Swag Bags and Swindlers (10 page)

C
HAPTER
13

I
used one of my stealth moves—something I'd perfected here at Holt's to avoid actually waiting on customers—to sneak up on Shuman and the girl he was with. He had on his usual slightly mismatched coat-shirt-tie combo, so I figured he'd just come from work. She was tall with high-school-length blond hair, and had on jeans and a sweater.

They were standing in the accessories department, in front of a display of scarfs, hats, and gloves. She was giggling and making a big show of handling the merchandise, and Shuman looked completely enthralled, as if he'd never seen a knit hat in his entire life.

Then it hit me.

Oh my God, was this the girl Shuman had been talking to on the phone the day I'd met him outside Starbucks at the Galleria when he'd seemed positively giddy? Was this Shuman's new girlfriend?

I froze—completely abandoning my stealth approach—and looked harder at her. She was young—I mean, really young, like maybe not even twenty yet.

Shuman caught sight of me and turned, and I saw the same big goofy grin on his face I'd seen at the Galleria.

“Hi, Haley,” he said. He took her elbow and turned her toward me. “This is Brittany.”

“Hey, girl,” she said, and grabbed a scarf off the shelf. “Would you look at this thing? It's so ugly it's awesome! I love it!”

Shuman's grin got bigger, as if she'd just explained Einstein's theory of relativity—in German.

“Oh my God, I've got to try this thing on!” she said, and dashed to the closest mirror.

Shuman watched for a few seconds as she draped the scarf around her neck, then turned to me, still smiling.

“How old is she?” I asked.

“She's legal,” he said.

“Barely.”

Shuman chuckled, as if that were the cutest thing he'd ever heard.

“We're on a date,” he explained.

“Where are you headed, the pony rides?”

Shuman laughed harder. “Dinner.”

“You realize you'll have to get her drunk in the parking lot first,” I said.

Shuman snickered, and I was glad. He'd been through a lot lately. I hadn't seen him smile so much in a long time.

“So what brings you to Holt's?” I asked.

He watched Brittany for a while longer as she posed in front of the mirror with the scarf tied in a huge knot under her chin, then gave himself a little shake and turned to me again.

“You called,” he said.

It took me a few seconds to remember that I had, indeed, called him, and a few more to remember why. I'd gotten distracted by Brittany, too. Now she'd added a hat to her look.

“Derrick Ellery's murder,” I said. “Those two detectives assigned to the case haven't contacted me again for more info. What's up with that? I'm the one who found him dead. Anyway, I know they're not going to give me any information. Have you heard something?”

Shuman tore his gaze from Brittany and shifted into cop mode.

“I thought you were going to ask me about the Kelvin Davis murder investigation,” he said.

I hadn't intended to do that, but I saw no reason not to get any info Shuman might have.

He seemed to read my thoughts and said, “Ty Cameron hasn't gone in for an interview.”

“I heard,” I said.

“It arouses suspicion,” Shuman told me.

“His attorney advised against it,” I said.

“Which makes him look guilty,” Shuman pointed out.

I couldn't disagree, so I decided this was an excellent moment to change the subject.

“What about Derrick's murder? Have you heard anything?” I asked.

“It's not my case,” Shuman said.

“Yeah, I know.”

We just looked at each other for a few seconds. Both of us knew where this was going, but it was a little dance we had to go through quite often. Shuman was an LAPD homicide detective and, naturally, didn't like to share info on an ongoing investigation. That was all well and good and perfectly understandable—for anyone other than me, of course.

Shuman hesitated for another few seconds—a power move, which was totally hot, of course.

“I've asked around, heard a few things,” Shuman said. “Walker and Teague aren't making much progress in the case.”

“Was there anything useful on the surveillance tape at Hollywood Haven?” I asked.

“The residents and visitors, the employees. Delivery and service people,” Shuman said. “Nobody unusual.”

We both glanced at Brittany, still in front of the mirror. Now she had on a different hat and two scarfs.

“What about Derrick's personal life?” I asked.

“He had a lot of girlfriends. Models, actresses, business executives,” Shuman said. “I'm not sure how he afforded to date those kinds of women. I didn't think a retirement home paid that well.”

I wouldn't have thought so either.

“Derrick was popular with the ladies, huh?” I said. “Odd. From what I heard at Hollywood Haven, almost nobody there liked him.”

“How so?” Shuman was in full cop mode now.

“He'd fired a number of employees for little or no reason,” I told him. “Did you hear anything about them from Teague and Walker? Their names, maybe?”

Shuman shook his head. “No, and it's not likely that I could get detailed info on the case without a good reason.”

“A lot of the residents thought Derrick was nosing into their business and asking too many personal questions,” I said.

Brittany dashed across the department, jumped in front of us, and struck a pose worthy of a
Vogue
cover. She had on yet another hat, two different scarfs, and had double layered two pairs of gloves.

“Do I look fabulous?” she asked, in a sultry voice, preening and exaggerating her pose. “Or do I look fabulous?”

Shuman sighed deeply. “You look fabulous.”

Brittany burst out laughing and threw herself against Shuman. He embraced her and laughed.

“Do you want those?” Shuman asked.

Brittany jumped away and pulled off the hat, scarfs, and gloves.

“No way. These things are hideous,” she declared, still laughing. She gave me a little isn't-he-silly eye roll.

I could see why Shuman liked her. I liked her, too.

“We'd better go,” he said.

Brittany fluffed her hair into place again and said, “Yeah, Haley, let's get together sometime. We can go shopping, or something. It will be fun.”

“Sounds great,” I said.

“I'll let you know if I hear anything new,” Shuman said to me. “Sorry I wasn't much help.”

I waved as they walked away.

Shuman must have been really taken with Brittany because, obviously, he hadn't realized he'd been a great deal of help, even if he didn't have easy access to the names of the employees Derrick had fired.

If Derrick Ellery had been dating multiple women, that meant he had a lot of money, probably more money than he earned from his salary at Hollywood Haven. I needed to find the source. Follow the money—that's what all the crime shows on TV advised, anyway.

Shuman had also helped me out with something else.

If there were no unidentified or suspicious people on the surveillance tape, that meant only one thing—someone who lived, worked, or routinely visited Hollywood Haven was a murderer.

 

Was there a worse way to start out a day at the office than by doing actual work?

If so, I couldn't imagine what it was.

I arrived at L.A. Affairs and went straight to my office, a Starbucks mocha Frappuccino in hand. No way was I going to the breakroom for coffee, not with all the other employees in there, some of them sure to give me stink-eye because the supplies were running low.

I still couldn't believe I'd volunteered to take Suzie's position as facilities manager.

Maybe I should start paying better attention.

As I sipped my Frappie and settled in at my desk, I made a list of all the complaints I'd heard—the ones I could remember, anyway—and dug out the vendor files. I'd told Priscilla I intended to do an audit of each one, but since that had been nothing but a big, fat, I'm-desperate-to-save-my-job lie, I logged on to each vendor site and ordered the supplies the office needed and completely disregarded each company's stated price. I requested rush deliveries on everything because, apparently, no one in the office could function without pumpkin-flavored coffee creamer.

Since the office plants were dying, I figured there was some sort of problem with our plant service, so I looked up their phone number and called them. After I made my way through the always annoying maze of prompts, I finally got a real person on the line.

“Let me check on that,” she said, after I identified myself. A few minutes of always annoying music played, and she returned to the line. “Our service was canceled by your office last week.”

Suzie must have done that before she left L.A. Affairs. Couldn't she have followed up on it and gotten a new service? Just because she went into labor, was that a reason to shirk her duty? She could have done it from the hospital. The first few hours of labor weren't all that difficult, so I'd heard, anyway.

“Why did we cancel your service?” I asked.

“Your representative indicated you were looking for a lower priced service,” she said.

“You can have the job back if you can get somebody out here this morning,” I told her.

I could have negotiated with her and gotten a better price, but plants were dying and I had a ton of other things to do. I mean, jeez, I hadn't even checked my Facebook page yet today.

“I'll have someone there by ten,” she said. “I'll send you a new contract.”

“Great,” I said, and hung up.

Falling back into my chair, I drank the last of my Frappie, relieved that all my annoying jobs were completed. Then my cell phone rang. It was Mom.

Crap.

I could have let her call go to voicemail, but since my other what-did-I-do-to-deserve-this tasks had gone smoothly, I decided to answer.

“I've had a brilliant idea,” Mom announced.

Jeez, what was I thinking?

“I want to work abroad,” Mom said. “I want to help disadvantaged people in third-world countries.”

I couldn't see Mom pulling that off. Her idea of roughing it was driving her Mercedes without the seat warmer on.

“You know, Mom, things are pretty primitive in those places,” I said.

“Yes, I know,” she said. “That's why they need me. I can help the women with their hair and makeup. I can demonstrate the importance of facial cleansers, toners, and moisturizers, and advise them on other crucial beauty issues.”

I was pretty sure the women in Mom's target audience wouldn't appreciate a presentation on fat clothes, eyelash curlers, and cutting your hair to make it grow.

“I don't think that's the kind of help they need, Mom,” I said. “Most of them don't even have clean running water.”

“What? No running water? I've never heard of anything so outlandish,” Mom said. “It's ridiculous. What are people thinking, living in those conditions? What kind of people would do that?”

“Poor people.”

“Still, they should have some sort of standards,” Mom insisted.

Really, there was nothing I could say to that.

Finally, Mom said, “It's obvious my help isn't needed under those circumstances. I'll keep thinking.”

“Sounds great, Mom.”

I hung up before she could formulate another brilliant idea, which wasn't all that nice of me, but oh, well.

What had my life turned into? I'd been forced to do actual work first thing in the morning
and
deal with my mom.

I definitely needed to amp up my cool factor.

It seemed I could do that best by leaving the office. I grabbed my things and headed out.

C
HAPTER
14

S
ince my past attempts to connect with Rosalind Fletcher at Hollywood Haven hadn't worked out, I called and made an appointment with her as I drove out of the parking garage. Of course, showing up unannounced and hoping to catch her was an excellent reason to leave the office and avoid other duties, but go-time for the gala was approaching and I had to get on with the final preparations.

I drove to the retirement home and parked, and as I headed toward the entrance I spotted Alden the Great and his daughter strolling along one of the garden walkways. I smiled and waved. Emily waved back.

Karen wasn't at the front desk when I walked through the reception area—she was probably out back having a smoke—which was starting to seem the norm, rather than the exception. I spotted sweet old Ida Verdell in her wheelchair, staring ahead with an empty gaze. Her daughter Sylvia was pushing and railing on about something.

Sylvia, it seemed, was always in a cranky mood. Karen had mentioned that she was always complaining to the staff about something. She'd had a major argument with Derrick a few days before his murder.

There wasn't much to go on but I couldn't rule Sylvia out as a suspect. Of course, I had no motive or evidence. It was just a feeling.

I also had a feeling about Ida—sorrow. After hearing about her tragic love affair with that musician and composer, seeing her made me sad.

Ty popped into my head. Would I end up like Ida one day, sitting and thinking about him and our love affair that had ended?

I gave myself a mental shake.

Better to focus on the gala, I decided. Besides, today was Friday. No sad thoughts should be allowed on a Friday.

I headed down the hallway to Rosalind's office. The door stood open and I heard voices inside.

Even though I was on time for my appointment, obviously someone was in with her. I paused in the hallway and listened—just to see if I could determine whether or not their conversation was winding down, of course. But from the tone of things and the raised voices, I could tell that wasn't likely to happen soon. So what could I do but walk inside?

The receptionist's desk was empty. Rosalind's office was crowded with three older women—residents, most likely—who were upset about something and giving the woman I took to be Rosalind a hard time. Everyone was on their feet; arms waved, voices were loud.

Rosalind spotted me. The three women stopped talking and turned, and I realized they were the gals who'd volunteered to help me with the swag bags for the gala.

I didn't know how I failed to recognize them—even from behind—since they were all wearing neon bike shorts, visors, and tons of jewelry.

“Haley, thank God you're here,” Shana declared.

“We got problems, honey,” Delores told me. “Let me tell you, we've got major problems here.”

I hoped those problems didn't include canceling the gala or the swag bags I still needed.

Not to sound selfish, of course.

“Can I help you with something?” Rosalind asked me.

She was probably over the hump into sixty, judging from her heavy jowls and eyelids, but her hair showed no gray and she had on a sharp-looking business suit that she'd accessorized well. She had a competent, capable, I-can-handle-anything air about her, even though she looked slightly annoyed—whether it was with me or the gals, I didn't know.

I introduced myself as I held up my L.A. Affairs portfolio, and said, “I called you earlier.”

She gave me an I'm-in-the-middle-of-something-but-I-know-I-have-to-do-this nod, and said, “I'll be with you shortly.”

That should have been my cue to back out of the office, but no way was I moving until I found out if the gala—thus my job performance review and my opportunity to quit my job at Holt's—was in jeopardy.

Luckily, I didn't have to ask what was going on.

“Again,” Delores said. “Again, it's happened. This time to Shana.”

“It's disgraceful,” Trudy said. “A place like this, and we have to deal with this sort of thing.”

“And nothing is being done about it,” Delores said.

Okay, I was completely lost.

Trudy must have realized this, because she said, “Shana's earrings were stolen. Right out of her room.”

“I was going to wear them to the gala,” Shana said. “And now I don't know what I'm going to do.”

“Personal possessions are disappearing right and left. Right and left,” Delores said. She picked up a sheet of paper from Rosalind's desk and waved it. “And what's being done? I'll tell you what's being done. We're filling out forms. That's it. Filling out forms.”

“Forms,” Trudy muttered. “Are words on a paper going to get Shana's earrings back? I ask you. Are they? No, of course not.”

“We know who took them,” Shana said. “It's common knowledge. We know who took everything.”

Wow, I was really glad I'd stayed.

“Who?” I asked.

“Nothing has been proved,” Rosalind insisted. “I won't sully the reputation of one of our employees by accusing—”

“It was Derrick,” Shana said.

Rosalind heaved a frustrated sigh.

“He was always coming in our rooms, uninvited,” Shana said. “Completely uninvited.”

“Pretending he was interested in us, claiming he wanted to help,” Trudy said. “Help us. Can you imagine?”

“And all the while stealing our things,” Shana said.

“This should put an end to that rumor once and for all,” Rosalind declared. “Derrick Ellery certainly could not have taken your earrings since he's . . . no longer with us.”

“Of course he could have,” Shana said.

“Listen, honey,” Delores said. “Shana wasn't wearing those diamond and ruby earrings every day. They're not the kind of thing you prance around in like they were some cheap knockoffs. They could have been taken weeks ago and she wouldn't have known.”

“Derrick could have taken them,” Trudy said.

“And I'm sure he did,” Shana said.

“The homicide detectives must have searched Derrick's home,” I said. “If they found your earrings they'd have to return them.”

Trudy brightened. “I hadn't thought of that.”

“Haley, honey, you're a genius, an absolute genius,” Delores said. “Isn't she a genius?”

“A genius,” Shana said.

“If you fill out the form, I'm sure Rosalind will give it to the police,” I said.

“Along with all the other forms the other residents have filled out, I hope,” Delores said, giving Rosalind semi-major stink-eye.

“Yes, of course,” Rosalind said.

“Okay, then. Let's go, girls,” Delores said.

The three of them gave me a little finger wave and left the office.

Shana leaned back inside and said, “And don't you worry about those swag bags, Haley. We're working on them. We've got a list—a big list, and we're narrowing it down. They're going to be fabulous. You'll see. Fabulous. So don't worry. We're handling everything.”

“Thanks,” I said.

Shana disappeared out the door.

Rosalind drew in one of those thank-God-that's-over breaths and dropped into her desk chair. I got the idea she wasn't happy about taking on the extra duty of notifying the police about the thefts, but very glad the gals were mollified and out the door.

“Please, sit down,” she said, and gestured to the visitor's chair in front of her desk.

Her office was neat and organized, though stacked high with all sorts of folders, binders, and printouts. I wondered if Mr. Stewart had taken all the crap off his desk and dumped it here for Rosalind to take care of.

That's what I would have done.

“I appreciate your taking the time to see me,” I said as I sat down. “I know you're short staffed and very busy since you've taken over Derrick's position as assistant director.”

“I'm playing catch-up on a great number of things,” Rosalind said. “My work ethic is decidedly different than his was.”

She, along with most everyone else I'd talked to here at Hollywood Haven, made no secret of her dislike for Derrick. I wondered if Rosalind had more reason than the others, like maybe she'd been passed over for the assistant director job that Mr. Stewart had given to Derrick. If so, she was bound to resent it.

Enough to murder him?

Maybe.

I was mentally composing a clever way to ease into that topic, but Rosalind put a stop to it.

“What, exactly, can I do for you?” she asked, in a no-nonsense junior-high-teacher voice.

I hate that voice.

I'd hated junior high, too.

“The menu for the gala. I need the final okay for the caterer.” I opened the portfolio and handed her the list of appetizers, beverages, meal, and dessert selections Derrick and I had agreed on. “If you're happy with everything, I need your signature at the bottom.”

Usually, at this point I'd go over any items I felt might need a second look, but Rosalind didn't seem interested. She gave the list a quick once-over, then signed and passed it back.

“Everything is being handled and is on schedule,” I told her.

Usually when I said that to a client I got a big smile, or at least an I'm-relieved sigh. But Rosalind did neither.

“I'll need your final approval on a few things,” I said. “I'll let you know as they come up.”

“That will be fine,” Rosalind said. “Thank you.”

I left her office, sure she was glad I was gone, and also sure I was the easiest situation she'd dealt with today.

As I headed down the hallway I spotted Alden the Great and Emily ambling across the lobby. From the residents' wing piano music drifted out of the dayroom and I recognized Frank Sinatra's “Fly Me to the Moon”—though it was definitely not Ol' Blue Eyes voicing the lyrics.

“Hi, Haley,” Emily called.

She stopped. Alden tottered ahead, his pace a little slower than usual, I noticed.

“You're here again?” Emily asked, and walked over.

“Just finalizing a few details for the gala,” I said. “How's your dad?”

“This isn't one of his best days,” she said with a sad smile. “So you'll be coming back again?”

“Several more times,” I said.

“Great. So—” Emily glanced at her dad. He was headed down the hallway to the business offices.

“Oh, dear.”

She waved as she hurried to catch up with him. I saw her take his arm gently, speak softly to him, then steer him back the other way.

I noticed then that Sylvia was seated on one of the sofas in the lobby and had parked Ida and her wheelchair next to her. As usual, Sylvia was frowning and yammering on about something.

Too bad Ida's love affair with Arthur Zamora hadn't worked out. If they'd married she might have ended up with a daughter as kind and caring as Alden the Great was blessed with. He'd won the daughter lottery for sure.

My brain did a flash-forward to one day in the future when I might have to come and visit my mom or dad at a place like this. Yikes! Definitely not something I wanted to contemplate now—or ever, really.

I spotted Karen at the front desk, finally. Jeez, if things didn't work out for me at L.A. Affairs, maybe I could get hired here. Karen was almost never at her post—my kind of job.

But she didn't look the least bit happy when I walked up. She was wringing her hands and frowning, and looked completely stressed out. I was sure she was desperate for a cigarette break.

I didn't bother with niceties.

“What's wrong?” I asked.

When Karen looked up at me, I saw tight lines around her mouth and dark circles under her eyes.

“I might be in trouble with the police,” she said.

My maybe-she-did-it senses jumped completely off the scale.

I'd been told that Derrick had wanted to fire Karen, and I wondered if she'd found out and had ended the situation by murdering him. Had Detectives Walker and Teague wondered the same thing?

“What happened?” I asked, and achieved, I think, the perfect mix of outrage and concern crucial to push this sort of conversation forward.

“The police, they came back and started asking me questions again,” Karen said. “They think I saw something the day Derrick was murdered.”

“Like what?” I asked.

Karen nodded toward the hallway that led to the business offices. “I can see Derrick's office from here.”

I turned and saw that, sure enough, Derrick's office door was clearly visible from Karen's position at the front desk.

“They said the security cameras don't cover the hallway or any of the interior, some sort of privacy issue,” Karen said. “So they think I must have seen the murderer go into Derrick's office.”

Oh my God. This was some good stuff.

“What did you tell them?” I asked.

“People are always coming and going—all the time. Staff, residents, visitors,” Karen said.

“And?”

“It's all routine. So that's what I told them,” Karen said. “I didn't see anything that day that stuck out in my mind.”

“But?”

“Well, after I got home, I was thinking about it,” Karen said.

“Yes?”

“Well, I realized that I'd seen something kind of unusual.”

“What was it?”

“I remember because it happened just a few minutes before you arrived,” Karen said.

Jeez, if this conversation got any slower I was going to have to get out and push.