stood there for a few more minutes, then nodded.

  “Thanks, Haley,” he said. “Thanks for telling me. I won’t forget you for this.”

  Oh, please, forget me.

  He walked away, then stopped and turned back.

  “I’ll send you that picture,” he said.

  “Great,” I said, then jumped back into my apartment, closed the door and turned the lock.

  I drew in a couple of big breaths trying to calm down, then looked out the peep hole in my door.

  No sign of Trent.

  I hoped that meant he’d actually left and wasn’t still hanging around out there.

  Oh my God, I was so rattled. Nothing could help me now but my emergency bag of Oreos.

  I got them from the top shelf of my kitchen cabinet and medicated my way through a half-dozen or so as I changed into my pajamas, combed out my hair, and washed off my makeup. I was too wound up to sleep, so I plopped down on my living room sofa to think.

  Trent jumped into my head.

  I hadn’t heard back from Detective Shuman since I had left him a message after leaving Trent’s apartment, voicing my concern that Trent’s neighbors had put him in the possible-stalker-avoid-that-weirdo category. I wasn’t sure if that meant Shuman had already checked into Trent’s background and found nothing, and he hadn’t bothered to call and tell me, or if perhaps he was too busy with other aspects of McKen
na’s homicide investigation.

  Or maybe he was hanging out with his girlfriend.

  I crammed two cookies into my mouth and re-focused my thoughts.

  Trent seemed to genuinely believe McKenna loved him and was convinced she wouldn’t have moved out after her big break. But I doubted that was true. I recalled how the elf actresses were talking about McKenna the morning I’d rounded them all up and brought them to the training room, before Jeanette had told them about McKenna’s death. One of them had mentioned she was looking at condos on the beach.

  If she really was planning to dump Trent and move out, maybe he’d found out. Maybe, as psycho stalkers were wont to do, he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her so he killed her—which didn’t make a lot of sense to me, but there it was.

  It was the closest thing to a motive for McKenna’s murder that I’d come up with so far.

  I spun the top off of another Oreo, licked the icing, then shoved the cookie into my mouth.

  If I needed a motive for someone simply not liking McKenna, it would be Alyssa. And, really, I couldn’t blame her.

  Alyssa had blown her big chance when she’d won that contest and met with a producer, while McKenna had made such a good impression she’d been cast practically on the spot. Envy and jealousy weren’t uncommon in any profession, but even more so among actors. From what I’d seen, their lives were pretty tough. Financial problems, audition after audition, rejection after rejection. To be that close and not make it must have crushed Alyssa, especially because she’d been trying for so long—she was twenty-five years old, after all.

  Plus, it seemed, McKenna hadn’t been very gracious about winning the role. In fact, she’d been flaunting it to anyone and everyone within ear shot.

  Had it been too much for Alyssa? Had she simply reached her boiling point with McKenna and lashed out?

  And then there was that whole rent thing with Jasmine. Disputes over money had killed a lot of people.

  I popped another cookie into my mouth.

  Alyssa, Jasmine, and Trent had all been at the store that morning, but so far I hadn’t uncovered a good reason for any of them to murder McKenna.

  Crap.

  Chapter 12