“I was at the agency,” Jack said, nodding in the direction of KGB’s office.
Jack’s firm was handling security for the fashion crawl, so I figured he’d been there to discuss something with Peri.
“I must have just missed you,” I said.
“I knew I’d find you here,” Jack said, nodding toward the handbags in the shop window.
True, my obsession with handbags was legendary.
“Awesome detecting skills,” I told him. “But you could have just called me.”
Jack edged closer. “I like the hunt.”
Oh my God, he used his Barry White voice. I’m totally helpless against his Barry White voice.
Still, I resisted the urge to melt down into a puddle right there on the sidewalk and said, “Any problems with security?”
I’d recommended Jack and his team to provide security for the crawl—and not just because he was so good looking. Really. Well, okay, kind of.
“Other than the murder?” he asked.
I’d seen nothing on the news about Rayna’s death, and Peri thought it had been an accident, but somehow Jack knew about it and also knew the homicide detectives were calling it a murder. Jack was like a security ninja, somehow learning everything that went on.
“I found the body,” I said.
He gave me a don’t-bother-because-I-already-know-everything-you’re-involved-with look which, while probably true, didn’t suit me—or else it was flattering. I wasn’t sure which.
“I don’t think it’s connected to the crawl,” I told him. “There were some internal problems at the model agency.”
I gave him the rundown on the rivalry between Rayna and Ivy over the new clients that had come available. He listened and I could almost see his brain working, which was totally hot, of course.
“What else?” he asked.
No way was I going to mention my suspicion about Clark, Libby, or Peri since I’d discovered no evidence that any of them had committed the crime, and I didn’t want to look like a total idiot in front of Jack.
“Rayna was involved in a lawsuit,” I said.
Yeah, okay, I’d promised Libby I wouldn’t tell anyone about the info she’d shared with me. But I wasn’t spouting idle gossip to a co-worker in the breakroom—which, honestly, I’d done a zillion times—and this was possibly a crucial lead in a murder investigation.
“Who told you?” Jack asked, after I explained what I’d learned.
At this point there was no reason to hold back so I said, “Libby. She’s Katrina’s personal assistant.”
He nodded, taking in the info, seeming to mentally file it away with everything else I’d told him.
“Have you heard anything?” I asked.
Jack wasn’t one to share a lot of info, which irked me at times, but after the leads I’d discovered and reported, he had no reason not to give up what he knew.
“The detectives don’t have much,” he told me. “No problems in her personal life, no boyfriend stalking her, no unhappy roommate, no psycho ex-husband. No drug or alcohol abuse. She waitressed and tended bar at a couple of restaurants. Came to work on time. Did her job. Didn’t cause trouble. She was generally well liked. Not a single red flag.”
I wasn’t sure how Jack had gotten the inside scoop on the official investigation. It was just more of his security wizardry which was way cool since I benefited from it.
Still, it made me sad thinking about Rayna, a single girl working hard to make a life for herself who had met such a tragic end. It made me even more sad thinking that she’d been about to get the break of a lifetime with all the new clients who’d come available, and the big bucks she would have made.
I didn’t want to think about that anymore, so I said, “What’s going on with the crawl? Any problems?”
“Situations,” Jack said, nodding toward the street. “Homeless are living in some of the buildings.”
As with any densely packed city, a number of buildings were unoccupied. Several of them had been rented for the crawl and their ground floors would be used for the pop-up showrooms and other events.
“Most of these places have been sitting empty for months,” Jack said. “The owners haven’t done much to keep people out.”
“That’s one of the reasons they were so anxious to jump onboard the crawl,” I told him. “Some of the owners want to unload the buildings. They’re hoping the attention will draw buyers or at least some tenants.”
Jack glanced down the street at the four- and five-story buildings, and I figured we were thinking the same thing: no way would anybody want to be stuck with an unoccupied space that cost a fortune every month to maintain.
“Everything will be handled in time for the crawl,” Jack told me. “Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried.”
I never worried about anything that involved Jack. He was that kind of guy.
We stood there staring at each other, some weird kind of spark passing between us, the same spark that neither of us had ever acted on.
Jack’s cell phone chimed. He pulled it from the inside pocket of his sport coat, glanced at the screen, then put it away again. I figured he had a meeting or something, but didn’t want to cut our conversation short. Nice.
Still, I didn’t want to delay him, and I sure didn’t want to hear him say that he had to go.
“I have to get back to work,” I said.
He walked me to my Honda that I’d left in a parking lot down the street, opened the door, then closed it after I dropped into the driver’s seat. I buzzed the window open. He braced his hands on the door and leaned down.
“I’ll see what I can turn up on that lawsuit,” he said.
“Great. You’ll let me know?”
He hesitated a few seconds, then said, “I know this isn’t going to do any good, but I have to say it—don’t get involved with this murder investigation. It’s dangerous.”
“I know. You’re right.”
Jack’s eyebrows crept up. “I’m right? You’re not going to get involved?”
“You’re right that it’s dangerous.”
He huffed. “But you’re not backing off.”
“The police aren’t making any progress. I can’t run the risk that the investigation might go sideways and I could be named a suspect. The crawl could be impacted or even cancelled.” I managed a tiny smile. “They note things like that in our personnel file.”
Jack’s expression hardened and I knew what I’d said didn’t suit him, which was slightly irritating but gave me a warm feeling at the same time.
“Then keep me informed about what’s going on,” Jack told me. “I don’t care how stupid you think it sounds, I want to hear it.”
This, of course, would have been the perfect time to tell him that I had several other names on my mental list of suspects, but doing so would announce that I’d withheld the info earlier. I always say that timing in life is important—and this didn’t seem like the time to share my suspicions.
“I will,” I told him.
Jack gave me a you’d-better glare, which was totally hot, of course.
I started the car and shifted into reverse. Jack stayed where he was, watching me. Finally, he stepped back.
I pulled out of the parking spot and glanced in my rearview mirror. Jack was still watching.
My cell phone buzzed as I headed down Magnolia toward the freeway. Mom was calling.
No way could I deal with her and listen to the latest gossip about my overachieving cousins, so I let the call go to voicemail. Yeah, okay, I know that wasn’t very nice, considering that she was my mom, but there it was.
Right now my head was filled with images of Jack—honestly, how could it not be? Then, of course, my ex-official-boyfriend Ty popped in there, and I definitely didn’t want to think about him. Clark appeared in my thoughts and I didn’t feel so great thinking I was kind of attracted to a guy who might be a murderer—and that caused me to think about my sort-of boyfriend Liam and how
maybe I was technically, though not officially, mentally cheating on him by thinking about Clark.
Good grief.
My life needed an ejection seat.
I hit the onramp to the 170, determined to focus on the work that lay ahead of me at L.A. Affairs. Honestly, I liked my job and I was pretty darn good at it. At the moment, organizing events for total strangers so they could have a fabulous occasion with friends and family that would not include me seemed preferable to thoughts of all those men, plus my mom—and a murder—that were swirling in my brain.
But as I was mentally reviewing the things I’d have to take care of when I arrived at my office, the image of yet another man materialized in my head—and this one might actually do something that would help.
I grabbed my cell phone and called Detective Shuman.
***
“Have you been studying?” Sandy asked.
I looked at her as if she’d lost her mind—because I actually thought she’d lost her mind.
I was folding towels in Holt’s housewares department letting the image of the awesome handbags I’d spotted yesterday in the display window in North Hollywood fill my head, when Sandy walked up and startled me back into the somewhat depressing present moment.
“You know, studying,” she said, looking incomprehensibly excited, considering where we were.
Bad enough that I’d spent my Saturday afternoon and evening here, so no way was I going to put mental effort into anything beyond my internal count-down to the store closing.
Sandy seemed to pick up on my I’m-totally-lost expression, as a BFF would, and said, “You know, for the contest. Remember? They told us about it in the meeting.”
I’ve really got to get better about paying attention in meetings.
Or not.
Then it hit me—she was talking about the Holt’s contest and the looming threat of winning a crappy beach towel, not to mention the unveiling of the store’s new fashion line.
I had no clue what any of that had to do with studying.
“Everybody’s really into it,” Sandy said, waving her hands around the store. “I figured you’d be going for it, too.”
Like she just met me, or something.
I must have looked even more lost now—which I totally was—because Sandy said, “You can do it, Haley. You know all about customer service. You worked in the booth with Grace and—”
A jolt like a zap of electricity hit me as I realized the true meaning of this can-my-day-get-any-worse moment.
“The contest is about customer service?” I asked.
I might have said that kind of loud.
Sandy drew back a little.
Yeah, I’d screamed it.
“Sorry,” I said.
She rolled with it and said, “That’s why everybody is studying. We have to answer questions about the store. You know, where the merchandise is located, the brands we carry, our return policy, the best way to help a customer. That kind of thing. Then we take a test on a computer that—”
I stopped listening.
My own personal customer service policy was in direct opposition to Holt’s official position, so no way could I even come close to winning anything in the contest—and that suited me just fine.
Sandy gave me a let’s-don’t-get-in-trouble look and gasped softly. “Look out. Here comes Rita.”
Sandy took off. I started folding towels again, managing an I’m-busy-but-I’m-not-knocking-myself-out pace.
Rita glared at me as she walked past. Since I was in no mood to deal with her, I channeled my beauty pageant mom’s I’m-better-than-you air and ignored her.
As Rita disappeared into the kids’ clothing department, I felt my cell phone vibrate in the back pocket of my jeans. We’re not supposed to have our phones on the sales floor, but oh well.
My first thought was that it might be Mom calling to update me on my cousins and the latest wedding gossip. I was still avoiding her for obvious reasons. Of course, I didn’t want to miss an important call—like Marcie wanting to go shopping, or something—so I dashed down the aisle, pushed through the double doors into the stockroom, and yanked my phone out of my pocket in one smooth, well-practiced motion.
The ID screen showed that Darby was calling.
I nearly dropped my phone.
Oh my God. Darby of Designs by Darby. Those awesome, fabulous, I-could-actually-die-if-I-don’t-get-one handbags I’d seen in the NoHo shop window.
I hit the green button.
“Hello.” I might have said that a little too loud.
“Uh, hello?” a meek voice replied.
Okay, I’d actually screamed my greeting.
I drew in a deep breath trying to calm myself—where was Marcie at a time like this?—and let it out slowly.
“Yes, hello,” I said, managing to find my I’m-not-really-a-psycho voice. I introduced myself and said, “I saw your handbags in your shop window. I’m very interested in them.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“Could I make an appointment to visit your shop?”
Silence on the line. Oh my God, was she wondering if I really was a psycho? Was she thinking she’d need back-up for our appointment? Had I blown my chance to get my hands on one of her gorgeous bags?
Another few seconds dragged by, then Darby said, “How about tomorrow at two?”
I almost collapsed.
“Perfect,” I said. “I’ll see you then.”
We ended the call and I did a combination of double fist pumps and the Snoopy happy dance worthy of Dancing WithThe Stars.
Oh my God, I had to call Marcie. She’d definitely have to go with me. Tomorrow couldn’t get here soon enough. I could lose myself in all those gorgeous handbags and select the perfect one to take to my cousin’s wedding. Maybe I’d buy two bags—no, wait, three, maybe more.
This was so totally awesome. I didn’t know how my day could get any better.
Then it did.
Sandy pushed open the stockroom door and said, “There’s a really hot guy outside looking for you.”
Chapter 8
My first thought was to wonder who the hot guy waiting outside the stockroom might be. No way did I question Sandy’s call, though. She knew a hot guy when she saw one.
The image of Ty, my ex-official boyfriend bloomed in my mind. I ignored it.
Sandy pushed through the door and disappeared into the store, and Detective Shuman walked into the stockroom.
There was a guy-next-door ease about Shuman. He was taller than me, barely over the hump into his thirties, with dark hair and casual good looks. Some sort of low current always ran between us, one we’d never acted on because … well, because of a number of things. We’d had our difficult moments—he was, after all, a homicide detective—but we’d managed to arrive at some sort of understanding.
I’d called Shuman and asked if he could nose around a bit, maybe get some inside info on Rayna’s murder investigation from the detectives who were working the case, but I hadn’t heard back from him. I wasn’t expecting to see him tonight, but like I always say, you never know when something good is going to happen to you.
I noticed then that he wasn’t dressed in his usual slightly mismatched shirt-tie-sport-coat combo but instead had on black jeans and a gray Henley shirt. Definitely a date-night look.
A thread of envy zipped through me. Saturday night. I was stuck working at Holt’s. Why wasn’t I going out?
“Hi, Haley,” he said, and walked over.
“Still seeing Brittany?” I asked.
Shuman grinned—I love his grin—and said, “I’m on my way to her place.”
I’d met Brittany and I liked her, and I was happy for Shuman.
“So, Rayna Fuller,” Shuman said.
He’d shifted into cop-mode. I’d rather have gotten some info about how things were going with him and Brittany, but I went with it.
“Anything turn up in the investigation?” I asked.
He shrugged. “No
thing. Absolutely nothing.”
Jack had told me pretty much the same thing, which meant that finding Rayna’s killer anytime soon didn’t look promising.
“One possible lead,” Shuman said. “Someone fled the scene.”
Oh, crap. That was me.
Yeah, this investigation was definitely in trouble.
“What have you turned up?” he asked.
I was flattered that Shuman thought I’d come up with something when the homicide detectives assigned to the case hadn’t.
“A couple of things,” I said, and gave him the rundown on the rivalry between Rayna and Ivy for the new clients, and the lawsuit she’d been involved with.
Shuman did his usual cop-nod, taking it in, running it through his cop-brain, and said, “What else?”
He knew me well enough to realize I was holding back, which irked me a bit for some reason. I didn’t like being so transparent—or maybe I was just annoyed that he looked handsome tonight, was going on a date, and I wasn’t.
Yes, I can be kind of shallow sometimes. I’m not proud of it, but there it was.
“Just a weird feeling I get from a few people,” I said, and filled him in on my totally unsubstantiated, out-in-left-field suspicion about Clark, Libby, and Peri.
Shuman didn’t look impressed. I couldn’t blame him.
“So the investigation has turned up nothing on Rayna?” I asked. “Nothing? Nothing at all?”
I didn’t want to think ill of Rayna, since I didn’t even know her, but I was having trouble wrapping my head around the notion that she could be so wonderful that not one person had anything negative to say about her.
“The detectives talked to everybody at KGE, everybody at her other jobs, her family and friends,” Shuman said. “They all said she was a great person. Everybody loved her.”
“Really?”
Shuman shrugged as if he couldn’t quite believe it either and said, “Really.”
We were both quiet for a minute. I was still trying to get a grasp on how anybody could be that nice all the time when Shuman took a step back toward the stockroom door.
Backpacks and Betrayals (A Haley Randolph Mystery) Page 6
