“You shot her,” I said.
She nodded. “And I enjoyed it.”
We were both quiet for a minute while Belinda’s words sunk in. The color drained from her face. I decided I should try to keep her talking.
“It must have really hurt you to learn that Lacy hadn’t left you anything in her will and that Darren wouldn’t let you run the bakery,” I said. “That’s when you decided to steal the bobbleheads and hold them for ransom, wasn’t it? That way, you’d have a big chunk of money to retire on, or invest in Lacy Cakes with Paige.”
Belinda’s anxiety level revved up, as if the magnitude of what she’d done had suddenly occurred to her. Her eyes darted back and forth. The gun seemed slippery in her hand.
“You should leave,” I said, gesturing to the parking garage.
That got her attention.
“Just get in the janitorial van and go,” I said, in my what-could-be-simpler voice.
Belinda looked at the parking garage, then back at me.
I figured if I could get her to go to the van—which would benefit me, of course—I could alert security and the cops in time to catch her before she got too far.
It was the only plan I could come up with on short notice, and Belinda looked as if she liked it.
“Good idea,” she said, then waved the pistol at me. “You’re coming with me.”
Oh, crap.
What could I do but roll with it?
I headed for the parking garage, then swung around and slapped Belinda’s arm. The gun flew from her hand, skidded off the porch, and disappeared. She pushed me hard. I fell backward and landed on my butt. Belinda took off running.
I scrambled to my feet and followed her into the parking garage. Wow, for an old gal she could really move. I wove between the cars, vans, and trucks, then spotted two security guards running toward Belinda. Another one came from the opposite direction. They grabbed her just as she got to the Ever Clean van. When I reached them, she was screaming and crying, and the guards had her up against the van cuffing her hands behind her.
Tires squealed and a black-and-white LAPD patrol car pulled up. Behind it was a white Crown Victoria. The doors opened. Detective Madison got out along with—oh my God—Detective Shuman.
I called Muriel and let her break the news to Sheridan and Talbot, gave my statement to Detective Madison, and went to the employee breakroom—after I stopped off for a half-dozen scrumptious desserts, of course. I got stink-eye from the pastry chefs, but nobody was willing to cross Yoko Ono, it seemed.
I had the lounge to myself, which was good, so I immediately ditched the wig and hat—better to look poorly dressed than like the person who’d caused the breakup of the Beatles—and started in on the gooiest treat I’d pilfered. Halfway through, the door opened and Detective Shuman walked in.
I’d been surprised to see him roll up with Detective Madison. I hadn’t heard from him and didn’t know he was back on the job.
He looked as much like his old self as possible, under the circumstances. He’d cut his hair, shaved his beard, and wore his traditional mismatched shirt, tie, and sport coat.
But his eyes seemed empty. He looked thin, withered, as if the weight he carried over Amanda’s murder had caused him to shrink.
“Good job,” he said, nodding toward the door.
I was glad to have a chance to talk to him alone. He’d been busy with everything in the parking garage and we’d only nodded at each other.
I licked the chocolate off my fingertips and walked over to meet him. I wanted to give him a hug, but I sensed he wouldn’t want me to.
“How did you and Madison know to show up?” I asked.
“The security guard notified LAPD that a possible murder suspect was on the grounds,” Shuman said.
I’d forgotten that I’d mentioned Lacy Hobbs’s name when I’d called about the bobbleheads possibly being stolen again.
Jeez, was I wrong about that or what? Belinda was really here to kill me.
I guess my private detective skills still needed some work. But at least I’d been right about the security guards spotting Belinda and me on the surveillance camera.
“Are you all right?” Shuman asked. “She didn’t hurt you, did she?”
I’d answered that question a couple of times already, but I guess Shuman wanted to be sure.
“I’m good,” I said. “When did you start back to work?”
“This morning,” he said.
A few minutes passed with us just staring at each other. I wanted to ask him a zillion questions about where he’d been, what he’d done, why I hadn’t heard from him, if he was okay. But Shuman had put some sort of wall up around him, and I couldn’t bring myself to try to get through it.
The door to the lounge opened and Detective Madison walked in. He looked as if he’d aged since the last time I’d talked to him.
Amanda’s murder and Shuman’s disappearance had taken a toll on everyone.
“You’re free to leave,” Madison said.
I guess he was content with the confession I’d heard Belinda screaming as I left the parking garage and no longer considered me a suspect in Lacy’s murder, but I wanted to make sure.
“You’re closing the case?” I asked.
The case that wasn’t closed seemed to spring up between the three of us as if someone had said Amanda’s name aloud.
Detective Madison’s expression turned grim. He looked at me, then at Shuman and said, “We’ll find the man who murdered Amanda. We’ll find him.”
Madison walked away.
I turned to Shuman and asked softly, “Are they going to find him?”
He shook his head. “No. They’re never going to find him.”
CHAPTER 27
My apartment was only a semi-mess now, thanks to Cody, but several things still needed to be done. I figured I could get Lyle and his construction crew to handle them.
I sat on my couch wearing sweats, my hair in a ponytail, a package of Oreo cookies on my left and a one-pound bag of M&M’s on my right, watching the History Channel. I’d grown to appreciate their programming—who didn’t love Ancient Aliens—during my extended stay in breakup zombieland, but today I was just tired and wanted to veg out.
Yesterday had been one heck of a day. So much had happened I couldn’t even process it all. After leaving Sheridan’s estate last night I’d come home and fallen into bed. I’d have to face reality sometime today—maybe after I’d gotten through the Oreos.
Just as the narrator on TV started in on how aliens had come to Earth to mine for gold, my cell phone rang. I hoped it was Marcie—I could really stand a good, long talk with my BFF—but Jeanette’s name appeared on my caller ID screen. What the heck could she want?
Since I’m not big on suspense, I answered.
“Good news, Haley,” Jeanette said. “We won!”
I had no idea what she was talking about.
She must have realized that because she said, “The contest. Our store sold the most fashions from the runway show—the most in the entire chain. We won!”
Jeez, so much had happened I’d forgotten all about the contest.
“And you know what that means,” she said, in a third-grade somebody-likes-you chant.
Oh my God. We’d won the contest. That meant I’d have to go to the corporate office and work—with Ty.
My heart started to race. A thousand thoughts flew through my head.
I really needed to talk to Marcie now.
“You know, the most exciting thing about the fashion show was all those young girls who were there,” Jeanette said.
I remembered seeing dozens of stylishly dressed girls in the audience.
I got a weird feeling.
“Who would have suspected it?” she went on. “We’ve never had a concentration of that demographic before. I don’t know where they all came from.”
One of my conversations with Amber flashed in my head. She’d told me Ty had her hire a group of actresses
.
My weird feeling got weirder.
I needed a distraction.
I spotted the gift bag from Sheridan’s party that Tiberia had given me. I grabbed it off my kitchen counter.
“Those girls bought armloads of fashions,” Jeanette said. “They could hardly carry them all to the checkout lines.”
I dumped the gift bag out. Something sparkly caught my eye.
“Of course, it would have been better if they’d used a Holt’s credit account to pay for everything,” Jeanette said.
My doorbell rang.
“The interest the store would have earned from those purchases would have been a real boost,” she said.
I dug down through the gift items and found—oh my God, the Enchantress evening bag.
Tiberia had told me Sheridan wanted me to have something special. She must have remembered how much I wanted an Enchantress and gotten it for me.
My doorbell rang again.
This was so awesome. I couldn’t wait to tell Marcie.
“But I’m delighted all those girls bought our fashions,” Jeanette said. “Even if they all used gift cards.”
Gift cards?
A knock sounded on my door.
Hadn’t Amber mentioned something about gift cards?
I opened my front door. Shuman waited outside.
“Hi,” I mumbled, and stepped back.
He walked inside.
Then it hit me—Amber had told me that Ty had her buy zillions of Holt’s gift cards for him.
“I’ll personally handle your schedule so you can report to the Holt’s corporate office immediately,” Jeanette said. “You can work with you-know-who right away.”
Several things clicked into place—but could they really be true?
“Haley, I need to talk to you,” Shuman said.
Had Ty engineered this entire fashion show contest to get me to the corporate office? He’d changed the grand prize at the last minute so the fashion show coordinator would work there. Jeanette had given me that position, but was it at Ty’s suggestion?
Shuman pushed the door shut.
“You’re on the schedule for tonight,” Jeanette said, “but don’t come in. You deserve some time off.”
Had Ty hired all those actresses and bought them gift cards with instructions to buy everything in our fashion show—so I’d win?
“I’ll get back with you on your transfer to the corporate office,” Jeanette said, and hung up.
I stood there holding my cell phone, my thoughts in chaos.
Had Ty really done that?
And, if he had, what did it mean?
“Haley, I—I really need to talk to you,” Shuman said.
Did it mean Ty wanted us to get back together? Was this his way of having me near him?
Shuman moved closer.
Did it mean that Ty missed me? Or did he want me there so I could see that he was perfectly all right without me?
“Haley?” Shuman said.
Then something else hit me—had Ty been spying on me in my parking lot? Was it him who’d warned Cody to step off?
“Oh, Haley.” Shuman sighed.
Hang on a minute.
“I’ve—I’ve done something . . . something terrible,” he said.
Oh my God, what was going on?
Shuman pressed his palm against my cheek and leaned in.
“I don’t think anybody could ever . . . ever love me again,” he said softly.
I froze.
Shuman leaned down until his lips hovered over mine.
“What about you, Haley? Could—could you love me?” he whispered.
Oh, crap.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2013 by Dorothy Howell
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
Library of Congress Card Catalogue Number: 2013936487
ISBN: 978-0-7582-5334-7
eISBN-13: 978-0-7582-8929-2
eISBN-10: 0-7582-8929-4
First Kensington Electronic Edition: July 2013
Evening Bags and Executions Page 25
