Mike gave my awesome outfit a quick once-over, which was always a real morale booster, and said, “It’s good to see you when you’re not involved in a murder investigation, for a change.”
So much for my boosted morale.
“Well . . . actually . . .”
He shook his head wearily.
“It’s all a big misunderstanding,” I assured him. “See, I got this new job and—”
“At the D.A.’s office?” he asked, the playfulness gone from his expression and voice.
My blood ran cold. He must have been talking about Amanda Payton, Shuman’s girlfriend.
“You heard about Amanda?” I asked.
“Bad business,” Mike said, looking grim.
Okay, this was weird. How come Mike had heard about Amanda’s murder but Jack Bishop hadn’t? Jack was wired into everything that went on in L.A.
“Actually, I don’t work with Amanda,” I said, since I didn’t think it was a good idea to lie to someone who might really—despite protests—be involved with the Russian mob. “But I knew her. We were friends.”
Mike shook his head. “Sorry to hear that. Must be tough for you.”
“You should see her boyfriend,” I said. “He’s a complete mess. I don’t know if he’ll ever get over it.”
He thought for a moment. “That detective. LAPD. Shuman.”
I’d forgotten that Shuman had looked into Mike’s alleged mob connection when I was in Las Vegas. Obviously, Mike hadn’t forgotten. I wish I hadn’t reminded him, but I did wonder how Mike had known that Shuman and Amanda were dating.
“Shuman is on a leave of absence from duty,” I said.
Mike didn’t say anything, but I was pretty sure he was thinking that Shuman was investigating Amanda’s murder himself against department regulations.
I’m sure that’s what Mike would have done.
I decided it was a good time to change the subject.
“So here’s what I need,” I said. “Gift bags. Two hundred of them that capture the essence of the Beatles.”
“How much are you looking to spend?” Mike asked.
“A lot,” I said. “It’s for a big party and charity event Sheridan Adams is throwing. Tribute bands, a memorabilia auction. A-list guests.”
“I’m sure I’ll receive my invitation any day now,” Mike said, and grinned. Then he was, all business again. “I’ll talk to a designer I know and see what she can come up with for the bags.”
“Great,” I said, and passed him my business card. “Do you happen to know anybody at Cirque du Soleil in Vegas?”
Mike thought for a few seconds. “I’ll get back with you.”
Wow, having a friend in the maybe-or-maybe-not Russian mob could come in handy.
“This is b.s.,” Bella grumbled.
We were in the stock room at Holt’s going through the clothing for the upcoming so-called fashion show I was supposed to coordinate. I was totally bummed because Marcie and I had planned to go on the hunt for the fantastic Enchantress bag tonight, but I’d forgotten I was scheduled to work here.
I wasn’t back in breakup fog again, I’m just really good at blocking out thoughts of Holt’s.
I’d told Jeanette I could use some help styling the looks for the show, and she’d said that Bella could assist. But I didn’t really need a helper—I needed a miracle.
I’d actually considered quitting my job here just so I wouldn’t have to go through with the fashion show, but with my position at L.A. Affairs in question, thanks to Eleanor and Rigby and their Beatles quiz questions, not to mention Vanessa backstabbing me at every opportunity, I didn’t dare resign.
“Yeah,” I said, and winced. “This stuff is pretty bad.”
“I’m going to end up vision impaired from looking at these crappy clothes,” Bella said. “Maybe I can get disability.”
We’d pulled off the tarp that covered the hanging items but left the plastic wrap on—not that it helped, really—and opened the boxes of shoes and accessories to try to assemble some looks.
Nothing went together. The buyers must have selected this stuff using a dartboard.
“There’re no two things in this whole mess that are the same color, except the shoes,” Bella said, “and they’re ugly.”
“Whoever is doing the buying for Holt’s must be a complete idiot,” I said, sorting through the dresses.
“You win this contest and maybe you can fix that,” Bella said, as she pulled a pair of pumps from one of the boxes. “Damn. My nana wouldn’t even wear these things.”
“I don’t see how we can possibly win the contest,” I said.
“Don’t ever underestimate the bad taste of a Holt’s shopper,” Bella said.
It flashed in my head that I should mention that to Ty, then I remembered we’d broken up.
Damn. Why do I keep thinking about him?
“How come Holt’s won’t give a decent prize?” Bella asked. She patted her hair. Her autumn theme continued with what appeared to be cornstalks fashioned atop her head. “Something like a year’s supply of hair care products. Now that’d be a prize worth having.”
“So what are the employees supposed to get?” I asked. “Not that we have a prayer of winning.”
“Everybody will get a Holt’s gift card,” Bella said. “I don’t think anybody will be too busted up if we don’t win.”
I figured she was right.
We spent the rest of our shift sorting through everything, matching things up, trying different accessories with dresses, pants, skirts, sweaters, and tops, and had exactly zero looks completed when it was time to go home.
“Maybe this stuff will look better tomorrow,” I said, as we left the stock room.
“It can’t look any worse,” Bella said.
I wasn’t so sure about that.
We clocked out and I headed home. When I pulled into a parking space at my apartment complex I saw Cody’s pickup truck. He must have been watching for me, because he jumped out as soon as I got out of my car.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
Jeez, where to start?
“Busy day,” I said, since I didn’t want to stand there all night filling him in on the day I’d had, and I was pretty sure he wouldn’t want to hear it, anyway. “How about you?”
He walked closer. Wow, he smelled kind of good. “Busy,” he said.
He looked handsome too, with the security lighting reflecting off his blond hair. The T-shirt he wore fit tight, showing off the muscles in his chest and belly.
“I came by to explain why I haven’t been here,” he said.
“Do you want to come upstairs?” I asked. It came out in kind of a breathy little whisper—but I didn’t mean for it to. I swear.
Cody grinned—that kind of grin. He eased closer. A crazy heat rolled off of him.
“I’d love to come upstairs,” he said. Oh, wow, Cody had a Barry White voice. “But I can’t work on your place tonight.”
“Oh.”
I know I sounded majorly disappointed, but what else could I do when he was talking that way?
“Maybe I should come up, anyway?” he asked.
Cody moved closer, then leaned down and kissed me.
My thoughts scattered.
Oh my God. I can’t kiss Cody. I have an official boyfriend, and I’m a real stickler about—
No, wait. I don’t have a boyfriend—official or otherwise.
Why can’t I ever remember that?
He pulled away and gave me a how-about-it eyebrow bob.
I was tempted—really tempted. Cody was good looking, and I’d been lonely, and he seemed like a great guy. Maybe this was just what I needed to finally get over my breakup with Ty.
But I couldn’t do it.
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“No problem.” Cody smiled and eased away. “I’ll be back to finish up the work in your place.”
He got in his truck.
I went up to my apartment.
CHAPTER 14
“Good morning, good morning,” Priscilla something-or-other, the office manager, called out in a pleasant singsong voice. “Let’s all get settled.”
I was in the conference room at L.A. Affairs for my first staff meeting. The chairs were arranged theater style, and a table at the rear of the room held coffee, juice, and pastries. Everybody looked fabulous dressed in chic business suits.
So far, I liked this way better than the meetings at Holt’s.
Since there was no big-guy-from-menswear equivalent here that I could sit behind, I headed for the last row of seats.
Then I spotted Eve, one of the assistant planners I’d chatted with several times when we’d run into each other in the breakroom. Eve was a huge gossip. She was forever dishing dirt, talking smack, and running her mouth about everything and everybody in the office—so, of course, I made it a point to sit next to her.
Kayla sat down beside me and sipped her coffee. “Did you see that Vanessa is here today?”
I glanced around the room and saw her chatting with Priscilla. She looked fantastic, of course, which really irritated me.
“Brace yourself,” Kayla said.
Priscilla stepped to the podium and kicked off the meeting by welcoming me, the newest employee, to the firm. At her request I stood and executed my mom’s pageant wave to perfection, and everybody gave me a polite round of applause—everyone but Vanessa. I saw her lean into the woman next to her and whisper something, and I could tell from her reaction that Vanessa had said something stinky about me.
Bitch.
“I have a few announcements,” Priscilla went on, consulting a tablet on the podium. “First of all, BeeBop the clown is not available for bookings. He’s currently on tour.”
From the reactions around the room, I got the feeling on tour was code for in rehab.
“Next, there’s a list of additional vendors that will be e-mailed to everyone this afternoon,” Priscilla said. “Let’s all give them a try, if possible.”
“We’re always getting new vendors,” Kayla whispered. “Mostly because the old ones get fed up working with Vanessa.”
“Sadly, I must report that Lacy Cakes has been removed from our approved list,” Priscilla said. “With the unfortunate and untimely death of the owner, the future of the bakery is in question, so we’re holding off on placing orders there until we learn something definite.”
“That Lacy Hobbs was a holy terror,” Eve said quietly to me.
“How so?” I whispered back.
“It was her way or no way,” Eve murmured. “If you crossed her, she never forgave you—and never forgot. You were dead to her. She’d refuse to talk to you no matter who your client was. She’d call Priscilla and demand to work with a different planner.”
“And she got away with that?” I asked.
“Of course. Everybody wanted a Lacy Cake,” Eve said. “Too bad she’s dead, but good riddance.”
Priscilla kept talking, but everything turned into blah, blah, blah. I kept thinking about Lacy Hobbs. Somehow she’d come from a little town near San Francisco right out of high school and built what appeared to be the most successful, highly sought after bakery in Los Angeles. But she sure as heck hadn’t made any friends along the way—including people here at L.A. Affairs.
Hmm. Maybe I could find a way to blame her murder on Vanessa.
Kayla tapped me with her elbow, bringing me back to reality, and muttered, “Here we go.”
I spotted Vanessa moving to the front of the room carrying a stack of postcards. She shoved them at Priscilla and took over the podium.
“I feel compelled to share these with you,” Vanessa announced, as Priscilla moved down the rows passing out the postcards. “These are just another little trick I came up with to bring in more business.”
I took one of the postcards as they were passed down our row. On the front was a picture of Vanessa.
“She does this at every meeting,” Kayla whispered. “She’s always finding some excuse to give us something with her picture on it.”
“So many of you have asked me about how the Parkers’ fiftieth anniversary party turned out,” Vanessa said.
“Nobody has to ask her anything because she’s always talking about herself,” Kayla said.
“I’m pleased to report that after I took over the event when Suzanne wasn’t about to complete it—” Vanessa said.
“Suzanne went into labor,” Kayla told me.
“—everything was spectacular,” Vanessa told us. “The Parkers were so thankful that I could step in and tie up all those loose ends so beautifully.”
“It was the day before their party,” Kayla said. “Vanessa did a walk-on and took credit for the entire event. She’s always pulling something like that.”
“The clients absolutely loved everything I did,” Vanessa said, giving us all a look-at-me-aren’t-I-fabulous-don’t-you-wish-you-were-me smile.
She stood at the podium as if she expected to follow this up with a Q&A session, or at least get a round of applause, but thankfully Priscilla spoke up, though she didn’t dare try to reclaim the podium.
“Thank you, Vanessa. You continue to inspire us all,” she said.
I wasn’t inspired, and I doubted anyone else in the room was. I figured we were all lucky that we kept down our coffee, juice, and pastries.
“Let’s all have a good day,” Priscilla announced, and we rose from our chairs and headed out of the conference room.
I was halfway to my office when I heard Vanessa call my name. My Holt’s training kicked in immediately and I kept walking.
“Haley!” she screamed.
I heard her coming up fast behind me. I swung around, forcing her to stop. Since I was a good four inches taller than her, plus today I had on my really cool Jimmy Choos, which gave me yet another few inches, I towered over her.
The women in the hallway swerved around us and exchanged troubled looks, like they thought a bitch fight might break out or something.
I noticed Kayla standing nearby, my backup. Eve was a little farther away but taking it all in, ready to spread the word about what was going down.
Are they great BFFs or what?
Vanessa apparently didn’t like the odds, because she took a half step back.
“Haley, please, you have to let me help you with the Sheridan Adams event,” she said, sounding all concerned and worried.
Oh my God, she had done a one-eighty and completely changed tactics on me.
“You told me not to ask you—”
“Please, I’m begging you,” Vanessa said.
The women in the hallway had stopped and were listening.
“I’m handling the Adams’ party just fine,” I told her.
Vanessa pressed her lips together and shook her head. “Oh, Haley, I admire you so. You’re new here and you’re so inexperienced. You really have no idea what you’re doing. But you’re hanging in there, muddling through as best you can.”
“I am not muddling!”
“Just please, promise me that you won’t let your pride get the best of you,” Vanessa said. “Come to me. Let me save this event while there’s still time.”
“What you can save, Vanessa, is your breath, because I know what you’re doing,” I told her.
She glared at me. I glared back. We progressed from stink-eye to double-stink-eye, to triple-stink-eye in a heartbeat.
Vanessa blinked first. She leaned in and hissed, “Quit now. Or else.” Then she whipped around and marched off down the hall screaming, “Edie! Where are you? Edie!”
Kayla gave me a little nod. “You rock.”
Yeah, maybe I did. But, jeez, Vanessa was right—I hate it when other people are right. I was barely muddling through Sheridan Adams’ party prep.
I absolutely had to pull this off.
In my office, I reviewed everything that had been put in place for Sheridan’s event, made calls to double-check things, and managed to calm down. Everything was
in good shape with the caterer, the tribute bands, and the decorations, for now, anyway. Something could always go wrong later.
I knew Mike Ivan would come through for me on the gift bags. I still had to figure out what to do about stuffing them, plus get the Cirque du Soleil performers here somehow.
The thing that worried me most was the Yellow Submarine cake. It would be the centerpiece of the dessert buffet. It absolutely had to be ready on time, and it had to look fabulous.
Even though both Paige and Belinda had assured me the cake would be ready, I didn’t feel good about it. Their promises, though well intended, wouldn’t make any difference if Darren decided to give the cake an oh-well and close the bakery.
He’d made no secret of his feelings about Lacy, and that he resented having to come here and handle her affairs. I figured he’d be anxious to get back home, and that might mean cutting things short by simply selling the bakery.
I decided I’d better talk to Darren again and see where he stood on Lacy Cakes.
I sat at my desk thinking, making sure I hadn’t forgotten anything about Sheridan Adams’ party. I took care of a few more things, then left.
I drove to the Best Western where I’d met Darren before, but I didn’t see the Lacy Cakes delivery van in the parking lot. I doubted he’d used it to tool down to Disneyland or anything, so I drove to the bakery, thinking he might be there.
I spotted the van when I pulled into the parking lot along with—yikes!—cop cars. I slid into a space near the liquor store and walked down.
The bakery’s front door was propped open, and police officers in uniform were milling around. I spotted Detective Madison inside talking to Darren, and a chill ran through me. I hoped this didn’t mean someone else had been murdered.
I glanced down at the floral and candle memorial someone had placed beneath the window right after Lacy died, and I hoped there wouldn’t soon be another one alongside it.
I craned my neck and rose on my toes, hoping I’d see Detective Shuman here also. I really wished he could start to get over Amanda’s death, and going back to work might be just the thing, but I didn’t see him.
Paige was inside the bakery amid a flurry of people. She saw me through the glass and came outside. We moved a short distance away.
Evening Bags and Executions Page 12
