Tote Bags and Toe Tags

by Dorothy Howell

  I just stood there staring at the door for a long time, then pushed aside a mound of bubble wrap and collapsed onto the couch. I knew I should call Marcie, or at least go get myself a beer, but I couldn’t get up.

  From the looks of my apartment and the number of floral arrangements I’d left in my office, Ty didn’t really know what kind of boyfriend I wanted. But if he didn’t know, it was because I never told him.

  He thought I wanted one thing, when I really wanted something different. We’d come together but, somehow, we’d totally missed each other.

  Maybe if I’d talked to him more—really talked to him. Maybe if he’d done the same. But we hadn’t, and that meant something.

  I wished I could cry. That way, at least I’d get my emotions out. But they just kept banging around inside of me, along with all kinds of thoughts.

  Ty had never told me why he was headed to Palmdale the day of his car accident. I hadn’t exactly been up-front with him about a lot of things in my life.

  We never really talked. I doubted we were alone in that. A lot of people probably had the same problem.

  I thought about Juanita. She hadn’t specifically asked Mom for time off to go see her daughter, but she’d been hurt when Mom hadn’t offered it.

  Ruth had mistakenly thought Arthur Dempsey cared for her, to the point where now she was involved in a murder. A few well-placed words would have cleared that up a long time ago.

  Maybe if Erma had told Violet about the despicable discrepancy in her salary years ago, both of them would be alive today.

  I slumped down on the couch, my thoughts spinning.

  I’d gotten a whole-new-me, all right. But it wasn’t the me I’d wanted.

  My apartment was a total disaster. I had a freezer I didn’t want, filled with food I didn’t need. I still hadn’t gotten that Temptress bag. I’d lost my great job, and tomorrow when I went in for my shift at Holt’s, I’d have to spend eight long, miserable hours doing make-up training because I’d forgotten to have Ty sign my waiver. I never found out for sure what happened to Juanita, or exactly what Ty had been doing in Palmdale. There wasn’t an ounce of sugar in my apartment, and my cabinets and fridge were filled with totally gross healthy food.

  How the heck had absolutely everything gone so wrong?

  A loud knock sounded on my front door. My heart jumped and I sprang off the couch.

  Ty? Was Ty coming back?

  I leaped over a packing box and raced across the room.

  No, wait.

  I stopped. Ty wouldn’t have knocked.

  I approached the door and looked through the peephole.

  Jack Bishop stood outside my door.

  He banged his fist again, harder this time.

  “I know you’re in there, Haley,” he called. “You owe me. I decided what I want, and I want it now.”

  Oh, crap.

  KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2012 by Dorothy Howell

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

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  Library of Congress Card Catalogue Number: 2012932551

  ISBN: 978-0-7582-7958-3