CHAPTER 6

“I’m so very sorry, Ms. Randolph, but your Mystique bags haven’t yet arrived.”

I was on my cell phone with Chandra, my too-perfect-to-be-human personal shopper at Nuovo, as I inched toward the time clock along with the other Holt’s employees reporting for our morning shift. My day already needed a boost. This news didn’t help.

“No phones on the sales floor,” Rita squawked from her if-only-this-position-came-with-a-gun stance by the whiteboard.

“Can you give me a firm date when they will arrive?” I asked.

“That means you, Princess.”

“Your request is at the very top of our list,” Chandra said. “Please rest assured we’re giving this situation our utmost attention. You’ll be the first person notified of the arrival of the shipment, Ms. Randolph.”

She’d said it so nicely, all I could do was thank her.

I hate it when that happens.

From the corner of my eye I saw Rita mad-dogging me, so I kept the phone to my ear pretending I was talking, and glared right back until I punched in—which was kind of bad of me, I know, but it sure as heck gave my morning a boost.

With Rita still glaring, I went to my locker and pretended to put my cell phone into my handbag, but really slid it into the pocket of my jeans—no way could I be without my phone for my entire shift—and left the breakroom.

I’d hoped Nuovo would tell me my Mystique bags were ready for pickup soon. Losing my employee discount if Holt’s closed before the bags arrived was a real concern—as any true shopper would know. Of course, I didn’t intend to just stand around and hope for the best, when finding Asha’s murderer would solve the problem.

I hadn’t heard from Detective Shuman with any more information about the investigation. I didn’t have to stand around and hope for the best from him, either. I knew where I could find what I needed to get started.

Instead of heading onto the sales floor, I went to the assistant store managers’ office. Nobody was inside, as usual—jeez, maybe I should apply for the position since, apparently, you never had to be in there doing any work. The file cabinet beside the desk was unlocked so I went through the drawers until I found Asha’s personnel file.

I didn’t want to hang around in case somebody wandered in, so I pulled out my cell phone and snapped pictures of Asha’s employment application, her résumé, and the new hire documents she’d completed during orientation.

I knew she hadn’t worked at Holt’s for long, so I checked the dates. She’d been hired just before Thanksgiving, in time for the Christmas shopping rush, and had left in mid-December; no reason for her departure was given. She’d only lasted about three weeks—not that I blamed her, of course.

Still, I wondered why Asha hadn’t been here for the entire Christmas season. Holt’s was desperate for sales clerks at that time of year so I figured she must have done something horrendous to get fired. Sandy had mentioned she’d quit for a better-paying job. Maybe that’s all there was to it.

I slid Asha’s personnel folder back into the cabinet, closed the drawer, and headed for the—well, heck, I’d forgotten to check the schedule by the time clock and see where I was supposed to work this morning. I slipped into the breakroom. Bella was there, standing in front of the vending machine.

She pointed to the whiteboard, where her name was written, and said, “I was two minutes late—two minutes—and Rita wrote me up.”

“I hate her.”

“Damn straight.” Bella ripped open the bag of chips she’d just gotten from the vending machine and sat down at a table. “So I decided, since I already got written up I may as well enjoy it.”

“Makes sense,” I told her.

In fact, it made a lot of sense. I sat down across from her.

“Have you heard anything else about the store closing?” Bella asked.

“I talked to Jeanette. It could definitely happen,” I said. “I can’t stop wondering why Asha was out back by the loading dock.”

“Beats me,” Bella said, munching on her chips.

“Do you remember seeing her in the store after she quit?” I asked.

I didn’t recall ever seeing her, but it was my personal customer service policy to avoid eye contact with anyone I encountered on the sales floor, so even if she’d been here I might have missed her.

“She probably came back to shop for something,” Bella said and shrugged. “Most everybody comes back, sooner or later. The stuff here is pretty cheap, and Asha didn’t seem like she was exactly raking in the cash.”

“I’ll ask around,” I said.

Bella paused, a chip halfway to her lips. “You’re sticking your nose into this because of that hot PI, aren’t you? What’s his name? Jack. Yeah, him.”

The mention of Jack’s name sent a wave of—of—well, something through me. I didn’t know how I’d face him when I still couldn’t recall exactly what had happened the other night. Thank God I hadn’t heard from him.

“Jack isn’t involved in Asha’s murder investigation,” I told Bella.

“Get him involved,” Bella insisted. “He’s one fine-looking man. He needs to come into the store, make my day better.”

“If you come up with any information about Asha, maybe he will,” I said.

“Hot damn. I’m on the case.”

Bella rushed out of the breakroom. I erased her name from the whiteboard and followed her out.

* * *

It was a Louis Vuitton afternoon. Definitely a Louis Vuitton afternoon.

When my shift ended at Holt’s, I swung by my apartment and morphed into Event Planner Extraordinaire—my idea of a superhero in designer fashions—by changing into one of my fabulous Chanel business suits, and headed for L.A. Affairs. Business was slow this month—especially for me, since I’d refused to plan any romantic Valentine’s Day celebrations for anyone who wasn’t me—so the planners took turns reporting to the office to handle any new clients who might come in and, of course, check on our upcoming events.

The L.A. Affairs office was located at the intersection of Sepulveda and Ventura in Sherman Oaks, one of L.A.’s many upscale areas. Everyone dressed in fabulous clothes and carried equally fabulous handbags to impress our well-to-do clientele—which I was totally on board with.

I pulled into the parking garage, took the elevator up to the third floor, and walked into the office. Mindy, our receptionist, was at her desk. She was fortyish, round in places that should have been flat, and had blond hair that, for some reason, she’d recently permed.

She looked like a tumbleweed had crash landed on her head.

“Are you ready to party?” she chanted.

That ridiculous slogan was meant for clients but, for some reason, I was continually subjected to it.

“I work here,” I told her for what seemed like whatever-comes-after-a-trillion times.

“Oh, yes. You’re Haley, aren’t you?” Mindy said, nodding. “Yes, that’s who you are. Haley.”

“Yes, I’m Haley. I work here. So you don’t have to keep repeating that slogan every time you see me.”

“Oh. Okay. I understand,” Mindy said. “Got it.”

“Good,” I said, and walked away.

“Have a nice afternoon, Hannah,” Mindy called.

Good grief.

One of the many awesome things about L.A. Affairs was that I had my own private office. It was done in neutrals with splashes of blue and yellow, and had a huge window that overlooked the Galleria, a great shopping center, across the street. I stowed my handbag in the bottom drawer of my desk and, of course, headed for the breakroom.

I helped myself to coffee from the big pot that was always brewing, and finished it off with a generous splash of French vanilla creamer and too-numerous-to-count packets of sugar. Just as I was eyeing the box of doughnuts on the counter and deciding between chocolate-covered and chocolate-covered-with-sprinkles—really, it was a big decision—my L.A. Affairs BFF walked in.

Kayla was about my age, with dark hair and lots of curves. She had on a black Michael Kors suit, and totally rocked it.

“Thank God you’re here,” Kayla said, helping herself to coffee. “This place has been like a morgue all week.”

“No way,” I said. “What have I missed?”

“Nothing.”

“No, really. What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Really.”

Okay, that was weird.

“There must be something,” I said. “Rumors, gossip?”

“None of that,” she said.

Oh my God, did that mean I was the one spreading all the rumors and gossip?

Apparently so.

Well, somebody had to do it.

I grabbed two doughnuts, a chocolate-covered and a chocolate-covered-with-sprinkles—no sense wearing myself out with decisions so early in the afternoon—and left the breakroom.

I settled into my desk ready to buckle down and get things handled. I hadn’t been in the office for a while, so I had a lot to catch up on.

I started with Facebook, of course.

Sipping my coffee, I ate my doughnuts as I updated my page, then checked my bank balance, read my horoscope, and booked a pedi. I took a selfie sitting at my desk and sent it to Marcie, asking if she wanted to go shopping tonight, then pulled up the Macy’s website to look for jeans when my desk phone rang.

“Hello? Hello, is Hannah there?”

Oh, crap.

It was Mindy.

“This is Haley,” I told her.

“Is Hannah there?” she asked.

“No, Mindy,” I said—and I sounded really nice about it, sort of. “There is no Hannah. It’s me. Haley.”

“When will Hannah be back?” she asked. “I have a message for her.”

“Listen carefully. There is no—never mind. I’ll give her the message,” I said.

Really, there’s only so much I can take.

“Tell her there’s a man here to see her. He’s in interview room three—four. Four. Yes, four. Or maybe it’s three.” Mindy giggled and said, “And, oh goodness, is he a handsome thing. Very handsome.”

My thoughts scattered as I slammed down the phone.

A handsome—a very handsome—man was here to see me? Mentally, I ran through the upcoming events I was planning for clients—a couple of St. Patrick’s Day parties, some birthdays, an anniversary—but none of them involved a man, let alone a handsome one.

Then it hit me. Oh my God, it must be Jack Bishop. What was I going to tell him? How was I supposed to act? I still didn’t have a clue exactly what had gone on at his place.

I drew in a breath to calm myself—it didn’t help—and left my office. I was going to play it cool, somehow, no matter what.

I stepped into interview room four and there stood Liam Douglas. Yikes! I hadn’t even considered that Liam was here to see me.

Am I a crappy sort-of girlfriend, or what?

He smiled—Liam had a killer smile. He was tall, sturdy, with long limbs and a good build. His hair was light brown—blond in certain light—and he had brilliant green eyes. Today he had on a Tom Ford suit that fit perfectly.

Since he was an attorney for the law firm that represented L.A. Affairs and we’d decided not to broadcast our relationship, we remained a respectable distance apart.

“I hope you don’t mind my dropping by,” he said. “I knew you were coming in this afternoon.”

Liam was the kind of guy who asked questions and actually remembered the answers—I know because I’d quizzed him.

“It’s great to see you,” I said and, really, it was.

“I wanted to talk to you about—sorry.” Liam pulled his cell phone from the inside pocket of his jacket, read the screen, then shook his head. “I wasn’t expecting this to come up today. I have to go. Sorry.”

He’d been super understanding about the long hours I’d put in over the Christmas party season, my last-minute cancellations, and the interruptions during the few occasions we’d tried to squeeze in some time together so, really, I was okay with it.

“Sure, no problem,” I said.

But he didn’t leave right away. He gazed at me for a moment—I mean, really, gazed at me—and said, “Will you have dinner with me?”

This didn’t seem like the usual let’s-get-together invitation I’d been getting from him.

“Soon?” he added.

Something else was definitely going on.

“If you’re planning to stop seeing me, you’d better tell me now,” I said. “I’m not above making a big scene in public.”

Liam smiled as if he thought that was the cutest thing he’d ever heard, and said, “No, Haley, never seeing you again is the very last thing I want.”

Some crazy heat jumped from him to me, and I couldn’t help smiling.

“Okay, dinner,” I said.

“Soon.”

“Soon,” I agreed.

“Perfect.” He gave me one last killer smile, and left the interview room.

Some of the warmth seemed to go with him. Weird, huh?

I headed back to my office, suddenly restless.

One of the things I liked best about working at L.A. Affairs was that the management didn’t expect me to sit at my desk all day. In fact, they preferred I was out meeting with clients, inspecting venues, and interviewing new vendors.

Since, luckily, none of my scheduled events needed much attention at the moment, I grabbed my handbag from my desk drawer and left.