Oh my God. There was only one place and one moment when they could have had that conversation.
“So you went upstairs and discussed it with Veronica as soon as her family arrived?” I asked.
“I certainly did,” Julia told me.
Behind her in the kitchen doorway, Jack appeared.
“I was not going to stand in front of this house and welcome them, as if I were hostessing,” Julia told me. “I went inside. Erika had the good sense to come, too. I asked her to go to the kitchen and alert the cooks while I went upstairs to find Veronica. Really, to have guests—even guests of that nature—and not be present upon their arrival. It’s simply not done. I intended to tell her that.”
I got a yucky feeling.
“Veronica didn’t know that?” I asked.
“She knew nothing,” Julia said, agitated now. “I should have realized sooner that something was amiss with Patrick. He kept delaying his return from back east. I never thought that some small town, average girl was keeping him there. I should have stepped in sooner. I should have never allowed his father to send him there in the first place.”
The noise level in the kitchen dropped. The caterer’s staff had turned to us. Julia, caught up in memories and growing more upset by the minute, didn’t seem to notice.
“You went upstairs to the master bedroom suite,” I said. “You saw Veronica there, and she told you about the fanny pack business.”
“She bragged about it,” Julia said, her voice rising slightly. “And then—then—she thought she could actually calm my horror at the news by informing me of an announcement she intended to make. As if I should feel special that she’d told me before anyone else.”
I yucky feeling got yuckier.
“They intended to start a family next year,” Julia said, her eyes blazing. “I would never have gotten rid of her, if that had happened.”
Yeah, I was feeling totally yucky now.
“She had no idea I’d become upset. She actually thought I’d be pleased. Can you imagine?” Julia said. “She ran out onto the balcony. I followed her. She began to scream like the scattered-brain girl that she was, and I—”
Julia froze. She glanced around the room and saw that the caterer’s staff was staring.
“So you pushed her?” I asked softly.
“Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous,” she told me. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Julia turned to leave but stopped short at the sight of Jack blocking the doorway. No way could she get around him.
She turned to me again and drew herself up. “You think you’ve discovered something? That I’ve confessed to something?”
I didn’t say anything.
Julia uttered a bitter laugh. “People like me don’t get convicted.”
“Mrs. Spencer-Taft,” Jack said softly, “would you come with me, please? We need to call your attorney.”
He stepped back and gestured down the hallway. Julia put her nose in the air and walked out of the kitchen.
Jack followed her.
Chapter 15
I left.
I made sure everything was set for the feast, told Andrea and all the vendors to call me if a problem arose, then said goodbye to Melanie, Cassie, Renée, and Brandie, and left.
Julia was sequestered with a team of attorneys. Jack was locked away with another team of attorneys. The homicide detectives had been called. Patrick hadn’t shown up yet.
No way did I want to be there when he arrived.
Going to Mom’s for Thanksgiving sounded better than staying at the Spencer-Taft home—that’s how bad I didn’t want to be there—even if I’d likely end up listening to a history lesson about Cuba through dinner.
I pulled out of the driveway and drove away without a backward look. The streets were quiet. Everyone was inside eating turkey, I figured.
Darrell was off the hook—for murder, anyway. I guessed we’d never know for sure if he was blackmailing Veronica to keep quiet about her mom being in prison, or if she was willingly giving him money.
It was small consolation to know that I’d been right all along about Veronica’s planned announcement leading to her death. Hearing that she and Patrick intended to start a family in the coming year had, apparently, been the final straw for Julia.
At the corner I stopped while two catering vans drove past. Seemed nobody in Calabasas was cooking for themselves today.
I turned right, thinking that I might have figured everything out sooner if Patrick had told me what the big announcement was. I guess he’d been too busy running Pammy Candy to realize how important it was to Veronica, and that she’d planned to make a big deal out of it.
Then, too, I might have realized Julia was the murderer if I’d known she’d been lying right from the start. She’d probably figured the police would eventually determine that Veronica was pushed from the balcony so she’d muddied the waters with the story of Veronica leaving Patrick, moving back home, and committing suicide.
Whether Julia would ever get what was coming to her, I didn’t know. She had an excellent team of lawyers and millions of dollars.
I wasn’t sure her freedom would mean much, since her son would likely never speak to her again.
I turned another corner and rolled up to the security gate. The guard was on duty, checking I.D.s, waving people in. The gate slid open and, as I drove through, I noticed a car parked at the curb. A man was standing next to it.
Oh my God. It was Liam.
He was dressed in khaki pants and a pale blue shirt. The breeze had ruffled his hair. He straightened away from the fender when he saw me and shot me a big smile.
I pulled up behind his car. He opened the door for me and I got out.
“What do you call a lawyer who shows up with a picnic lunch on Thanksgiving?” he asked. “A potential boyfriend.”
My insides got all gooey.
I looked inside his car and saw a big wicker picnic basket and a blanket on the back seat. I was totally impressed—with his initiative and the effort he’d put into finding me today.
“Have you been waiting long?” I asked.
“All my life,” he said, and grinned.
Now my toes were curling, too.
“I got the idea you’d be okay with showing up late to your mom’s house,” he said.
“Mom who?” I said, and he chuckled.
“I know a great spot not far from here,” Liam said. “How about it?”
“Sure,” I said.
“I’ll drive.” He told the guard we were leaving my car parked there for a while, then we both got in his car and he drove us to a park a couple of miles away.
We had the place to ourselves, as he spread out the blanket under a tree and unpacked the picnic basket. There were big, hearty turkey sandwiches, potato salad, chocolate-chip cookies, and two bottles of wine.
“What do you call a lawyer who tries to get a girl drunk on the first date?” he asked. “Thinking ahead.”
He passed me a plate loaded with food, and a glass of wine. We ate and chatted for a while.
“Can I get your opinion on something?” he asked.
I was feeling pretty mellow—though I wasn’t sure if it was from the wine or Liam’s presence.
He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and started scrolling through screens.
“My sister works at Neiman Marcus. They just got these in stock and they’re holding them for a mid-December sale,” he said. “But she thought my other sister would love one so she suggested I buy it for her for Christmas. What do you think?”
Liam passed me his cell phone and—oh my God—there was the most fabulous handbag I’d ever seen. My heart started to beat faster. It was a gorgeous clutch in rich dark leather with a ruby Swarovski crystal clasp.
“I love this bag.” I might have said that kind of loud.
Liam leaned back a little.
“I absolutely must have it.” Yeah, I really said that too loud. I offered him a quick smile. “
I’m kind of a nut about designer handbags.”
“To designer handbags,” he said, and lifted his wine glass. We toasted and drank, then he said. “I can ask my sister to hold one for you.”
“I need two,” I said. “One for my best friend Marcie.”
“No problem,” he said.
Oh my God, this was my best Thanksgiving ever.
Then something hit me.
“Hey, wait,” I said. “Aren’t you supposed to spend Thanksgiving with your family?”
“Mom had us going to dinner at the house of a friend of hers,” Liam said. “Some place out in La Cañada Flintridge.”
Wow, that was a coincidence. My mom and dad lived in La Cañada Flintridge.
“Mom had been friends with this woman for years,” Liam said. “Don’t laugh, but my mom used to be in beauty pageants.”
Okay, that was weird. My mom used to be in beauty pageants.
“There was some talk about a daughter who was a model,” he said.
Huh. My sister did some modeling.
“I think it was a set up,” he said
I got a weird feeling.
Liam shook his head. “It didn’t sound like a great idea to me—the setup or the dinner.”
My weird feeling got totally weird.
“She was serving Cuban food,” he said. “Crazy, huh?”
Oh my God—oh my God.
Liam was the guy. The one Mom had picked out for my sister.
Oh, crap.
THE END
Dear Reader,
There’s more Haley out there! If you enjoyed this novella, check out the other books in the series. They’re available in hardcover, paperback, and ebook editions.
Looking for even more mystery? Meet Dana Mackenzie, my newest amateur sleuth, in Fatal Debt, Fatal Luck, and Fatal Choice. The trilogy is available in paperback and ebook editions at your favorite online bookstore.
I also write historical romance novels under the pen name Judith Stacy. Check them out at http://www.JudithStacy.com.
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Thanks for adding my books to your library and recommending me to your friends and family.
Happy reading!
Dorothy
Keep reading for a peek at another Haley Randolph novella
Duffel Bags and Drownings
Plus
If you’re feeling romantic, check out the excerpt that follows from
The Hired Husband
one of the many historical romances Dorothy writes
under her pen name Judith Stacy
DUFFEL BAGS AND DROWNINGS
By
Dorothy Howell
Chapter One
“Something major is going down,” Kyla murmured. “Have you heard anything?”
I hadn’t but, of course, I wanted to.
“What’s up?” I asked, filling my cup from the giant coffee maker on the counter.
We were squeezed into the breakroom of L.A. Affairs, the event planning company where we both worked as assistant planners, along with a dozen or so other employees all intent on delaying the start of our work day by spending an inordinate amount of time chatting about what we’d done the night before, what we planned to do today, and how we were going to get out of most of it—or maybe that was just me.
Kayla glanced around, then whispered, “Priscilla stopped Edie in the hallway.”
Kayla--tall, dark haired, and about my age—had worked here longer that I had, so no way would I completely dismiss her warning. Still, the office manager stopping the head of H.R. in the hallway first thing in the morning, while troubling, was no reason to panic—especially before I’d had my first cup of breakroom stalling-to-get-to-work coffee.
“They were whispering,” Kayla said.
Okay, whispering in the hallway definitely amped things up. But, again, no need to panic. I, Haley Randolph, with my long pageant legs stretching me to an enviable five-foot-nine, my doesn’t-it-make-me-look-smart dark hair, and my I’m-staring-down-25-years-old-and-not-panicking outlook on life, had been through this sort of thing before and knew it could mean absolutely nothing.
In the past few years I’d worked more than my share of jobs: life guard, receptionist, file clerk, and two weeks at a pet store. Add to that a bang-up job in the accounting department of the prestigious we-could-take-over-the-world Pike Warner law firm that could have worked out well for me if it hadn’t been for that whole administrative-leave-investigation-pending thing—long story. I’d landed at yet another fabulous company—another long story—where things hadn’t worked out exactly as I’d hoped—none of which was my fault, of course.
The only job I’d managed to hold onto was a crappy part-time sales clerk position at the equally crappy Holt’s Department Store which I intended to ditch—complete with the take-this-job-and-shove-it speech I’d rehearsed since my second day of employment there and the series of Olympic caliber cartwheels and backflips I intended to execute on the way out of their front door—as soon as my probation was up at L.A. Affairs.
The office was located in a high rise at Sepulveda and Ventura Boulevards in the upscale area of Sherman Oaks, part of Los Angeles, amid other office buildings, banks, apartment complexes, and the terrific shops and restaurants just across the street at the Sherman Oaks Galleria. L.A. Affairs prided itself for its reputation as event planners to the stars, catering to upscale clients, the rich and famous, the power brokers and insiders of Los Angeles and Hollywood—plus anyone else who could afford our astronomical fees.
“It could be nothing,” I said, emptying a packet of sugar into my coffee.
“Or it could be something,” Kayla said, as she poured herself a cup. She gave me a quick nod over her shoulder. “Listen.”
I noticed then that the early morning chatter in the breakroom was more subdued than usual. Not a good sign.
I dumped two more sugars into my cup.
Eve, another assistant planner, wormed her way between Kayla and me. Eve was a petite redhead who was a few years older than me. She was a huge gossip so, of course, I’d become her BFF right away.
“Oh my God, something’s up,” Eve said, as she fumbled to fill her coffee cup. “Something big.”
Kayla and I immediately leaned closer.
“What have you heard?” Kayla whispered.
“Nothing,” Eve told us. “It’s what I saw.”
Kayla and I exchanged a this-is-definitely-something-major eyebrow bob.
“Priscilla and Edie were whispering in the hallway,” Eve said. She paused, indicating the worst part of her story was about to be revealed, and said, “Then they went into Edie’s office.”
Oh my God. Kayla had been right. Something major was definitely going down. I grabbed two more sugar packets and dumped them into my coffee.
“And,” Eve announced, holding Kayla and me both in but-wait-there’s-more suspense, “they closed the door.”
Oh, yeah. This was bad, all right.
“Do you think they’re going to lay someone off?” Kayla asked.
“Or fire someone,” Eve said. “Maybe more than one person.”
“Several people?” Kayla asked, shaking her head. “Who?”
Kayla and Eve both turned to me, and I got an all-too-familiar sick feeling in my belly. I’d been one of the last people hired at L.A. Affairs. Did that mean I’d be one of the first to go?
“Maybe they’ll fire Vanessa,” I said, and tried for a this-could-work-out-great smile.
Vanessa Lord was the senior planner I was assigned to—though we almost never spoke. She hated me, and I hated her back, of course. Vanessa brought the biggest clients to the firm, which made her the biggest bitch in the firm, unfortunately.
“They’ll never let Vanessa go,” Kayla said. She managed
a small smile. “But we can always hope.”
“Keep your eyes open and your heads down today,” Eve advised and left.
“Let me know if you hear anything,” Kayla said, as she grabbed her coffee and headed out of the breakroom.
I topped off my cup with a generous amount of French vanilla creamer befitting the stress of the morning, and followed her out. In the hallway, I saw that the door to Edie’s office was still closed. Not a good sign. I paused as I passed by—which was kind of bad of me, I know—and leaned closer. I heard murmurs but nothing specific—like my name being bandied about—so I went to my office.
I loved my office, my private sanctuary. It had a neutral desk, chair, bookcase, and credenza, and was accented with vibrant shades of blues and yellows. My favorite part was the large window that gave me a fabulous view of the Galleria across the street, and the surrounding area.
I had plenty of work to do, all sorts of events that I was in various stages of planning, but no way could I face them right now, not with this whole somebody-could-get-the-axe-today-and-it-could-be-me thing hanging over my head.
I walked to the window and looked down at the traffic creeping along the crowded streets, and the people rushing to get wherever they were going, and sipped my coffee. I had to admit to myself that this was an occasion when still having an official boyfriend to talk to would be good.
Ty Cameron was my last official boyfriend. He was absolutely gorgeous, super smart, organized, competent and professional, the fifth generation of his family to run the chain of Holt’s Department Stores. If we were still together I could call him, talk this over, and he’d make me feel better—if he wasn’t in a meeting, or on an international conference call, and had time to talk, of course.
Fanny Packs and Foul Play (A Haley Randolph Mystery) Page 12
