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Authors: Dorothy Howell

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Great. Just what I needed this morning. I guess Constance had ratted me out to H.R. when I hadn't been in her office first thing this morning, despite the message I'd left on her voicemail.
I found my way to Adela's office after making only two wrong turns among the warren of offices, and saw that the door was open. Adela sat behind her desk studying a personnel file.
Jeez, I really hope that's not my file.
Adela looked up, waved me inside, and said, “Close the door, please.”
Oh, crap. This couldn't be good.
I eased the door shut and sat down in the chair that faced Adela's desk. I eyed the personnel file. It had my name on it. Yikes!
Adela studied me for a moment. She looked tired, a little weary—or maybe she was just working up the courage to tell me I was fired.
Not a great feeling.
“I realize that yesterday—your first day with us—was difficult,” Adela said. “I'm afraid I have more troubling news for you.”
Did I pick a bad time to quit eating chocolate or what?
“As you know, everyone at Dempsey Rowland hired to handle sensitive work—such as you—for one of our government projects must undergo a background check and obtain a security clearance,” Adela said.
Maybe I should start carrying a Snickers bar in my purse—strictly for emergencies, of course.
“Those checks can take a long time to complete,” Adela said.
Maybe a couple of Snickers bars—and some M&Ms.
“Violet headed up security, as you know,” Adela said, “and now she's ... gone.”
Did they sell those things by the case?
“Until a security clearance can be obtained,” Adela went on, “new hires are placed in nonsensitive positions, which is why you were assigned to work under Constance.”
How long would it take to eat a whole case? I was pretty sure I could buzz through one pretty quick, under the right circumstances—like now.
“Constance was our corporate event planner,” Adela said. “You were assigned to assist her.”
My spirits lifted a little—but I still could eat a case of most anything with chocolate on it—and I said, “I was going to help plan corporate events?”
“Business luncheons, on- and off-site meetings, retreats, dinners with clients, retirement and promotion ceremonies. The birthday club, of course. It's an extremely important position.” Adela paused and drew a breath. “But something has happened.”
Jeez, I hope she isn't going to tell me Constance is dead, too.
Adela shifted in her chair. “Constance isn't taking Violet's. . . death ... well. She's not in today. But we're going to go ahead and use you in corporate events.”
I was going to have to plan corporate lunches, dinners, meetings, retreats, and ceremonies? I still wasn't sure what the heck this company even did.
“Did Constance have an assistant, maybe?” I asked.
Adela nodded. “Yes, of course. That would be Patty. She's extremely competent and capable—Constance's second brain, really.”
From what I remembered of Constance, she could sure as heck use a second brain.
I heaved a mental sigh of relief.
“Unfortunately,” Adela said, “Patty resigned.”
Oh, crap.
“With Violet's murder taking place in Constance's office—which is right next to Patty's—well, it was just too much for her,” Adela said.
Adela looked at me like she expected me to say something sympathetic about what Patty had been through, but I couldn't think of anything.
“Normally, we wouldn't turn such an important position over to someone new, but these aren't normal circumstances,” Adela went on. “You have a very strong résumé, Haley. Your qualifications are outstanding. So for now, you'll handle corporate events on your own.”
I'd been to a lot of big events, but I'd never planned one. I didn't have the foggiest idea of how to stage a business luncheon, off-site retreat, promotion ceremony, or any of the other things Adela had mentioned. I'd be lost, completely in the dark.
So what could I say to Adela but, “Sure. Sounds great.”
C
HAPTER
6
W
ow, my own office. I'd never had one before. It was awesome. My own desk, chair, cabinet, visitor chair, all lighted by a big window that overlooked Figueroa Street.
Jeez, I really hope I get to keep it.
Adela escorted me to the office that had belonged to Constance's assistant, Patty. The desk had been emptied of personal items and the janitors had cleaned everything. She mentioned the computer system that Patty used to track upcoming events, then left.
It creeped me out a little that on the other side of the wall was Constance's office—the door still crisscrossed with crime scene tape—where Violet had been killed, but I was determined to enjoy the place while I could. Constance would return tomorrow and, well, who knew what would happen after that?
I settled in and spent the morning texting friends, reading my e-mail, and checking out Facebook. I used my cell phone to take a picture of myself at my desk and sent it to Marcie. Then I surfed the Macy's, Neiman Marcus, and Nordstrom Web sites and looked at their business suits—and their handbags, of course—because even if I eventually got fired, I still needed to look great while I was here. Next I checked my bank balance online, read my horoscope, and made an appointment for a manicure. I mean, that's what a private office is for, isn't it? So you can take care of your private business?
I glanced at my wristwatch and saw it was after one already. Time for lunch. So far, I was loving this job. I figured I'd ask Marcie to eat with me so we could map out a shopping plan for tonight. My cell phone rang. The caller
I.D. screen read, PALMDALE REGIONAL MEDICAL CENTER.
Oh my God. Juanita.
I answered immediately and a woman's voice said, “This is the emergency room at the Palmdale Regional hospital.”
My heart did a huge flip-flop. Juanita was in the emergency room? Something had happened to her? Mom was right about something?
“I was asked to contact you,” the woman said. “Tyler Cameron has been involved in an automobile accident and—”
“Ty?” I shot to my feet. “
Ty?
”
“He's not seriously injured and will be released shortly,” she said. “He'd like you to pick him up.”
“I'm on my way!”
I grabbed my purse and ran out the door.
 
The Palmdale Regional hospital was in the Antelope Valley, an area up the 14 freeway about an hour north of downtown Los Angeles. It's the High Desert, hot and windy—when it's not cold and windy—with mountains that get snow in the winter and a valley floor that's covered with tumbleweeds and Joshua trees. It's a busy place with lots of family activities, a great location for people who want a place away from the hustle and bustle of a crowded city.
I'd been up there a few times because of my dad's job. Aerospace was big in the A.V. The space shuttle was built in Palmdale and recovered at Edwards Air Force Base. The air force had its flight test facility on the base, along with their test pilots' school and the NASA Dryden Flight Research Center.
I'd never made the trip up the winding freeway as quickly as I did today, darting in and out of the carpool lane, which wasn't against the law at this time of day—not that I cared. I took the Palmdale Boulevard exit, and whipped into the closest parking space to the hospital's emergency room I could find.
The woman who'd called me had said Ty wasn't seriously injured but, of course, that didn't keep me from conjuring up all kinds of horrible pictures in my mind. I raced into the emergency room mentally bracing myself to see Ty encased in a head-to-toe cast, or with one of those halos bolted into his skull, or strapped in a wheelchair drooling into a cup.
Instead, I found him sitting quietly in a chair, waiting patiently. His pale blue polo shirt had a reddish stain on the front, as did the knee of his jeans.
“Oh my God, Ty, are you all right?” I asked as I rushed over.
He looked up at me and managed a brief hint of a smile. “I'm okay,”
I pointed to his shirt. “Is that—
blood?
”
He gestured to his face and I saw a scrape on his nose and left cheek.
“Air bag,” he said. “They did X-rays and an MRI. Nothing's broken. I'm just a little sore.”
I dropped into the chair next to him and took his hand. “Thank God.”
We sat like that for a minute, then Ty squeezed my fingers. “Get me out of here, will you?”
“Sure,” I said, getting to my feet.
Ty rose slowly and handed me a little white bag. “Pain meds,” he said.
I tucked them into my purse. Ty let me take his arm and we headed for the door. He moved kind of slow.
When we got to my car, Ty stopped and asked, “Will you call Mom for me?”
“Of course,” I said, opening the passenger-side door.
He hesitated a few seconds. “Is it okay if I hang out at your place?”
“Absolutely,” I said. I glanced around the parking lot. “Is your car here?”
“Totaled,” he said.
I figured he must have already taken some of the pain meds if he looked that unconcerned about his gorgeous Porsche being wrecked beyond repair.
Ty grimaced as he lowered himself into my Honda. I drove slowly out of the parking lot. By the time we hit the freeway, I'd calmed down enough to start wondering how and why the accident had occurred—here, of all places. Holt's didn't have a store in the Antelope Valley and had no plans to build one—that I knew of, anyway. Ty usually told me everything about the company. Sometimes—well, okay, most of the time—I drifted off.
“So what were you doing in Palmdale?” I asked.
I glanced at Ty. He was asleep.
 
“Haley, there's been a development,” Mom said as soon as I answered my cell phone.
I swung into the parking garage next to Dempsey Rowland and whipped into a spot near the elevator. I wasn't feeling all that great about leaving Ty alone at my apartment after his accident, but as soon as I'd helped him undress and get into bed, he was out cold. I figured I should put in an appearance at work this afternoon; I'd be off in a couple of hours, anyway.
I wouldn't have answered Mom's call—thank God for called I.D.—except that I hoped she wanted to tell me Juanita had finally showed up.
I could use one less thing to worry about right now.
“Good news, Mom?” I asked, as I got out of my car.
“Yes,” she said, and sounded relieved. “I've found a caterer.”
I'm pretty sure my real family is out there somewhere looking for me.
“What about Juanita?” I asked.
“Who?”
“Juanita,” I said, and managed not to yell, “Is she there yet?”
“Of course not,” Mom said. “Why else would I still be looking for a caterer?”
“I'm driving into a tunnel, Mom,” I said. “I might lose you—”
I hung up and hurried into the elevator. By the time I'd crossed the building's main lobby and ridden up to five, I'd rehearsed the my-boyfriend-was-in-a-car-crash excuse for being away from the office well enough that I could say it in one smooth sentence and even work up a tear, if necessary.
Camille, Dempsey Rowland's version of the Crypt Keeper, didn't look my way when I got off the elevator. I went to my office. No yellow notes stuck to my computer monitor, no voicemail from anyone demanding to know why I wasn't at my desk.
For once I had a perfectly good excuse for being late back to work—and no one even asked. It was kind of disappointing. At least that meant I could use it at some point in the future.
I closed my office door and worked the phone. First I called Ty's mom. Her voicemail picked up, so I left a detailed message about the accident and assured her Ty was fine. I'd leave it to her to notify the rest of the family as she saw fit—no way was I getting involved in that.
There's nothing like a family tragedy to cause everyone to turn on each other.
Next I called Amber, Ty's personal assistant. I like Amber. She is about my age, short, with dark, sensible hair. Everything about Amber is sensible. I could have been jealous of Amber—she ran
everything
in Ty's life—but she made things so easy for him—which ultimately benefited me, of course—I couldn't complain. Plus, she wasn't Ty's type—or, rather, Ty wasn't her type. Once when Marcie and I were out shopping and ran into Amber, I caught Amber checking out Marcie's butt.
Amber answered on the first ring. I gave her the news and immediately she jumped into action.
“I'll inform key personnel at Corporate,” she said. “I'll get the status on his car, notify the insurance company, get the accident report from the CHP, and I'll bring his clothes by your place tonight.”
“Thanks, Amber,” I said. “You're awesome.”
“How are you holding up?” she asked.
That was nice to hear. Amber thinks of
everything.
“Relieved he's not seriously hurt,” I said. “I hope he was telling me the truth. You know how men are about medical things.”
“I'll double check with the hospital,” Amber said. “You said it was Palmdale Regional? What was he doing up there?”
Okay, that was weird.
“You don't know?” I asked.
“At about eleven this morning, Ty asked me to cancel all his afternoon appointments,” Amber said.
Okay, that was really weird.
“I'm sure it was something to do with business,” Amber said.
“I'm sure you're right,” I agreed. Ty seldom did anything that didn't involve Holt's in some way, shape, or form.
“See you tonight,” Amber said, and hung up.
Through the glass panel in my office door, I saw people walking through the hallway and realized it was time to go home. Thank goodness. I'd had one heck of a day.
As I reached into my bottom desk drawer to retrieve my purse, my office door opened and Adela walked in. She didn't look happy.
“I didn't receive an e-mail announcement about tomorrow's event,” Adela said.
There was an event tomorrow?
“You've made the arrangements, haven't you?” she asked, though it sounded like more of an accusation, like she thought I hadn't done it, or something—which I hadn't, of course, but still.
Adela narrowed her gaze at me. “I assured Mr. Dempsey you could handle this position, Haley. Your résumé was very strong.”
Jeez, what did I put on that thing? Maybe I should have reviewed it before I sent it in.
“Was I wrong?” she asked, her eyes getting narrower.
My future at Dempsey Rowland flashed in front of me—and not in a good way. Did I now have a double chance of getting fired? Once for not passing my security clearance, and again for bungling tomorrow's event—whatever it was?
“Of course not,” I said, giving her the same you-can-trust-me smile I gave Holt's customers when I sent them to the other side of the store for an item we don't even carry.
Adela didn't look relieved—obviously, she wasn't a Holt's shopper.
“The birthday club is extremely important,” she said. “It's good for morale and, believe me, this office needs a morale boost after what we've been through. Kinsey Miller is relatively new with us, but I want her to feel as if her birthday is just as important as anyone else's.”
“I couldn't agree more,” I said, channeling my mother's I'm-better-than-you voice. “Here's the situation, Adela. All the office decorations, birthday and otherwise, are locked up in the cabinets in Constance's office, which is still sealed by LAPD's crime scene tape.”
Okay, that was a guess on my part. I'd seen the big cabinets in Constance's office and I hadn't found decorations here in the office I'd taken over from Patty, so I made a logical assumption—more like a wild guess.
Sometimes my wild guesses work out.
“I couldn't possibly schedule Kinsey's birthday celebration tomorrow without decorations,” I said. “It's unacceptable. I simply won't do it.”
Adela's expression shifted into back-down mode. “I'll be right back.”
She left my office. I logged onto the computer—luckily, Patty hadn't set a password—and clicked on the calendar. Yikes! There were all kind of events scheduled.
Jeez, if Patty did all of this, what the heck was Constance working on?
From what I could see, Patty had made detailed notes of each event. I clicked another file and saw the names and contact info for dozens of vendors.

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