Tote Bags and Toe Tags

by Dorothy Howell

  I wasn’t exactly dressed for a covert op but I didn’t intend to get out of my car at Max’s place anyway. I just wanted to check it out. Who knows, there might be some incriminating evidence right there in his front yard.

  My GPS took me south on the 405 toward Los Angeles. Traffic moved slower now as the evening rush hour approached—not that I cared, of course, since I was in no hurry to get back to work. And, technically, finding out who killed Violet was a Dempsey Rowland matter, right? I mean, come on, what could improve morale more than finding the murderer so nobody would be afraid to walk the halls again?

  That’s my position on the situation and I’m sticking to it.

  As I drove through the Sepulveda Pass, the high-rise buildings on Wilshire Boulevard came into view. Above them was a sandy-colored band of smog—which always said “home” to me—that gave way to a brilliant blue sky. I took the 105 west until the freeway dissolved into Imperial Highway, then turned on Main Street in the city of El Segundo.

  I’d been here before when Mom was in her antique phase and we’d roamed the quaint shops and stores. I liked it here. It was sort of a back-in-the-day oasis amid major corporations and heavy industrial sites.

  I turned at the library onto Mariposa Avenue, drove a few blocks, and found Max’s home on a quiet residential street. The area had a mix of single family homes and apartment buildings, all neat and clean, the kind of place where you’d move if you were raising a family.

  I rode past Max’s house, then flipped a U at the next intersection, drove back, and parked in front of the house directly across from his. I accessed the Plan B form in my cell phone e-mail and noted that he’d indicated he had a wife and three children. The SUV in the driveway and the bikes and scooters in the yard confirmed it, along with one of those wooden signs hanging by the front door that listed the family names: Max, Mandy, Maddie, Micha, Minnie.

  Huh. Well, so much for finding evidence right there in the front yard.

  Now I was even more curious about what Detectives Madison and Shuman had discovered in Max’s past that made them suspect him of Violet’s murder. Certainly nothing at his house, as far as I could see.

  I pulled out my cell phone and called Shuman. I was deciding whether or not to leave a message when he picked up.

  “Have you got something for me?” he asked.

  I could tell he was in big-time cop mode. His voice was low and rushed. I figured that if he took my call, he must be desperate for some info.

  Since I roll with most anything, I went into big-time, talking-to-a-cop mode.

  “Why do you suspect Max Corwin in Violet Hamilton’s murder?” I asked.

  I kind of expected him not to answer, but he said, “He lost two jobs in the past eighteen months.”

  “That’s it?” I asked.

  “So far.” Shuman hung up.

  I glanced at Max’s house again. Three kids. A wife. A mortgage. Medical bills. Maybe private school. He had a lot on him and sure as heck couldn’t afford to get the boot from Dempsey Rowland.

  Still, if he’d murdered Violet to delay his background investigation, he would have had something in his past that was seriously worth hiding. Losing—translation: getting fired from—two jobs in less than two years might be it, depending on the reasons he’d lost those jobs, of course.

  Since no clues into Violet’s murder had been revealed to me in Max’s front yard—which was kind of annoying—I left.

  “I’m Ruth Baker, Mr. Dempsey’s executive secretary,” a woman said in an I’m-important voice.

  I looked up from my Facebook page. Like most of the other women I’d seen at Dempsey Rowland—except for the girls in the Support Unit—she was old enough to have worn a candy stripe two piece back when it was in style. She had gray helmet hair, and dressed as if she were headed for a funeral.

  I was a little annoyed to see her standing over me. I’d intended to just kill time since returning from Juanita’s and Max Corwin’s houses, until the office emptied out for the weekend. She had that everybody-has-to-keep-working look on her face.

  I hate that look.

  I rose from my chair and introduced myself, even though I’m sure she already knew who I was.

  “I want to discuss Violet’s memorial service,” Ruth told me.

  Violet was having a memorial service?

  “She deserves only the best,” Ruth said.

  I hadn’t really known Violet, but a memorial service sounded like a great way to get out of the office for a while. I’d definitely be there.

  “I expect you to see that she gets it,” Ruth told me. “Regardless.”

  Oh, crap. She expected me to plan the memorial.

  This whole corporate-event-planner thing was starting to get on my nerves.

  “You’ll need to book the main conference center,” Ruth said. “And you’ll also—”

  “I’ll handle everything,” I told her. I’d intended to use my you-can-trust-me voice, but it came out sounding more like my get-out-of-my-face voice.

  Honestly, I didn’t know that Dempsey Rowland even had a main conference center, but I saw no need to tell her that.

  Ruth drew herself up into a more rigid stance. “Violet worked tirelessly and selflessly for decades. She was the backbone of this company.”

  “I understand,” I said. I really didn’t but this was easier.

  She glared at me for another half minute like she didn’t think I really understood, or something, which was true, of course, but it still kind of miffed me.

  “Mr. Dempsey wants this service to be a priority, so I’ll expect a full report on my desk first thing Monday morning. I’ll give it to him—after I review it, of course,” Ruth told me. She gave me one last hard look, then left my office.

  I sank into my chair feeling a little overwhelmed. Even my Facebook page, still up on my computer screen, didn’t raise my spirits.

  But at least it was Friday. I didn’t have to work at Holt’s tonight, since I usually reserved Friday nights for partying. But I’d be staying in tonight. My official boyfriend was at my apartment—or at least I guess he was, since he hadn’t called me lately—so maybe we could go out, or at least have hot car-crash sex.

  I checked the event calendar Patty had made and noted that two more birthdays were scheduled for next week, along with some luncheons. I made quick work of placing orders at the bakery and party store.

  I recognized the names of the restaurants on Patty’s list of vendors. They were okay but not fabulous—and certainly were not worthy of the high standards expected of a Dempsey Rowland luncheon. I phoned several places that I knew were super nice, and made reservations for next week’s luncheons.

  Time to get on with the weekend. I got my purse and left.

  So much for Friday night car-crash sex.

  My apartment was empty when I walked in. No sign of Ty. Not even a note saying where he was, just a kitchen counter covered with toast crumbs and dirty dishes in the sink.

  As I reached for my cell phone to call him, my doorbell rang. My heart did its usual maybe-it’s-Ty flutter while my brain countered with its usual don’t-get-excited-it’s-almost-never-Ty buzz kill.

  I looked through the peephole and saw Amber waiting outside.

  “Hey, how’s it going?” I asked, as I opened the door.

  She was weighted down with a garment bag and two small duffles, a shopping bag, and her own purse, a department store house brand. Yikes!

  I really need to talk to her about that.

  “I went to the impound yard today and got Ty’s things from the car,” Amber said. “Want these in the usual spot?”

  “Wherever you can find room,” I said, pointing toward the hallway and the closet where she’d put Ty’s other things. “Want a beer?”

  “I’d better not,” Amber called. She came back a few minutes later carrying the shopping bag, and asked,

  “Where’s Ty?”

  “Don’t you know?” I asked. Amber almost always knew whe
re Ty was. If she didn’t know, I guess I shouldn’t feel so bad—but I did, of course.

  “I haven’t talked to him since this morning,” Amber said. She shook her head. “That car of his was completely destroyed. He’s lucky to have walked away.”

  “I guess he’ll go shopping for another Porsche soon,” I said.

  “He wasn’t driving his Porsche. It was a Chevy Malibu. A rental.” Amber placed the shopping bag on the kitchen counter. “Check this out.”

  She unloaded about a zillion greeting cards and a dozen boxes of candy onto the counter.

  Jeez, did I pick a bad time to institute a whole-new-me policy with a say-no-to-chocolate clause, or what?

  “I’m keeping a log of the phone calls and e-mails from people wishing him well,” Amber said.

  Really, I’ve been under a lot of stress lately. Maybe this wasn’t the best time to strictly adhere to my new policy.

  “I’ll get it to him when he comes back to the office,” Amber said.

  I mean, really, what harm can one piece of chocolate do? Or two, for that matter. Three, maybe. A half dozen, at most.

  Amber arranged the boxes in a neat stack. “Ty will probably want me to donate this to the homeless shelter.”

  Ty wasn’t much for sweets—which alone was reason to break up with him—but I was hanging in there, determined to overcome this vast difference between us. That’s the kind of awesome girlfriend I am.

  “Unless you want some of it,” Amber said.

  Some of it? How about all of it?

  The vision flashed in my head: ripping the boxes open, scooping up double handfuls, shoving them into my mouth. The taste of the rich, creamy chocolate, the sugar rush, my brain cells screaming for more, more, more!

  I’ve really got to get a hold of myself.

  But I can be strong when I have to. Okay, I can be strong sometimes. Often. Kind of often. Occasionally.

  “None for me,” I said, and with monumental effort akin to the launch of a space shuttle mission, I pushed the boxes away.

  Amber gave me a have-you-lost-your-mind look—not that I blamed her, of course.

  I didn’t want to get into the reverse world thing, so I said, “I’ve got this whole-new-me thing going. I’m off the chocolate.”

  Her have-you-lost-your-mind expression didn’t change to a jeez-I-really-admire-what-you’re-doing look, which kind of annoyed me. But, obviously, I was operating on a deeper level of commitment than Amber was accustomed to.

  “Okay, anyway, tell Ty I’ll call him later,” Amber said. “I need to find out—”

  The front door opened and Ty walked in. He wore the same jeans and pale blue polo shirt he had on when I’d picked him up from the hospital—stain-free, thanks to my mad laundry skills.

  He didn’t look so great, though. Kind of subdued. He’d told me earlier that he was seeing his mom. Since she was nothing like my own mom—lucky for Ty—I wondered if the visit hadn’t gone well, or if maybe he was still feeling the effects of the car crash.

  “Oh, hi,” he said, spotting us together in the kitchen.

  “Gifts from well-wishers,” Amber said, gesturing to the loot on the counter. “Do you want me to donate it?”

  “Sure, whatever,” he said. Then he paused and looked at me. “Keep it for yourself. I know you like this stuff.”

  “She’s off chocolate,” Amber said.

  I got the have-you-lost-your-mind look all over again, this time from Ty. So, of course, what could I do but defend myself so I wouldn’t look like a complete idiot. I mean, really, did everyone think I was too weak to stick to my new plan?

  “I’m going for a whole new me,” I explained, and managed to put some enthusiasm in my words. “No more chocolate.”

  “What about Starbucks?” Ty asked, as if he still couldn’t believe it.

  “I’m off the frappies, too,” I declared.

  Ty shrugged, then said to Amber, “Go ahead and donate all of it.”

  She loaded the boxes of chocolates back into the shopping bag.

  “No, wait!” I screamed that in my head—I think.

  I followed her to the front door, drawn by the vapor trail of chocolate that wafted from the bag. She said something and left. I stood at the door, watching until the chocolate candy—I mean, Amber—was out of sight.

  I stepped back inside and closed the door. Of course, I was doing the right thing. I’d stuck by my reverse world commitment. I was doing something that was good for me

  I hate it when I have to do things—especially if they’re good for me.

  Ty stood in the middle of my living room watching me. He didn’t have that have-you-lost-your-mind look on his face anymore. This was something different. Something I’d never seen before.

  Yikes! What was going on?

  “Haley, I really need to talk to you,” he said.

  My stomach jumped, sort of like it does when I learn a totally cool handbag is out of stock—and won’t be reordered.

  “Something happened,” Ty said.

  How was I supposed to get through a conversation like this without chocolate? Jeez, what had I been thinking?

  “I know things have been rough between us at times,” Ty said.

  Had Amber gotten to her car yet?

  “And I know it’s been hard on both of us,” he said.

  Could I catch her before she left the parking lot?

  “So I’ve come to a decision,” Ty said.

  She’d stop if I threw myself on the hood of her car, wouldn’t she?

  “I want to explain everything to you, completely,” he told me.

  Jeez, why does he want to talk about something now? It’s Friday night. Can’t we just roll around in bed for a while, then order pizza?

  Ty crossed the room and placed his hands on my shoulders. I braced myself for the worst.

  “This car accident has been a real wake-up call for me,” Ty said, gazing into my eyes.

  Oh my God. Ty was breaking up with me.

  “I’ve done a lot of thinking,” he said.

  How would I explain it to Mom that totally-hot-and-super-successful Ty and I broke up?

  “I need to make some changes in my life,” he said.

  Could I keep this a secret from Jeanette at Holt’s so she’d still be afraid to fight me on the work schedule I requested?

  “I’ve been the worst boyfriend imaginable,” Ty said, gazing into my eyes. “I’m changing that. Starting right now.”

  Oh my God. I’ll definitely have to buy myself that Temptress bag—just to get over the breakup, of course. How else will I get through it?

  “You’ve been understanding and kind and generous. And I’ve been none of those things,” Ty said. “From now on, I’m going to devote myself to you.”

  He’s going to—what?

  “I’m not going back to the office,” Ty said. “I’m going to stay here with you, and be the kind of boyfriend you deserve. I’m going to show you exactly how much you mean to me.”

  Huh?

  Ty pulled me closer. “Please let me do this, Haley. Will you?”

  Oh my God. Oh my God. I could tell by the expression on Ty’s face that he was serious. He really wanted to be the kind of boyfriend I’ve always wanted him to be. This was great—super great.

  He wasn’t breaking up with me at all.

  But I was still getting that Temptress bag, of course.

  CHAPTER 10

  A ringing cell phone woke me way too early. At first I thought it must be Ty’s, then managed to rouse enough brain cells to recall he’d turned his phone off, a key element in the completely-devoted-to-me plan he’d announced last night.

  I rolled over and grabbed my phone. It was Mom. What the heck was she doing called me this early on a Saturday morning?

  “Haley, it’s Juanita,” Mom said, when I answered. “She’s been kidnapped.”

  I shot straight up in bed. “She’s what? Kidnapped? How do you know—”

  “I just received a
ransom demand,” Mom told me.

  “I’ll be right there.”

  I ran through the shower, put on makeup, styled my hair in an I’m-fun-but-still-paying-attention updo, then threw on khaki capris, sandals, and my favorite don’t-my-boobs-look-great scoop-neck T-shirt. I mean, really, I was heading to a potential crime scene. Cops would be there, of course, but maybe some firefighters, too—and you know how hot those guys are. Not that I was interested, of course, since I have an official boyfriend, but still.

  I got to my front door and stopped short. Oh, crap. I forgot Ty—again. I rushed back to my bedroom, saw that he was still sleeping—he’s saving himself for a full day of catering to my every whim, I’m sure—then hustled back to the kitchen, dashed off a quick note, and left.

  I rushed downstairs to the parking lot searching for my car keys in my purse—a totally fabulous Fendi—when it hit me. Oh my God. That Temptress bag would look perfect with this outfit. I absolutely had to—

  A guy on a bicycle shot right in front of me. I jumped back.

  “Hey!” I shouted.

  He didn’t look back. He didn’t even slow down. Jeez, he nearly hit me.

  I watched as he pedaled furiously through the parking lot, then looped around another row of parked cars. He had on a helmet and full cycling gear, so I couldn’t get much of a look at him, but he wasn’t a kid. He looked old enough to be more careful.

  I kept an eye on him until he rode out of the parking lot into the street. A yellow VW bug pulled out behind him. They both disappeared. I hurried to my car.

  I hauled out to Mom and Dad’s house, berating myself the whole way. Why hadn’t I taken Mom’s concern over Juanita’s absence more seriously? Why hadn’t I investigated sooner, more thoroughly? Why hadn’t I called Detective Shuman for help?

  And now Juanita had been kidnapped. The family had received a ransom demand. Days had gone by when the police could have been searching for her.