Purses and Poison

by Dorothy Howell

  Ty popped into my head. I’d phoned him this morning to thank him for the note he’d left on my door, but he hadn’t called back. Even when he was super busy, he called me back…usually…sometimes…well, occasionally. I wondered why I hadn’t heard from him.

  Maybe the “new him” wasn’t so new after all.

  Doug was still talking and I was buzzing pretty good from the chocolate and caffeine in my Frappuccino, and I was anxious to meet Jack. Finally, Doug said he had to go.

  He walked me to my car and opened the door for me. For a minute, I thought he was going to kiss me, but I guess he lost his nerve because he backed away and just said good night. I waved as I swung out of the parking lot, heading for Altadena.

  When I pulled into the industrial park, there was no sign of Jack’s Range Rover. No sign of anything, really. The painting contractor and the auto parts place near Edible Elegance were closed for the night. A couple of security lights lit the empty parking lot.

  I whipped into a space and killed the engine, surprised—and a little disappointed—that Jack wasn’t there yet. But I was late. Maybe he’d been there, then left. I decided I’d wait awhile, even though the place was kind of creepy at night.

  About forty-five seconds ticked by and I went for my phone. I’d call Jack, see what was up. I didn’t want to—

  A thud hit my passenger window. I jumped and saw Jack’s face staring in at me.

  “Jeez, you scared me to death!” I said as I threw my door open and got out.

  Jack sauntered around the car. “Here’s a tip, Nancy Drew. If you’re doing surveillance work, don’t park under the security light.”

  “This isn’t exactly a surveillance job,” I admitted. “More like breaking and entering. Sort of.”

  “Sort of?” Jack echoed, giving me the evil eye that was, really, sort of sexy.

  “My mom’s business,” I said, nodding toward the Edible Elegance sign on the door. “I only have to break in because I don’t have a key.”

  Jack continued with the evil eye, which I was starting to really like, then disappeared behind the building, where I guessed he’d parked, and came back with a set of lock picks. He had the door open in a flash. We went inside and I flipped on the lights.

  “Not very covert,” Jack said, squinting at the sudden brightness.

  The office looked just as it had the other day when I’d been here to talk to Debbie. Nothing out of place. The cops hadn’t been by, apparently, because the place hadn’t been trashed. I figured they hadn’t gotten a search warrant yet, or maybe had better leads to follow up on.

  “What are we looking for?” Jack asked.

  I gave him a quick rundown on Mom’s business—I left out the parts that made her look stupid, mostly because it was a bad reflection on me—and how Debbie, the manager, had disappeared.

  “The homicide detectives investigating Claudia’s murder are looking for her,” I said. “I want to see if there’s anything here that might tell me where to find her.”

  I’d called Debbie’s cell phone a couple of times already, but didn’t reach her. I’d also left messages on the business line. On the phone atop the desk, the light flashed indicating messages were waiting. I figured mine were among them.

  Though I didn’t tell Jack, I intended to give anything I learned about Debbie’s whereabouts to Shuman. I figured I owed him that much; plus, it might compel him to check into Cecil Hartley’s possible murder for me. My version of a trade-off.

  Jack sat in front of the computer and I pulled open a file drawer.

  “How are things going for you?” he asked.

  Wow, two men on the same day had asked me how I was doing. Was that weird, or what?

  “College, work. The usual,” I said.

  “Has Kirk Keegan showed his face yet?” Jack asked.

  This was the second time he’d asked me about Kirk lately. Maybe I should be worried.

  I didn’t want to think about that right now, so I changed the subject.

  “I keep thinking about dying,” I said. “Claudia was so young, and, well, I’ve been thinking I should make preparations, or something.”

  “You’re buying a burial plot?” Jack asked.

  That creeped me out big time.

  “No, more like what I should leave behind,” I said. Then something else occurred to me. “Oh, and by the way, if I’m severely injured in a crash, or something horrific like that, and some scientist wants to make me bionic, don’t hesitate. Tell my mom to do it.”

  “Got it,” Jack said. He scrolled through a few more screens, then asked, “Aren’t you doing some modeling?”

  I stopped and looked back at him. “No way. My sister models. Not me.”

  I saw him give me the once-over, and I knew what he was thinking. “We look absolutely nothing alike,” I told him.

  Jack turned back to the computer and I pulled out another file. In it were hard copies of invoices, dating back to last year when Mom had started the business and put Debbie in charge of running it.

  I recognized most of the names of the Edible Elegance customers. Some were family friends and acquaintances of my parents, others were well-to-do clients, and a few were celebrities.

  I noted that, as time went on, the price of the Edible Elegance bouquets had increased. A good business practice, I guessed, since they were obviously in demand.

  As I flipped through the invoices, I realized that apparently not everyone thought that raising the price of the fruit bouquets was a good idea. I found correspondence from customers complaining that the final price was higher than the original quote. Some of them threatened—

  Hang on a minute.

  I stood up straighter and read a message sent to Debbie a few weeks ago. It was from Cynthia Gray. Claudia’s mother.

  “Found something,” Jack said.

  He rolled back from the computer and pointed to the screen. I looked over his shoulder, but didn’t see what I had expected. I thought he was searching the files for a clue to Debbie’s whereabouts, but instead he’d found an e-mail message regarding the chocolate name tags used on the fruit bouquets at the Holt’s luncheon the day Claudia was killed.

  Attached was a list of the names of the VIPs who would get a personalized bouquet. Claudia’s name was there, along with the rest.

  “Who sent this list?” I asked.

  Jack scrolled down. The e-mail had been sent by Ada Cameron. Ty’s grandmother.

  I felt a little dizzy. Ty’s grandmother had ordered the fruit bouquets from Edible Elegance? She’d specifically asked for name tags? Provided a list of VIPs?

  Oh my God. Oh my God.

  Had Ada murdered Claudia?

  Chapter 19

  Except for the fact that she’d end up in prison, it would be really cool if Ty’s grandmother had actually murdered Claudia.

  I’d met Ada last fall, and I’d run into her a couple of times since, and we’d always hit it off. She thought I had “spirit,” which I took as a compliment. Ty had told me that his grandmother liked me.

  Maybe Ada had been glad that Ty and Claudia had broken up, and didn’t want them to get back together. Maybe she’d done away with superficial Claudia to protect the Cameron/Holt bloodline, ensure its survival for five more generations by breeding in strong women, like me.

  That was my fantasy, anyway, and I was sticking to it until some other theory came along.

  “Debbie told me the name tags for the VIP table were my mom’s idea,” I suddenly remembered. “Why would she lie?”

  “Maybe she was trying to make your mom look good? Make her appear involved in the business?” Jack shrugged. “Or maybe she just forgot.”

  I figured that all of those reasons were a possibility. From the number of invoices I’d just looked through, business was booming. Debbie couldn’t remember every detail. And since her boss was my mom, she’d probably wanted to say something nice about her—and that’s not always easy to do.

  I remembered then that I had the n
ote from Claudia’s mother in my hands. I showed it to Jack.

  “Could mean something,” he said. “Could mean nothing.”

  “Enough to cause Debbie to murder Claudia?” I wondered.

  A squabble over the cost of fruit bouquets at a luncheon wasn’t, on the surface, a big deal. But since I’d worked at Holt’s I’d seen customers—people who were probably loving, kind, considerate people in their real lives—go ballistic if they didn’t get the refund they expected on returned merchandise, or if they missed a sale by a day and the store refused to honor their coupon.

  “We’re done here,” Jack said.

  “Hang on a second,” I said. “Pull up the calendar, will you? Print it out.”

  While Jack did that, I checked Debbie’s address book and found the name of the woman who supervised the workers that actually created the fruit bouquets in the workroom that adjoined the office. It was too late to call her now, so I copied her phone number and tucked it inside my purse, along with the deliveries that had been scheduled. If Debbie didn’t show up soon, I’d have to make sure these orders were filled—Mom sure wasn’t going to do it, which was probably for the best.

  Jack shut down the computer and rose from the chair. I shoved the folder of invoices and correspondence back into the file cabinet. When I’d arrived, I decided to give Shuman any info I found. Now I wasn’t so sure.

  If I gave him a heads-up on the pricing dispute between Claudia and Debbie, he’d have to come into the office, check it out for himself. And then he’d find the list of names for the VIP fruit bouquets that Ada had sent over.

  Naming his grandmother as a murder suspect might put a damper on my relationship with Ty.

  I flipped out the lights and we left the office, locking the door behind us. Jack walked me to my car. A breeze had come up and it was kind of chilly. Jack gave off a lot of heat and I thought about snuggling closer—just to get warm, of course. I think Jack might have been thinking the same because he eased a little closer.

  “So you’ve really never done any modeling?” Jack asked.

  Why did he keep asking me that?

  “No,” I told him.

  “Never?”

  “Never, ever,” I said.

  “Not even for pictures that were a little…naughty, maybe?”

  “I’m naughty in private,” I told him.

  Jack’s gaze gave off that smoldering look that made me think naughty thoughts. I was pretty sure he was thinking the same.

  “I owe you for tonight,” I said.

  “You sure as hell do,” he told me.

  The air between us had superheated. The office or the backseat of his Range Rover flashed in my mind—which is really awful of me, I know, but really, it was his fault for being so hot—when Jack stepped back.

  “I’ll let you know what I want,” he told me. “And when I want it.”

  He opened my car door. I got in and drove away, wondering what in the world was wrong with me. Did I have bad breath? BO? Was I giving off some sort of don’t-have-sex-with-me vibe?

  Ty didn’t want to have sex with me, and now Jack had just blown a perfect opportunity. What was wrong with me?

  I drove home contemplating calling Marcie, but this wasn’t the kind of thing I could ask even a best friend. Not yet, anyway. Maybe after we’d had a few beers, or binged on Snickers bars.

  I parked my car and went to my apartment, fumbling for my keys. It was late and nobody else was around. Few lights shone in the windows around mine. When I got to my door I found a envelope sticking out of the frame.

  Another card from Ty.

  I felt a little guilty because I’d had coffee with Doug tonight; plus, I’d just been with Jack, contemplating naughty deeds, while Ty had been picking out a card, writing a special note, sneaking up here to surprise me with it.

  And I felt really guilty because the idea that Ty had been Claudia’s stalker had taken up a ton of space in my head. Plus, I’d wondered if his grandmother was a cold-blooded murderer.

  I ripped open the envelope. In it was a card with a picture of the same cuddly dogs as before. On the inside was written “I’m still watching.” Beside it, Ty had drawn a happy face. Only, apparently the MBA program he’d completed didn’t include art classes because the happy face looked more like a skull. It was kind of creepy, really.

  I glanced around, thinking suddenly that somebody was watching. I saw no one. Still, I rushed into my apartment and slammed the door.

  The next morning when I opened my apartment door, I checked in both directions to see if anybody was lurking. Nobody was there. No note, either.

  Then I felt bad about being paranoid for no reason, and for thinking ill of Ty just because he couldn’t draw a decent smiley face on a greeting card.

  I got in my car and took the surface streets toward Valencia. For a second it popped into my head that maybe I’d been too quick in refusing Ty’s invitation to go to Europe with him. It would have been terribly romantic, of course, and I could have done some fantastic shopping. Plus, we’d have definitely had sex.

  But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I’d been right in the first place. If I’d gone, it would have signaled to Ty that I was okay with our relationship as it was. I’d have started to believe it myself.

  I deserved better, and so did Ty, really.

  Still, we would have had sex.

  I circled the mall and drove into the great little area nearby where Wallace Inc. was located. Lots of shops, restaurants, and galleries were there, making it a favorite spot of mine.

  Ty still hadn’t returned my phone calls, so I hoped I’d find him here today. Wallace Inc. was scheduled to open soon, so I figured he’d be here checking on things, taking care of last-minute details.

  I nosed in at the curb, just down the block from the store. Brown paper covered the display windows and an OPENING SOON sign sat discreetly in the lower corner. The front door stood open and workmen wearing tool belts went in and out.

  No sign of Ty’s Porche or BMW, so—unless he’d bought another new car that I didn’t know about—he wasn’t here.

  But I didn’t want to give up on him yet; plus, I wanted to see the store. I got out of my car and headed up the sidewalk. The day was gorgeous, lots of sunshine, and a mild temperature. Moms pushed baby strollers amid the other shoppers.

  That made me think of Christine and little Annie, and how I still hadn’t heard anything back from Detective Shuman about Cecil Hartley. I needed to call him, but I didn’t want to do it without offering him some info in trade. Something that might help with Claudia’s murder.

  Since the weather was so nice and I wanted to think a bit about what I could tell Shuman, I crossed the street and headed away from Wallace Inc.

  So what info could I give the detective that would induce him to abandon his real investigation and help with mine?

  I mentally reviewed my suspect list. The pageant mom was way down my list; I hadn’t been able to find out anything about her. Nor had I gotten any info about the person Claudia was seen arguing with at the luncheon.

  After last night, though, I was thinking that maybe that person was Debbie. She might have claimed she’d overheard Claudia arguing with someone else just to throw suspicion off herself. And, since she’d disappeared so suddenly, I had to wonder if anything she’d said was true.

  Whoever Claudia’s stalker was might be a viable suspect, except that since I’d thought maybe it was Ty, I didn’t feel so great about investigating the possibility. Maybe Shuman should handle that one.

  I got a queasy feeling, thinking that Ada might have killed Claudia. She hardly seemed the type—she was a grandmother, after all. But she surely had strong feelings about the Holt’s Department Stores, the family business that had endured for five generations. If she didn’t like Claudia, or didn’t think she’d make a good match for Ty, or didn’t believe their marriage was in the best interest of the stores, she wouldn’t have stood back and done nothing. Alt
hough I’d only seen Ada a few times, I could tell she wasn’t the kind of woman to settle for whatever.

  I’d walked a few blocks, so I crossed the street again and headed back toward Wallace Inc. I still hadn’t come up with anything I could give Shuman that would induce him to help me, so I pulled out my cell phone and punched up Jamie Kirkwood’s number.

  Since exchanging phone numbers with her that day in front of her apartment building, I hadn’t heard from her. I kind of thought I might. When I’d seen Rebecca at the dress store later that same day and explained how sometimes a witness would remember something important later, I’d thought that maybe Jamie would be just that sort of person. She was smart, studied hard, maintained good enough grades to keep her scholarship, so chances were her memory was excellent. If anybody could come up with an important recollection from that day, I knew it would be Jamie.

  She didn’t answer her phone, but that didn’t surprise me. I figured she had class, or was working or studying. I left a message and hung up.

  Jamie hung in my thoughts for a minute and, for some reason, I thought maybe I’d forgotten something important about that day at Holt’s myself. Nothing came to me, though, so I placed another phone call, this one to Claudia’s sister—my last hope of finding info to pass on to Shuman.

  To my surprise, Rebecca answered. We made small talk for a minute, then got down to business.

  “I’m still investigating,” I said.

  “You are?” Rebecca asked, sounding surprised.

  “I told you I wouldn’t quit,” I reminded her.

  “Listen, Haley,” she said, “just stop. Okay? I mean, you have a lot on you already, and I don’t expect you to—”

  “No,” I told her. “I’m not quitting. I made you a promise and I’m going to stick to it.”

  Yeah, yeah, I also wanted to clear my mom and myself of murder charges, but I really wanted to help Claudia’s family, too.

  “Do you know anything about your mom being upset about the fruit bouquets she had at one of her luncheons?” I asked. “There was a discrepancy over the price.”