Clutches and Curses (16 page)

Authors: Dorothy Howell

BOOK: Clutches and Curses

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Yeah, okay, enough of that scenario, I decided, and sat up.

The image of Jack bloomed in my mind.

Where was he tonight, I wondered? Had he gone back to Los Angeles? Was he still here in Vegas? I imagined him at a hot club on The Strip, looking hot, acting hot, hanging out with hot people.

I wondered, too, if he was thinking about meâwhich was really bad, I know. Was he wondering if I was having hot sex with Ty right now? Would he care?

My cell phone rang. Ty, according to the caller I.D. I glanced at the clock on my bedside table and saw that it was after two.

Okay, that was weird. Ty almost never stayed up past ten o'clock.

“What's wrong?” I asked.

“I figured your voicemail would pick up.” His voice sounded deep and mellow. “I couldn't sleep. I was lying here missing you.”

Jeez, what kind of crappy girlfriend was I, thinking about Jack and hot sex, when my official boyfriend was calling just to tell me he missed me?

“Want to have phone sex?” I asked.

Yeah, okay, maybe that was overcompensating a little.

“That doesn't really work for me,” Ty said, and chuckled. “I'm more of a hands-on kind of guy, as you know.”

Oh, yeah, I knew that all right.

“Have you thought about our earlier conversation?” he asked.

Our conversation about moving in together.

This probably wasn't a good time to mention that I'd also been thinking about Jack Bishop and Robbie Freedman.

“Of course,” I said.

“Good,” Ty said. “As long as you're thinking about it.”

I appreciated that he wasn't pushing me.

“Have you checked your e-mail?” Ty asked.

“Not in a while,” I said.

“I sent you something,” he said.

“Go to sleep,” I said. “You have a meeting in the morning.”

“How do you know?”

“You
always
have a meeting in the morning,” I said.

He laughed softly, sending a warm shiver over me.

“Good night,” he said.

Luckily, we didn't go through that whole who's-going-to-hang-up-first thing. I said good night and we hung up.

No way could I go to sleep now. I got my laptop into the bed and opened the e-mail he'd sent. His message simply read, Do you like this one?

Attached were photos of a beachfront house in Malibu, waves crashing only yards from the deck, and interior shots of the gorgeous living room, kitchen, and bedrooms.

My jaw sagged open and I just stared.

Wow, he'd remembered. Ty had actually remembered that I'd said I liked beach homes. He'd even looked them up, found one, and e-mailed it to me.

Jeez, he really was serious about us moving in together.

A noise sounded in the hallway and a door slammed, jarring me back to the Culver Inn. Then I remembered Amber losing her job and the oh-so-lovely Whitley insisting no one but me was booked into this wing. I launched myself out of bed, yanked open the door, and leaped into the hallway.

Empty.

I ran to the end of the hallway and looked down the corridor toward the elevator.

Nobody.

I ran back, threw open the door to the stairwell at the end of the hall.

Silence.

I walked back into the hallway, stopped still, and listened.

Not a sound.

I figured that whoever had been booked into a room had to be staying in one of the two across the hall from mine. Otherwise, I'd have heard them through our shared, common wall.

But who were they? And why did they keep such late hours?

Night prowlers were the norm at the casinos on The Strip. Hardcore gamblers stayed up all night, feeding the slots, obsessing over the turn of a card, the spin of a wheel. You'd see them at breakfast, sometimes, with a bleary-eyed what-have-I-done look on their faces.

Serious gamblers didn't usually stay in Henderson, in places like the Culver Inn.

So who was staying in one of the rooms across the hall from me?

C
HAPTER
16

“H
e's here,” Maya said, and immediately smoothed her hair back and straightened her apron.

I didn't need to turn around to know that it was Jack Bishop who'd gotten her all excited this early in the morning, in the middle of the Culver Inn breakfast buffet service. I did turn around, though, because Jack was always great to look at.

He didn't disappoint. Freshly showered, shaved, hair damp, dressed in jeans and a white Henley shirt just snug enough to show off his chest.

Oh, yeah, Maya's dayâand mineâwas off to a great start.

“Morning,” Jack said, joining us near the kitchen door. He grinned. “Did I interrupt something?”

Maya and I had been making plans for this evening before we'd gotten distracted and flustered over Jack walking in. No way would we admit it, of course.

“We're going to Macy's tonight,” I told him. “Want to come?”

“It's free giveaway week,” Maya said.

Jack paused. “Freeâwhat?”

Jeez, how was it men didn't know the simplest things?
Everybody
knew what free giveaway week was.

“At the cosmetics counter,” I told him. “You buy makeup or something that costs thirty bucks or more and they give you free stuff.”

“In a special bag,” Maya added.

“So you two both need makeup?” Jack asked.

Maya and I glanced at each other like he'd lost his mind.

“No,” I said. “Of course not.”

“We're just buying something to get the free items,” Maya explained.

“So these free items are cosmetics you need?” he asked.

“No,” I said. What's up with him? Why didn't he
get it?

Jack frowned. “So it's this special bag you want?”

“Not really,” I said.

“I never use the free bag,” Maya said.

“Me, either,” I agreed.

“So let me get this straight,” Jack said. “You buy something you don't want, to get something you don't need, and it comes with a bag you'll never use?”

Finally,
he got it.

“Exactly,” I told him.

Maya nodded, pleased too that he understood, then pulled her cell phone from her apron pocket.

“I've got to take this,” she said, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Jack glanced around at the Culver Inn guests eating at tables.

“So where's Prince Charming?” he asked.

I took that to mean Ty.

“In L.A.”

Jack raised his brows. “Already?”

No way was I answering that question.

“Want something to eat?” I asked.

He rolled with my abrupt change in topic.

“Maya told me yesterday about wanting to start her own bakery,” Jack said.

Hum . . . so Jack had stayed yesterday morning after I'd left and he and Maya had talked. Interesting.

“She'd be further along if that jackass Bradley, who runs the place, would recommend her to the other motels in the chain,” I said. “She needs the money to finish college and get her business going.”

“Bradley, huh?” Jack mumbled the name with more than a little contempt.

“He's a real piece of work,” I said. “But since his family owns the chain, there isn't much anybody can do. It's his way or the highway.”

“Is that so?” Jack asked. He was quiet for a minute, then said, “I'm heading back to L.A. this morning.”

A wave of disappointment hit meâwhich was really bad, I knowâbut I tried not to let it show.

I figured he'd been investigating Courtney's murder while he was in Vegas and he'd accomplished everything he could. Jack never told me anything until he was ready. Still, I wanted to know if he'd learned somethingâespecially since I was a suspect.

“Courtney had another boyfriend,” I said.

With Jack, I'd learned long ago that I had to give before I could expect to receive. This didn't suit me, of course, but since I wasn't the one who could hop into a way-cool BMW Z4 and leave town in style, I didn't have much choice.

“Before she got hooked up with Tony Hubbard,” I added. “Any idea who it was?”

Jack didn't respond, just listened. “I'll check it out,” he finally said.

When he didn't say anything more, I got a little annoyed.

“Did you learn anything new?” I asked. “From the cops or anybody?”

“Same story as before,” Jack said. “You're their favorite suspect.”

Oh, crap.

Jack opened the kitchen door and leaned in. I saw Maya still on the phone. She covered the mouthpiece and said something to him. He answered, then left the kitchen. I couldn't hear what either of them saidâwhich wasn't my business in the first place, but still, I was curious.

“Catch you later,” Jack said to me.

He didn't leave, though, just stood there looking at me. I wasn't sure if he wanted to say somethingâor wanted me to say something.

“Ty went back to L.A. after I talked to him at Holt's,” I said.

“Is that so?” he asked.

“He wants me to move in with him,” I said. “But I don't know.”

“Big decision,” he agreed.

We just looked at each other for another long minute.

“I've got to get to work,” I said.

He nodded toward the exit to the parking lot. “And I've got to hit the road.”

Still, he stood there. I stood there, too. It wasn't that goofy tenth-grade-can't-think-of-anything-to-say kind of thing. Something different. Something deeper.

I don't know what it was. Jack didn't seem to know, either. He left and I watched as he climbed into the Beemer he'd parked in the check-in lane and drove away.

Yeah, okay, I knew I shouldn't have told him that stuff about Ty and me. I didn't know what it was with Jack. He made me do the craziest thingsâwithout even doing anything.

“Haley! Haley!”

Maya barreled out of the kitchen and grabbed my arm. Her eyes were round, her mouth openâtwo indications that something absolutely
huge
had happened

“That was Arlene,” she said, still clutching her cell phone as if it were Arlene herself. “She's the one who gets all the jobs for the convention centers. Remember I told you? I work for her sometimes handing out brochures at conventions, doing hospitality at banquets and things?”

“Yeah, Iâ”

She burst aheadâanother indication that something absolutely
huge
had happened.

Oh my God. This was getting better and betterâway better than free giveaway week at Macy's.

“She wants me to work for her at a convention.” Maya took two deep breaths, trying to calm herself. “A
handbag
convention.”

The earth stopped rotatingâI swear. Time stood still. Really.

Oh my God.
Oh my God
. Had I heard her right?

I drew in two deep breaths, too, trying to calm myself, bracing myself just in case I hadn't heard her correctly.

“Did you say a
handbag
convention?” I asked. Actually, I think I whispered it.

“Yes.”

“A handbag convention.” I didn't ask. I just said it, a little louder this time.

“Yes.”

“A handbag conventionâfor real?” I'm pretty sure I shouted that.

“Yes!” Maya shouted, too. “It's at the Mandalay Bay.”

“When?”

“Next week.”

“Next week?”

“Yes!”

“Oh my God!”

“All the designers will be there,” Maya said.

“Oh my God!”

“Handbags everywhere. Fall lines will be previewed. New designers nobody's ever seen before.”

“
Oh my God!”

“Fashion shows. Displays. Accessories.”

“Accessories?” I screamed.

Okay, now I felt dizzy. Maya grabbed my hand. She seemed kind of wobbly, too. We helped each other to an empty table and dropped into chairs.

We both just sat there for a few minutes, trying to recover, trying to take it all in.

Maya pulled herself together first. I had to hand it to her.

“Arlene says some of her usual people cancelled last minute,” she said. “She asked me if I could do it and, of course, I said yes. I gave her your name, too. We can do it together.”

I froze. What was this? Did she just say I was going to have to
work
at the handbag convention?

I guess Maya saw my hesitation.

“It will be great,” she said. “We get to go in before the public. We get to see everything first. We can come and go to any of the displays or events, anytime we want, for as long as we want, because we'll have unlimited employee passes.”

Okay, now she was talking. And, besides, as I'd learned long ago: just because you had a job didn't mean you had to actually work.

“Plus,” Maya said, “we'll get paid.”

I could see where that was a definite benefit for Mayaâand me, too, really.

The biggest benefit for me was that if I saw a handbag I absolutely had to haveâand I was certain I wouldâI could buy it on the spot before anyone else even saw it.

I jerked straight up in the chair.

Oh my God. They were bound to have a Delicious handbag there.

“So you'll do it?” Maya asked.

“Hell, yes,” I vowed.

Really, what could possibly go wrong with my day now that I would be getting a sneak preview to a world-class handbag conventionâand the first shot at a Delicious handbag?

Nothing. Not even at Holt's.

I breezed through my day unloading U-boats of boxes filled with table linens, flatware, plates, cookware, glasses, pots, and pans. My thoughts were consumed with the handbag convention, what I'd see there, what events might be scheduled, what gorgeous handbags I could buy.

Once or twice throughout the day, I may have actually put an item or two in its designated display location.

Fay walked up as I was forcing a dozen casserole dishes into a spot probably meant for place mats.

“I need you to stop that, okay?” she said.

Even her nasal tone didn't grate on my nerves as much as usual, and I actually stopped what I was doing.

“I need you to help with training, okay?” Fay asked.

She wanted
me
to help with
training
? Had I passed into another dimension somewhere between stocking the wine glasses and the steak knives?

“Preston says you're one of our most experienced employees, okay?” Fay said. “So I need you to help with training. Can you do that?”

I'd never trained anyone in my life.

“Sure,” I said.

“Okay, good. Take this, okay?” Fay passed me a bright yellow bibbed apron with a neon blue H embroidered on the chest.

I'd worn an apron like this one when I'd handed out Bolt, Holt's energy drink, in the Santa Clarita store. Here, I'd seen management circulating through the store wearing the apron, asking questions about Holt's policies and procedures at random. An employee was rewarded with a Hershey's chocolate kiss for a correct answer.

“I need you to train on CBT, okay?” Fay said.

CBT . . . CBT . . . what was CBT?

“Can you do that?” Fay asked.

“Of course,” I said.

I donned the apron as Fay walked away, found the kisses in the big front kangaroo pocket, unwrapped one, and popped it into my mouth.

So far, I liked being a trainer.

I walked to the next aisle where a woman who'd introduced herself earlierâand whose name I'd already forgottenâstocked vacuum cleaners.

“Got some training questions for me, huh?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, and stood a little straighter, giving myself what I hoped was an air of authority. “First question: what does CBT stand for?”