Swag Bags and Swindlers (11 page)

“Yeah, okay, so what was it?” I asked.

Karen gulped. “Well, just a few minutes before you got here and went into Derrick's office, I saw Mr. Stewart coming out.”

“Was that unusual?” I asked.

“Mr. Stewart never went to Derrick's office. Derrick always went to his,” Karen said. “I don't know why I didn't remember it before.”

Oh my God. Had that old gray-haired guy shot and killed Derrick?

The thought flashed in my head that Mr. Stewart had been the one who hired Derrick before his background check was completed, only to learn later that he wasn't qualified for the position. Had something happened between the two of them that caused Mr. Stewart to think he could be in major trouble if that fact became known? Had he murdered Derrick to try and cover things up?

“My God, I actually saw who killed Derrick! And I didn't tell the police!” Karen wailed. “Am I going to get in trouble for, you know, withholding information? Are they going to arrest me? I can't go to jail—I can't!”

Karen was on the verge of an all-out snit-fit, right here in the lobby. I glanced around. People were staring. I had to calm her down.

I'm not good at calming anyone down.

Luckily, I saw an easy fix to this situation.

“Here's what you should do,” I told her. “Make a list of everyone you saw near Derrick's office that day and—”

“Including your name?”

Oh, crap.

“Technically I wasn't there until later,” I pointed out. “Make the list, then call the detectives and explain that you thought about it further, so you wrote down the names of everyone you could remember being in the hallway outside Derrick's office the day he was killed.”

Karen took a few seconds to mull this over, then nodded slowly. “That way I'll look as if I'm helping.”

“Exactly,” I said. “Then let the police take it from there.”

“Great. This is perfect. I'll work on the list today and call the detectives—no, I'll wait until Monday to call them so I'll have plenty of time to think about it over the weekend,” Karen said, and gave me a bright smile. “Monday. Yes, I'll call them on Monday. Thank you, Haley. Thank you so much.”

I headed toward the front door. Emily and Alden the Great were still puttering across the lobby. Mr. Stewart nodded to them as he walked past. Sylvia wasn't talking, for a change, a welcome relief to everyone within earshot. Delores and Trudy sat huddled close to Shana as she filled out the form Rosalind had given her. Vida and Rosalind were a few yards ahead of me, heading for lunch, I supposed. The gals gave them stink-eye as they went past.

Outside, I made my way across the parking lot to my car, still thinking about what Karen had said—or what she hadn't said.

She hadn't mentioned seeing any former employees whom Derrick had fired going into his office the day of his murder. Karen would have noticed that right away, I figured, so I could pretty much mark any of them off my mental suspect list.

Still, Karen's sudden revelation that she'd seen Mr. Stewart go into Derrick's office seemed odd to me.

Was it true?

Or was she ratting out someone like most everyone else I'd spoken with at Hollywood Haven?

C
HAPTER
15

I
rolled out of bed Saturday morning, ran through the shower, dried my hair while I pulled on my clothes, put on my makeup as I drove, and whipped into the Holt's parking lot with a full ninety seconds to spare before my shift started. The lot was crowded, which was strange for so early in the day, and a large group of people was gathered by the front entrance, which was even more strange. Customers didn't usually line up awaiting the official start of business except during our Black Friday, Christmas, or blow-out sales.

But as I raced toward the door, I realized these weren't customers. About a dozen people formed a loose line across the entrance. They held up homemade signs fastened to sticks with P
APER-
P
ALOOZA
P
OISONS THE
P
LANET
scrawled across them in big green letters, and were chanting the same phrase.

Oh my God. Protesters.

Leave it to corporate.

I swerved around them and dashed toward the door.

Jeanette was standing inside.

Today she had on a tan tent dress embellished with orange, brown, and gold geometric symbols and patterns around the hem.

She looked like a human tepee.

Jeanette watched my approach, then turned the key and let me in, frowning and looking more than slightly worried—though I'm sure it was her monthly bonus that concerned her, not the safety and well-being of the store employees, should the situation with the protesters turn ugly.

I slipped inside—forcing my gaze onto the floor so as not to sustain permanent retina damage from Jeanette's I'll-wear-anything-if-I-get-it-at-a-discount dress—and she locked the door behind me. I dashed to the breakroom and clocked in four seconds ahead of time—a personal best for me.

Everyone else who'd already clocked in was headed out the door to the sales floor. I spotted Bella standing in front of one of the vending machines, finishing up a soda. She waited while I stowed my handbag—a gorgeous Prada satchel—in my locker.

Bella's apparent desire to escape was reflected in her hairstyle again today. She'd sculpted her hair into what seemed to be a biplane atop her head.

“What the hell is wrong with all those people out front holding up those signs?” Bella asked. “It's Saturday morning. They ought to be sleeping in.”

“Or shopping—someplace other than Holt's,” I said, as we walked out of the breakroom. “Where are you working today?”

“They got me in the sewing department,” Bella grumbled. “I hate that department. That old lady who works there is always showing me pictures of her cats on her cell phone.”

“Come work with me in the paper department,” I said. “Colleen's supposed to be there today. Maybe she'll trade with you.”

Bella shook her head. “Something's wrong with that girl.”

Customers streamed through the aisles as Bella and I headed toward the back of the store and my assigned corner of where-did-it-all-go-so-wrong. I spotted Colleen straightening boxes of tissues in the Paper-Palooza as a dozen shoppers swarmed over the merchandise.

“Hi, Haley. Hi, Bella,” Colleen said as she wiggled her way out of the throng of customers. “Wow, would you just look! Everybody loves our department! Isn't it the coolest thing!”

“No, not really,” I said. “Listen, Colleen, wouldn't you like to swap with Bella and work in the sewing department today?”

“You're working in sewing today, Bella? Oh, wow, you're so lucky,” Colleen said. “That lady who works there has the cutest pictures of her cats. You should ask her to show them to you.”

I tried again.

“How about if you work in sewing and Bella works here,” I said.

Colleen froze and looked back and forth between Bella and me.

“What?” she asked.

Maybe I should have used smaller words.

“You in sewing,” I said. “Bella here.”

“You mean work someplace else?” she asked.

I tried fewer words.

“You. Sewing department.”

“And not get to work here today?” she asked, and looked horrified. “But this is our department, Haley. It's ours. We, you know, we stocked it and everything. So it's, like, it's ours. Yours and mine. I can't just leave. It wouldn't be right. You know, it wouldn't.”

“Those cat pictures are starting to look pretty good,” Bella said, and headed down the aisle.

Another wave of customers bore down on us and crowded into the department. Apparently, the Holt's marketing team had managed to reach shoppers, not just protesters. They loaded up with paper products, forcing Colleen and I to do actual work by replenishing the shelves with merchandise from the stockroom, which wasn't so bad because at least I got off the sales floor for a few minutes—well, more than a few.

For some reason, the twenty-roll packs of toilet paper were a favorite item with the shoppers. I went into the stockroom, loaded a U boat, and rolled it to the department. I grabbed a double-armful and was ready to wade into the fray when Jack Bishop walked up.

Oh my God. Jack Bishop.

He looked gorgeous.

I looked like an idiot.

Really, it's impossible to look cool when you're bear-hugging five twenty-roll packs of toilet paper—even if it is ultra soft two-ply.

How humiliating. Of all the times for Jack to see me. Why couldn't he have dropped by L.A. Affairs when I was wearing one of my fully accessorized, everybody-should-see-me-in-this awesome business suit—and all the women who worked there could see him with me and be totally jealous?

Jack's gaze dipped to take in the jeans and red sweater I had on, which fit really great—but that wasn't the point. Oh my God, I couldn't wait to quit Holt's.

“Can you take a break?” Jack asked.

I can always take a break.

I tossed the packs of toilet paper back on the U-boat and led the way down the aisle and through the double doors into the stockroom.

The stockroom was my favorite place in the store—other than the breakroom, of course. There were towering shelving units stuffed with new, fresh, untouched merchandise—and, of course, no customers.

Few employees, too.

The truck team showed up on mornings when there was a shipment to unload, and the ad-set team worked overnight. Sales personnel came back here only to check on something if a customer absolutely insisted, and then sat and rested—or maybe that was just me.

At the moment, Jack and I had the place to ourselves. The store's canned music track played softly in the background. Huge combo packs of bedding filled the shelves around us.

I was surprised to see Jack, after the way we'd parted at the restaurant when I'd asked him to get Ty's phone records. Since he was here he must have had a change of heart—and I wondered why.

He didn't give me a chance to ask, though. He got down to business immediately.

“I found something,” Jack said.

He pulled a folded slip of paper from the pocket of his jeans and held it between two fingers.

Several seconds dragged by. I didn't grab for it. Finally, Jack spoke.

“One number,” he said. “One call.”

Okay, that surprised me. You'd think anything resulting in a clandestine rendezvous, fifty grand in cash, and a handgun would require considerably more prep work.

“That's it?” I asked, and now I was tempted to grab the paper. “One call? You're sure?”

Jack grinned his I'm-too-hot-to-make-a-mistake grin—which was, of course, way hot.

“The call was placed a few days before your ex was involved in that traffic accident on the way to Palmdale,” Jack said.

Okay, that didn't look good. That one phone call definitely tied Ty to the location of Kelvin Davis's murder.

“You want to tell me what this is all about?” he asked, and flipped the paper between his fingers.

I hadn't told him about Ty's duffel bag in my closet and I still didn't want to. No way did I want to drag Jack into a police investigation if things went sideways and the cops discovered I'd been withholding evidence in a murder case.

So what could I do but ignore Jack's question—sort of?

“You know that Ty's a person of interest in Kelvin Davis's murder,” I said. “I thought there would be more of a connection between Ty and somebody in Palmdale. One call? That's not much to go on.”

“There could have been more,” Jack pointed out. “He might have wanted to keep the caller's identity a secret so, after the initial contact, he bought a burner.”

A disposable, prepaid phone was a possibility—though it was hard to imagine my color-inside-the-lines ex-official-boyfriend knowing about them well enough to purchase one.

“That's possible,” I said. “His assistant is involved with his personal finances. He might not have wanted her to know about the call.”

“Or he might have foreseen police involvement,” Jack said, “and didn't want to leave an electronic trail.”

It hit me then that the car accident Ty had been in on his way to Palmdale might not have been his first trip there. For all I knew, he'd gone there many times. Plus, there was the possibility that whomever he'd spoken with on the phone had made the trek to L.A. to see him.

“What else can I do for you?” Jack asked.

Only he didn't ask in his private detective voice. He'd shifted to his Barry White voice.

I'm totally defenseless against Jack's Barry White voice.

He took a step closer. Wow, he smelled great.

“So how about it?” he asked, easing even closer. “Are there any more of your needs I can fill?”

Oh my God. Had somebody turned up the heat in the stockroom?

He braced his arm against the shelving unit behind me and leaned in.

“I behaved badly when we were at the restaurant,” he whispered.

I felt his breath on my cheek.

“I shouldn't have done that,” he said.

My heart pounded.

“Can you forgive me?” he asked.

My breath came in short little puffs.

“Maybe we should kiss and make up?” he said, and lowered his head.

The stockroom door burst open and banged against the wall.

“Haley! Haley! Haley!” Colleen cried as she rushed down the aisle.

I didn't realize what was happening—can you blame me?—but Jack whipped around and stood in front of me.

“Where's Haley?” Colleen wailed.

I hate her.

“Have you seen Haley?” she asked. “Oh, gosh. I have to find her. She's in charge of toilet paper. We need toilet paper. She's supposed to be getting the toilet paper!”

Jack nodded toward the rear of the stockroom and said, “I saw her back there a few minutes ago.”

“Haley!” Colleen yelled, and hurried away.

Jack turned around and gave me a smoking hot grin, then slipped the paper with the phone number on it into the front of my sweater and left the stockroom.

I grabbed the shelving unit to keep from falling.

Oh my God. Jack had almost kissed me. But he hadn't—because of Colleen.

I hate her.

I hate the Paper-Palooza sale.

I hate Holt's.

Now, I even hate toilet paper.

No way was I living like this any longer.

There was no undo button I could hit that would cancel out everything that had just happened, but there was still something I could do about it.

I charged out of the stockroom and forced my way through the throngs of shoppers who had descended on the Paper-Palooza like locusts on an Oklahoma cornfield. I didn't slow down until I reached Jeanette's office.

I charged inside. She sat behind her desk, studying the computer screen and tapping on the keyboard.

“I'm quitting.”

I might have said that a little too loud.

She looked up at me, her eyes wide.

“I won't be working here much longer and I won't be here for the holidays.”

I'm sure I said that too loud.

“I'm done!”

I stormed out of the office.