CHAPTER 9

My interview with Carrie—okay, it wasn’t much of an interview, but it sounds better than calling it the I-thought-I-was-giving-her-a-stroke talk that it really was—hadn’t revealed anything substantial, as I’d hoped. All I’d gotten from her was that she hadn’t even known Asha was at the shopping center that day. She hadn’t been out back by the Dumpster. She hadn’t witnessed anything.

Still, Carrie had gotten so upset upon hearing that Asha was dead, I figured they’d been pretty good friends. Maybe I could talk to her again, though, really, I wasn’t looking forward to it.

I was on the 405 headed for Studio City, where Mom’s travel agent had her office. After leaving Cakes By Carrie, I’d dashed into my apartment and changed out of my Holt’s-appropriate jeans and sweater, and into yet another jeans and sweater outfit, this one costing considerably more.

I transitioned onto the 101, slightly bummed that the whole bakery thing had been a dead end. I wasn’t any closer to uncovering who was behind Asha’s death or what was up with the double life she had apparently been leading. I had to figure out my next move.

Jack Bishop popped into my head.

He was a private investigator so he had access to all sorts of databases that I didn’t, plus he seemed to know absolutely everyone and everything about them. I could ask him to check into Asha’s murder—except that I still didn’t know how to act around him.

That whole thing made me feel yucky.

Then it occurred to me that Jack still hadn’t called me, and I started to feel slightly miffed. What was that all about?

I mean, come on, I woke up at his place. Didn’t good manners require a phone call from him?

Honestly, I didn’t know. I’d never been in this situation before.

I definitely had to talk to Marcie about this during our shopping trip later today.

The Laurel Canyon exit came into view so I cut over two lanes, took the off-ramp, and turned into a shopping center near Ventura Boulevard. A wide variety of businesses occupied the complex, which was squeezed onto a lot that also included a restaurant, a yogurt shop, and a dance studio. The travel agency had a place on the ground floor. I parked and went inside.

The office was cluttered with travel posters, travel books, travel everything. The place was hopping. Several customers waited on comfy chairs, while others crowded around the desks of the agents who were helping them. The receptionist was on the phone, and two more lines were ringing.

I checked nameplates and spotted Courtney, Mom’s friend, sitting in the back corner. She was about the same age as my mom, tall, slender, with dark hair, very attractive. The two of them had been in pageants together back in the day. Mom had told me all about it—I think. I’d drifted off.

Courtney looked up from her computer, past the couple sitting at her desk, and spotted me.

“Haley?” she called, smiling as if I, rather than my mom, were her old friend, which was kind of weird because I didn’t recall ever meeting her. “You’re Haley, aren’t you? I knew it was you. Caroline said you were coming by. Come on back.”

She waved me over to her desk and held out a thick envelope.

“She’s going to love this,” Courtney told me. “The itinerary is perfect. It’s everything she asked for, and then some.”

“Thanks,” I said, and tucked the envelope into my tote.

Her smile widened. “And tell her to stop being such a stranger. We need to have that lunch.”

“Thanks, again,” I said, and left.

I’d told Marcie that I would meet her at The Grove, so I hopped back on the freeway. Since I’d worked at Holt’s this morning and I wasn’t on L.A. Affair’s schedule today, we were meeting somewhere closer for her. I made pretty good time, left my Honda in the parking garage, and took the elevator to the ground floor.

A wide variety of upscale stores, both large and small, was located here, along with restaurants and a movie theater. The storefronts ringed a pedestrian-only street where an old-fashioned trolley carried shoppers from the stores to the farmer’s market located at the other end of the complex. A water fountain danced and swayed to all different types of music.

I checked my phone and read a text from Marcie telling me she was already here. I was about to call her when I spotted her standing outside Nordstrom.

“Ready to shop?” she asked, when I walked up.

I was always ready to shop.

“Okay if we hit the Coach store first?” I asked.

Marcie froze. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

She gave me her BFF look and said, “If you need to get a handbag fix first thing, something’s wrong. Come on.”

Is she a great friend or what?

We walked down the street to the first restaurant we came to and got a seat on the outdoor patio. It was almost dark now, so the twinkle lights were on and candles burned on the tables. Faint music played somewhere.

“Wine?” Marcie asked, when the waiter stopped at our table.

Yikes! No way was I drinking wine after what had happened the last time.

“Just a soda,” I told him.

Marcie ordered the same, plus chips and salsa, and he left.

“Okay, what is it?” she asked.

Jeez, where to start?

I hadn’t told Marcie about waking up at Jack’s place. I’d intended to, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it right now—maybe this was one of those things even a BFF shouldn’t know.

I decided to tackle first the problem that put me in the best light—which is kind of bad, but there it was.

“Liam,” I said. “When I saw him yesterday, he gave me one of those looks and asked if we could have dinner. Soon.”

“You’re kidding.” Marcie leaned forward. “Like maybe he wants to move your relationship further along?”

I nodded, then paused while the waiter served our food and drinks.

“But that’s great,” Marcie insisted. She stopped with a chip half dunked into the salsa. “Isn’t it?”

“Well, yes,” I said.

“You like him, don’t you?”

“I do. He’s smart, he’s funny, he pays attention when I talk,” I said. “He’s always been there if I needed something, but he doesn’t smother me. He was super understanding when I had to work so much over the holidays.”

“He’s totally hot,” Marcie insisted, munching on a chip. “So what’s the problem—oh my God, Haley. It’s Ty, isn’t it?”

She’d said it like she was shocked and disappointed.

I couldn’t blame her.

As a best friend would, she took a breath and calmed down.

“You’re not over him,” she said. “Still.”

“What’s wrong with me?” I asked.

Jeez, I knew I was being an idiot about the whole thing with Ty, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

“There’s something about Ty,” I said, “that I can’t let go of.”

Marcie nodded thoughtfully and said, “Is he back from his sabbatical, or whatever it is, yet?”

“I haven’t heard a word from him.”

“Have you called him?” she asked.

I shook my head. “I figured he needed time and solitude to work out whatever is going on with him.”

“But if you knew he was back but hadn’t called you, that would pretty much end things with him, wouldn’t it?” she asked.

“He wouldn’t do something that crappy.”

“Have you tried to find out if he’s back—without contacting him directly?” Marcie asked. “Have you called the corporate office and asked to speak to him? Did you go to his apartment and see if the lights were on? Called his grandma or his personal assistant? Facebook stalked him?”

“No,” I said.

“Why not?”

Marcie was right. She was almost always right. I was way off my game here. This was basic stuff. Why hadn’t I done it?

She seemed to read my thoughts and said, “You don’t want to know the truth about Ty because you’re afraid it will be hurtful. And, really, who can blame you? He’s disappointed you so many times.”

“You’re right,” I said. “You’re right.”

“Look at what’s in front of you. Liam is a great guy. Don’t let him get away while you’re waiting for somebody who might never be there.”

“He asked me out for our soon dinner, but I was busy. I haven’t heard from him since,” I said. “Now I’m wondering if he’s changed his mind.”

“He’s probably just busy doing whatever it is lawyers do all day,” Marcie said. “Maybe he’s waiting for a sign from you? A little encouragement? Have you called him lately?”

“No,” I realized.

Wow, I’m the worst sort-of girlfriend ever.

Marcie drew in a breath and said, “Look, Haley, you need to decide what it’s going to be. If it’s Ty, then you’d better find out what’s going on with him. If it’s Liam, then you should forget Ty and focus on him. It’s not fair to keep Liam dangling.”

Okay, now I felt like the most horrible sort-of girlfriend in the history of the entire world.

“I guess that’s what I’ve been doing,” I said. “I didn’t realize.”

“Hey, that’s what best friends are for.” Marcie grinned. “Now, any more problems I can solve for you tonight?”

No way was I telling her about Jack now.

“Yes,” I said. “I need a new dress to go with the new Mystique clutch.”

“Me, too.” Marcie downed the last of her soda. “Let’s hit it.”

* * *

Marcie and I didn’t find new dresses we liked but, of course, that didn’t stop us from buying other things. We hit Nordstrom, where I found some awesome jeans and a how-have-I-lived-without-it-this-long jacket, and she got some killer boots, two fabulous sweaters, and pants that were perfect for work.

Everything Marcie had told me tonight was circling through my head as we left the Grove, especially the part about how I wasn’t being fair to Liam.

Not a great feeling.

I figured she was likely also right about giving him some encouragement, so I called him. His voicemail picked up.

Huh. That was disappointing. Here I was, ready to move things forward between us, and he didn’t even answer his phone.

He was probably working.

Or maybe he was out with somebody else.

Crap.

I’d dealt with enough problems for one evening, I decided. I only had one more thing to handle, then I was going home, putting on my comfy pajamas, and breaking out my emergency package of Oreos.

I’d need them after dealing with Mom.

Traffic wasn’t too bad as I took the surface streets to the 101, then headed north on the 2, and then east on the 210. My parents’ place looked dark when I pulled into the circular driveway and parked.

Juanita must keep a constant vigil out the window because she opened the front door as I walked up. I held out the large envelope I’d picked up from the travel agent and said, “Would you give this to Mom?”

Yeah, I know, that was kind of bad of me but, jeez, I was running really low on emotional energy right now.

I desperately needed those Oreos.

“No,” Juanita said, shaking her head. “You should go talk to your mother. She’s in that room again.”

Mom was seated on one of the big sofas in the media room when I walked in. The television was off and she was staring at the movie posters. I really didn’t understand her sudden infatuation with Doc Brown and the 1950s gang in Hill Valley.

“Got your travel info,” I said, and dropped the envelope on the sofa next to her.

I froze in horror.

She had on sweatpants and a T-shirt. Old, faded sweatpants. A stretched-out T-shirt.

Oh my God, where was my real mother?

“Mom, are you okay?” I asked.

“Of course, sweetie.”

She picked up a glass of wine from the end table.

I relaxed a little. She was looking more normal now.

“Where’s Dad?” I asked.

“Working late.” She sipped her wine. “He’s always working late.”

“Courtney says she put together a great itinerary for you,” I said.

Mom looked at the envelope for a moment, then turned away. “Good. Four months abroad is just what I’m looking for.”

“Four months?” I might have said that kind of loud.

My parents took their share of vacations, but they’d never been away for that long.

“That’s a really long time,” I said, and managed to sound more reasonable. “Can Dad take that much time off from work?”

“Arrangements will be made,” she said and finished her wine. She held the glass out. “Do ask Juanita to bring me another, would you, sweetie?”

I took the glass to Juanita—I didn’t bother to tell her why, she already knew—and left. As soon as I dropped into my car, my cell phone chirped letting me know I’d missed a call.

Thank goodness. Liam had called.

The notion zapped me like a jolt from a shorted-out curling iron.

Yes, I really wanted to talk to Liam.

But when I dug my cell phone out of my handbag, I saw Shuman’s name on the screen. He’d left me a voicemail.

“We’ve had a break in the case,” he said, when I checked his message. “We have a suspect in Asha’s murder.”