CHAPTER 17
I was totally rattled when I left Wright’s Auto Works. Luckily, I found a Starbucks right away and calmed myself with a massive infusion of chocolate, sugar, and caffeine, as I headed north on the 5.
What the heck had come over George? Why had he become so enraged when I’d mentioned the Exposer site? It wasn’t like Asha had given him a bad review; plus, he’d actually forked some serious cash to advertise with her.
His actions were so out there, so out of proportion, I figured something major was going on. I needed to find out what it was, but I definitely needed backup to go there again.
The image of Jack Bishop sprang into my mind. He’d be perfect to go with me, of course, but I was still kind of miffed with him over what had happened between us. I mean, really, he hadn’t contacted me since our night together, and he’d actually had the nerve to tell me women usually thanked him?
Still, I had to find out what was up with Wright’s Auto Works, and Jack was the guy to handle it. Besides, this was business. Just business. Nothing personal.
I called Jack as I transitioned onto the 14. The call went to voicemail so I left a message. Hopefully, I’d hear from him soon.
My evening shift at Holt’s was looming, so I hit the Carl’s Jr. drive-through, then stopped by my apartment and changed into jeans and a sweater. I couldn’t bring myself to take my Louis Vuitton satchel into Holt’s, of all places, so I swapped it for a Betsey Johnson and headed out.
The store was kind of quiet when I walked in, not unusual for a Monday night. Still, I couldn’t get my conversation with Jeanette, and her concern that business had slowed for everyone in the shopping center, out of my head. I really hoped the corporate office would come up with something that would restore faith in the businesses and bring customers back.
“Oh, Haley, I’m glad you’re here. Look at this,” Sandy called, as I walked into the breakroom.
She was in line at the time clock, bouncing on her toes and waving her cell phone. I stowed my handbag in my locker and got in line next to her.
“I need your opinion. What do you think?” she asked. “Do you like this one better? I can’t decide.”
I looked at the selfie on her phone, another shot of her in a dressing room somewhere, this time wearing a black cocktail dress.
“This is for your birthday dinner?” I asked. “What about the pink maxi you’d picked out? I liked that one on you.”
It was definitely Sandy, much more so than this cocktail dress.
“I think it makes me look too young,” she fretted, and scrolled through the photos to present me with the one of her in the pink maxi. “See? I look young, don’t I?”
“You are young,” I pointed out.
“Yes, I know, but I don’t want to look young—not too young,” Sandy insisted. “Which one do you think he’ll like best?”
Really, I couldn’t have cared less which dress her idiot boyfriend might like best, but no way would I tell Sandy that. She was super excited about her birthday dinner, and I didn’t want to ruin it for her.
“He’ll love you in either one,” I told her.
A big, dreamy smile bloomed on her face. “You’re right. He will. He’s so sweet like that.”
“Which one do you like best?” I asked.
She flipped between the photos for a moment, then said, “The pink one. It’s my favorite.”
“Then go with that one,” I told her.
The line moved forward and we clocked in. On the schedule above the time clock, I saw that I was assigned to the housewares department tonight while Sandy was needed in juniors. It looked like I had an evening of folding dishtowels and aligning place mats ahead of me.
“Thanks, Haley,” Sandy called as we left the breakroom.
I made my way to housewares at the back of the store. Bella was already there unloading a U-boat of new merchandise, dozens of tablecloths and napkins in Barney purple and Big Bird yellow.
I hoped this theme wouldn’t carry over into the women’s spring clothing line. No way did I want to see Jeanette dressed in those colors. I might really have to quit.
There’s only so much I can take.
“How’s it going?” I asked, grabbing a stack of tablecloths from one of the packing boxes.
“Quiet,” Bella told me. “This place has been like a morgue lately. Just because that girl went and got herself killed behind our building, that’s no reason for customers to think—”
She gazed past me, completely enthralled with something, then sighed and moaned, “Lord, have mercy.”
I turned and saw Jack walking toward us.
Oh my God.
He looked smoking hot dressed in jeans, a dark shirt, and a leather jacket. His hair was slightly tousled and he had a hint of a beard.
Maybe it was my imagination, but I swear he was doing that slow-motion walk like in those men’s cologne commercials.
“You got a brother?” Bella asked.
Jack grinned and shook his head. “No brothers.”
“Damn.”
He turned to me. “You called.”
I had? Oh, yes, I had.
I headed for the stockroom. Jack followed me through the double doors. We stopped in the bedding section, which, I swear, was simply because it was a convenient spot.
“I went by an auto repair place and—”
“You really don’t remember what happened that night?” Jack asked.
Good grief. Not this.
He moved closer. I backed up and bumped into the shelving unit stuffed with pillows.
“Nothing? Nothing at all?” he asked.
Oh my God, he was using his Barry White voice. I’m totally helpless against a Barry White voice.
Jack braced his arm against the shelf by my head and leaned down. Heat rolled off of him.
“Maybe I can jog your memory.”
He touched his lips to my cheek.
Wow, that felt great.
“Does this seem familiar?” he whispered and brushed his fingers across the back of my neck.
It didn’t—but who cares?
“Maybe this will bring back something.”
Jack kissed me. I mean, he really kissed me. Just when I thought I might melt into a puddle on the floor, he stepped back. The playful look I’d seen on his face a minute ago was gone.
He left the stockroom.
I collapsed against the shelves of pillows.
Oh my God, what had just happened?
It took a few minutes for me to pull myself together and realize I hadn’t asked Jack about going to Wright’s Auto Works with me. Great. Now what was I going to do?
Bella stood by the U-boat unloading boxes when I walked out of the stockroom. Jack was nowhere to be seen.
“What did you do to him?” Bella demanded.
“Nothing,” I said.
“He looked none too happy leaving here,” she told me. “You should have made out with him.”
I kind of did—but only kind of.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “You’re acting weird. What’s the matter with you?”
Good question.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” I said, and headed across the store.
By the time I reached the breakroom, I still hadn’t calmed down. I couldn’t figure what the heck had gotten into Jack.
Then I decided it was better if I didn’t think about him anymore tonight.
I called Shuman. His voicemail picked up so I left a message asking him to meet me later tonight after my shift ended. I needed somebody to go with me to Wright’s Auto Works, and since no way was I calling Jack again, Shuman was it.
As I left the breakroom, Jeanette came out of her office. I was still so rattled after being with Jack in the stockroom I wasn’t even fazed by the black and brown color-blocked pantsuit she had on.
That’s how rattled I was.
“I’d like to hire you,” she told me.
Obviously, I wasn’t the only one who was whacked-out tonight.
“You already did,” I said.
“Come into my office.”
I followed and we sat down at her desk.
“The marketing department at the corporate office has come up with a brilliant idea to draw customers back to our shopping center,” Jeanette said.
I braced myself.
“We’re going to have a festival in the parking lot,” she told me. “I’ve already proposed it to the other business owners, and everyone is onboard. There will be deep discounts on merchandise, and special promotions. We’ll have entertainment, food, and fun things for kid and adults.”
Corporate had come up with that? I was surprised.
I wondered if Ty knew about the problems at the shopping center. Would he have given the green light to the festival? Or would he have—
Oh my God, I was thinking about Ty again. But not really. This was business related. It had nothing to do with me caring about him, or thinking about how he looked and smelled, and always—
I gave myself a mental shake.
Jeanette’s words had turned into blah-blah-blah, but I caught up.
“It’s the best way to get customers in, showcase merchandise, and demonstrate to the public that the center is a safe place to shop,” she said.
“When are you doing it?”
“This weekend.”
I sat up straighter. “This weekend? How are you going to pull all of those things together in just a few days?”
“That’s up to you,” Jeanette said. “You’re in charge of the festival.”
Oh, crap.
“I know you also work as an event planner, so this should be a snap for you,” she said. “The corporation will officially hire L.A. Affairs, giving you access to your contacts there. Someone from marketing will set up everything first thing in the morning so you can get on this right away.”
I just sat there, my mind spinning. How the heck was I going to pull off an entire festival in such short notice?
“The investigative journalists will be here this weekend also,” Jeanette said.
And I was supposed to perform this miracle for viewers of TV, cable, satellite, the Internet, and YouTube? With the reputation of Holt’s and the other shops hanging in the balance?
“We’re all counting on you, Haley,” Jeanette. “The future of the shopping center is in your hands.”
Great. Just what I wanted to hear.
* * *
My evening definitely needed a boost.
After my shift ended at Holt’s, I headed for my favorite Starbucks near my apartment. Shuman had texted me back earlier and agreed to meet me there. So, on the drive over, I’d called Nuovo, hoping that maybe—just maybe—the lost shipment of Mystique clutches had been found.
No such luck. Chandra was full of apologies and told me again how anxious all the clerks at Nuovo were to finally see a Mystique in person, and that she’d contact me the minute the shipment was located and delivered.
That meant it was all up to Shuman to boost my evening.
I swung into the Starbucks parking lot and spotted him seated inside. I could see that, as usual, he had a coffee in front of him and a venti mocha Frappuccino waiting for me.
So far, so good.
Shuman smiled when I walked in. He stood up, and pulled out the chair for me.
“I hope you have some good news,” he said, as we sat down.
Darn. Not exactly what I wanted to hear.
But his collar was open and his tie was pulled down. He looked tired. I figured I didn’t look so great myself, after the day I’d had. That was the cool thing about Shuman. We were okay with each other no matter what.
I took a long drink of my Frappie to fortify myself, then said, “I had a scary run-in with somebody today.”
I filled him in on what had happened with George at Wright’s Auto Works. Shuman shifted to somewhere between cop-mode and I’ll-kick-his-butt-for-you mode, leaning forward and looking slightly puffed up, angry, and concerned.
It was totally hot.
“I’m fine. Really, I’m okay. Nothing serious. But, honestly, I was kind of scared,” I told him.
Shuman took a few seconds to consider what I’d said, then pulled out a little notepad from his inside jacket pocket and wrote down the pertinent info.
“It made no sense,” I said. “It was like he completely lost his mind. There was no reason for him to turn on me like that, which makes me think something more is going on with him.”
“I’ll take care of it,” he said, and tucked the notepad away. “I took another look at the background check we did on Carrie Taylor. She opened her bakery last spring. Before that, she had a string of jobs, broken by long stretches of unemployment. She last worked for a grocery store. No record. No firearm registered to her. No red flags or alarm bells went off.”
“But Asha worked for her at the bakery and wrote that horrible review about her shop,” I said. “They’re connected.”
“Stretch that connection to include murder and we’ll have something.” Shuman sipped his coffee and said, “I dug into Owen Bailey’s past. Seems he’s got a revolving door of employees at that convenience store of his, and he’s had flings with a few of them. Asha was one of many.”
If I’d had maybe-this-is-a-big-break antennae, they would have shot straight up and wiggled.
“Do you think Owen’s wife finally had enough?” I asked. “Asha happened to be the one that drove her over the edge?”
Shuman gave me a maybe-so shrug. “The wife has no alibi for the time of the murder.”
“Is there any evidence to tie her to the murder?” I asked.
“Not so far,” he said and sipped his coffee again.
“What about Valerie Roderick?” I asked.
“Not a happy lady,” Shuman said. “She had it in for Asha, which she freely admitted.”
“What about an alibi for the time of the murder?”
“She gave one.” Shuman frowned. “I’m checking it, but so far, things aren’t adding up.”
A little wave of anxiety rolled through me. I liked Valerie. She’d been done majorly wrong by Asha. I could see how she might have been pushed too far. I hoped she hadn’t compounded her problems by killing Asha.
“I spoke with the detective who handled the Dena Gerber shooting,” Shuman said.
“Did he think there was something fishy about it? Like maybe it wasn’t really an accident that her gun went off and it just happened to kill her husband?” I asked.
“There was nothing to prove it was intentional.”
“So the fact that the same caliber gun was used to kill Asha is just a coincidence?” I asked.
“Apparently,” Shuman said. “Plus, there’s no motive. Asha never slammed Dena’s craft store on her site.”
We sat there for a few minutes, neither of us saying anything. Shuman hadn’t come up with new info that would point to Asha’s killer. I’d made no forward progress finding her murderer, only uncovered more unanswered questions.
I’d have to dig harder—and put on a festival.