Tote Bags and Toe Tags (17 page)

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Authors: Dorothy Howell

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“And you're really okay with making up those training sessions?” she asked.
“Of course,” I told her, and waved the idea away as if it were a clearance purse at an outlet mall.
She gulped down the last of her sobs. “Thank you, Haley. You ... you always make me feel better about things.”
“I'll be in the shoe department tonight,” I said. “If you get upset again, or if you need me for anything, just call.”
Evelyn blinked back a fresh wave of tears. “Thank you, Haley.”
I gave her one last encouraging smile and left the office.
Heading down the hallway, my heart ached a little for Evelyn. I didn't know what it was about her, but she always got to me. I was glad that I talked her into not quitting her job tonight. And I was proud of her for sticking up for the corporate policy she'd been charged with upholding.
I was still going to have to figure a way to get out of doing those training sessions, of course.
As I passed the customer service booth, I saw that the line was long, lots of customers with returns and complaints, or wanting a price adjustment on sale merchandise. Right now, the shoe department looked pretty good.
“Haley?” someone called.
Thinking it was a customer wanting actual service, or perhaps a supervisor with a problem, I kept walking.
“Haley?” the voice called again. It sounded familiar—in a good way.
I stopped and saw that it was Detective Shuman.
My heart did its usual little flip-flop—which was really bad of me, I know—as he walked over.
But his expression didn't look all that flip-flop-worthy. A knot the size of a Chanel tote jerked in my stomach.
Shuman leaned close. “We've got a problem. A big problem.”
Oh, crap.
C
HAPTER
17
I
mmediately I knew that Detective Shuman hadn't come to the store tonight to invite me to a dinner party he and his girlfriend were giving. He had on his cop face—which was kind of hot—so I figured I wouldn't be eating German food at their place anytime soon.
“Let's go somewhere,” Shuman said, keeping his voice low.
I led the way past the customer service booth, through the door into the stock room. The place was quiet, as usual at this time of the night. It was chilly back here and the Holt's music track—no way you'll hear any of this stuff at the Grammy's—played softly.
“I got a phone call from Dempsey Rowland today,” Detective Shuman said. “They hired a consultant to do the background investigations on the new hires.”
I recalled that Max Corwin had given me that choice bit of info this morning. I hadn't thought much about it at the time, but seeing the look on Shuman's face now—yikes!—I figured this couldn't be good.
Jeez, had they already found out that my UM graduation was really the University of Mixology? How could they have learned that so quickly? Was my file the very first one they'd worked on?
Maybe so, if Detective Madison had said something to them.
Not a great feeling.
I shifted into I'm-guilty-but-I'm-going-to-look-innocent mode. Luckily, I've had lots of practice at this.
“Did they find something about Max?” I asked, thinking a little misdirection at this point couldn't hurt.
“It's not what they
found
,” Shuman said. “It's what they
didn't
find.”
I had no idea what he meant, but I got the feeling this would be bad for me.
I have a sixth sense about things like that.
“Your personnel file is missing,” Shuman said.
Wow, was this a break for me or what? If my file wasn't there, it meant they couldn't—
Hang on a minute.
“You think I stole my own personnel file out of H.R.?” I asked. “So they couldn't do my background investigation?”
“Detective Madison is convinced you're involved in Violet Hamilton's murder,” Shuman said. “He thinks you have something to hide. Is that true, Haley?”
I didn't want to lie to Shuman, so what could I do but avoid his question?
“If my file was missing, why would Madison think I took it?” I asked. “It was in the H.R. office, along with all the other new hires'.”
“The others were there. Yours wasn't,” Shuman said.
“It's not my fault if Adela lost it,” I pointed out.
Shuman hesitated a moment, as if he needed a beat or two before delivering the next punch.
“You were seen in Adela's office. Alone. Near the personnel folders,” Shuman said. “We have witnesses.”
Oh my God. The day I'd been formulating my Plan B and needed contact info for Max, Tina, and Ray. I'd gone into Adela's office. But my oh-so-brilliant plan had been thwarted when Adela and Mr. Dempsey walked in.
“I didn't take my personnel folder,” I told Shuman.
I saw no need to mention that I'd intended to lift info from the other new hires' folders.
“Besides,” I added. “I'd e-mailed my résumé to Adela. Even if my personnel folder wasn't available, all my info would be in her inbox.”
“It's not,” Shuman said.
Oh, jeez. Now they thought I'd stolen my file
and
deleted my résumé from Adela's computer?
“There are a lot of older women who work there. Some of them probably aren't so great with computers—I'm sure they're still trying to figure out how to program their VCRs,” I said. “Any of them could have deleted it accidentally.”
“Maybe,” Shuman said. “But you know how this looks.”
Yeah, I knew how it looked—like I was guilty of Violet's murder and attempting to hide evidence.
This seemed like an excellent time to throw someone else under the bus, so I said, “Have you checked out Tina Sheldon?”
“Do you know something?” he asked.
“I happened to see her leaving her house on Sunday morning in a white van,” I said. “She took the Five south—”
“You
happened
to see her leave? And
happened
to follow her down the Five?” he asked, giving me a don't-expect-me-to-believe-that cop look—it was way hot.
I ignored his expression—except for the way-hot part—and said, “Anyway, this morning when I saw her in the breakroom, she claimed she hadn't been out of her house all weekend.”
Shuman frowned his cop frown, and I could see his mind was processing the info.
“Why would she have lied?” I asked. “Unless she was hiding something.”
He nodded and I knew he'd check it out.
“Any progress in the case?” I asked. “Did you find the murder weapon, maybe? Or a suspect that's not—me?”
Shuman gave me the closest thing to a grin he could manage during a murder investigation discussion.
“A few suspects that aren't you,” he said, then shifted into cop mode again. “According to the coroner, the murder weapon was a flat, blunt instrument. And, the victim's laptop is unaccounted for.”
So somebody smashed Violet over the head with her own laptop. I didn't like that picture in my brain, so I pushed it aside.
A minute or so passed but Shuman didn't leave. We just stood there together in the quiet stock room. I didn't want to talk about Violet's murder investigation anymore, and I got the feeling he felt the same.
“How's the German food?” I asked.
Shuman grinned that special grin I'd seen him wear when he'd been in the store with his girlfriend while she shopped for a stand mixer. My belly got a little gooey recalling how he'd looked at Amanda that night.
Ty flashed into my head. He'd sent me flowers today—twice. That was the same as Shuman's awesome grin, wasn't it?
“German food's not so great,” Shuman said, his grin getting bigger. “But the cook ... now, she's something.”
I couldn't help but smile along with Shuman, and for a few seconds—okay, more than a few—I envied Amanda.
“I'd better go,” Shuman said quietly.
“Yes, you'd better,” I replied.
Still, neither of us moved. We just looked at each other for a little longer, then we both bolted for the door.
“See you,” Shuman called over his shoulder.
“Yeah,” I answered, and headed for the shoe department.
 
“Surprise!” Ty shouted as I opened the door of my apartment.
I was surprised, all right. He must have been watching for me to return from my shift at Holt's—which was unusual—plus, he was smiling from ear to ear and that was
way
unusual. Ty almost never smiled.
My spirits lifted, seeing him in such a good mood. I'd had a really long day and figured a quiet evening snuggling with Ty was the perfect way to end it.
“I bought you something,” he declared, his smile growing even wider.
Visions of emeralds, sapphires, and rubies flashed in my mind. Or maybe a—oh my God, the Temptress tote I'd been dying for!
“Close your eyes,” Ty said.
He took my hand and led me inside my apartment. My heart raced. I couldn't remember whether I'd told him about wanting the sizzling hot Temptress, but even if he didn't get me that, jewelry would be fantastic. Or maybe cruise tickets. Oh, wow, that would be awesome. I'd need new bathing suits, of course, along with sun block and sandals. Sundresses. Oh my God, I'd need so many sundresses. And shorts, of course, with—
“Okay, open your eyes,” Ty announced.
My eyes sprang open.
“Ta-da!” Ty gestured grandly to a—oh my God, it was a television.
What the hell?
A huge television, and I mean super huge, was bolted to a wall. It looked like one of those old drive-in movie screens.
The artwork I'd had there was stacked in a corner next to my TV and stand, which he'd moved out of the way. A ripped-up brown box and packing materials were scattered all over the room, and my chairs were pushed back.
“After being here so much, I realized you needed an updated TV,” Ty said proudly. “This one's got everything. All the bells and whistles. The latest technology.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
“Look, it's got six speakers for the highest quality sound,” Ty said, pointing.
Wires and cables snaked out from behind the television, up the wall, and around the room to speakers that he'd mounted high in the corners. Everything was held in place with—oh my God, that was duct tape.
“And look at this remote,” he announced as he pulled it out of his pocket like a gunslinger in a high-noon walk-down. “Impressive, huh?”
The thing was huge, black with shiny silver buttons.
It looked like a pay phone.
“Do you like it?” Ty asked, with that puppy dog I-already-know-you-love-it expression on his face.
Oh my God. My apartment. My fabulous apartment that I'd worked months—and maxed out an impressive number of credit cards—to decorate. I'd shopped relentlessly—retail stores, vintage shops, outlet malls, catalogs—to select just the right colors, accent pieces, and furniture. And now it looked like the showroom at Honest Bob's Discount TVs For Less or something.
But Ty looked so proud and so happy, and he'd gone to a lot of work—and expense. I couldn't ruin it for him.
“It's—” My throat closed off. I coughed and tried again.
“It's great. I love it.”
Ty threw his arms around me and pulled me tight against him. He held me like that for a minute, then stepped back.
“Let me show you how this bad-boy works,” he said, and dropped onto the couch with the remote.
I stepped over a mound of packing paper and sat down beside him. He flipped channels, pointed, explained things, and I hung in there pretty well. But when he got out the manual and started reading aloud, I had to stop him.
“That's enough for now.” I'm pretty sure I shouted that, but Ty didn't notice because the TV volume was turned up so loud.
He muted the sound and nodded. “You've had a long day. How's the new job?”
I'd never gotten around to telling Ty that I was an actual suspect in the murder of Violet Hamilton, and I saw no need to mention that now I was accused of hiding evidence as well. So I went with the safest topic I could think of.
“I talked to someone in the contracting department today,” I said.
“That's where you were assigned when you were hired,” Ty said.
I guess I shouldn't have been surprised that he remembered that little bit of info. Ty's way smart, and he has an awesome memory.
“I hoped I could get some info on what exactly contracting does,” I said. “But Beatrice seemed a little reluctant to divulge much.”
“They'll tell you everything after you get your security clearance,” Ty said. “But it's pretty straightforward. Dempsey Rowland is a civilian company that bids on government contracts for big construction projects. They build post offices, government buildings, infrastructure. They do lots of jobs overseas in places like Russia, Oman, Kuwait, Iraq, Indonesia—most everywhere, really.”
See how smart Ty is? He knows everything.
Jeez, why didn't I think to ask him in the first place?
“The bidding is very competitive,” Ty said. “There's lots of oversight by the government. That's why the contract department is so important. Dempsey Rowland, and companies like it, has to be extremely careful that they adhere to the exact terms of the contract. It's the government's money they're fooling around with.”
“But there are always those news stories about fraud, waste, and abuse in government spending,” I said.
“True,” Ty said. “But in the case of these government contractors, if things get screwed up, the government won't let them bid on projects anymore. That means that places like Dempsey Rowland would be done. Out of business.”
Yikes! And I was supposed to work in that department and make sure that didn't happen?
Ty shrugged. “It's a good company, and a good place to start your career, but I don't see you working there for long. But with that experience, you'll be able to work most anyplace. Procurement specialists and sub-contract administrators are always in demand.”

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