Tote Bags and Toe Tags (25 page)

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Authors: Dorothy Howell

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“You might have been on to something with Tina Sheldon,” Shuman said.
What the heck was he talking about?
I mentally changed gears and remembered that I'd told Shuman about the mysterious trip Tina had taken down the 5 the morning I'd followed her, and that she'd lied to me about it the next day.
“Seems Ms. Sheldon makes numerous trips to Mexico in her van, according to her GPS,” Shuman said. “She drives down, crosses the border, stays for a few minutes, then comes back.”
I gasped. “Oh my God. Do you think she's smuggling people into the country?”
“Could be,” Shuman said. “A middle-aged white woman in a nice van wouldn't attract much attention from the border guards. They wouldn't be likely to search her vehicle.”
“Yeah, but if she got caught she'd be in major hot water,” I said.
“And if she didn't, she'd make major bucks,” Shuman said. “We alerted the border patrol. They'll target her vehicle and search it next time she crosses back into the U.S.”
Oh, wow. I'd actually solved a crime—but it was the wrong one.
I hate it when that happens.
“Tina wouldn't have known Dempsey Rowland required a background investigation,” I said. “Sounds like a motive for murder, if you ask me.”
“Madison is working that angle, but I don't like it,” Shuman said. “Doesn't make sense. Sure, killing Violet Hamilton would delay the new-hire investigations, but sooner or later they would be completed. Anybody with something to hide would be exposed. The best anyone could hope for would be to work there awhile, pick up a few paychecks, maybe network a little in the hope of finding another job somewhere.”
I'd thought those same things myself. But so far, the only lead I'd had that wasn't connected to the background investigations had turned out to be nothing.
I guess Shuman was having the same problem.
“Maybe that's exactly what Tina is doing,” I said.
He frowned his cop frown—it's way hot—and I knew he was considering the possibility.
“I'm not crazy about it, but it's our strongest lead.” Shuman shrugged. “People have murdered for less.”
Now I wasn't sure if I should tell him about Max Corwin's secret double life. Shuman was convinced Violet's murder had nothing to do with the background investigations so my telling him about Max would only distract him, maybe slow him down and delay his discovery of the actual murderer. Besides, for all I knew, Shuman had already uncovered Max's duplicity, and I didn't want to look like an idiot by telling him something he already knew.
“So if you didn't kill Erma,” Shuman said, “do you know who did?”
I huffed, just to be sure he knew this question didn't suit me.
“Look, it's like I already told you,” I said. “I had lunch with Erma. We talked about the olden days at Dempsey Rowland. She told me about Violet and how she didn't get along with—”
Hang on a second. Something did happen at lunch—or after lunch, when I was leaving. Why hadn't I put this together sooner?
Shuman leaned toward me. His cop sensors were on high alert.
“Erma told me that Violet never got along with Ruth Baker, Mr. Dempsey's executive secretary,” I said. “As I was leaving the restaurant, I saw Ruth waiting for a table. She was giving both of us triple-stink-eye in a really creepy way.”
Shuman didn't say anything.
“Ruth might have followed Erma home and murdered her,” I said.
Cool.
C
HAPTER
25
I
was mega stoked thinking that Voldemort—I mean, Ruth—had actually murdered both Violet and Erma.
The evidence spun through my mind as I walked up Figueroa Street toward the Golden State Bank & Trust on Wilshire Boulevard.
From everything I'd heard, Ruth was protective of Mr. Dempsey and Violet had resented it, understandably so, given her history with the company. Ruth hadn't liked Violet for the same reason. The two of them had probably battled it out for years over Mr. Dempsey's attention.
Iris had told me that she'd seen Violet the day before her murder coming back from the Executive Unit absolutely furious about something. Had Ruth not let Violet see him? Had that been the last straw between them? Had the two of them had one final confrontation in Constance's office the next morning, and Ruth killed her?
And what about the memorial service? Ruth must have been the one who insisted I plan a memorial service for Violet, as a way to throw suspicion off of herself. She'd told me it was Mr. Dempsey's idea, but everyone I'd talked to doubted his involvement.
Oh, yeah. Ruth was suspect numero uno—to my way of thinking, anyway. Shuman wasn't quite as thrilled when I laid it all out for him in Starbucks, but he at least listened.
I hoisted my tote higher on my arm—jeez, I really hope nobody important sees me with this thing—and reached into my handbag for my cell phone.
I had to call Amber and see if she could meet me somewhere this afternoon and sort out the details of the retirement party. Her voicemail picked up so I left a message.
Next, I had to find Ty at the Golden State Bank & Trust and have him sign my letter about those stupid Holt's training classes. Hopefully, Amber would call back by then.
My afternoon would be perfect—if I could just get people to put aside their own plans and problems and help me with mine.
I didn't see why that shouldn't happen.
The day was beautiful, of course, as it most always is in Southern California. Lots of well-dressed people were on the street, headed somewhere important, or having lunch with someone who mattered.
I drew in a breath, taking in the sweet smells of the plants blooming at the open-air dining plaza as I walked by, thinking about how I'd like to—
Wait a second.
I froze, too stunned to move.
Ty sat at one of the tables. He had on a suit.
Seated across from him was a woman.
I glanced at my watch and saw that it was a few minutes after one. Ty should have been at his appointment at the GSB&T that he'd told me about this morning.
Of course, his appointment could have been canceled or rescheduled. Or maybe he'd gotten there early, handled whatever he'd gone there to handle, and left.
But none of that explained why he was having lunch—with a woman.
I got an icky feeling in my stomach.
Maybe Ty hadn't had an appointment at all. Maybe he'd told me that as cover in case I spotted him downtown today. Maybe he'd lied to me.
I intended to find out.
My feet felt really heavy, like I was walking in slow motion. The two of them were talking. The remains of their lunch were on the table between them. They'd been there for a while.
I looped around to the right to get a better look at her. From what I could see, she was young, maybe my age, with light brown hair, which she'd pulled back in a low ponytail. She had on a business suit, but she'd amped it up with some incredible accessories that really—
I stopped again. Oh my God. She was Dale Winslow. I'd sent Ty her résumé and he'd told me he wanted to talk to her about a position at Holt's. That's what was going on.
Whew!
Wow, what a relief. And how silly of me. Jeez, why would I think—even for a minute—that Ty had gone behind my back to see someone else?
Maybe because he'd lied about his trip to Palmdale. And because he hadn't gone to work for over a week and he'd never told me what he did all day, where he went, or who he saw.
I pushed those thoughts—reasonable though they were—out of my mind. I didn't want to think about them now. Besides, I was sure there was a logical explanation for everything Ty did.
Even if he never told me what it was.
As I walked closer, I saw Dale lean forward just a bit and say something. Ty laughed. He really laughed. He threw back his head and laughed.
I don't think I'd ever seen him do that.
Then Ty leaned forward and said something to Dale. She giggled, and Ty started laughing again. They bantered back and forth, oblivious to everyone and everything around them.
Including me.
Ty finally composed himself and smiled across the table at Dale.
My heart thumped hard and seemed to sink into my belly.
I'd seen that smile before. But not on Ty's face. Never. Not once.
I'd seen that smile on Shuman's face when he looked at his girlfriend.
I just stood there, unable to move. A minute or so later, Ty must have caught a glimpse of me from the corner of his eye because he did a double take and rose from his chair.
“Haley, this is a surprise.” He held out his arm and I walked over, then he brushed a kiss against my cheek.
He didn't smile.
“It's so good to see you again, Haley,” Dale said.
She sounded as if she truly meant it. She wasn't uncomfortable with me finding her having lunch with Ty.
Whatever was going on between them was one-way.
“We were just discussing my coming to work for Holt's,” Dale said. “Sit down. Join us.”
“Yes,” Ty said, pulling out an extra chair. “Join us.”
My stomach felt queasy. My head hurt. I wanted to cry.
“I've got to get back to the office,” I said. It came out sounding kind of strained.
“Oh, well, if you're sure,” Dale said.
“I'm sure,” I said.
I left the table. At the sidewalk, I glanced back. Ty just stood there watching me.
Still no smile.
I walked away.
 
I spent most of the afternoon staring out my office window at the pedestrians and traffic on Figueroa Street.
Ty didn't call.
He didn't send flowers.
I couldn't bring myself to call Marcie and talk to her about the whole Dale and Ty thing because I wasn't sure exactly what had happened.
I just knew that something had changed.
My cell phone pinged. It was a text from Amber saying she was more than willing to help me sort out the retirement party info, and that we could hook up later tonight.
Movement in the hallway outside my office caught my attention and I realized employees were leaving. Jeez, it was five already? How had that happened?
I didn't really want to go home and see Ty. I wasn't sure if he'd be there or not, but, either way, I wasn't up to talking to him yet.
I almost wished I was scheduled to work at Holt's tonight.
Good grief. What has my life become?
I got my purse and tote, and left my office.
There was nothing to do but go see my mom.
 
In the whole maybe-dead-maybe-kidnapped situation with Juanita, I figured I'd done all I could do. I'd looked everywhere I knew to look. I'd checked with the police, hospitals, and morgue. I'd been to her house. I'd phoned her. I'd talked to her neighbor. I'd even called in a major favor with the maybe–Russian mob.
I only knew one more thing to try.
When I pulled into the driveway at Mom's house and went inside, the place was deadly silent. My dad wasn't home yet. He usually worked late—not that I blamed him, of course.
From the look of things, Juanita had either come back to work or Mom had hired another housekeeper.
“Mom?” I called as I walked through the house.
“In here, sweetie,” she answered.
I followed her voice and found her in the family room. She was stretched out on the chaise, and looked like she had just stepped from the pages of the magazine that was on her lap.
A Prada ad, specifically. Slacks and sweater in browns and golds, three-inch heels, accessories that equaled the median income of most Midwesterners. Hair perfectly coiffed, makeup expertly applied.
Just another L.A. housewife. That was my mom.
“I'm so glad you're here, Haley,” Mom said. “I just had the most wonderful idea.”
Oh, dear God, no.
“You're going to love this,” she declared.
My left cheek started to twitch.
“I'm going to start my own clothing line,” Mom said.
I began to blink uncontrollably.
“And now that you have your college degree,” she said, “we can be partners.”
I'm pretty sure a big chunk of my hair fell out.
“Won't that be fabulous?” Mom asked.
“You know, Mom, I just stopped by to ask you about Juanita,” I said. “Has she come back to work?”
Mom frowned slightly, careful as always not to cause undue premature wrinkling.
“She most certainly has not,” she told me.
“Have you heard from her?”
“Not a word,” Mom reported.
When I'd mentioned Juanita's disappearance to Ty, he'd asked what had happened just before she left Mom's house the last time. Maybe I should have thought of that myself when this whole thing started and saved myself some time and effort.
Because, really, I should have known from the beginning who was responsible for Juanita's disappearance: Mom.
“So what happened before she left?” I asked.
Mom looked totally lost now.
“Something must have happened,” I said. “Did you two have a disagreement of some kind?”
“No, of course not,” Mom insisted.
“Did Juanita have some sort of problem? Did she need something?” I asked. “Anything at all?”
Mom was quiet while she pondered my question—either that or she'd forgotten what I'd asked.
“Well, she did mention her daughter,” Mom said finally. “But it was only in passing.”
“Which daughter?” I asked.
I knew Juanita had two grown daughters. One lived near her in Eagle Rock and the other had recently moved to Arizona.
“Her oldest, the one who's living in Scottsdale now,” Mom said. “Juanita mentioned she wanted to go visit her because she was pregnant and was having some problems.”
“You
did
tell her to go, didn't you?” I asked.
Mom paused, thinking back—I hope.
“She didn't
ask
to go,” Mom said. “Why would she? Juanita was well aware of my dinner party scheduled for Saturday evening.”
Oh, jeez.
“You didn't tell her to go right away?” I asked. “You didn't tell her that her daughter was more important than your dinner party?”
Mom looked completely baffled. “She didn't
ask
to go.”
I wanted to tell Mom that she should have insisted that Juanita leave immediately, that her daughter and unborn grandchild were far more important than a dinner party. That's what Juanita wanted to hear. That's what she deserved to hear.
And that, even as hurt as she must have been—that's most likely why she was crying when her neighbor saw her leave her house with what must have been her husband and another male relative—Juanita had probably sent that young woman to Mom's place to help with the dinner party. The woman spoke so little English that Mom interpreted her comments to be a ransom demand.
But, somehow, I didn't think Mom would get it, and I sure as heck didn't want to hang around and try to explain it to her.
“I have to go,” I said, and headed for the door.
 
I drove around for a long time, got a burger and fries from the Jack-in-the-Box drive-thru, stopped for a mocha frappuccino at Starbucks, and pretty much chucked my whole-new-me policy. I still wasn't ready to go home yet so I brought my totally embarrassing nondesigner tote into Starbucks and set to work trying to figure out Mr. Dempsey's retirement party plans.
Luckily, Amber called and promised to come right over. One more mocha frappuccino later, she showed up.

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