“So you think it’s a good idea?” Mom asked.
She’d been blabbing on and I hadn’t been listening, I realized.
That happened a lot.
I had only the vaguest notion what she was talking about—some trip to Cuba—so what could I say but, “Sure. Great idea.”
“Excellent,” she told me. “I’ll get right on it.”
We ended the call as I exited the 101, wound through the streets, and pulled up to the guard house. I presented my driver’s license out the window to the guy I’d seen on duty many times, but he waved me off.
“We have you on our permanent list, Miss Randolph,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said, and dropped my license into my handbag—a darling Gucci tote.
He hit a button that opened the gate. I drove through.
When I swung into the Spencer-Taft driveway a few minutes later I parked between Andrea’s Mazda and Veronica’s BMW, and got out. All the construction projects remained just as they were when the workers had been called off the job by the police. I spotted one of Jack’s security guys nearby.
As I crossed the circular drive, the front door burst open and Renée charged outside. She stopped, turned back, and yelled, “I’m getting what’s due me! And to hell with all of you!”
She slammed the door and stomped off around the house.
Good grief. What now?
Chapter 7
I walked into the entryway in time to see Melanie dash up the stairs. Cassie stood at the bottom looking more than slightly upset. She spotted me and heaved a heavy sigh.
“I guess you heard,” she said, looking embarrassed but resigned to what had happened, as if she’d been down this road with her sisters many times.
“Must be tough always trying to be the peacemaker,” I said.
Cassie shook her head. “Melanie and Renée have never gotten along. I thought it might be different on this trip, but Renée is worse than usual.”
“What’s she so upset about?” I asked.
“Basically, she’s mad that life didn’t turn out better for her,” Cassie said. “And right now she’s blaming it on Veronica.”
Okay, that surprised me.
I guess it showed in my expression because Cassie went on.
“It started years ago,” she said. “Veronica found our mother’s candy recipe in the back of an old cookbook. We’d lost Mom a decade before that, and nobody had bothered with it since she passed on. So, Veronica started making candy.”
“Your mom was named Pammy?” I asked.
“Yes, that’s what Veronica called the candy, as a tribute to her grandmother,” Cassie said. “Mom was a great cook and so is—was—Veronica. She started selling the candy at the county fair and at farmers’ market. She got some of the local stores to carry it and she even set up a website to sell it online.”
“Sounds like she was working hard at building a business,” I said.
“Mostly, she wanted money to finish college,” Cassie said. She shifted uncomfortable and glanced away. “Veronica’s mother wasn’t in a position to pay for her education.”
I remembered then that Andrea had told me Veronica’s mom had health problems, and figured it must have been something major—and expensive.
“I guess things improved when Patrick came into Veronica’s life,” I said.
Cassie smiled. “Patrick is a sweetheart. At first, we had no idea who he was or that his family owned so many of the businesses around the county. He never let on how much money he had. When he and Veronica first laid eyes on each other, it was love at first sight. Everybody knew it. It was the sweetest thing.”
It did sound sweet, and I couldn’t help but wonder what that would feel like.
“Patrick had the wherewithal to build a business around the candy Veronica was making,” Cassie went on. “Imagine, our mother’s candy being sold all across the country.”
“Your family must have been thrilled,” I said.
“You’d think,” Cassie said. “Everybody was so happy and so proud, except for Renée. She thought that since it was Mom’s recipe, all of her children should get a share of the profits.”
“Did everyone feel that way?” I asked.
“No, of course not. Any one of us could have picked up that recipe and made the candy. All of us knew about it. We’d even talked about how much we missed Mom’s candy,” Cassie said.
She seemed to get lost in her memories for a minute, then went on.
“Besides, none of us knew how to build a business. We didn’t have any idea how to get started, keep it going, or turn it into something big. Never mind that none of us had the money it would take to get the whole thing up and running.”
“Patrick could do that,” I said.
“Veronica and Patrick were very generous. They gave everybody money and helped out any way they could. Why, they paid for this trip, every dime of it. But that just made things worse when we got here and a limousine picked us up. Then we pulled up to this mansion. All Renée’s talked about was how Veronica’s life out here is so grand, and the rest of us are stuck in that same small town we’ve always lived in.”
“What, exactly, did Renée mean when she stormed out of here and said she was going to get what was due her?” I asked.
Cassie rolled her eyes. “I don’t know for sure. But I suspect she’s got some crazy moneymaking scheme that she intended to spring on Veronica and Patrick. But, well, with Veronica gone I don’t know what’s going to happen.”
“Aunt Cassie?”
We turned and saw Brandie standing in the hallway. I didn’t know how long she’d been there or how much she’d overheard, but Cassie didn’t seem concerned.
“Can we please go somewhere?” Brandie moaned, in true teenage fashion. “It’s so boring here.”
“I’m just exhausted,” Cassie said. “But Andrea said we were getting our own tour guide tomorrow. There’ll be plenty to do then.”
Brandie slumped against the wall and sighed. Obviously, tomorrow was too far in the future to satisfy her.
Not that I blamed her.
“Want to go for a drive?” I asked, then added quickly, “If it’s okay with your family.”
Brandie sprang to life like a missile launched from a naval destroyer, and rushed over. “Can I go, Aunt Cassie? Mom won’t care. Can I?”
Cassie glanced up at the second floor, then nodded. “Melanie is probably taking a nap and I don’t want to wake her, so, okay, you can go.”
“Yes!” Brandie gave a fist pump and headed for the door.
“Don’t let her talk you into getting in trouble,” Cassie said to me.
I wasn’t worried. When it came to finding trouble I didn’t need any help—and I knew all the shortcuts.
“We’ll be gone a few hours,” I said to Cassie.
As I followed Brandie through the front door, I pulled out my cell phone and called Andrea.
“When are you getting here?” she asked as soon as she answered.
“I’m here already,” I said. “Where are you?”
“Actually, I’m hiding in the media room,” Andrea admitted. “Melanie and Renée got into a big argument. I couldn’t take it.”
“You’re safe to come out,” I told her. “Melanie is napping and Renée is outside. I’m taking Brandie for a drive.”
“Thank God,” she said. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“Let the security guys know Brandie is with me, will you?” I asked.
The last thing I needed was for someone to think she’d gone missing.
“Sure. Have fun,” she said, and we ended the call.
When I got outside, Brandie was bouncing on her toes next to Veronica’s BMW.
“Let’s take Veronica’s car, okay?” she asked. “We can put the top down. It’ll be so cool.”
The Beemer would definitely have been cooler than my Honda, but no way was I taking it.
“I know where the keys are,” Brandie pleaded. “I can drive.”
“How old are you?” I asked.
She drew herself up a little and said, “I’m almost sixteen.”
I figured that was teenager-speak for almost fifteen.
“I know how to drive,” Brandie insisted. “Everybody my age drives, back home.”
That was probably true, but her experience on rural two-lane roads was no match for Southern California’s freeways.
“Do you have a driver’s license?” I asked.
“Well, no,” she admitted.
“Then I’m driving,” I said, and pointed to my Honda.
Jeez, who’d have thought I would be the responsible one?
We got in and I pulled away from the house.
“I need a Starbucks,” I said.
“Is there really one of those places around here?” Brandie asked.
I nearly ran up on the curb.
“You don’t have a Starbucks near your house?” I asked.
Oh my God, how could anybody live in a place that didn’t have ready access to multiple Starbucks locations?
That alone was reason to move to Los Angeles.
Brandie didn’t seem to take offense to my question. She was occupied craning her neck to try and get a look at the houses that were hidden behind the tall trees and thick shrubs that had been planted to keep people from doing just that.
“There’s one over in the next town, but it’s kind of a long way,” Brandie said. “Mom says it’s too far to drive to get an overpriced cup of coffee.”
That was probably true—but it wasn’t the point.
I drove to the Commons shopping center and we parked outside of Starbucks. Inside, I recommended a mocha frappuccino—the world’s most fabulous drink—and Brandie went for it. We both got ventis with extra whip cream and double chocolate drizzle.
“Oh my God, this is fabulous,” Brandie moaned after the first sip. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and snapped a selfie. “I’m posting this on Facebook.”
I hated to think about Brandie going back home and never enjoying a frappie again. I mean, really, was that any way to live?
“Give me your phone,” I said.
She looked as if I’d just asked for one of her kidneys, but finally handed it over. I accessed my Starbucks account and downloaded their app, then handed the phone back to her.
“You can use my account,” I said, “and get a drink whenever you want.”
Brandie looked down at her cell phone as if it was suddenly worth its weight in gold—which it kind of was, now that it had a Starbucks app on it.
“And the drinks will be free?” she asked, looking up at me as if I’d taken on rock star status. “You’d do that for me?”
“Sure,” I said.
It would be cool to see that she’d used the app and know she was at Starbucks enjoying a drink I’d introduced her to. I knew there was a chance Brandie would go back home and treat all of her friends to multiple drinks at my expense, but if she did I could just cancel the card.
“That is so cool,” she told me. “Thanks.”
“Have you been to the beach yet?” I asked.
Her eyes got big. “Can we go? Is it far? Can we go now?”
“You bet.”
“Oh my God,” she whispered.
We got back into my Honda and I drove to the 101, then headed north—which always feels like west to me—and exited on Las Virgenes. Most signs of civilization gradually disappeared as the two lane road wound through the rugged canyons.
Brandie seemed more interested in the scenery and taking pics with her cell phone than talking, which was okay with me. I kept replaying in my head what Cassie had told me.
Renée wasn’t happy and blamed it on Veronica, claiming she’d cheated her out of money from the candy business that she felt should be hers. Was that a motive for murder, or what?
I couldn’t shake the memory of how Renée had blasted into the house immediately upon arrival, and how she’d been in there alone for quite some time. She’d even admitted she’d been all over the house.
Had she really been searching for a bathroom? Or was that a clever cover story?
And where had Erika been during that same time? She’d disappeared pretty much as soon as the family got out of the limo. Did she think this was her chance to murder Veronica? That having so many new people in the house might create more suspects? Could she have wanted Patrick back in her life badly enough to murder Veronica?
Of course, Julia had vanished at the same time. I had no reason to think she’d want Veronica dead—enough to actually murder her, that is—but I couldn’t let go of her as a suspect.
“Oh my God,” Brandie said.
I saw then that a slice of the Pacific Ocean had appeared ahead of us between the hills.
“This is awesome,” she said.
I was with her on that. Even after living my whole life here, the sight of the ocean was still cool.
We drove down the winding road and I turned left on Pacific Coast Highway at Malibu. Brandie’s head swiveled back and forth as she tried to take in the ocean, the stores, restaurants, and businesses that lined both sides of the road.
“Want to get your feet wet?” I asked.
“Of course,” Brandie said.
I drove a little further down PCH, then turned right into the parking lot next to the Santa Monica pier. The lot was close to the ocean, and there were restaurants, gift shops, and carnival rides on the pier. I paid the attendant, swung into a parking spot, and we got out.
“No wonder Veronica loves it out here,” Brandie said, as she held up her cell phone, taking more pictures.
“She wasn’t planning to go back home?” I asked.
“After all the trouble the family put into keeping her big secret from Patrick and everybody?” Brandie said. “No way.”
I froze. Oh my God. Veronica had a secret?
Brandie gasped and pressed her lips together.
“I wasn’t supposed to say anything,” she told me. “Oh my God, Mom is going to throw a complete fit if she finds out I said something.”
I didn’t want to make things worse for Brandie and I didn’t want to get her in trouble with her mom, but I wasn’t about to let this slide.
I gave her one of my we’re-cool shrugs and said, “You might as well tell me now.”
She thought for a second and sighed. “Yeah, I guess.”
Brandie didn’t say anything—I hate it when that happens—then finally drew a big breath and said, “We’re not supposed to talk about Veronica’s parents. Everybody was afraid that if Patrick knew about them, he wouldn’t want to marry her. Like our family wouldn’t be good enough, or something. And his parents would be embarrassed and then they’d get a divorce and abandon the candy business. Everybody’s life would be ruined.”
Now I was dying to know what the secret was, but I knew I couldn’t push her.
I hate that, too.
Brandie thought for another minute or so then said, “Veronica’s dad abandoned her mom when she was just a baby. He was some total loser, I guess. A druggie, or something. I don’t know. The family doesn’t talk about him much.”
That hardly seemed secret-worthy to me.
“What about Veronica’s mother?” I asked.
“That’s the thing,” Brandie said. She hesitated another moment, then said, “She was a druggie, too. She’s in prison.”
Oh, crap.
Chapter 8
“This is crazy,” Marcie said.
“Yes, but something will turn up,” I replied.
We were spending our Sunday morning in the mall at Sherman Oaks continuing our search for a fabulous handbag and, once again, hadn’t found anything we loved—or even liked. When we’d done this at the Galleria a few days ago Marcie had suggested I was being a crab-ass about the whole thing. She’d been right—Marcie was almost always right—so today I was making an effort to be upbeat and positive.
“Are you okay?” Marcie asked. “You’ve been acti
ng weird all day.”
So much for the new me.
“Let’s try Macy’s,” I said.
We’d already checked out the Coach and Michael Kors stores, Bloomingdales, and a few other shops. Macy’s was our last hope.
“I met this really annoying guy,” I said, as we made our way through the crowd. Everything was already decorated for Christmas and, apparently, lots of people were getting a jump on their shopping.
“Was he at least good looking?” Marcie asked.
“Totally handsome,” I said. “A lawyer. Liam Douglas.”
“Sexy name,” she said, nodding. “Why was he so annoying?”
I replayed my conversation with Liam in my head and, really, except for the fact that he’d come at me all wrong about my clients and their dog’s birthday party, he’d seemed okay. Well, better than okay—but that wasn’t the point.
“He made me so mad. I couldn’t believe how upset I got. Then he totally backed off and apologized,” I said. “I’ll never see him again, anyway.”
“Too bad. Sounds like you two had some sparks flying,” Marcie said. “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”
Under normal circumstances I would have welcomed a change in topic, but remembering my mom’s Thanksgiving Day dinner threatened to throw me into crab-ass-mode again.
“Mom’s having people over,” I said.
“Oh. Sorry.”
Marcie knew about my mom.
“I have an event that day, an afternoon thing. Maybe it will run long and I won’t have to go,” I said.
Of course, I’d never hear the end of it if I didn’t show up and threw off Mom’s seating chart.
“Are you hanging out with your family?” I asked.
“Mom hasn’t told me what we’re doing yet, but we’ll probably go to my grandma’s again,” Marcie said.
Marcie’s family was awesome. Her mom was terrific. Honestly, I was always a bit envious.
I thought about Veronica. At least my mom wasn’t in prison—and even that didn’t make me feel better about my own mother.
My attitude was in a death-spiral, I decided, as we entered Macy’s. If I didn’t find a handbag here to lift my spirits, desperate measures would have to be taken.
Fanny Packs and Foul Play (A Haley Randolph Mystery) Page 6
