By late afternoon I’d done all the work I could stand for one day, mostly making sure everything was set for the Spencer-Taft Thanksgiving feast, so I headed out to Calabasas. When I pulled up in front of the house, I saw that Veronica’s BMW was no longer parked in the driveway and figured someone had finally put it in the garage. I hoped that meant things were getting back to normal—or as normal as they could be under the circumstances.
I’d called Jack and Shuman during the drive over—the 101 was always a crawl at this time of day—but neither of them answered. I’d tried Marcie next and had passed a few stop-and-go miles discussing our next move in the there-has-to-be-one-out-there-somewhere handbag search. We were running out of places to shop.
My last-resort Louis Vuitton tote was looking better and better.
Andrea met me at the door. She looked a little weary, as if her personal assistant job had turned into a babysitting assignment.
“Patrick found out Julia had pulled the cooks and housekeepers,” she said as we walked into the entryway.
I figured Julia had sent the staff packing, thinking Veronica’s family would leave sooner if forced to fend for themselves. I wasn’t sure why Julia cared one way or the other. She hadn’t exactly taken over the hostessing duties.
“That was crappy of her,” I said.
Andrea nodded and said, “The agency sent people over so things are a little more bearable now.”
“No more arguments between the sisters?” I asked.
“If only.” She rolled her eyes. “Makes me glad I’m an only child.”
“Are they home?” I asked.
“I’d lined up a winery tour and tasting for them in Temecula today but they cut it short and came back early. Everything seems to wear them out. All but Brandie, of course,” Andrea said. “Everyone who isn’t napping is at the pool.”
We headed toward the rear of the house and I said, “Patrick came by the office today and told me he wants to go ahead with the Thanksgiving feast.”
She nodded. “I’ll text you the names of the friends who want to help with the details.”
We entered a large family room with floor-to-ceiling windows that featured a view of the pool and spa, set among lush landscaping. The room had tile floors, comfy furniture, a wet bar and mini kitchen, and beach-themed décor. Outside, Brandie lay on a float in the pool. Melanie was stretched out on a chaise in the shade.
“I have to make some calls,” Andrea said. “The construction crews should have been out here already. There’s still a lot to do before the feast.”
I walked outside into the glorious Southern California weather. Melanie and Brandie spotted me at the same time.
“Oh my God, Haley, you’re here,” Brandie exclaimed and rolled off of her float into waist-deep water. “Let’s go to Starbucks, okay?”
It sounded like a great idea. I should have stopped on my way over but I’d been too consumed by my conversation with Marcie—that’s how upset I was about not finding a fabulous handbag.
“Oh, you and that Starbucks,” Melanie complained. “That’s all I’ve heard about lately.”
Brandie shot her mother a resentful look, then dove into the water and swam toward the far end of the pool.
Melanie got to her feet and walked to where I stood by one of the umbrella tables.
“All she wants to do is go places,” she complained. “She thinks we can just call the limo anytime we want and be squired around town. She has a pool, a spa, gardens to walk in, a media room, everything, and it doesn’t suit her. She wants to get one of those Starbucks drinks and act like she’s a California girl like you see on TV.”
I thought Brandie’s idea was a great one.
This didn’t seem like a good time to mention it.
Melanie watched her daughter swim laps for a moment, then turned to me again and sighed heavily.
“You really haven’t caught any of us at our best, Haley. This thing with Veronica, well, it’s turned us into something we’re not.”
“It’s a tough time for everyone,” I said because, really, it was.
“That’s no excuse,” Melanie insisted. “I’m sorry you had to witness the tail end of that argument I had with Renée. She’s been worse than ever on this trip.”
Since Melanie had brought up the incident, my maybe-this-will-result-in-something-that’s-good-for-me instincts took over.
“What was that all about?” I asked.
“Another one of Renée’s big ideas,” Melanie grumbled. “She was always coming up with some sort of business scheme she wanted Veronica and Patrick to buy into.”
“To make up for the candy business?” I asked.
Melanie nodded. “This time she wanted them to front the money to manufacture those fanny packs.”
Yikes! Fanny packs had had their moment a number of years ago. While there was nothing wrong with them and they were indeed functional, the market for them would be very limited.
“Renée had the idea of making one for every season,” Melanie said. “She had us all wear them out here to demonstrate how great they looked.”
I remembered seeing all the gals wearing them when they got out of the limo—bright orange with bedazzled turkeys on the front.
Not exactly a fashion statement I envisioned catching on.
I wasn’t sure how Veronica would have felt about them. She dressed in fashion-forward clothing but I knew she had a stylist who helped her. Of course, if she felt guilty about the Pammy Candy situation, she might have gone along with the idea just to appease Renée.
“Had Renée talked to Veronica about the fanny packs before you arrived?” I asked.
“Of course,” Melanie said. “She practically ran over Veronica with the idea, sent her emails and text messages with design ideas and photographs of the bags she’d had a local company make. She thought it was the least Veronica and Patrick could do after they stole the candy business right out from under--”
She stopped and pressed her lips together, realizing she’d said too much.
“Cassie told me,” I said, to ease her embarrassment.
Melanie looked as if this didn’t surprise her, either. “Well, none of it matters now.”
With Veronica gone, I couldn’t see Patrick investing money in, and heading up, a manufacturing company—especially one that turned out seasonal, bedazzled fanny packs.
“Of course, Renée could have been right and they might have caught on,” Melanie said. “It’s just one more thing we’ll never know the answer to. This trip has been filled with what-ifs.”
It took a few seconds before I realized what Melanie was saying.
“You mean Veronica’s announcement?” I asked.
She brightened. “Did she tell you what it was?”
“No,” I said. “Somebody mentioned it.”
Melanie looked disappointed. “I guess we’ll never know. All I can do is wonder. You know, that kind of thing—the not knowing—really gets to me.”
It was getting to me, too, because I couldn’t help but feel as if it had something to do with Veronica’s murder. Did it involve Pammy Candy? Or something personal?
Yet how personal could it be if Veronica hadn’t told Patrick? When I’d brought it up at L.A. Affairs, he hadn’t known anything about it.
At least now I could delete Renée’s name from my list of suspects. She wanted Veronica alive and well to start her fanny pack business. No way would she have killed her.
That left me with three suspects—Julia, who had no motive that I’d uncovered; Erika who might, or might not, have been trying to get Patrick back; and a blackmailer who, at this point, was just a figment of my imagination.
Crap.
* * *
When I left the Spencer-Taft house, I called Marcie.
Really, there are times when only your BFF will do.
We decided to meet at a bar downtown near the bank where she worked.
Really, there are times when only wine will do.
Since I was driving against the heavy traffic coming out of Los Angeles, the commute didn’t take as long as I’d thought. I parked in a lot and headed up Figueroa Street. Marcie wouldn’t be off work for a few more minutes, so I sent her a text letting her know I’d arrived and would meet her at the bar.
We’d met there before so I knew it was an upscale place that attracted a business-suit clientele, and I’d be safe sitting alone until she arrived—not that I expected to be surrounded by hot looking guys wanting to buy me drinks, but, really, it would be nice.
My cell phone rang. I pulled it from of my handbag and stepped out of the flow of pedestrians on the sidewalk. Jack was calling.
Oh, yeah. My day had just improved considerably.
“What have you learned?” he asked when I answered my phone.
Jack sounded tense, all-business. He had a lot on him. A great deal was at stake. He was depending on me to help solve this case but, really, I hadn’t come up with anything spectacular that could break it wide open.
Not a great feeling.
“I’m working a few leads,” I said, hoping that speaking in accepted private investigator lingo would make it sound as if I’d actually accomplished something.
I rushed ahead with a question just in case.
“Did you uncover anything on the possible blackmailer?” I asked.
“No, nothing,” Jack said. “Keep digging.”
“I will,” I promised, and we ended the call.
I slid my phone into my handbag and continued down the sidewalk toward the bar.
Detective Shuman still hadn’t returned my call. Hopefully that meant he was busy gathering info about the murder through his LAPD contacts, and would be in touch soon.
The bar was dimly lit and humming with conversations and the clinking of glasses when I walked in. I snagged a high table in the corner. When the waitress came over, I ordered.
I’m a real stickler for not drinking and driving, so usually I have soda or juice. But after the day I’d had, I figured I could make an exception and have a glass of wine.
My cell phone rang. It was my mom.
One glass of wine wasn’t going to cut it.
“Great news,” Mom announced when I answered.
Luckily, the waitress brought my wine so I didn’t have to say anything.
Not that it mattered.
“I’ve found the perfect man,” Mom declared. “Your sister is going to be thrilled with him.”
I doubted it, but didn’t say so. Instead, I gulped down some of the wine.
“He comes from a wonderful family, he’s a great dresser, and he has a good job,” Mom said.
Yet he was willing to be set up on a blind date on Thanksgiving?
Sounded like a major red flag to me, but Mom didn’t ask my opinion
I downed more wine.
“Of course, there’s another man who’s been recommended also,” Mom said. “I’m considering both of them.”
Mom kept talking—and I kept drinking—so everything she said turned into blah-blah-blah until I heard her say, “So I’m really thinking Cuban. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”
My sister’s date would be Cuban?
“Sounds great,” I said—which was kind of bad of me, I know, but what else could I say?
I drained my glass and asked. “What time are you serving?”
“Two o’clock,” Mom said.
The Spencer-Taft feast was going to be served at noon, so there was a chance I’d be delayed and wouldn’t make it to Mom’s on time—if I was lucky, that is.
“I’ll keep you informed,” Mom promised, and we ended the call.
I reached for my wine glass, then saw that it was empty. Jeez, when had that happened?
Just as I was searching the crowd for the waitress, a fresh glass appeared on my table. I looked up and saw that Liam had placed it there.
“Here,” he said, and pushed the glass closer. “Drink this until I start to look good.”
“I’m going to need another one of these,” I told him.
He grinned.
Liam had a great grin. He looked great, too, dressed in a navy blue pinstriped business suit and a maroon shirt and tie combo, holding a beer.
“What’s black and brown and looks good on a lawyer?” he asked. “A Doberman pinscher.”
I gave him his grin right back—which I sincerely hoped was as hot as his was.
“How do you stop a lawyer from drowning?” he asked. “Shoot him before he hits the water.”
Okay, now I laughed. He laughed, too, then gestured to the empty wine glass.
“Rough day at the event planning business?” he asked.
Jeez, he must have seen me chugging it down when I was on the phone with Mom—not exactly the image I wanted to project.
“I was just finalizing some plans for Thanksgiving,” I said.
“Family or clients?” he asked.
He sat down in the chair next to mine. Wow, he smelled great. Some kind of heat was rolling off of him, somehow urging me to snuggle closer—even though I hadn’t touched my second wine yet.
“I’m staging a feast out in Calabasas,” I said, “then going to my mom’s house.”
He nodded. “My mom’s got the whole family going somewhere, doing something. She hasn’t told me where I’m supposed to show up yet. Probably my grandma’s in San Diego.”
I thought it was kind of cool that he was spending the holiday with his family and seemed to be okay with it.
Obviously, his family was more fun than mine.
“Hi there,” Marcie said.
I realized she’d joined us at the table. Liam stood and held the chair while she sat on the other side of me. They introduced themselves.
“I should have known I wouldn’t be lucky enough to catch you here alone,” he said to me, and favored both of us with a smile. “You ladies enjoy your evening.”
Liam gave me one last long, lingering look—or maybe that’s how I looked at him—then joined a group of men standing at the bar.
“Oh my God,” Marcie whispered. “He’s gorgeous.”
I tried for a nonchalant shrug, but didn’t pull it off.
“Did he ask you out?” she wanted to know. “You’d be crazy not to—”
Marcie suddenly latched onto my arm with a something-major-is-going-down death-grip, and leaned closer.
“Ty’s here,” she told me.
All my senses jumped to high alert.
Ty Cameron, my ex-official-boyfriend was here? In this bar? Just steps away? Oh my God, why hadn’t I noticed him?
And more importantly, why hadn’t he noticed me?
I shifted into stealth mode and swept the bar. The place was packed with good looking men dressed in expensive suits, crowded together at—
Oh my God, there he was, looking as handsome as ever, impeccably dressed, seated with two other guys. I was relieved he wasn’t with a date, but concerned that he was here.
Ty was a workaholic. At this time of day he was usually still elbow-deep in the running of the Holt’s Department Store chain, plus its other holdings. Ty definitely wasn’t the kind of guy to knock off early, head for a bar, and belt down a few with his buddies.
What the heck was going on with him?
“Do you think he saw you talking to Liam?” Marcie whispered.
My emotions spun up even higher.
Had Ty seen me? Would he come over? Talk to me?
Was he wondering who Liam was? Why I was talking to him? If he was my new boyfriend? Was Ty positively green with envy, re-thinking our breakup, yearning to cross the bar and confront Liam?
Oh my God, were the two hottest guys in the bar about to throw down in an all-out brawl over me?
“You’re cut off,” Marcie said.
She’d known what I was thinking, as only a long-time bestie can.
And she was right, of course.
I pushed my wine glass away.