Mom hadn’t noticed.
In her call yesterday, she’d also asked who I was taking to the charity gala. I’d expected that Ty and I would attend together, but now…well, it was just one more reason not to call Mom back.
When I’d heard from Mr. Olsen’s secretary I figured he’d gotten the info I’d requested on Evelyn’s neighbor, the one she’s convinced was offed by his new girlfriend, and that Olsen would tell me that Cecil Hartley was alive and kicking, and living the high life in an RV park somewhere in Arizona.
That left me feeling really good that I could mark this chore off my list—and ease Evelyn’s mind, of course.
As I approached the B & T, the big glass door swung open and out walked Ty. My heart did its usual little flutter whenever I saw him.
Oh my God. He was so handsome. And he was wearing Armani. Just like me!
See? This proved we thought alike. We were on the same mental and emotional plane. We were meant to be together.
Ty wasn’t exhibiting my joy of life right now, though. He was frowning—more than usual.
But that was okay. Actually, perfect. He’ll spot me any second now. He’ll stop dead in his tracks. His eyes will light up and a huge smile will break out over his face. He’ll rush to me. Take me in his arms, right here on busy Wilshire Boulevard, not caring who might be watching. He’ll tell me he’s desperate for me. He’ll ignore all his meetings today and whisk me away to a plush hotel suite overlooking the ocean where we’ll—
Wait. He walked past me.
“Ty?”
He didn’t stop. But that was to be expected. After all, he just left the B & T, probably some big meeting with Bradley Olsen.
“Ty!”
He still didn’t stop. It was probably a really big meeting.
I hurried after him. “Ty!”
He glanced back, spotted me, then stopped.
His eyes lit up—a tiny flare, but I saw it—and the left corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly—not everyone could spot it, just people like me who knew him well. Really.
“Sorry,” Ty said. “I didn’t see you standing there.”
“Problems?” I asked.
“Olsen.” Ty looked annoyed and nodded toward the B & T. “Somehow he got the idea there were problems with Wallace Incorporated opening on time.”
Oh, crap.
I think maybe I gave Bradley Olsen that idea—he totally misinterpreted an innocent remark—the last time I was here.
But no use telling Ty. He already had enough on him. And I was sure he’d already cleared up the situation.
Besides, there was no need to dwell on the negative. This was the perfect opportunity for Ty to ask me out. We weren’t at work, he wasn’t in a meeting, and most important, Sarah Covington wasn’t hanging around distracting him.
“So everything is set for the opening?” I asked.
Wallace Inc. was Ty’s personal, pet project, totally separate from the family-owned Holt’s chain of stores. It was the reason he was doing double work these days.
In a way, Wallace Inc. was my pet project, too. Ty had consulted with me on the location. We’d discussed it over a romantic dinner.
At least, that’s the way I’m choosing to remember it at the moment.
I hoped Ty remembered it that way too because it was a good lead in to him inviting me out again.
“Everything’s on schedule. I just hired a store manager,” Ty said, then nodded toward the B & T again. “Are you here to see Olsen?”
How did we get back on the subject of business? I wanted to talk about personal things like dinner, and why he liked me, and why we weren’t having sex yet.
“Just some investment questions for Evelyn,” I said.
“How’s she doing?” Ty asked, looking concerned now.
I was not getting into the whole won’t-come-out-of-her-house thing with him, or the murdered-neighbor thing.
“Evelyn’s great,” I said.
Okay, it didn’t appear that I would get a dinner invitation out of him at the moment. I’d have to settle for lunch. But lunch was good. Nothing wrong with having lunch together.
I waved my hand toward the B & T and said, “I’m just here for a quick appointment. A few minutes, at most. Then I’m free for the afternoon.”
“Give Evelyn my best,” Ty said.
What’s wrong with him?
“What sort of investment is Evelyn making?” Ty asked.
How could somebody this dense actually run a major corporation?
“A restaurant. Just down the street. Great place for lunch,” I said.
See how he makes me lie? What’s the matter with him?
Ty frowned. “Restaurants can be problematic. I should talk to Evelyn.”
“Maybe you should try the restaurant first,” I suggested, nodding in what I hoped was a wise, rather than desperate, fashion.
Ty hesitated, then glanced at his watch.
Why doesn’t he get it?
The answer came to me: he was too busy right now. And he was too polite to say so.
Sure, that was it. He was on his way to a meeting crucial to the carefully orchestrated opening of Wallace Inc. and didn’t have time for lunch with me. Lots of people—dozens, probably—were standing by, waiting for him to show up to give them instructions so the project could continue. Jobs and tens of thousands of dollars were on the line.
Okay, this was good—really good. If we had lunch right now, Ty would want to sit down across the table from me, gaze longingly into my eyes, savor every moment, hang on to my every word, learn every little thing that had been on my mind lately.
But I couldn’t let him do that. I couldn’t let him sacrifice his dream of opening Wallace Inc. on time just for lunch with me.
See what a great girlfriend I am?
“I’ve got to go,” I said.
Ty looked surprised. “Sure. Okay. I guess I’ll…see you around.”
I headed down the sidewalk, and at the door to Golden State Bank & Trust, I looked back. Ty was already gone.
Wow, that was fast. Guess that meeting he was headed to was really important.
I told myself I’d done the right thing, but really, I hated it when I had to do the right thing.
In the B & T the same customer greeter was on duty wearing the same idiotic outfit. She remembered my name and glanced longingly at my Louis Vuitton bag, which cheered me up a little, and escorted me back to Bradley’s Olsen’s office.
He stood at attention beside his desk when I walked in.
“Good morning, Miss Randolph,” he declared with a big—for a conservative banker, of course—smile. I guess he was over whatever he and Ty had talked about.
I sat down in the chair in front of his desk. Had Ty been sitting here? It felt warm, really warm. My heart ached again.
Why couldn’t he have delayed that meeting for a half hour to have a quick lunch with me?
Why hadn’t he just told me straight out that he’d wanted to get back together with Claudia?
Why hadn’t he mentioned his trip to Europe?
Why didn’t he want to have sex with me?
Mr. Olsen remained standing, watching the door. “Is Miss Croft joining us?” he asked.
I hadn’t told Evelyn I was coming here today. Better to contact her when I had the situation resolved. She worried about everything, especially since last fall.
“No,” I said, placing my Louis Vuitton handbag strategically on his desk top, where it could be seen and appreciated. “Evelyn couldn’t make it today.”
“Oh.” Mr. Olsen just stood there for a minute, then frowned. “She isn’t ill, I hope.”
“Evelyn’s fine,” I assured him.
“Vacationing, perhaps?” he asked, smiling.
“No, no, just busy today,” I said.
“Something fun with friends?”
Jeez, what was with him? He’d met Evelyn only once and he was asking a million questions. And Ty wouldn’t even ask me out to lunch—
after I practically put the smack-down on him for an invitation.
“What did you find out about Cecil Hartley?” I asked, anxious to move the conversation along so I could leave—not that I had any lunch plans, of course.
I was going to have to visit that Judith Leiber evening bag. It was the only way to salvage the afternoon.
Mr. Olsen got down to business. He lowered himself into his chair, slipped on reading glasses, and picked up a file.
“I’m pleased to report that everything seems in order,” he announced. “This Mr. Cecil Hartley has substantial assets. A sizeable bank account, mutual funds, a solid retirement plan, and a home with considerable equity.”
“So that’s good?” I asked.
My mind really wasn’t on Cecil Hartley or even Evelyn right now because all I could think of was Ty.
He wouldn’t even ask me to lunch. I mean, it was just lunch. Nothing long-term. Nothing serious.
Mr. Olsen glanced at the file again. “Perhaps a little too much credit card debt, but nothing to be alarmed about, given his assets.”
I had to find out what was going on with Ty. This whole thing was making me crazy.
I sat up straighter in the chair, realizing that Mr. Olsen had been blabbing on and on and I’d not been listening. I just wanted a straight answer from him. I didn’t want to have to figure anything out right now.
“So that’s good?” I asked again.
“Yes,” Mr. Olsen said, putting down the file. “I’d say that Mr. Hartley’s financial condition is good. Very good.”
I needed to get out of there. I needed to phone Marcie and have her brainstorm the problems with my relationship over a few beers—no, wait, I think this called for tequila. And chocolate.
But I wanted to be done with this Cecil Hartley thing, too, so I pulled myself together enough to ask a question.
“He’s used his ATM card and his credit cards?” I asked. “Recently?”
Mr. Olsen consulted the file, flipped a couple of papers, then nodded.
“Just last night. A place in Nevada called Department 56—not sure what that is—and a gas station.” He frowned. “A considerable purchase.”
“It’s an RV,” I said, recalling how Evelyn told me she’d seen Cecil and the girlfriend in his new motor home.
“Well, then, that explains it.”
“His checking account is being used? Checks, I mean, not just the debit card?” I asked.
Mr. Olsen consulted another page in the file. “Checks written regularly for utilities, insurance, taxes. That sort of thing. I could go over this in more detail with Miss Croft, if you’d like.”
I wasn’t going to take up any more of his time with Evelyn’s wild-goose chase. She just had too much time on her hands and spent it spying on her neighbors. Maybe I’d get her an Xbox, or something.
“That’s not necessary,” I told him, and got to my feet.
“Please tell Miss Croft that, at this point, I see no reason for her not to consider Mr. Hartley’s investment suggestions,” Mr. Olsen said, pulling off his reading glasses. “I’ll keep an eye on things, though, and I’ll let her know immediately if something untoward comes up.”
“Thanks,” I said, and left the office.
I stood outside on the sidewalk for a while. The weather was great. Expensive cars drove past. Good-looking people in fantastic clothing went about their business. Ty wasn’t there, of course, but in my mind I could still see him.
Then a hard body brushed against me. A hand landed lightly on my shoulder. Warm breath puffed against my ear and whispered, “How about lunch?”
I whirled around.
It wasn’t Ty.
Chapter 10
I had met Jack Bishop a few months ago. He worked for a private security firm and did free-lance investigations. We’d been friends before all that stuff happened last fall, so he’d wound up in the middle of it. I’d helped him out with a few investigations in return.
He sat across the table from me in a trendy restaurant just a few blocks from the Golden State Bank & Trust. He was way hot. Dark hair, great body. The kind of guy you could count on for sweaty sex—not that I knew from personal experience, though. He looked particularly good right now in a gray turtleneck and black sport coat.
I guess I must have looked pretty good, too, in my Armani suit because Jack had been looking me up and down since I saw him in front of the B & T a few minutes ago
“How’s everything going?” he asked.
“Doing the college thing,” I said, “and working.”
“You’re still at Holt’s?” Jack looked surprised.
Anyone who knew me well was aware that I’m not exactly cut out for working with the public. But I needed spending money and the job at Holt’s provided it. Plus, the hours suited me, and I had friends there. Also, I’d learned the best places to hide from customers and which supervisors would let me get away with most anything. That made Holt’s very close to my dream job.
“I figured that, with the settlement you got last fall,” Jack said, “you wouldn’t need to work.”
“I just need a little cash for extras,” I said.
The waitress served our lunch. Jack had ordered a big, meaty sandwich that looked delicious. I’d ordered a salad. I didn’t want a salad, but neither did I want to eat like a truck driver in front of him.
The guy at the table next to us glanced at me. He looked me up and down, sort of like Jack had been doing.
Wow, this suit really attracted lot of attention. Maybe I should wear it more often.
“So what happened with the money from your settlement?” Jack said.
“I still have it,” I said, stabbing at my salad. “Most of it.”
The guy at the table next to us leaned forward and said something to the man he was having lunch with. That guy looked at me, too.
They probably thought I was a lawyer, or a corporate executive, or something. Was that what life would be like when I get my bachelor’s degree? Cool.
“Everything’s okay with you? Financially?” he asked.
I didn’t expect Jack to ask about money. But he was full of surprises, like showing up in front of the GSB & T just now.
“Everything’s great,” I told him.
“Heard anything from your old friend Kirk Keegan?” Jack asked.
I rolled my eyes at the mention of Kirk’s name. He’d been involved in that stuff last fall, but not in a good way, and he blamed me for all the things that went wrong.
“Kirk’s way off my radar,” I told Jack.
“Nobody’s seen or heard from him,” he said. “You should watch out.”
I shrugged and said, “What’s up with you? Working any cool cases?”
“Everything I do is cool,” Jack said, and gave me a swarthy grin that sent a heat wave through me. “Heard anything about Cameron’s old girlfriend being murdered?”
Jack was one of the few people who knew that Ty and I were dating, but he didn’t know about the sort-of part.
“Detective Madison seems to think I’m involved—again,” I told him.
“Because Cameron and Claudia were getting back together?” Jack asked.
Oh my God. How did Jack know that? Did absolutely everybody know that Ty wanted to get back with Claudia—except me?
“Where did you hear that?” I demanded.
Jack shrugged but didn’t say anything. I knew I wouldn’t get anything out of him that he wasn’t ready to give up.
“I had nothing to do with Claudia’s death,” I told him. “One of those psycho pageant moms was mad at her. Plus, she had a stalker.”
Jack frowned. “Why haven’t you told police about this?”
“Claudia’s sister already told them,” I said.
He studied his sandwich a minute, then started eating again. I pushed my salad around my plate for a few minutes, and then we got up to leave.
“If you need help with anything, let me know,” Jack said.
For a moment
I considered asking him to find Jamie Kirkwood, the missing server everybody was making such a fuss about. But I didn’t want to burn a favor with Jack, not yet, anyway.
I smiled. “If you come across a really cool case and need help, call me.”
Jack gave me a hot smile. “I haven’t collected on the last time I helped you.”
A shiver went through me. I knew he wouldn’t name a price, just give me his standard answer, and he didn’t disappoint.
“I’ll let you know what I want,” Jack said, “when I want it.”
Seeing Jack made me realize that I had to get down to the business of solving Claudia’s murder. I had a lot at stake, and a lot to check out. I didn’t have much time, either.
Detective Shuman, if he already hadn’t, would tell Madison that my mom’s fruit bouquets had poisoned Claudia, and it would hit the fan then. Nobody would talk to me after that.
Traffic was light on the 5 freeway as I headed north, so I had plenty of room to weave in and out without thinking much about it, giving me the perfect opportunity to consider my suspects.
At the top of my list was Jamie Kirkwood, the Missing Server that I’d subbed for at the luncheon. She’d had the perfect opportunity to poison Claudia’s fruit bouquet, and pretending to be sick so she could leave was a great cover. Not coming forward to talk to the police made her look guilty, but that was about all I knew that might implicate her. Motive? Who knew? Did she have access to the poison itself? I didn’t even know what, exactly, had killed Claudia.
Rebecca had given me two more suspects: a whacked-out pageant mom and a stalker. That made three suspects—and I hadn’t even started digging yet.
I swerved left, cutting off an SUV creeping along at the speed limit in the fast lane, and an awful thought hit me.
Would my mom turn out to be one of those suspects?
Part of me—most of me, really—knew Mom would never murder someone, under normal circumstances. But everyone else’s “normal” wasn’t the same as my mom’s—that’s the beauty of living in your own world.
Had Mom somehow found out about Ty and me sort-of dating? I’d never told her. Had someone else? Wouldn’t she have mentioned it to me if she’d known?
Purses and Poison Page 8
