Duffel Bags And Drownings (7 page)

I thought that was a big leap to make, but Faye didn’t give me a chance to say so.

“Those detectives are overzealous,” she declared. “They’re seeing a crime where one
simply doesn’t exist. And in the process they’re threatening to damage the reputation
of my company. I won’t have it. Not after everything I’ve put into this place.”

Faye popped the DVD out of the tray and switched off the television.

“Don’t worry about Cady,” she told me. “She will have the food prepared for the Brannocks’
party. Everything will be beautifully presented, delicious, and more than you or your
clients could hope for.”

Faye left and I stood there in the employee lounge thinking. A lot was going on in
my head, but one thing was perfectly clear.

I had to talk to Jack Bishop.

As soon as I got into my car outside of Cady Faye Catering I called Jack’s cell phone.
He didn’t answer so I left a message asking him to call me right away. Then I pulled
the paper from my portfolio that Lourdes had printed out for me with the contact info
for the two extra-large servers, picked one of them, and punched his address into
my cell phone.

GPS took me to the 101 freeway. I headed east, then transitioned south onto the 405
and exited on Sunset Boulevard toward UCLA. Many apartment buildings surrounded the
campus. I found the one where extra-large, possible-costume-thief-and-murderer Colby
Harmon lived off Hilgard Avenue, and squeezed my Honda into a spot at the curb.

Like everything else in the area, the building was well maintained and surrounded
by palm trees, shrubbery, and flowering plants. It looked great—on the outside. Since
I suspected the building was occupied mostly by students, I doubted the interior would
be as nice.

I followed the signs around the building, went through a door that had been propped
open, and found apartment 112. The place had a barebones, industrial look to it. Music
pounded from behind a closed door and voices floated down the stairwell from the upper
floors. Something in here didn’t smell so great.

I knocked on Colby’s door. It opened right away.

“Hey! How’s it going?” he greeted.

Colby was extra-large, all right. Tall, blonde, big shoulders, early twenties, and
kind of cute. He had on a stretched-out T-shirt and shorts, and was holding a beer.

On the drive over I’d thought about how to play this and had come up with a couple
of scenarios. After all, this guy was possibly a murderer, one of my definite he-probably-did-it
suspects. I had to be ready for anything.

But seeing Colby leaning against the door giving me a goofy life-is-great smile, I
decided to take the most direct route.

“I’m here to pick up the costume,” I said.

“Well, hey, great! Come on in!” Colby stepped back and swung the door open wide.

Wow, could it be this easy? Colby seemed very cooperative—and a little drunk—so I
was sure I could get any information out of him that I wanted, namely a confession
to Jeri’s murder. I envisioned myself giving Dan Grayson a phone call and announcing
that I’d solved the case.

Cool.

I walked inside. From the tiny entryway I could see the living room. It was cluttered
with pizza boxes, take-out cartons, paper plates, fast-food bags and wrappers, and
beer cans.

Something smelled really bad in here.

“Where’s the costume?” I asked, since I wasn’t all that excited about searching the
place.

“What costume?” Colby asked, and tipped up his beer.

“The leprechaun costume,” I said. “The one from Maisie’s Costume Shop you wore when
you left Cady Faye Catering.”

Colby frowned, as if he were thinking hard, then said, “Want a beer?”

“No,” I said.

“Okay, come on in the kitchen.”

Good grief.

I followed as Colby ambled down the short hallway into the kitchen. Yikes! The trashcan
overflowed and the sink was filled with dirty dishes. Something really creepy looking
was crusted on the stove and counter tops.

Colby opened the fridge—I didn’t dare look inside—studied it for a while, then turned
back to me and said, “Hey. Want a beer?”

“Look, I’m here to get the costume,” I told him. “The leprechaun costume you stole
from Cady Faye Catering yesterday.”

Colby frowned again and squeezed his eyes shut, causing him to sway for a bit, then
he looked at me again.

“A leprechaun costume? I stole a leprechaun costume?” He threw back his head and laughed.
“That’s killer, man. Hey, I can wear it to a St. Patrick’s Day party, huh? Do I—do
I really have a leprechaun costume?”

I was beginning to doubt it.

Suddenly, the next name on Lourdes’ printout looked very promising. I headed for the
door.

“Hey, want a beer?” Colby called.

* * *

His name was Tanner Stephens and he lived in one of Sherman Oaks’ less desirable apartment
complexes. I found the location easily enough, parked and went inside. The building
retained its weren’t-the-‘80s-great vibe, but it was clean and quiet.

I found his apartment on the second floor and rang the doorbell. Nobody answered so
I rang it again. Eventually, I heard muffled noises from inside, and the door opened
slowly. An extra-large guy with close-cropped brown hair, dressed in jeans and a white
T-shirt, looked out at me. I figured him for mid-twenties.

“Tanner Stephens?” I asked.

He glanced up and down the hallway, then looked at me.

“That’s me,” he said quietly.

Okay, he looked like a nice guy, but he definitely seemed weirded-out. Was it because
he’d killed Jeri?

I should be so lucky. Once more I flashed on calling Detective Grayson and making
him leprechaun-green with envy that I’d solved the case before he did.

“I’m here to pick up the costume,” I said.

Tanner drew back a little. “They really sent somebody for it?”

Oh my God. This guy had the costume. Had I found my murder suspect?

My heart beat a little faster. I didn’t want to spook him and have him run off before
I got to call Dan and gloat. I forced myself to play it cool.

“Haley Randolph. I’m the costume police.”

I did look very official in my awesome black business suit I’d expertly complemented
with white and gray accessories, and teamed with a no-nonsense black-and-white checked
Kate Spade satchel.

“I can explain,” he said. “I just—wait, come inside.”

Tanner stood back and I walked in. I didn’t feel so great about going into the apartment
of a possible murderer, but what choice did I have?

His place was small and decorated with what looked like yard sale treasures. The living
room held a futon, a couple of chairs, crates that served as bookshelves, and a big
computer desk.

Nothing smelled funny.

“Please, sit down,” he said, motioning me toward a futon.

I sat and he dropped next to me.

“I admit I took the costume,” he said. “But I wasn’t stealing it. Why would I want
a leprechaun costume?”

He had a point.

“Look, I had to get out of there,” Tanner said. “As soon as I heard that girl had
been found dead, I had to take off.”

My senses jumped to high alert. Was Tanner about to confess?

Mentally, I rehearsed my I-solved-the-murder chant for Dan and his partner, and considered
adding a Snoopy happy dance and a booty-pop or two.

“Did you kill her?” I asked.

“No,” Tanner said. He pulled back and looked stunned. “No. God, no. I didn’t kill
her. I didn’t even know her.”

“You have to admit that taking off dressed in a leprechaun costume makes you look
guilty,” I pointed out.

He nodded. “Yes, I realize that. But you have to see it from my point of view. I’m
almost finished with school and I’m trying to get a job at JPL, the Jet Propulsion
Lab near Pasadena. I’ll need a security clearance. I couldn’t take a chance that hanging
around, getting questioned by the police might screw that up, somehow.”

I definitely understood his problem, but I wasn’t willing to let it go so quickly.

“Did you have anything to do with Jeri’s death?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I work all kind of jobs. Anything, really, to bring in some money.
I’ve worked for that catering company a couple of times, setting up, serving food,
bartending sometimes. But I don’t really know anybody there.”

He sounded sincere and his story made sense. I believed him.

“Did you see anything suspicious going on?” I asked.

Tanner thought for a couple of seconds, then said, “Nothing unusual.”

“Have the police contacted you?” I asked.

“No,” Tanner said. “I figured they might track me down, somehow, but they haven’t
shown up. Just you.”

It was kind of cool knowing I’d tracked down a lead that the detectives had missed.
For a few seconds I considered telling them—just for the sake of full disclosure and
not because I wanted to throw it in their faces, of course—then decided that I didn’t
want to be responsible for blowing Tanner’s big chance at a job at JPL.

I headed for the door.

“Do you want the costume?” Tanner asked.

“Wear it to the event,” I said, and left.

* * *

As soon as I arrived at L.A. Affairs and walked down the hallway toward my office,
I spotted Kayla. Her gaze homed in on me like a couple of line-of-sight laser beams.

“Run!” she exclaimed.

I went into total panic mode.

Oh my God, were Detectives Elliston and Grayson here? Were they waiting for me? Did
they intend to arrest me?

Kayla rushed to me, grabbed my arm, and pulled me into the photocopy room. She slammed
the door and fell back against it.

“You’ve got to keep out of sight,” she told me, in a low voice. “Don’t let Edie and
Priscilla know you’re in the office.”

I went into total double-panic mode.

Edie and Priscilla must have finished their review of each planner’s workload and
decided to let someone go—and it was me. Oh my God, they were going to fire me?

Kayla opened the door a crack, peeked out, then turned to me again.

“It’s worse than we thought,” she said.

Yikes! Did that mean Edie and Priscilla had decided to fire several people?

“It’s the Daughters of the Southland,” Kayla told me.

Okay, now I was really confused.

“Who are they?” I asked.

“Some organization of old ladies who like to make everybody’s life miserable. Every
year they come to us to plan their annual luncheon,” Kayla said, her voice rising
slightly. “And they’re horrible. Terrible. Absolutely awful.”

She must have read my what-the-heck-look because she kept talking.

“The Daughters of the Southland are old. I mean, really old, like in their fifties
and sixties—some of them are even older,” Kayla said. “And every one of them is cranky
and crabby. They can’t agree on anything. They’re always changing their minds, calling
us, wanting this, wanting that. Then, another one of them will call and insist on
something totally different. They bicker and argue and make life hell for whoever
is planning their event. It’s so bad nobody here wants to work with them.”

“That’s what Edie and Priscilla have been doing behind closed doors?” I asked.

“Yes,” Kayla said. “They know none of us can stand to be in the same room with those
crazy old ladies, so now they’re forcing somebody to take on the event.”

Oh my God. This was almost worse than thinking Edie and Priscilla were going to fire
me—or that Detectives Elliston and Grayson were going to arrest me.

“Who are they assigning the event to?” I asked.

“I haven’t heard,” Kayla said. “Just try to avoid Edie and Priscilla.”

“No problem,” I said.

Kayla opened the door, checked the hallway, and we both hurried to our offices.

Since I didn’t want to run the risk that Edie or Priscilla might spot me in the hallway
or breakroom and assign me to that dreadful event, I was forced to stay in my office
and do actual work.

I still hadn’t heard back from Jack Bishop. I needed to find out why I’d seen his
Land Rover in the surveillance video outside Cady Faye Catering twice, around the
time of Jeri’s murder. Of course, I knew there could be for a perfectly innocent reason
or perhaps just a coincidence, but I doubted it. I called him again and left another
message.

The afternoon dragged on. I only got through it by focusing on meeting tonight with
Marcie at The Grove, one of our favorite shopping centers, to hunt down the new Flirtatious
satchel. Shortly before my official quitting time—okay, really it was 45 minutes early—I
shifted into stealth-mode and left the office undetected.

On the drive, I couldn’t help thinking that with the two extra-large servers off my
list, I was getting low on murder suspects. I pulled into the parking garage and circled
up to the third level, then swung into a spot near the elevators.

Marcie was going to meet me at Nordstrom, but I wanted to take another shot at talking
to Jack Bishop before we began our Flirtatious search. I walked to a railing that
overlooked shopping center, pulled out my phone and called Jack.

The view from this spot was awesome. The sun was setting, painting the sky in a dozen
shades of gray and blue. In the distance were high-rise office buildings. Stretched
out to my right were shops and stores, and immediately below me was an Italian restaurant’s
second-story balcony. A few tables were set up in the secluded dining area and were
covered with snowy white linens; china and crystal sparkled beneath the twinkle lights.

Only one table was occupied. A man sat there alone, though the table was set for two.
He had on a dark suit. His hair was a light brown. Even though he was seated I could
tell he was tall with an athletic build.

From my angle above him I couldn’t see his face but something about him looked familiar.
He drummed his fingers on the table, shifted in his chair, pushed his hand through
his hair, then—