Swag Bags and Swindlers (3 page)

Still, I couldn't avoid talking to them. I had to do it. But nobody said I had to make it easy for them.

“I'll be right there,” I said, and hung up.

I headed back through the gardens, mentally rehearsing how I'd deal with these detectives. One-word answers, for sure. Absolutely no volunteering information. I'd have to keep this interview short and to the point—no matter what they said or how they treated me.

As I approached the building's front entrance, two gray-haired, average-looking men dressed in can-I-keep-wearing-these-until-I-retire coats and ties stepped outside. Detectives, for sure. They spotted me and came down the steps.

“Miss Randolph?” one of them said.

“Yes,” I said, and steeled myself for the verbal throw-down that was about to happen.

“I'm Detective Walker. This is my partner, Detective Teague,” he said, and nodded to the man beside him. “You walked in on a bad scene, Miss Randolph. Are you all right?”

“Would you like to go inside?” Detective Teague asked. “Would you like to sit down?”

“Can we get you something to drink?” Detective Walker asked.

Okay, these two looked and acted like two sweet old grandpas, but no way was I falling for their tricks.

“No, thank you,” I said.

“I understand you found the victim?” Detective Walker asked.

“Yes,” I said.

He shook his head. “I'm so sorry you had to see that.”

Detective Teague pulled a little notebook from his pocket. “If you don't mind, could I get your contact information?”

I gave it to him and he wrote it down.

“Now, can you tell us what happened?” he asked. “Do you feel up to it?”

Wow, these two were good. Attempting to lull me into a false sense of security, no doubt. But they weren't fooling me. I saw through their charade.

“When I arrived, Derrick's office door was ajar,” I said. “I knocked, pushed it open, stepped inside, and saw him lying on the floor beside his desk. There was no one else in the room, no one climbing out the window. I backed out of the room and alerted the receptionist.”

Detective Teague jotted down the info, then said, “Well, I guess that's it.”

That's—what?

“We appreciate your help, Miss Randolph,” Detective Walker said.

Wait. What was going on?

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Detective Teague said.

That's all they were going to ask me? What the heck kind of detectives were they?

“I doubt we'll need anything more, Miss Randolph,” he said, “but you never know.”

“We'll contact you if we need to,” Detective Walker said.

I mean, jeez, come on. I found the body. I was their prime witness. There were a zillion other things they could have asked me. But they were just going to let me leave? What kind of investigation were they running?

“Have a nice day,” Detective Teague said.

Detective Walker nodded politely and they walked away.

I stood there feeling slightly miffed. Didn't these two realize how important I was? How could they have thrown me a few softball questions, then let the whole thing drop?

Of course, I'd held my own and not given them much of a chance to ask anything, but still. Maybe I was finally getting the hang of this whole cop-interview thing.

Since there was no use in going inside Hollywood Haven again, I decided to leave. My steps felt quicker and lighter as I headed for my car. Obviously, I'd have to make contact with someone else at Hollywood Haven regarding their anniversary gala, but for now there was nothing I could do.

Except, I realized, stop by Macy's—one of my all-time favorite stores—and see if they had a Sassy satchel in stock.

Oh, yeah, my day just got a lot better.

As I crossed the parking lot toward my car, my cell phone chimed. I pulled it from my handbag and saw that I had a text message from Shuman, an LAPD detective I'd known for a while now.

We'd been through a lot of stuff together—strictly professional, of course. Well, it was mostly professional. Nothing romantic, though we'd seemed to share a come-hither attraction in the past that neither of us had acted on, except for that one time—long story.

I hadn't seen Shuman in a while, so I wondered why he was texting me. I accessed his message and read,
If you are contacted by homicide detectives
DO NOT
talk to them.

Oh, crap.

C
HAPTER
3

“T
his is b.s.,” Bella said. “Serious b.s.”

“Seriously?” I mumbled.

We were standing in line for the time clock in the breakroom of Holt's Department Store along with several other employees, all of us waiting for our this-day-will-neverend shift to begin. Nearby were other employees helping themselves to snacks from the vending machines, heating up their dinner in the microwave, or staring blankly into space wondering where it had all gone so wrong.

Or maybe that was just me.

Had I really been snookered by those two old homicide detectives at Hollywood Haven today? I'd thought I was being so smart, controlling the interview, limiting myself to short, factual responses. But I realized that, after receiving Shuman's text message, apparently I'd been outmaneuvered.

What I still couldn't figure out was how he'd learned so quickly that I was involved in the murder of Derrick Ellery. I was glad he'd texted me, telling me not to talk to the cops, but it sure as heck would have been nice if his warning had gotten to me a few minutes sooner.

I'd texted Shuman back immediately—I'm not big on suspense—and asked him what was going on. I hadn't heard from him yet.

Someone jostled me from behind and I realized the line was moving forward. I punched in my employee number and pressed my fingertip on the reader of the high-tech time clock, then followed Bella out of the breakroom.

Bella, chocolate to my vanilla, had been one of my Holt's BFFs since I started working here. She didn't like it here any better than I did—thus our BFF status.

Honestly, I wasn't cut out for customer service—unless I was the customer being serviced, of course. The Holt's merchandise was beyond hideous, even for a midrange department store, the customers actually wanted to be waited on, and the store management had certain standards they constantly pushed the salesclerks to maintain—for a lousy nine bucks an hour.

Bella had hung in there at Holt's for a good reason though—the pursuit of her dream career. She was saving for beauty school with the intention of one day becoming the hairdresser to the stars. In the meantime, she practiced different looks with her own hair.

I sensed that Bella was feeling restless, perhaps longing to somehow escape daily life, because tonight she'd sculpted her hair into the shape of a hot air balloon atop her head.

“Seriously,” Bella grumbled. “That is seriously some serious b.s.”

I'd been so consumed with my own thoughts I hadn't really been listening to Bella—which was bad of me, I know—but she didn't seem to notice.

“Suspicious activity,” she said. “That's what they told me. But there's nothing suspicious about it. Somebody was out-and-out trying to charge stuff on my Visa account.”

“Oh my God,” I said. “Somebody hacked your account?”

“Tried to,” Bella said. “But the Visa people didn't let the charge go through. They blocked it, then called me and said somebody in Peru was trying to charge ten pairs of Levi's jeans on my card.”

“That's suspicious, all right,” I agreed.

“That's b.s.,” she replied. “That's what it is—b.s.”

“How did they get your Visa account number?” I asked.

“Beats me,” Bella said. “And I had just paid that thing off. I don't want nothing else charged on it.”

Bella had recently come into a large sum of money and had used it to pay off some bills, help out her nana, and add to her beauty school savings.

“Hey, where are you going?” Bella asked.

I stopped and realized that the other employees who'd clocked in with us weren't heading out to the sales floor.

“We got a meeting,” Bella said. “Didn't you see the sign by the time clock?”

Two meetings in one day?

Now that was some serious b.s.

I moved along with the crowd through the hallway, past the store managers' offices, and into the training room. Rows of chairs were set up theater style. As per my personal policy, I headed for the back row. Luckily, that big guy who worked in menswear was already there, so I sat down behind him. Bella dropped into the chair beside me.

The main differences between the meetings at Holt's and those at L.A. Affairs were that at Holt's there were no tasty snacks to enjoy and, by comparison, everybody here dressed like crap—starting with Jeanette, the store manager.

She was already at the front of the room, peering over half-glasses at the index cards she'd prepared. Jeanette was well into her fifties. She'd been the store manager here for a long time, which meant that she made a huge salary—plus bonuses and other perks—and could afford to dress in really nice clothing. Instead, she always wore outfits straight off Holt's racks.

The clothing was dreadful, and Jeanette's cylinder-shaped body didn't do it any favors. Tonight she had on a neon pink dress.

She looked like the horizon at sundown—the entire horizon.

“First of all,” Jeanette said, smiling and favoring us with a raise-the-roof hand wave. “Let's start off with some good news!”

All the employees froze—understandably so. Management's idea of good news was usually far different from that of the employees.

“I'm very excited to announce that the Holt's Department Store chain is acquiring another chain of stores!” Jeanette said.

I was pretty sure the same thoughts flashed in everyone's head: does that mean some of us are going to get transferred; will those employees be replaced in our store; will we all end up doing more work?

Jeanette might have answered some of those questions. I don't know. I drifted off.

Ty Cameron popped into my head. He was my ex-official boyfriend. He also ran the Holt's chain of stores, the fifth generation of his family to be obsessed with and consumed by running the business to the exclusion of all else. He was the latest in a long line of Camerons unable, apparently, to break the curse.

He was also incredibly handsome, I-don't-have-to-cheat-to-pass-tests smart, generous, considerate, loyal, and a terrific dresser. The only thing Ty wasn't good at was dating
me
.

Not that I'm difficult to get along with. I can roll with almost anything. But I do believe that a boyfriend should remember our dates, show up on time, and not spend the entire evening texting and phoning other people about problems at work.

We'd tried to iron out the wrinkles in our relationship, but in the end Ty had admitted he couldn't be the kind of boyfriend I wanted, so we broke up. I didn't fight him on it. I let it happen.

I've wondered since if that was my best move.

Ty and I had seen each other a few times since our breakup. It hadn't gone well. Neither of us seemed ready to move on to the let's-be-friends-now phase of a relationship. We were stuck in some weird kind of no-man's-land that we couldn't find our way out of.

I'd spoken with Ty's personal assistant, Amber, not long ago and she'd told me Ty had been working almost nonstop on acquiring another chain of stores to add to the Holt's retail empire. He'd already opened Wallace, plus Holt's International.

“More b.s.,” Bella grumbled.

I realized then that everyone was rising from their chairs. Somehow, I'd missed the entire meeting. Maybe my evening was improving.

“Who ever heard of a Nuovo?” Bella asked.

My senses jumped to high alert. Oh my God. Something interesting had happened in a meeting and I'd missed it?

“What about Nuovo?” I asked, as we moved with the crowd out of the training room.

“That's the chain of stores Holt's is buying,” Bella said, and shook her head. “I never heard of them.”

“They're really upscale shops that carry designer fashions,” I said.

“Figures,” Bella said. “I can't afford anything there, even with our employee discount.”

“Discount?” I asked. “We're getting an employee discount?”

Maybe I should start paying attention in meetings.

“Yeah, that's what Jeanette said,” Bella told me.

Oh my God, I had to call Marcie immediately. We both loved those stores and—oh my God—they probably had Sassy satchels in stock and—oh my God—I could get one at a discount.

Now, absolutely nothing awful could happen to ruin my evening.

“Haley?” Jeanette called.

Obviously, it could.

Bella gave me an I'm-out-of-here eyebrow bob and took off.

I started walking faster—my mother was a former beauty queen and thank goodness I have her long pageant legs—and put real distance between Jeanette and me. I intended to lose her in the lingerie department, but a line of customers in the aisle at the checkout registers slowed my pace.

“Haley?” Jeanette called again. “Haley!”

I could have outmaneuvered her—I bobbed and weaved through a pack of customers with ease while never making eye contact—but it occurred to me that I might benefit from talking with Jeanette. I stopped and allowed her to catch up.

She was slightly out of breath, so I pushed ahead.

“That Nuovo acquisition sounds great,” I said. “How much was our employee discount?”

Now her cheeks matched her bright pink dress. It wasn't a good look on her.

“Ten percent,” Jeanette said, huffing and puffing.

At an average store, ten percent wouldn't be worth the gas to drive there. But at Nuovo, where designer clothing, shoes, and handbags ran into the hundreds and thousands of dollars, it meant a sizable savings—which could then be spent on other items in the store, of course.

“When will the acquisition be finalized so we can use our discount?” I asked.

“Soon,” Jeanette managed to say between great heaving breaths.

“Great,” I said, and turned to leave again.

“Haley,” Jeanette said, using her store manager voice this time.

Jeanette knew that Ty and I had dated. Though she'd never said anything to me about it, she'd been compelled to cut me extra slack to ensure her own job security. I didn't, however, know whether word had reached her that Ty and I had broken up, so I didn't feel totally comfortable about how much I could get away with now.

Besides, I had two great reasons not to rock the Holt's employment boat: keeping my medical coverage for a few more weeks, and buying a Sassy satchel from Nuovo with my employee discount.

“I want you to take on new responsibilities,” Jeanette told me.

I'd already blown my say-no-to-everything policy this morning at L.A. Affairs, and while that had worked out great, I wasn't about to push my luck.

“Sorry, Jeanette,” I said. “I can't do that.”

“The new duties will allow you to be off the sales floor for most of your shift,” Jeanette said.

Okay, she had my attention.

“We're staffing up for the holidays. Thanksgiving is just weeks away and Christmas will be here before we know it,” Jeanette said. “I want you to take on the new-employee orientation.”

I'd suffered a paralyzing bout of brain-function zone-out during my own orientation, so I couldn't remember what had been covered. I wasn't really clear on all of the Holt's policies. I'd never done anything like this before, and I wasn't sure I was the best person for brand new employees to meet.

So what could I say but, “Sure, I'll do it.”

“You'll be working with Lani,” Jeanette said, and walked away before I had a chance to say anything, which was probably wise of her.

I headed toward housewares, the somebody-please-kill-me-now department I was assigned to tonight, thinking that doing the orientation might be fun. Maybe I could liven things up a bit for the new employees.

As I wound through the displays of vacuum cleaners, luggage, and small appliances, my cell phone in my pocket vibrated. We weren't supposed to have our phones on the sales floor, but oh, well. I ducked behind a rack of hanging pots and pans and checked my ID screen. It was Detective Shuman calling.

“About time,” I said when I answered.

“Miss me?” he asked, and I heard playfulness in his voice.

“I texted you hours ago.”

“And you've been thinking about me all this time?” Shuman asked.

“I've been annoyed with you all this time,” I told him.

“Not what I was hoping for,” he said, and chuckled, “but I'll take it.”

I laughed, too. Shuman had that effect on me.

“So, are you psychic? Or did the Bat Signal flash a giant H in the sky over police headquarters today?” I asked. “How did you find out so fast that I was involved with another murder?”

“You're involved in a murder?” Shuman asked.

The playfulness was gone from his voice, which gave me a weird feeling.

“Your text message,” I reminded him. “I shouldn't talk to homicide detectives. Remember?”

“What murder are you talking about?” he asked.

Since Shuman was a homicide detective he'd probably been through a really long, tough day investigating the worst sort of crimes imaginable—possibly several of them, since he was calling so late. I decided I could cut him some slack.

“That guy at Hollywood Haven,” I explained. “Derrick Ellery. I was planning an event with him for the retirement home, and I found his body in his office today. He'd been murdered.”

Shuman didn't say anything.

I didn't like the sound of the silence. All sorts of horrible thoughts jammed my head.

“That's what you texted me about, wasn't it?” I asked.