Fanny Packs and Foul Play (A Haley Randolph Mystery) (10 page)

I’m not good at waiting.

“Earlier last week I overheard Veronica and
Patrick,” Andrea said. “They were arguing.”

Okay, that surprised me.

Andrea must have read my mind because she
said, “I know, it was totally unlike them. And it could have been
nothing, but it stuck in my head.”

“What were they arguing about?” I asked.

“I couldn’t hear what they were saying, just
their raised voices,” Andrea said, then paused for a few seconds.
“You don’t think it had anything to do with Veronica’s death, do
you?”

Several possibilities shot through my head.
Maybe Veronica had told Patrick she planned to return home with her
relatives. Or maybe Patrick had confessed that he and Erika were
getting back together. There was also the possibility that it had
something to do with the big Thanksgiving Day announcement.

“I mean, no way would Patrick hurt her—kill
her—and he wasn’t even there that day,” Andrea said. “Should I tell
the police? I guess I should, but I don’t want to get Patrick in
trouble.”

I didn’t see this as a big clue that would
break the case wide open, more like something that might distract
the homicide detectives and lead them down a dead end. But I
understood how Andrea felt.

“Hold off for a few days,” I said. “See what
the detectives turn up and if they don’t find a suspect, you should
think about telling them.”

She sighed. “That’s a good idea. Thanks.”

“How are the house guests?” I asked.

“Still sniping at each other,” Andrea said,
and sounded a little weary.

Family—even someone else’s—can do that to
you.

“I’ll try to get out there this afternoon,” I
said.

“Great,” she replied, and we ended the
call.

I stood staring out the window for a few
minutes thinking about what she’d said about the two supposed love
birds fighting, and decided I needed to try and get some inside
info on the investigation. I scrolled through my cell phone address
book and called Detective Shuman, one of LAPD’s finest.

I’d known Shuman for a while and we’d had
some ups and downs—more ups, luckily. He was a little older than
me, handsome in a guy-next-door kind of way. There was something
between us, kind of romantic, but not really—it was weird.

His voicemail picked up. I left what I
thought was an oh-so-clever message about needing info on
Veronica’s murder investigation that I hoped would inspire him to
call me back with some intel. Next I called Jack to see if he’d
learned anything new. His voicemail picked up also so I left a
message with him.

I stood by the window staring at my phone. It
didn’t ring. Neither hot guy called me back. That meant there was
nothing else I could do at the moment—except actual work.

I hate it when that happens.

* * *

The office phone on my desk rang. I glanced
at my wristwatch and saw that several hours had past.

Wow, time went by fast when you were actually
working.

“Haley? Haley?” Mindy asked when I answered.
“Hello? Can I speak to Haley?”

“I’m Haley,” I said.

“Oh, jiminy, so you are!” Mindy giggled. “You
have a client. Oh, of course you have a client—you have lots of
clients!”

She laughed at her own joke then wound down
and said, “Anyway, you have a client here. Here in the office, that
is.”

Liam flew into my head. Had he come back?

My heart started to beat a little faster.

“He’s in interview room number two,” Mindy
said. “Two. Yes, it’s two. Or maybe one. No, it’s definitely
two.”

I told her thanks—at least, I meant to—and
hung up.

I yanked open my desk drawer, checked my hair
and makeup in the mirror I kept in my handbag, and hurried out of
my office.

Oh my God, was Liam back? He had a way of
dropping by unannounced. He’d been here once today already. Why
would he come back?

A dozen reasons zinged through my head—most
of them involving how fabulous he hopefully thought I was—as I
hurried down the hall to interview room two. I paused, composed
myself as much as I could, and walked inside.

Oh my God.

Patrick Spencer-Taft sat in front of the
desk.

Every ounce of yay-for-me drained away and I
felt kind of ashamed for thinking of myself when Patrick—and so
many other people—were going through really rough times.

He looked up when I walked in and got to his
feet. He moved slowly, as if all the life had gone out of him.

Patrick was a good-looking guy. Tall, with
dark wavy hair, a nice build, and an easy smile. Only right now he
wasn’t smiling, and he looked as if nothing was easy for him.

He stepped forward and we hugged. I wanted to
say how sorry I was about Veronica but he waved me off, as if
another condolence was more than he could bear. I took the chair
beside his, and we sat down.

I figured he was there to tell me the
Thanksgiving feast he and Veronica had been planning was off. I’d
expected as much. It would be incredibly sad to plan a memorial
service for her but if that’s what Patrick wanted, I’d do it.

We sat in silence for a moment before he
spoke.

“Thank you for helping out with the family,”
he said. “I appreciate it, and I know … I know Veronica would have,
too.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I
just nodded.

“I want to go ahead with the Thanksgiving
feast,” he said. “Veronica would have wanted it. She loved Pammy
Candy and all the employees who worked there. We promised them a
special day and she wouldn’t want to let them down.”

I still couldn’t think of anything to
say.

“She felt the business brought happiness to
everyone who worked there and to everyone who ate the candy,”
Patrick said. “I’d like to do this as a tribute to her. A day of
thanks for loved ones, good health, jobs, friends, and family.”

“Veronica told me several times how much she
loved the company you two were building,” I said.

“She had plans—big plans,” Patrick said, and
managed a weak smile. “She wanted to expand the factory and put in
a gift shop, have tours, put in a café for the customers.”

“Sounds great,” I said.

Patrick nodded, then turned away and rubbed
his eyes. He was quiet for a moment before turning to me again.

“I just don’t understand,” he said, and
sounded truly lost. “How could this have happened? Who would want
to hurt her?”

He didn’t, of course, expect me to come up
with an answer but since he seemed to want to talk about it, I
decided to see if I could get any useful info.

“Was anything unusual going on?” I asked.

Patrick shook his head. “Nothing different.
The same kind of things that had been going on for weeks.”

“Did Veronica seem upset?”

“No,” Patrick insisted. “Well, yes, a
little.”

“Did you two disagree about something? Argue,
maybe?”

He uttered a bitter laugh. “The only thing we
ever disagreed about was money.”

Okay, that surprised me. Patrick was a
multi-millionaire. He hadn’t struck me as a tight-wad, but maybe
I’d misjudged him. Before I could ask, he went on.

“She was always afraid she was spending too
much money,” Patrick said, and smiled as if it were her most
endearing quality. “I told her to stop worrying, we had plenty of
money. But, well, she came from a family that struggled
financially. Lately, she even went out of her way to give me long
explanations about what she was doing with the money.”

“For the house renovations?” I asked.

“No, it was for her personal things. Clothes,
spa treatments, her hair and nails. That sort of thing,” Patrick
said. “It seemed to bother her more lately. She kept telling me how
much she loved me, as if she were worried about our marriage. I
didn’t care how much she spent. I just wanted her to be happy.”

I understood Veronica’s concern over money,
especially given her background, but she and Patrick had been
married for over a year. It was odd that she was suddenly
distressed about money, and worried that Patrick would be upset
with her over how much she was spending.

“Did this have anything to do with the
Thanksgiving Day announcement?” I asked.

Patrick took a few seconds to process my
question, then shook his head.

“I don’t know anything about an
announcement,” he said. “Please go ahead with the feast, as
planned. Veronica would have wanted it, and I want our employees to
know the company will continue despite … despite everything.”

“Of course,” I said.

“A couple of friends have offered to handle
the last minute details,” he said. “Andrea knows about them.”

“I’ll contact her right away,” I said.

Patrick sat there for a few more seconds as
if trying to muster the energy to rise. Finally he got to his
feet.

“Thank you, Haley, for everything.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll make sure
everything is perfect for the feast.”

He managed another small smile, and left.

I wondered what announcement Veronica
intended to make. Patrick didn’t know anything about it, giving me
the icky feeling that she’d withheld it from him. I could only
imagine why.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Veronica’s
apparent guilt over the money she was spending on personal things.
Was that, in fact, what she was spending money on?

Or was she skimming cash out of their joint
account to buy a plane ticket back home?

Or maybe pay a blackmailer?

By late
afternoon I’d done all the work I could stand for one day, mostly
making sure everything was set for the Spencer-Taft Thanksgiving
feast, so I headed out to Calabasas. When I pulled up in front of
the house, I saw that Veronica’s BMW was no longer parked in the
driveway and figured someone had finally put it in the garage. I
hoped that meant things were getting back to normal—or as normal as
they could be under the circumstances.

I’d called Jack and Shuman during the drive
over—the 101 was always a crawl at this time of day—but neither of
them answered. I’d tried Marcie next and had passed a few
stop-and-go miles discussing our next move in the
there-has-to-be-one-out-there-somewhere handbag search. We were
running out of places to shop.

My last-resort Louis Vuitton tote was looking
better and better.

Andrea met me at the door. She looked a
little weary, as if her personal assistant job had turned into a
babysitting assignment.

“Patrick found out Julia had pulled the cooks
and housekeepers,” she said as we walked into the entryway.

I figured Julia had sent the staff packing,
thinking Veronica’s family would leave sooner if forced to fend for
themselves. I wasn’t sure why Julia cared one way or the other. She
hadn’t exactly taken over the hostessing duties.

“That was crappy of her,” I said.

Andrea nodded and said, “The agency sent
people over so things are a little more bearable now.”

“No more arguments between the sisters?” I
asked.

“If only.” She rolled her eyes. “Makes me
glad I’m an only child.”

“Are they home?” I asked.

“I’d lined up a winery tour and tasting for
them in Temecula today but they cut it short and came back early.
Everything seems to wear them out. All but Brandie, of course,”
Andrea said. “Everyone who isn’t napping is at the pool.”

We headed toward the rear of the house and I
said, “Patrick came by the office today and told me he wants to go
ahead with the Thanksgiving feast.”

She nodded. “I’ll text you the names of the
friends who want to help with the details.”

We entered a large family room with
floor-to-ceiling windows that featured a view of the pool and spa,
set among lush landscaping. The room had tile floors, comfy
furniture, a wet bar and mini kitchen, and beach-themed décor.
Outside, Brandie lay on a float in the pool. Melanie was stretched
out on a chaise in the shade.

“I have to make some calls,” Andrea said.
“The construction crews should have been out here already. There’s
still a lot to do before the feast.”

I walked outside into the glorious Southern
California weather. Melanie and Brandie spotted me at the same
time.

“Oh my God, Haley, you’re here,” Brandie
exclaimed and rolled off of her float into waist-deep water. “Let’s
go to Starbucks, okay?”

It sounded like a great idea. I should have
stopped on my way over but I’d been too consumed by my conversation
with Marcie—that’s how upset I was about not finding a fabulous
handbag.

“Oh, you and that Starbucks,” Melanie
complained. “That’s all I’ve heard about lately.”

Brandie shot her mother a resentful look,
then dove into the water and swam toward the far end of the
pool.

Melanie got to her feet and walked to where I
stood by one of the umbrella tables.

“All she wants to do is go places,” she
complained. “She thinks we can just call the limo anytime we want
and be squired around town. She has a pool, a spa, gardens to walk
in, a media room, everything, and it doesn’t suit her. She wants to
get one of those Starbucks drinks and act like she’s a California
girl like you see on TV.”

I thought Brandie’s idea was a great one.

This didn’t seem like a good time to mention
it.

Melanie watched her daughter swim laps for a
moment, then turned to me again and sighed heavily.

“You really haven’t caught any of us at our
best, Haley. This thing with Veronica, well, it’s turned us into
something we’re not.”

“It’s a tough time for everyone,” I said
because, really, it was.

“That’s no excuse,” Melanie insisted. “I’m
sorry you had to witness the tail end of that argument I had with
Renée. She’s been worse than ever on this trip.”