Swag Bags and Swindlers

by Dorothy Howell

  It hit me then what had happened.

  “Derrick was always chatting up the residents, asking about their personal lives, as if he was just being friendly,” I said. “But he was actually coercing them into signing over their assets to him. That’s what he did to Arthur Zamora, wasn’t it?”

  “That stupid old fool,” Sylvia said. “That’s what he gets for dumping my mother, making her life—and mine—miserable, and for stealing what didn’t belong to him. He ended up alone and sick, stuck in this place with nobody to watch out for him.”

  “So Derrick stole all of Arthur’s money and his property?” I asked.

  “Damn right he did,” Sylvia said.

  I realized then that while everyone at Hollywood Haven thought Sylvia was always complaining to Derrick about conditions at the facility, she was actually confronting him about how he’d stolen Arthur Zamora’s assets.

  Then it hit me—that last argument they’d had in Derrick’s office that had been overheard must have escalated into something far worse and been the final straw.

  “You killed Derrick, didn’t you?” I said.

  Sylvia glared at me, seemingly unfazed, then reached into her tote bag again. She pulled out a handgun and pointed it at me.

  Oh, crap.

  Behind her, I saw the gals get wide eyed, then step back around the corner.

  “You did, didn’t you? You killed Derrick?” I said.

  Delores’s face poked out from the corner, her bejeweled turban sparkling in the dim light.

  “I could have gotten money from Arthur,” Sylvia said. “But he’d signed everything he owned over to Derrick.”

  “You killed Karen,” I realized. “You were in the lobby that day. You overheard her saying she was putting together a list of people she’d seen outside Derrick’s office.”

  “That was unfortunate,” Sylvia said, and had the good grace to look somewhat contrite. “I liked Karen.”

  I figured Sylvia had no reason not to kill me, too.

  I wasn’t all that concerned about Sylvia’s situation—only my own, at the moment—but I thought it was a good idea to keep her talking.

  “You could have gotten a lawyer,” I said.

  “A lawyer,” Sylvia smirked. “Like I’ve got money for a lawyer.”

  Delores kept watch. I wished she’d disappear down the hall with the other gals. I didn’t want anything to happen to her.

  “It was worth a try, wasn’t it?” I asked.

  “Sue Arthur, when he had no money?” Sylvia uttered a bitter laugh. “And I suppose you think I could sue Derrick, too? How? I’m not related to Arthur. I’ve got no standing in a suit on his behalf. The whole thing was a tangled legal nightmare that would have dragged through the court for years.”

  I couldn’t disagree with her reasoning. The situation did seem hopeless.

  “I want that journal back,” Sylvia said. “It’s my evidence, my ticket to serious money. I’m going to sell this story to all the tabloids, the talk shows—anybody who will listen—and make them pay for the rights.”

  Delores was still watching us. I decided it was better to leave the building before Sylvia realized she’d seen and heard everything.

  “It’s in my car,” I said.

  Sylvia waved the gun. “Let’s go get it.”

  Thankfully, Delores drew back as I headed for the hallway. I walked slowly, giving all the gals time to get to safety. I crossed the lobby with Sylvia on my heels. Nobody was there, except the receptionist, who didn’t bother to look up.

  Outside, the last limo was still waiting at the curb. Three residents were inside while the driver stood by the front fender.

  He seemed like a strong, sturdy guy, but since he wasn’t armed and I didn’t know how well he could handle himself if something went down—plus, I didn’t want to put the residents in danger if Sylvia opened fire—I didn’t let on that the woman behind me was holding a gun on me.

  “I’m waiting for the last three people,” I said to the driver as we walked past. He nodded and I kept walking.

  We crossed the parking lot to my car. The security lighting here wasn’t much better than at Holt’s. Sylvia held the tote bag in front of her. One hand was inside, holding the gun.

  I dug the keys from my bag and clicked the locks, then glanced back at Hollywood Haven as I opened the door.

  Oh, crap.

  Delores, Trudy, and Shana had followed us out of the building. The three of them were huddled together near the entrance, watching every move we made.

  “It’s inside,” I told Sylvia, and pointed to the journal lying on the seat.

  “Get it,” she told me. She pulled the gun from her tote and waved it around.

  I leaned in, grabbed the journal, and gave it to her.

  “Go ahead and tell whoever you want about our little conversation,” Sylvia said, with a smug smile. “Nobody is going to believe you. There are no security cameras inside the dayroom. You have no proof, no evidence. And those three?”

  Sylvia nodded toward Delores, Trudy, and Shana, standing near the entrance.

  “Yeah, I know they were listening,” she said. “But they’re old. Nobody is going to believe them. They’ll all be dead long before any sort of legal action happens. Understand?”

  I nodded.

  “Good.”

  Sylvia dropped the journal into her tote bag and backed away. When she reached her car, she jumped inside and took off.

  Delores, Trudy, and Shana rushed over.

  “Talk to me, honey,” Delores said. “Are you okay?”

  “We were so afraid for you,” Trudy said.

  “You were very brave,” Shana added.

  “I’m okay,” I said, even though I was kind of shaking on the inside.

  “She killed Derrick?” Trudy asked. “And poor Karen. Such a shame.”

  I opened my bag and got my cell phone. “I’m calling the cops. She’s not going to get away with this.”

  “Don’t worry,” Shana said. “We’ve got this.”

  “I’ve got everything right here,” Delores said, and pointed to her head.

  I thought she meant the incident was committed to her memory, but then I realized she was pointing to something else—the tiny life-logging camera she’d attached to her turban.

  CHAPTER 29

  “I’ve had a brilliant idea,” Mom announced when I answered my cell phone.

  I’d just left the parking lot at my apartment complex and turned right onto Via Princessa—the light I ran if I was late for my shift at Holt’s, which, for some crazy reason, wasn’t the case this morning. It was early to talk to Mom, but I figured it had to be good news.

  After last night, I was definitely on a roll.

  “Remember when I mentioned that I was considering seeking employment at a museum?” she asked.

  Like I could ever scrub that image off my brain cells.

  “I’ve been doing more thinking,” Mom said, “and I decided you were right.”

  Wow, it was worth answering the phone just for that.

  “I’ve thought of a new way to combine my extensive knowledge of beauty and fashion, and my love of art,” Mom said. “So I’ve decided to put together a museum exhibit devoted to beauty queens.”

  I couldn’t think of one darn thing to say.

  Luckily, Mom kept talking.

  “I think it will be fabulous,” she said. “Don’t you?”

  What could I say? Mom was Mom.

  “Sounds great,” I told her.

  The best part of her idea was, of course, that I wouldn’t have to write her résumé.

  “I need to get all of my pageant gowns out of storage and start assembling my exhibit,” Mom said. “Got to run, sweetie.”

  I ended the call as I turned into Holt’s parking lot. Since the store hadn’t opened yet, only the employees’ cars were there. No sign of the protesters.

  An early shift wasn’t my idea of fun, especially after a late night, but since I sleepwalk
through most of my day here I figured it would be okay. Besides, everything that had happened at Hollywood Haven was still looming large in my thoughts, so it was better to stay busy—well, kind of busy.

  After Sylvia had driven away with the journal last night I’d called Detectives Teague and Walker. It took some patience—something I don’t have much of—but I finally reached Teague. He seemed skeptical of the info I gave him—it was good to know I wasn’t the only person who hadn’t known what life-logging was—but he finally agreed to contact Detective Walker and meet me at the Hollywood Roosevelt.

  Delores, Trudy, and Shana had been all over the detectives when they arrived. They backed up my story, then explained how the life-logging device had captured both audio and video of my confrontation with Sylvia. The detectives took it into evidence and said I could expect to hear back from them.

  I wasn’t worried.

  The gals were excited about their part in solving two murders. I was pretty sure it was all over social media this morning.

  Once Detectives Teague and Walker viewed the life-logging content, I knew they would get a search warrant, question Sylvia, and find all the evidence they needed to close the case. I didn’t know if that meant a happy ending all the way around. I thought of Ida alone in Hollywood Haven after Sylvia went to prison. She wouldn’t have her daughter there looking out for her, but maybe Ida’s life would be more peaceful without Sylvia around.

  I swung into a parking space and killed the engine. The big neon blue Holt’s sign looked down on me. For once, I smiled at the sight.

  The fiftieth gala had come off flawlessly. Not one hitch, bump, or hiccup. Everything went smoothly, everyone had a fabulous time. Compliments rained down from everywhere.

  I would ace my job performance review. No doubt about it. And finally—finally—I could quit my job at Holt’s.

  As I got out of my Honda, a car whipped into the next space. It was a cherry red convertible Ferrari Spider, and inside was—Ty?

  What was he doing here? And what the heck was he doing in that flashy sports car?

  He shut down the motor and looked at me for a moment, then climbed out. His hair was windblown. He hadn’t shaved. He had on jeans, a loose white shirt with the tail out and the sleeves rolled up, and flip-flops.

  Oh my God, where was my real ex-boyfriend?

  Ty walked around the car and stopped in front of me.

  “Nice ride,” I said.

  He shrugged. “Impulse buy. Last night.”

  I guess if he could spend over two hundred grand on a whim, it was okay for me to have a go at the fifty thousand dollars he’d left in my closet.

  He nodded toward the far end of the parking lot and said, “I was waiting for you. I got some news.”

  “Good news?” I asked.

  “My attorney called yesterday. I’m no longer a person of interest in the Kelvin Davis murder,” he said. “They found the guy who did it. He confessed.”

  I felt as if a ton of weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

  “That’s great,” I said. “What happened?”

  Was it my anonymous tip I’d given Detective Shuman?

  “I didn’t ask,” Ty said. “I don’t know, and I don’t care.”

  Honestly, I didn’t care either. The only thing that mattered was that Ty was cleared.

  He glanced away, then back at me again, and said, “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. You know, taking stock of . . . things.”

  Was I one of those things?

  “I need to make some changes,” he said. “I’m taking some time off, a leave of absence from Holt’s, and I wanted . . .”

  He wanted me to come with him? He wanted me to jump into that new car? Just the two of us? And let the road take us wherever?

  “And I, well . . . uh,” Ty said, “I just wanted you to know.”

  Oh. I guess not.

  I gulped down my emotions and managed a nod. Ty walked back around the car and dropped into the driver’s seat.

  I heard the motor rev as I hurried into Holt’s. I didn’t look back. I didn’t want to watch him drive away.

  Jeanette intercepted me just inside the entrance. Employees were opening the registers and straightening the racks, readying for the day ahead.

  “I have some good news, Haley,” Jeanette said, “and I wanted you to be the first to know.”

  I was in no mood.

  I couldn’t imagine that anything Jeanette said to me would fall into my own personal this-is-fantastic category. Not now. Not after what had just happened.

  “The Nuovo acquisition has gone through,” Jeanette said. “I’m pleased to report that the employee discount has been raised to eighty percent.”

  Eighty percent? Eighty percent off designer clothes, accessories, and handbags?

  “Did you say eighty?” I asked.

  Jeanette beamed me a huge smile. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

  This wasn’t wonderful. It was horrible.

  No way could I walk away from that kind of discount, and that meant—oh my God—I was going to have to work at Holt’s forever.

  “Hey!” someone shouted.

  I turned and saw one of the salesclerks standing by the entrance, pointing outside.

  “Does anybody know a hot-looking guy driving a red convertible?” she called. “He just pulled up outside.”

  My heart nearly jumped out of my chest.

  Ty came back? For me?

  Was he going to ask me to go with him?

  Would we ride up the coast with the wind in our hair, crank up the music and sing along? Run through the surf, stroll through a winery, spend our nights under the stars?

  Would we talk—really talk—about hopes, dreams, and our life ahead?

  Did I want that? Or was I better off leaving things as they were?

  Should I take a chance and go with him?

  Oh, crap.

  KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2015 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.

  Library of Congress Card Catalogue Number: 2015937826

  Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7582-9498-2

  ISBN-10: 0-7582-9498-0

  First Kensington Hardcover Edition: October 2015

  ISBN: 978-0-7582-9498-2

  First Kensington Electronic Edition: October 2015