Swag Bags and Swindlers

by Dorothy Howell

  Obviously, I’d made her job super easy by taking over Suzie’s events and the duties of the facilities manager. Surely, I’d see that reflected in my job performance review.

  “The pumpkin-flavored creamer you ordered for the breakroom?” Priscilla said, sparing me a quick glance as she clicked on the boots icon. “It’s the wrong brand.”

  “The wrong—what?”

  I might have sounded kind of grumpy when I said that but, jeez, why wouldn’t I?

  “Reorder, will you?” Priscilla asked, her gaze glued to the image of stiletto over-the-knee boots.

  “There’s nothing wrong with the brand I ordered,” I told her.

  “We want the employees to be happy,” she said.

  What about me? I was an employee—and I definitely wasn’t happy.

  Then it hit me. Oh my God, could I possibly get downgraded on my job performance review because of the office lightbulbs and creamer?

  I hate being the facilities manager.

  “I’ll handle it,” I told her, and left.

  Of course, no way could I go into the breakroom now, not with all the employees in there fixing their coffee and grousing about the coffee creamer. I wasn’t going to start my day getting mad-dogged by everybody.

  I went to my office and closed the door, figuring I could hide out until the usual morning crowd drifted out of the breakroom, then get my coffee in peace. I wasn’t up for doing any actual work yet, so when my cell phone rang I was relieved to see that it was Marcie calling.

  “Too cool about the Sassies,” she said, when I answered. “We get them this weekend?”

  “I have an event on Saturday night,” I said. “We’ll go in the afternoon, okay?”

  “You bet,” Marcie said. “Oh, and listen, sorry it took me so long to get back to you about the info you wanted on Derrick Ellery. My friend in that department was out sick.”

  I’d asked Marcie to check on his bank accounts a couple of days ago. It was a huge favor, so I sure as heck wasn’t going to push her for the info.

  “Who is this Derrick guy, anyway?” she asked.

  I thought it best not to mention that he was dead.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “This guy is loaded,” Marcie told me.

  “How loaded?”

  “Over two hundred grand,” she said.

  Detective Shuman had told me that Derrick had been dating a number of women and we’d both wondered how he afforded to take them out in style. I’d never imagined he had this kind of money.

  “Where did it come from?” I asked.

  “Beats me,” she said. “All I can access is the balance—without attracting a lot of attention, that is. I’m still checking for more info, but I’ll e-mail what I have so far. The flu bug is going through the building, so a lot of people are out sick. I’ll let you know if I find anything else.”

  “Thanks, Marcie. I really appreciate it.”

  I ended our call, then drifted to the window and gazed at the Galleria across the street. A Starbucks would hit the spot right now, but I didn’t need much of a brain boost to think of the possible ways Derrick Ellery could have come into so much money—legally, unfortunately, which probably wouldn’t help find his murderer.

  Obviously, Derrick hadn’t earned and saved that kind of cash from his job at Hollywood Haven. He could have inherited it or sold some property. Heck, he could have won the Lottery. Maybe he’d been involved in some sort of lawsuit that he’d gotten a settlement from. Or perhaps, like Ty, his family was wealthy.

  Still, if any of those things had brought Derrick so much cash, I couldn’t help but wonder why he worked. Did he love it so much at Hollywood Haven he didn’t want to leave?

  I couldn’t picture anybody loving a job that much.

  Or maybe that was just me.

  Other information I was hoping to uncover would come from Detective Shuman. I’d left a message on his voicemail, asking if he’d learned anything new on Derrick’s murder. I hadn’t heard back from him. Sure, he was probably busy trying to solve other murders, but what about the info I needed?

  I was, after all, me.

  I called him again and he answered right away.

  “Morning,” he said, sounding chipper.

  Obviously, there wasn’t a coffee creamer crisis in the LAPD breakroom this morning.

  “You sound great,” I said. “Can I attribute that happy note in your voice to your new girlfriend?”

  “Yeah, maybe.” Shuman chuckled. “Yeah, definitely.”

  I was glad to hear things were going well between Shuman and Brittany. Still, I needed whatever info he’d come up with.

  “I hate to spoil your good mojo with a murder,” I said, “but have you heard anything new on the Derrick Ellery case?”

  “The investigation is moving forward, but slowly,” Shuman said. “Nothing new has come up. Teague and Walker are still waiting on lab results, still conducting interviews.”

  I’d hoped Shuman would tell me the detectives had made an arrest—especially since one of the interviews they’d been conducting had been with me.

  “You heard there was a second murder at Hollywood Haven?” I asked. “The receptionist.”

  “I heard.”

  The playfulness had drained out of Shuman’s voice. I didn’t feel so great that I’d caused it.

  I asked one more question.

  “What about Kelvin Davis?”

  “Nothing new on that, either,” he said.

  “Okay, thanks,” I said, and decided to lighten the mood and maybe restore Shuman’s good humor. “And, listen, you need to get Brittany something really nice for Christmas. I’ll take you shopping.”

  “No way. You’ll cost me a fortune,” Shuman said, and laughed.

  “She’s worth it,” I told him, and ended the call.

  I stood at the window gazing across the street at the Galleria, and I couldn’t help but wonder how much time Shuman had spent checking for info on these two investigations. Neither case was assigned to him and he’d only been looking into them as a favor to me.

  Honestly, I was okay with that. What I really hoped was that Shuman was spending his spare time with his new girlfriend, having fun and enjoying his life. He deserved it.

  Of course, I still needed to find out who had killed Derrick. The gala was only a few days away—plenty of time for Mr. Stewart to cancel. No way was I letting that happen. Not when I was this close to quitting my job at Holt’s.

  I gathered my things and left the office.

  “I need to see some ID,” the new receptionist at Hollywood Haven told me.

  She didn’t say it, actually, more like she barked it. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised, because she had the nobody-messes-with-me look of a bulldog. Actually, she sort of looked like a bulldog, with a compact body, rounded shoulders, and lips that naturally turned down.

  I’d already introduced myself, explained my reason for visiting, and flashed my L.A. Affairs portfolio. She’d been totally unimpressed.

  Maybe I should have a badge made up, somehow.

  I dug through my Tory Burch handbag and presented my driver’s license. She took it, stared at it, glanced from the photo to me, then to the photo again, and finally handed it back. She seemed super cautious, which made me think she’d learned what had happened to Karen.

  I guess she was concerned about being murdered on the job.

  Go figure.

  “Sign in,” she said, and pushed the log book at me.

  I scrawled my name. She looked at my signature and, for some reason, initialed it.

  “You can go in now,” she told me.

  Obviously, she’d gotten her customer service skills from the TSA. But I wasn’t going to let that bother me. I had a lot to do and I had to stay focused.

  Yet another song I didn’t recognize drifted out of the dayroom as I approached. I hoped I would find Delores, Trudy, and Shana there so I could get their list of suggestions for the gala swag bags.
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  Just before I turned the corner, I spotted all three of the gals exiting a room down the hall and heading my way. I guessed they were going out because they’d all glammed up. Delores had on a maxidress and a turban, while Trudy and Shana were decked out in print pants and jackets. They’d drenched themselves in jewelry and carried large tote bags.

  “There she is,” Trudy said when she spotted me.

  “We were just talking about you,” Shana said as they all crowded around. “We need to give you our ideas for the swag bags.”

  “Great,” I said. “I need to get the bags assembled right away.”

  “Listen, honey,” Delores said, “I need you to explain something to me. These Hollywood people who’re coming to the gala. What’s with them? They’re already multimillionaires. They already have everything on the planet. You know what I mean, honey? And if there was one tiny item they didn’t already own, they could certainly send one of their personal assistants out to buy it. So what’s with the swag? Tell me. What’s with it?”

  I couldn’t give her a good explanation—and I sure as heck didn’t disagree.

  “So, anyway,” Delores said. “You want swag? Let me tell you, we’ve got swag for you. Trudy, show her our list.”

  I expected Trudy to pull a notepad out of her tote bag that maybe had a picture of a Rubik’s Cube on the cover, but she whipped out an iPad and scrolled through several screens. I braced myself to hear their suggestions, which I was sure would include a Pet Rock, jelly bracelets, Jordache jeans, and OP T-shirts.

  “First of all, a fitness smartwatch,” Trudy read from the list.

  “I just got one,” Shana said. “I love it.

  “Next, a Bluetooth-enabled ball cap,” Trudy said.

  “It allows voice control of a paired device,” Shana explained.

  “Wireless headphones that track health markers,” Trudy said.

  What the heck was going on?

  “Wait,” I said. “I’ve never heard of these things.”

  “Wearable electronics are hot right now,” Shana said, “especially in emerging markets.”

  “Look here, honey,” Delores said, and pointed to a tiny square gadget not much bigger than a quarter that was clipped to the pocket of her maxidress. “It’s a life-logging camera. It tracks personal data generated by behavioral activities. I just got it, so I’m trying it out today.”

  “This is the newest model,” Shana said. “Video and audio.”

  “I’m wearing it on the red carpet Saturday night at the gala,” Delores said.

  “For YouTube,” Trudy said. “I’ve got Facebook and Instagram, and Shana is tweeting throughout the evening.”

  “Cloud service providers are driving the IT market,” Shana said. “But who cares about IT at a gala?”

  “That’s why we made these suggestions,” Trudy said, and gestured to her iPad. “We’ve got more, but you get the idea. I’ll send it to you.”

  “Wow, I’m impressed,” I said, because, really, I was, and I gave her my e-mail address.

  “Perfect,” Trudy said, after she’d input it into her iPad.

  “We’ve got to run,” Shana said. “We’re going shopping for the gala.”

  “Oh, wait. That reminds me.” I dug through my handbag and came up with the ruby and diamond earrings Emily had asked me to return. “Are these yours?”

  “Oh my God!” Shana squealed. “I thought they were gone forever!”

  Delores and Trudy crowded closer, all of them looking at the earrings.

  “Where did you find them?” Trudy asked.

  I’d promised Emily I wouldn’t rat out her dad and run the risk of getting him kicked out of Hollywood Haven, but I had to give a plausible reason why I had the earrings.

  “I found them outside on the grounds,” I said.

  “You’re kidding me. Tell me you’re kidding me,” Delores declared. “They claimed they’d searched everywhere and hadn’t found any of the things that had gone missing.”

  “Did you find anything else?” Trudy asked.

  The women seemed so relieved the earrings had been located, I didn’t feel right not admitting there were other items.

  “A scarf,” I said, because it was the flashiest item in the box. “Red with blue stripes. Does it belong to any of you?”

  They all shook their heads.

  “I’ll take it to Rosalind,” I said. “She has the list of lost items. I’m sure she can find the owner.”

  “You’re an angel, Haley,” Delores told me. “Sent straight from heaven.”

  “And this is a miracle,” Shana agreed, clutching her earrings. “I can’t wait to tell everybody the good news.”

  “Got to run,” Delores said to me.

  They smiled and waved as they hurried away.

  I stood in the hallway watching them, kind of wishing I was going too. They looked like they were having such a good time.

  I knew their afternoon and evening were going to be better than mine. I was positive of it.

  Because after work I was going to see Brianna King in Palmdale and find out what had gone on between her and Ty.

  CHAPTER 23

  I’m not big on suspense.

  I wanted to know exactly what was going on with Brianna King in Palmdale, the one phone call between her and Ty, his traffic accident around the time of Kelvin Davis’s murder, Ty being named as a person of interest in the investigation, and the cash and gun I’d found inside the closet of my second bedroom. Somehow, it was all connected. It had to be. Nothing was that much of a coincidence.

  So I figured that if I learned what had gone on between Ty and Brianna, I’d know more about Kelvin Davis’s death.

  That wasn’t everything, of course.

  I had no trouble admitting that to myself as I drove north on the 14 freeway toward Palmdale after my day had ended at L.A. Affairs. Luckily, I wasn’t scheduled for a shift at Holt’s tonight, so I didn’t have to make up a reason for not going in.

  I think Jeanette was wise to my touch-of-the-stomach-flu excuse, a personal favorite of mine.

  What I really wanted to know was what, exactly, had gone on between Brianna and Ty while we were dating. The simplest and easiest way to end the suspense was for me to simply ask Ty. But I didn’t want him to think I was snooping in his private affairs like some crazy ex-girlfriend. We’d broken up, so, really, it was none of my business.

  But, kind of, it was.

  He’d made that phone call to Brianna and headed for Palmdale while we were officially boyfriend-girlfriend. He’d kept the whole thing a secret from me. I could think of only one reason he would do that.

  I got an icky feeling in my stomach.

  If I discovered that he’d been involved with Brianna while we were dating, I’d be devastated.

  If I discovered that little girl was his, I didn’t know how I’d manage.

  Not even weapons-grade chocolate would get me through it.

  It was almost dark by the time I exited the freeway onto Rancho Vista Boulevard and drove to Brianna’s neighborhood. Streetlights were lit. Windows glowed a welcoming yellow. I flipped a U in the cul-de-sac and pulled up to the curb across the street and down the block from Brianna’s place. I killed the engine and my headlights so as not to attract attention from the neighbors.

  Brianna’s house was dark. She must not have gotten home from work yet—if she worked. I didn’t really know. But I wasn’t going to sit here without finding out for sure. I jumped out of the car, rang her doorbell, and waited. When I didn’t get an answer, I got back into my Honda.

  The last thing I wanted to do was sit and stew about my upcoming confrontation with Brianna. Calling Marcie was an option, but I wasn’t up to talking about it—not even to my BFF. I killed a few minutes checking my Facebook page and my e-mail, and was tempted to play Candy Crush for a while, but the box of items Alden the Great had lifted from the Hollywood Haven residents took my attention.

  I pulled it off the seat next to me, switch
ed on my phone’s flashlight app, and peered inside. There were about a dozen or so items and none of them looked anywhere as expensive as Shana’s ruby and diamond earrings. I spotted a couple of hairbrushes, a stick of deodorant, socks, a scarf, and other personal items. Nothing of great value, but I was sure the owners wanted them back.

  At the bottom of the box I spotted a book. I’d have to return it first, I decided, in case the reader was only half finished and didn’t want to be left hanging.

  But when I pulled it out, I saw that it was a journal. The cover was pale lavender, faded now with time. The corners were frayed. I opened it and saw that all the pages were filled with graceful, flowery handwriting. They smelled musty and the edges were tattered.

  I turned to the first page, but there was no name, no address, nothing to indicate who it belonged to, but I knew it must have been a woman who’d written in it so faithfully.

  I glanced at Brianna’s house. Still dark.

  Not that I wanted to pry into anybody’s private life, but surely whoever had put this much effort into recording her thoughts would want them back. I flipped through the journal hoping I could find a name or some indication of who the journal belonged to.

  As I turned the pages I realized these weren’t accounts of daily life like a diary, they were all poems. Love poems.

  I wasn’t a huge poetry fan—not that any number of my high school English teachers hadn’t tried to convert me—but even I could see that these were beautifully written. Each poem flowed with an outpouring of undying love and commitment, passion and everlasting devotion.

  What would it be like, I wondered, to love someone so much that you’d have those kinds of words inside you? What would it feel like to be on the receiving end of that much love?

  The image of Ty bloomed in my head. Tall, handsome, generous Ty. We’d shared so much, yet it had turned out to be so little.

  I closed the journal and put it back in the box. Tears sprang into my eyes.

  Would anyone ever love me like that?

  Why couldn’t it have been Ty?

  Headlights beamed into my car and I looked up in time to see the garage door on Brianna King’s house roll up and a BMW pull inside. The door closed.