CHAPTER 3
Nuovo had a shop near the mall in Valencia, just a few minutes’ drive from the Holt’s store and my apartment. I’d run by my place after my shift ended and changed into something I actually wanted to be seen in—a skirt, sweater, and boots—and freshened my makeup and hair. Marcie and I had agreed to meet at Nuovo, then have dinner and catch up.
The mall was a good mix of upscale and mid-range stores. I shopped here often. An outside plaza opened at one end of the mall and gave way to several blocks of trendy shops, boutiques, art galleries, candy stores, a movie theater, office buildings, and restaurants. The narrow streets and wide sidewalks urged shoppers to stroll while oversized display windows invited them inside.
I nosed in at the curb and sent Marcie a text message telling her I’d arrived. I didn’t get a response right away, so I figured that meant she was driving and would be here shortly.
I could have waited in my Honda, but I got out. I’d just bought these killer boots and, really, people should have the opportunity to see me in them. I’ve got my mom’s long pageant legs—the only thing I inherited from her, as she often pointed out—so my short skirt was working for me, too.
I strolled down the sidewalk, keeping my cell phone close for when I heard from Marcie. The trees and shrubs twinkled with tiny lights, and a sound system played a song that seemed vaguely familiar. The shop windows were lit, displaying a tempting variety of credit-card-busting must-haves.
Thoughts of my ex-official boyfriend exploded in my head, as they always did when I shopped here. In addition to running the Holt’s chain and Holt’s International, Ty had opened Wallace, a boutique he’d named after some ancient ancestor, across the street. Down the block was the restaurant where we’d had our first sort-of date.
Ty was tall, with light brown hair, deep blue eyes, and an athletic build. He was super smart, of course. We’d dated for a long time, but his commitment to Holt’s and the five generations of the family-owned business he had on his back made things tough—for me, anyway. Ty had told me right from the start that the family business would come first. He’d kept his word. Finally, we’d decided we just couldn’t make it work—no, really, Ty had decided and we’d broken up.
I glanced at my cell phone. Still no word from Marcie. I wished she’d hurry up. As my BFF, she had a way of keeping me from venturing back into breakup zombieland, the place I’d called home for a long time after Ty and I called it quits—the place that tugged at me right now.
How could it not?
The last time I’d seen Ty was a few months ago. He’d been through a rough patch. In a move totally unlike him, he’d taken a leave of absence from Holt’s, bought a cherry-red convertible Ferrari Spider, and hit the road.
I stared across the street at the outdoor seating area of the restaurant where we’d sat on our first kind-of date. Ty, so handsome. Generous to a fault. Kind, caring. He was everything I wanted in a boyfriend—except for his inability to commit to me and put our relationship first in his life.
But he’d sort of done that, I reminded myself. A few months ago, that last time I’d seen him, he’d come to the Holt’s store in the Ferrari and told me he was going away for a while. He’d asked me to come with him.
My heart still fluttered at the recollection.
He’d been through a lot, and I could tell he was questioning most everything about his life. He needed time to figure things out, and I knew he could only do that alone.
I’d told him no. I didn’t go with him that day.
I hadn’t heard from him since.
Heaviness settled around me, and it would have been easy—welcome, almost—to slip back into the zombie-like state I’d existed in after our breakup.
But I couldn’t allow myself to go through that again.
So what could I do but think about murder?
I turned away from Wallace and the restaurant, and headed the other way down the sidewalk.
Asha McLean had been murdered, shot in the chest, behind the Holt’s store. What was she doing back there?
Aside from delivery trucks and the trash collectors, the only things that should have been back there were employees parking their cars. But Asha didn’t work for Holt’s. If she had been at the store shopping, why wouldn’t she have parked out front?
It occurred to me that maybe Asha had gone to work at one of the stores that adjoined Holt’s in the shopping center. But if that were true, why would she be behind Holt’s and not the store at which she was employed?
Detective Madison had suggested something illegal was going on with Asha. Maybe he knew something or maybe he was just fishing, trying to get info out of me. At this point, I had no way of knowing.
She could have been having a smoke or meeting someone. A boyfriend, maybe? I had no clue.
She’d worked at Holt’s as a sales clerk during the Christmas rush. Honestly, I barely remembered her. The store had been the usual holiday mad house of cranky customers, screaming kids, and long hours. I couldn’t even say with any certainty when Asha was hired or when she quit.
The only thing I knew about her for sure was that Detective Madison was trying hard to pin her death on me.
I checked my cell phone. Marcie still hadn’t texted me. She worked at a bank in downtown Los Angeles and was probably inching her way through rush-hour traffic.
I’d promised I’d wait for her to check on the Mystique at Nuovo, but I couldn’t stand around any longer. My evening definitely needed a boost. She’d understand. That’s what BFFs did.
A chime pealed when I stepped inside Nuovo. The shop had pale hardwood floors, chrome fixtures, and track lighting—very contemporary. The sales clerks were all about my age, tall, thin, with full-on makeup, dark hair pulled back in a low bun, and short, black dresses.
They looked like they were all members of some ultra-cool cult.
I mean that in the nicest way, of course.
The fashions here were beyond phenomenal. Racks of designer dresses, skirts, blouses, and coats, and shelves that held sweaters, jeans, and—handbags. Lots of handbags. Gorgeous handbags.
This was, I’m sure, what heaven looked like.
“Good evening, Ms. Randolph,” a sales clerk said as she walked over. “May I assist you?”
Wow, was this awesome service, or what? I’d only been in here a few times, but all the clerks remembered my name.
On occasions such as this, I couldn’t help channeling my mom’s sedate, sophisticated perhaps-I-will-allow-you-to-wait-on-me look—it must be genetic—and said, “I’m interested in a Mystique bag.”
Yes, I actually said that quietly when what I wanted to do was rip through the stockroom and find it myself.
“An excellent choice,” the clerk replied, smiling and nodding her approval. “Do you have a personal shopper with us, Ms. Randolph?”
During my previous visits here, no one had mentioned a personal shopper. This must be something new—which I was totally on board with.
“No, I don’t.”
“Then please allow me to assist you,” she said. “My name is Chandra.”
I gestured to the handbags on display—Gucci, Dior, Gucci, Prada, all the best designers—and said, “Do you have the Mystique available this evening?”
“I’m so very sorry, Ms. Randolph. The Mystique isn’t in stock yet. We’re waiting to receive our first shipment, and are anxious to see the bag ourselves. The demand is so great, the designer can’t keep up,” Chandra said. “I hope you’ll accept my apology that we’re not able to provide you with one this evening.”
How could anybody be that nice?
Maybe she was really a robot.
“If you’ll allow me,” Chandra said, “I would be pleased to order one for you.”
She wouldn’t last ten minutes working at Holt’s.
“Thank you,” I said. “I’ll need two of them.”
“Of course. Would you kindly walk this way?”
She led me to the cash register at the rear of the store and tapped the keys for a few seconds, then nodded.
“Your bags will arrive in a few days,” she said. “Shall I text you when they arrive?”
“Please do,” I said.
She hit a couple more keys, then said, “May I assist you in any other way?”
A zillion things flew into my head—I was a sort-of suspect in a murder, my ex-official boyfriend hadn’t contacted me in months, there wasn’t enough work at L.A. Affairs to keep me busy so I had to spend time at Holt’s—but she couldn’t help me with any of those things. I thanked her and left the store.
Just as I stepped outside, I spotted Marcie’s car swinging into a parking space. She jumped out and walked over.
“My phone died,” she told me, “and I forgot my charger this morning.”
Marcie was petite and blond—my polar opposite—and loved fashion as much as I did. She had on a fabulous pencil skirt and sweater that were really working for her.
“You got new boots?” she asked.
“They’re kind of slutty.”
“I know. I love them.”
I nodded toward Nuovo. “I ordered Mystiques for us. They’ll be here soon.”
“Awesome,” Marcie said. “Dinner?”
“As long as we start with drinks,” I said, which, really, wasn’t like me. I’m a real old lady when it comes to drinking and driving.
“It’s been that kind of a day, huh?” Marcie asked.
“Like you wouldn’t believe.”
We walked down the block to a little bistro and got a table outside. Nights in Southern California, even January nights, were seldom cold, but there was a fire pit and several heaters going, making it comfy. Most of the tables were filled. Conversation was subdued.
We ordered wine and dinner, then got right into it.
“Okay, what’s going on?” Marcie asked.
“I found somebody murdered at Holt’s today.”
“You did?” Marcie didn’t seem surprised. She’d been through this with me before. “I hadn’t heard.”
The Holt’s publicity department had lots of practice keeping this sort of thing quiet—finally, something corporate did right.
“And you’ll never guess who caught the case,” I said.
“Oh, no.” Marcie shook her head. “Not Madison.”
“He’s already gunning for me.”
The waiter served our wine. I took a big sip.
“Shuman promised to keep me up to speed on the investigation,” I said. “I’ll see what I can find out at the store.”
“Aren’t you working at L.A. Affairs this week?”
“I don’t really have much going on there. Nobody does, at this time of year,” I said.
“What about Valentine’s Day?”
I drank more wine. “No way. I told them I’m not planning any Valentine’s Day parties.”
“So you’ll be free that night. Cool.” Marcie smiled. “Does this mean you’ll be hosting your own, shall we say, private party?”
“I’ve thought about it,” I said and emptied my glass. “How could I not? I mean, he’s got to come back sometime. Maybe he has a big surprise reunion planned for us? A romantic evening or maybe a weekend? Valentine’s Day would be the perfect time, right?”
Marcie stared at me for a minute then said, “You’re talking about Ty, aren’t you?”
“Well, yes.”
“I’m talking about Liam. Liam Douglas. Remember him? The totally hot guy you’ve been dating?” Marcie demanded.
Oh my God, she was right.
“And you’re talking about Ty, the guy who always put you second, broke up with you, then left town and hasn’t contacted you once,” Marcie said.
She sounded slightly annoyed and put out with me—and really, I couldn’t blame her.
“For all you know, Ty is already back in town and hasn’t bothered to call you,” she said.
Okay, that kind of hurt.
But Marcie was right. Marcie was almost always right.
She’d been with me through my breakup with Ty and had helped me get over what had happened, and move on. I’d been a mess, and I could see why she didn’t want me backsliding.
“Is this why you’ve been holding back with Liam?” Marcie asked. She gave me a pointed look. “You know you’ve been doing that.”
She was right—again.
Liam and I had been dating for a while. We were past the I-have-to-eat-a-salad-at-dinner-so-I-don’t-look-like-a-pig phase of our relationship, but we hadn’t gone much further than that.
The waiter stopped at our table and served our dinner. I ordered another glass of wine.
“Did you see any other fabulous handbags at Nuovo?” Marcie asked.
I was relieved she’d changed the subject. We chatted for a while, made plans for claiming our Mystique bags when they arrived, and finished our meals.
“I’d better go,” Marcie said. “There’s a big meeting first thing in the morning. I can’t be late.”
“I have a shift at Holt’s tomorrow,” I said.
We paid our tab and walked back to our cars. I waved good-bye to Marcie as I got into my Honda. She drove away, but I couldn’t seem muster the strength to put my key in the ignition.
Thoughts of Ty, Liam, Asha, Detective Madison, and Holt’s raged in my head. I was mega-stressed.
No way could I go home. All I would do there was sit and stress myself out even further. I thought about calling Liam—he was, after all, my sort-of boyfriend—but we hadn’t reached a point where I felt I could turn to him for comfort. Maybe I could go shopping. Or maybe I could—
Somebody tapped on my window. I jumped, then saw Jack Bishop leaning down, looking in at me.
Oh my God—oh my God. Jack Bishop.
Jack was simultaneously the hottest—and the coolest—guy on the entire planet. He was a private investigator, and as if that weren’t fabulous enough, he was gorgeous, with a great build, dark hair, and eyes almost too beautiful for a man.
We’d met when I’d worked for a law firm downtown where he did some consulting. Jack was wired into almost everything. We’d worked together on some cases but hadn’t gotten personally involved because of that whole I-have-an-official-boyfriend thing.
He opened my door and I got out.
Wow, he smelled great.
“Meeting someone?” he asked.
“Marcie. She just left,” I explained. “What about you?”
Jack nodded down the block. “I met with a new client.”
We looked at each other for a few seconds, then Jack said, “How about a drink?”
I’d already had two glasses of wine, and one was my limit when I was driving.
But one more glass of wine couldn’t hurt anything.
Could it?