Andrea must have been watching for me because just as I pulled into the driveway the front door opened and she stepped outside. I had no idea what weird thing she needed me to take care of, but she didn’t look terribly upset or panicked.
I hoped that meant there hadn’t been another murder.
“I got a call from Poppy,” Andrea said, as I got out of my Honda. “She said all the plans for the feast had changed.”
Okay, now I might murder someone.
“Then Sasha called saying the same thing,” she went on. “The construction crew is here. I don’t know whether to let them keep working or not. What’s going on?”
“Nothing’s changed,” I said, and told her how Poppy and Sasha had come to my office with their last-minute ideas. “I’m sticking with the original plan, the one Veronica came up with. We’re doing this event the way she wanted it done.”
Andrea heaved a sigh. “Thank goodness.”
“I’ll go check on things,” I said.
Andrea went back inside and I circled to the west side of the house where the feast would take place. The workmen were busy carrying out the plans we’d discussed for the dance floor, the bandstand, and the kids’ area. The tables and chairs would be delivered and set up Thursday morning when the caterer and servers got there, along with the florist. I found Lyle, the foreman of the work crew L.A. Affairs often used, and did a walk-through. There were no problems. Everything was on schedule and would be finished in plenty of time for the feast.
I looped around to the rear of the house, expecting to see Brandie and some of the others in the pool or relaxing on the patio, but nobody was there. I hoped that meant they were out sightseeing, for Andrea’s sake.
When I stepped through the sliding glass doors into the family room, I spotted Erika tapping on her iPad. She must have just arrived because I hadn’t noticed her car in the driveway when I’d pulled up.
This was the first time I’d seen her since the day Veronica was murdered. I wondered what she was doing here. Had Patrick decided to continue with the renovations? Or was she here for another reason?
She glanced up. “Oh. Haley. Hello.”
Erika looked magnificent, as always—perfect hair and makeup, impeccably dressed in a YSL business suit. I couldn’t see one single thing wrong with her appearance—which was kind of annoying.
If we were in middle school I’d have started a rumor about her.
We weren’t in middle school, of course—but I saw no reason not to start something.
“I’m surprised to see you here,” I said. “I’d heard you were a suspect in Veronica’s murder.”
Okay, that was an outright lie. But I needed to find out what—if anything—was going on between her and Patrick, and I didn’t want to waste a lot of time dancing around the subject.
“What?” Erika’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open. “That’s outrageous. I had nothing to do with Veronica’s death. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
Her denial seemed a bit over the top to me. I wasn’t sure whether to believe her or not.
“You were in the house when Veronica was pushed off the balcony,” I said.
“I came inside with Julia,” she told me.
Considering that I also suspected Julia, I didn’t see this as an air-tight alibi.
“You didn’t slip away?” I asked. “Go upstairs?”
“Of course not,” Erika insisted. “Why would I kill Veronica?”
“So you could get Patrick back,” I said.
Erika expression morphed from I’m-stunned into now-I-get-it.
“That’s what this is all about?” she asked. “Patrick?”
“You can see where the police would think you did away with Veronica to get your old boyfriend back,” I said.
Yeah, I know, I’d never actually heard the cops say that—but they might have. In fact, they probably had.
“Patrick lost his head,” Erika said, as if that explained everything. “He married Veronica on a whim. She wasn’t worthy of him. Everybody saw it. Just ask Julia, she’ll agree.”
I was sure Julia would agree. In fact, I figured it was she who’d recommended that Veronica hire Erika to decorate the house with the hope that putting her close to Patrick again might re-ignite their relationship.
“I had nothing to do with Veronica’s death and I certainly wasn’t angling to get Patrick back,” Erika told me. “I suggest you talk to Julia. She indicated to me that there some sort of problem between Veronica and Patrick.”
I wondered if that something was Patrick’s plan to divorce Veronica.
Or maybe it was Julia’s plan to murder Veronica.
“If you’ll excuse me.” Erika put her nose in the air and left the room.
Regardless of Erika’s denial, I couldn’t dismiss her as a suspect. I couldn’t dismiss Julia either.
Which of them had the most to gain by Veronica’s death? I wondered. Erika could end up married to Patrick—with his millions and the prestige of the Spencer-Taft family name. Julia would have a suitable daughter-in-law.
Both were great motives for murder.
* * *
The crab-ass mood I’d successfully fought off for the last few days was back with a vengeance when I walked into Holt’s for my shift.
I mean, really, can you blame me?
I could have been having dinner tonight with a hot lawyer, or hunting down a fabulous handbag, or buying myself that Louis Vuitton tote.
As soon as I clocked-in and saw my name listed under the accessories department on the schedule by the time clock, my spirits fell further. I was looking down the barrel of four hours of my life that I would never get back, straightening rows of socks and displays of panty hose, belts, and house-brand handbags.
I didn’t know how things could get worse.
Then they did.
When I stepped onto the sales floor, I spotted Gerri. She was sizing blouses in the juniors department, taking each one off the rack, checking the tag, and re-hanging it behind the correct size divider.
Oh my God, was she really that concerned about doing a great job—or deciding which styles to steal on her next trip into the stockroom?
No way could I stand here and do nothing.
That’s how I roll.
Maybe I couldn’t figure out who murdered Veronica, but I could do something to stop an employee from stealing from Holt’s.
I walked up to Gerri and said, “I need your help in the stockroom.”
She nodded quickly. “Oh, sure. Of course.”
I led the way down the crowded aisles and through the double doors near the customer service booth, then continued past the shelving units to the receiving area. As usual, nobody was back here. We had the place to ourselves.
I whipped around. She froze.
“I know you stole those panties,” I told her. “I saw you. You’re probably stealing from Wal-Mart, too. I saw you parked at the edge of their lot so you can make a quick getaway. I’m telling the store manager, and I’m calling Wal-Mart.”
She burst out crying
Oh, crap.
This really took some of the fun out of the whole thing for me.
Gerri covered her face with her palms and sobbed. Tears rolled down her face. Her shoulders rose and fell with each ragged breath.
Okay, now I felt like a jerk.
I caught her elbow and led her to the bedding section. I pulled two Laura Ashley bed-in-a-bag sets off the shelf and we sat down.
I’m not good with a crier, so I waited until she wound down.
“You’re right,” Gerri finally managed to say, as she wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “I stole those panties. I stole food from other employees’ lunches, too.”
Oh my God, I’d solved two crimes?
“But I never took anything from Wal-Mart. Never,” she said. “That’s not why I park over there.”
“So what’s going on?” I asked.
“I’ve been sleeping in my car,” Gerri said.
Oh, crap. Now I really felt like a jerk.
“I had a roommate and we shared an apartment,” she explained. “Only she stopped paying the rent and got us kicked out. I couldn’t afford it on my own—I can’t afford anything on my own. I’m trying to save enough money to find a place but it’s all I can do to keep gas in my car and eat. I’m hoping that if I do a really good job here, they’ll keep me on after Christmas.”
“I’d noticed you kissing up to Rita,” I said.
“I hate her.”
“That makes you my new best friend,” I said.
A little laugh bubbled up, bringing on a fresh wave of tears from Gerri. She gulped them down.
“I stay with some of my friends when I can,” she said, “but I can’t really expect anyone to let me live with them permanently when I can’t contribute to the rent.”
“What about your family?” I asked.
“It’s just me and my mom,” she said, and tears pooled in her eyes. “She’s barely getting by and she’s already helping with my school expenses. I can’t ask her for anything else. I just need to get through the next few months. I only have one more semester left of college. I’m going to be a nurse.”
“A nurse, huh?” I asked. “Wow.”
“Then I can get a good job at a hospital and everything will be fine,” Gerri said and managed a small smile. “You’re not really going to tell the store manager what I did, are you? I won’t take anything else. I promise. And I can pay the store back for the panties I took, once I start working.”
She’d been put in a very difficult position but was working hard to hang in there and finish school, even if she’d made some mistakes along the way. I didn’t see how ratting her out and getting her fired was going to correct those mistakes.
“As long as you promise not to steal anything else,” I said.
“I won’t,” Gerri said, shaking her head. “I swear.”
“Okay, then I won’t say anything,” I told her.
She heaved a big sigh. “You won’t regret this. I promise.”
We got up and re-shelved the Laura Ashley bed-in-a-bag sets.
“Everything is going to be fine. I just know it,” Gerri said, as we headed toward the stockroom doors. “Next year at this time I’m going to have a great job making a lot of money, I’ll have a new car, and I can go see my mom for Thanksgiving.”
Oh, jeez. There was that Thanksgiving thing again.
Then it hit me what she’d said.
“You’re not going home for Thanksgiving?” I asked.
“I volunteered to come in on Black Friday to help set up everything for the sales,” she said. “Mom was disappointed—me too, of course—but she understood that I had to work.”
Somebody really wanted to spend Thanksgiving with their mom?
How weird was that?
As Gerri pushed through the swinging door ahead of me I felt my cell phone vibrate in my pocket. I yanked it out and—oh my God—Liam was calling. I fell back into the stockroom and answered.
“Why can’t you find lawyers sunbathing on the beach?” he asked. “Cats keep covering them with sand.”
I laughed—I couldn’t help it.
“Are you a Federal agent working undercover as an event planner?” Liam asked.
I didn’t know where that question had come from but it sure as heck made me sound cool.
“Yes, I am,” I said.
“Good,” he replied, sounding businesslike all of a sudden. “Because if you were operating in some sort of official capacity and you requested information on a client, I could help you out—under the right circumstances, of course.”
Okay, this conversation had taken a weird turn.
“Let me give you an example,” he said. “Let’s say you called and asked about a specific client. Let’s say you wanted to know if he was represented by the firm I work for.”
Then it hit me—he was talking about my phone call to him earlier today.
“And let’s say I discovered that person was, in fact, a client of my firm,” Liam went on. “Understand?”’
Oh my God, this was some sort of lawyer-code-talking. It was so cool.
“So if that happened could you, for instance, tell me if the client was seeking a divorce?” I asked.
Liam paused for a few seconds, then said, “Hypothetically, I could say this client was doing just the opposite.”
Obviously, I’d been wrong about Patrick secretly trying to divorce Veronica—and I was glad.
“Can I see you before Saturday?” Liam asked.
The change in topics surprised me—and I was glad about that too.
“How about tonight?” he asked.
I was tempted—really tempted. But I still had several hours to work and no way did I want him seeing how bad I looked at the end of my shift.
“Tomorrow?” he asked. “No, not tomorrow. I can’t do tomorrow. How about Thursday?”
“Thursday is Thanksgiving,” I reminded him.
“You have the feast at noon,” he said.
Wow, did he remember everything I ever said to him?
“I have to go to my mom’s afterwards,” I said.
Liam must have picked up on the total lack of enthusiasm in my voice for Thanksgiving with my family because he said, “Not looking forward to spending the afternoon at your mom’s, huh?”
“Not exactly,” I told him.
It was the nicest thing I could think of.
“Okay, I’ll see you on Saturday,” he said, and I was relieved he hadn’t asked for details.
We ended the call and for a few seconds I just stood there with the phone still pressed to my ear, enjoying the afterglow of our conversation—something about Liam affected me that way.
I was grateful that he’d gotten me the info I’d asked for, and he’d done it in a way that hadn’t violated his ethics. I liked that about him.
I was starting to like a lot of things about him.
Then something flew into my head.
Since Patrick wasn’t planning to divorce Veronica, the announcement she intended to make couldn’t have had anything to do with him—anything bad, that is.
So what was it?
And did it have something to do with her murder?
I didn’t see how.
I really hoped Jack had come up with something on the blackmailer theory.