Shop Til You Drop Dead (A Hollis Brannigan Mystery)

by Dorothy Howell

  I’d never considered that the Fisher Joyce fixer, the hottest guy in the building, the one rumored to have actually killed people, might have grandparents.

  “You believe me?” Dan asked.

  I stewed on it for a few seconds, weighing his explanation, searching his face for telltale signs of deceit. I was good at judging people. I’d learned it at my uncles’ car lot when dealing with a customer giving me their excuse for not making their payment. Something about their eyes always gave it away.

  It would help if Dan didn’t have those gorgeous baby-blues.

  “Yeah, I guess,” I admitted.

  “Yes? Or you guess?”

  I drew myself up a little taller. “Yes.”

  “And you’ll help me with the anniversary gift?”

  “Of course.”

  “Can we go have coffee now?”

  “No,” I said. “I owe you an apology for jumping to conclusions. So, I apologize.”

  “Apology accepted,” Dan said, and continued to gaze at me. “That’s it? We’re good? Nothing else?”

  I thought for a few seconds. “Have you really killed people?”

  “You’re killing me right now. I need coffee. Let’s go.”

  We turned the corner onto Franklin Avenue and stopped at a pet-friendly café. We grabbed a table on the patio. Dan held the chair for me, then took the seat that put his back to the wall. The place wasn’t crowded, just a few other couples, but he seemed to be on alert, subtly watching the other diners and passersby as he’d done outside my apartment building and during the walk here.

  The server approached. We ordered coffee and got treats for Gizmo, who was busy making a thorough investigation of the area under the table and chairs, and eyeing the other dogs nearby. Finally, she laid down by my feet.

  “You really spend all day shopping?” Dan asked.

  “Pretty much,” I said. “Not the job I wanted, but at least I’m working.”

  The server returned juggling two coffees and a bowl of water and Gizmo’s treats. Gizmo lapped and snacked while Dan and I sipped.

  “What job did you want?” he asked.

  I hesitated, then decided it wouldn’t hurt to let the company’s fixer know I wanted to work in his department.

  “Investigations,” I said.

  “That’s what you did back home?”

  He’d done a background check on me, so he knew where I’d worked. Still, I filled him in on the skip tracing, credit checking, and car repos I’d done at my uncles’ car lot.

  “Personal shopping is a long way from investigations,” Dan said. “Will you be able to hold out in the hospitality department until there’s another opening in investigations?”

  I was tempted to tell him that I might not make it past Monday, if Louise looked any closer at the number of items I’d purchased for my off-listers and compared that to the hours I was out of the office in the last few days. Instead, I went with something entirely different.

  “I’ve got this client,” I said and sipped my coffee. “I’ve dealt with difficult people before, but this woman, wow. I found three different gowns for her, and delivered each one to her house personally until I finally bought the one she was happy with. And then she told me she intends to be buried in it.”

  Dan froze, his cup halfway to his lips. “What the hell?”

  “Exactly.” I shook my head. “I took it back.”

  He grinned. “No, you didn’t.”

  “I did,” I told him. “Pulled it right out of her hand, and took off with it.”

  Dan’s grin widened to a smile.

  He shook his head as if trying to wrap his mind around the situation.

  “Is she terminally ill?” he finally asked.

  “Nothing like that showed up on her background check, no big payments to hospitals or doctors,” I said. “She’s pretty old. It seems like she seldom goes out. She’s lived in the same house for decades. She thinks the neighbors are spying on her. She’s alone, no husband or kids. I think it would help if she got out more often, but she doesn’t seem to want to.”

  “What did she do when you left with the gown?”

  “Nothing. Well, nothing yet. She still might call and complain about me.”

  “Hey, if nobody’s complaining, you’re not working hard enough,” Dan said and grinned.

  “Easy for you to live that way,” I said, and grinned back at him. “Everybody in the building lives in fear of getting on your bad side.”

  Dan shrugged off my comment. “So you’re done with this woman? For good?”

  “I feel kind of bad leaving her there, living the way she does. Maybe I should have done something to help. I hope at least I didn’t make things worse for her.”

  “No much you can do,” Dan told me. “Whatever is wrong with her happened a long time ago. That’s where most problems start, and they affect everything that comes later. We’re all a product of our past. Either we get over it and move on, or it drags us down and keeps us in the past.”

  I thought for a moment about what he’d said.

  “I didn’t expect such deep thoughts from you,” I admitted.

  “I read a lot of self-help books. We trained killers have to do something while we’re waiting around for our next victim.” Dan glanced down at Gizmo who was doing a doggie two-step and whimpering. “I think she’s ready to go.”

  Dan dropped cash on the table, and we headed back to my apartment. On the sidewalk near the building entrance Dan handed me Gizmo’s leash. A few awkward seconds passed. I wondered if he expected me to invite him inside, then realized something entirely different was on his mind.

  “Just to give you a heads-up,” he said, “Detective Sullivan thinks you’re hiding something.”

  “Do you think I am?”

  “I know you are.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. I certainly wasn’t going to admit to anything.

  “Watch yourself, Kansas.”

  Dan walked away.

  Chapter 19

  Louise didn’t mention last Friday’s conversation when I walked into her office Monday morning and signed for the corporate credit card I was supposed to use today. She didn’t have to. I could tell by the way she watched me sign for the card, checked the time I wrote beside my name, and compared it to the time on her computer monitor. She was keeping an eye on me and everything I did. I shouldn’t have been surprised and I wasn’t—well, maybe a little—but mostly I felt annoyed—and guilty because I’d brought this on myself.

  So, what to do?

  I’d wrestled with this question all weekend and now, as I walked out of Louise’s office toward my desk with her gaze boring a hole in me, I still knew the answer: I was going to continue to investigate Edith Bagley’s murder, no matter how much time it took out of my day, even if it meant I got into more trouble with Louise, or got fired.

  Really, there was no other choice for me. If I told Barbara I was abandoning the investigation she would call Fisher Joyce and complain, and ask for another investigator. Then, of course, the whole situation would come to light and I would be fired. Either way, I’d be history. At least if I continued to investigate and actually solved the case, I stood a good chance of staying employed and being promoted to investigations. Plus I wanted to know who murdered Edith. I figured we both deserved justice.

  Bailey waved from her cubicle when I walked past.

  “Shopping at Macy’s today?” she asked.

  I’d checked my shopping list already; Louise had sent it before I’d left home.

  “Pajamas for a family of six—for starters,” I said.

  “Big sale.” Bailey waved her phone. “Be sure you check their site.”

  Even the rich and famous couldn’t resist a good discount.

  “Want to meet for lunch?” she asked.

  I would have liked that, but there was no way I’d have time today.

  “Can’t,” I said, then stole a quick glance at Louise’s office and saw her eyein
g me. “Some other time.”

  “Okay, see you.”

  I left the department, relieved to be away, out of range of Louise’s evil eye. As I turned the corner Meredith rushed toward me.

  “Oh, my God, Hollis, I’m so sorry.” She stopped in front of me, wringing her hands, shaking her head, and frowning. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I feel awful. Just awful.”

  I wasn’t sure what she was talking about, and I didn’t have to wait long to find out.

  “I shouldn’t have gone shopping without you,” Meredith said.

  “Oh, yes, your dinner with Neil’s parents. How was—”

  “Terrible. Awful. My roommate’s friend, the one who supposedly knew everything about where we were going and exactly what I should wear? I hated everything she picked out for me. Nothing looked like me. But she kept insisting it looked great—and it didn’t.”

  I felt Meredith’s distress; there was nothing worse than showing up for a special occasion and not feeling good about what you had on.

  “So what happened?” I asked. “Did it go okay with his parents?”

  Meredith grabbed her chest and her shoulders slumped. “Thank God, they cancelled at the last minute.”

  “I’ll go shopping with you next time,” I offered.

  “I’m not going through that again. No way. No way. I’m not doing it. I should have listened to you, Hollis. When I told Neil no I should have stuck to my decision.” Meredith sighed heavily. “And I’m so sorry, Hollis. I feel awful that I went with that other girl and not you. I know it hurt your feelings, and I’m so sorry. Really, I am.”

  “It did hurt my feelings,” I admitted. “But I understood, and it’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not okay,” she insisted. “You’ve been a really good friend and I hurt you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, sorry, sorry. Let me make it up to you. Please.”

  “It’s okay,” I said again.

  “No. I have to do something for you. I absolutely have to. I’ll do anything. Name it.”

  “No, really, you don’t have to—oh, wait.” An image popped into my head, an idea that had come to me over the weekend. “Did I ever tell you about my sister?”

  ***

  Louise had come out of the hospitality department just as I was finishing my conversation with Meredith in the hallway. She’d eyed me sharply before continuing on her way. I didn’t have to be psychic to know what she was thinking.

  In the elevator to the parking garage, I mentally ran through my morning schedule of all the places I had to shop today. Thankfully, I didn’t have to worry about Gizmo. My neighbor Krystal had offered to dog-sit her today. Krystal had a beagle named Barney whom she insisted was excited about the playdate when I dropped Gizmo off this morning.

  So that left me with completing my shopping list and figuring out how to solve Edith Bagley’s murder—and dealing with Detective Mitch Sullivan, I realized when the doors opened and I spotted him standing beside the valet booth, his gaze locked on the elevator.

  This was a wrinkle in my day’s plan that I hadn’t anticipated.

  I knew he was waiting for me. It took everything I had not to push the button and go back up. Only the mental image of him tracking me down through the corridors of Fisher Joyce stopped me.

  Detective Sullivan squared himself as I walked toward him, ready to intercept me and, no doubt, ask for the summary of my whereabouts he’d wanted, maybe question me about Allison’s murder, too.

  “Morning,” I said briskly, as if I were passing a total stranger, and cut around him. From the corner of my eye I saw the stunned look on his face as he turned to follow me.

  Trent came out of the valet booth frowning, since it was completely obvious he was a cop.

  “You know that guy?” he asked.

  “Not really,” I said, then lowered my voice. “But I’d appreciate it if you’d get me a car—really fast.”

  “I’m on it.” Trent threw another look at Mitch and took off.

  “Miss Brannigan?”

  I let a few seconds pass before I turned and saw him standing next to me. The garage was hot, airless, and smelled of gas fumes and engine exhaust. The detective glaring at me made it claustrophobic.

  “Yes?” I said, trying to look wide-eyed and, more importantly, innocent.

  “I need that information from you.”

  I frowned, glanced away, and tilted my head before settling my gaze on him again. “Have we met?”

  An odd expression flashed on his face. I wasn’t sure if he was annoyed, or trying not to smile.

  “Detective Mitch Sullivan,” he told me.

  “Oh, yes. Of course. You’re a friend of Dan’s.”

  I hoped that mentioning Dan’s name—the guy rumored to have killed people—might put Mitch off. It didn’t. Guess he’d killed people, too.

  A BMW, tires squealing, came up the ramp and slid to a stop in front of us. Trent jumped out and held the door.

  “Well, nice seeing you again,” I said, and headed for the car.

  “Miss Brannigan? Hollis!”

  Somehow, Mitch got in front of me.

  “I need that information I requested from you,” he told me.

  “You came all the way here first thing in the morning, to stand around in this smelly garage waiting for me to show up, just to ask me that?” I gave him an indulgent smile. “I don’t want to butt into your investigation, but if solving Allison’s murder rests on you knowing where I went shopping, I think you could be making better use of your time.”

  “And I think you’re avoiding getting that information for me,” he said. “It makes me wonder why.”

  I had to be careful here. Telling an outright lie could get me into real trouble.

  “As I recall, we covered this when we spoke last week.” I wiggled my fingers at the pocket of his sport coat where I’d seen him put that little tablet he made notes on. “Surely you wrote it down.”

  Something resembling a tiny grin pulled at his lips. “Dan said you could be difficult.”

  “He said what?”

  A horn blew.

  “Hollis, you got to move this car!” Trent called.

  I glanced over and saw him standing at the BMW’s open door, and knew he was attempting to rescue me.

  “I’ve got to go,” I told Mitch.

  I darted to the car and jumped in behind the wheel. Trent slammed the door. I was about to hit the gas when Mitch’s face appeared in the passenger side window, frowning.

  “I need that information,” he told me.

  “I’ll get back to you,” I said, and took off.

  My day wasn’t off to the best of starts. Gizmo had whined and given me puppy-face when I’d dropped her off at Krystal’s apartment. Then Louise had given me major stink-eye when I’d signed for my corporate card. Even though Meredith had insisted on helping me out, I felt a little icky about what I’d asked her to do. And then there was Mitch Sullivan wanting that info yet looking kind of handsome at the same time, which for some reason, really annoyed me.

  I drew in a calming breath as I headed up the exit ramp and turned onto Wilshire. All of this to deal with—first thing on Monday morning. It could only mean things had to get better.

  Or not, I realized when my phone chimed and I saw Barbara Walker-Pierce’s name on the ID screen. Tempted as I was to not answer, I decided I’d rather not have her call hanging over my head all day. I whipped into the parking lot of an office building, and answered.

  “Progress?”

  Since Barbara didn’t bother with any sort of greeting, I responded in kind.

  “Yes, but I’d rather speak to you in person,” I said.

  I’d never told her that I was certain Edith had been murdered. Telling her over the phone was not a good way to do it.

  “My schedule will not allow for a meeting,” she said.

  I hesitated for a few seconds. “Your suspicions about Edith’s death are true.”

  “She—she was … murdered?”


  “Yes. I’m sorry to have to break the news to you like this,” I said.

  I expected she’d be shocked, or at least stunned, even though she’d suspected the truth. Instead, her voice became stronger, angry.

  “Your investigation must be concluded immediately. Aunt Edith’s memorial service is but days away. I will not have this situation unresolved any longer.”

  Barbara was winding up for another ultimatum. I had to cut her off.

  “Did you speak with your nephew about the hundred grand Edith withdrew from her account?” I asked.

  She paused, apparently not expecting to be questioned, but finally responded.

  “Darren denied asking Aunt Edith for any funds. I confirmed this with her accountant. Frankly, it’s a relief to know that Darren wasn’t repeating his mistakes from the past.”

  Barbara seemed to think her nephew was in the clear. I wasn’t so sure. Darren had tried to gain access to Edith’s house; I doubted he was there to simply stroll down memory lane.

  “So what did she spend the money on?” I asked.

  “A charitable endeavor,” Barbara told me. “The home of an elderly gentleman needed refurbishing so it could be sold.”

  “Who was he?”

  Barbara huffed, seemingly annoyed by my string of questions.

  “I really don’t know, but I’m sure it was a well thought of family who’d fallen on hard times. That isn’t unusual in Pasadena. Aunt Edith often learned of worthy people in need and helped out,” she told me. “Now, I really must insist that you conclude your investigation into this incident immediately, before the memorial service. If you’re unable to do so, I’ll have no choice but to turn the matter over to another company.”

  Barbara ended our call. I sat there for a moment staring at my phone before dropping it back in my tote. I was going to have to figure out how to solve this murder, and fast.

  I pulled back onto Wilshire. Everything I’d learned about Edith flew through my mind, lots of jumbled information that had no form, no focus. I needed to put it in some sort of order, narrow it down until I found the right direction to go in.

  At a moment like this, it would be good to have a partner, somebody to run ideas by, maybe get another perspective. Dan came to mind. He did, after all, work in investigations. I wished I could confide in him. I wished I trusted him enough to do that.