Evening Bags and Executions (15 page)

“I don't know. I was just blabbing on like I was happy, like everything was great,” I said. Then I remembered something Ty had asked me. “He knew I had a new job.”

“How did he know about it?” she asked.

“I have no clue,” I said.

“Didn't you ask him?”

I shook my head. “I was so upset I started to cry. I practically ran into the bank to get away from him.”

“Maybe that was your exit cry,” Marcie said. “You know, the cry that washes away the relationship and ends it for good. So you're over him now.”

Marcie was almost always right about things, but I wasn't so sure about the whole exit cry thing. Neither was I sure that I was completely over Ty.

I sat there for a few minutes thinking back to when I'd seen Ty outside the GSB&T. While I'd been forcing a smile and putting on a look-at-me-I'm-happy show, he hadn't acted that way at all. Now that I thought about it, he'd seemed quiet, sort of subdued. And he had tried to tell me something when I'd bolted for the bank.

I guess Marcie read my expression, because she asked, “Do you want to talk to Ty one last time?”

“Yes.” I might have moaned that.

Then I came to my senses and said, “Have you forgotten about Sarah Covington? Her engagement? To Ty?”

“I don't know for sure that she's engaged to Ty, remember? I told you I suspected it because of . . . everything,” Marcie said.

“Yes, I remember,” I said. I stewed for a minute, then said, “I have to know for sure if they're engaged.”

“You could ask his personal assistant,” Marcie said.

I'd thought about asking Amber. We'd always gotten along. She'd understand why I wanted to know, plus she wouldn't tell Ty if I asked her not to. I had that duffel bag full of Ty's things in the closet of my second bedroom. I could use it as cover to call Amber, then ask about him.

I shook my head. “I'm not going to do the ex-girlfriend stalker thing. Would you find out for me?”

“Of course,” Marcie said. She was quiet for a minute, then said, “But if it turns out that Ty really is engaged to Sarah, are you going to be okay with it?”

Good question. Wish I knew the answer.

C
HAPTER
16

I
'd been busy all morning doing actual work for my actual job. It was no way to start a day.

I'd gotten a lot done, though. I double-checked every detail of Sheridan Adams's party and studied her file to make sure I hadn't missed anything. I hadn't.

I'd put in a call to Lyle, the owner of the company hired to do the electrical, sound, and construction at her estate on the day of the event. Jewel had already set up everything with him, which made my job easier. Kayla had told me Lyle had been a Hollywood stuntman and most of his crew also did construction on television and movie sets.

He told me that everything needed for the Cirque du Soleil dancers to perform the “Lady Madonna” number Sheridan had requested would be ready—I saw no reason to mention that I hadn't secured the actual performers yet. Lyle hadn't complained, even though it was kind of last minute. I got the feeling he was used to dealing with this sort of thing.

I spent some time on Annette Bachman's birthday party for her pooch Minnie, and sent her an e-mail suggesting a Hollywood-themed party, complete with a red carpet, a lighted archway for photos by the paparazzi—which I'd oh so cleverly termed “puparazzi”—hanging stars and banners, and a personalized miniature Oscar for everyone to take home.

I didn't know whether Annette would go for it. Maybe I'd suggested it because I had Sheridan Adams's event on my mind; at least Minnie's guests would be easier to please.

At that point, I felt as if I'd done enough for L.A. Affairs for one morning. Time to get to my own personal business.

I started by calling Mrs. Quinn at the employment agency. I needed to get this housekeeper thing finished up.

“I'm working on it every day,” she assured me.

I thought about threatening to take my business elsewhere, but I suspected she'd be relieved.

“I'm anxious to get this concluded,” I told her.

“As am I,” she said.

I could tell by her tone that she'd never meant anything more in her entire life.

“I'll let you know the minute I have a potential candidate,” Mrs. Quinn said.

I thanked her and hung up.

It wasn't quite time to head out for lunch, yet I saw no reason to linger in my office and run the risk of finding any more work to do. I went to the breakroom and was a little disappointed that no one else was there to chat with. I guess they were all at their desks working—how weird was that. I got a soda from the vending machine and flipped through
Elle
magazine until my lunch hour rolled around.

I returned to my office thinking I'd take another run at Macy's and Bloomingdale's at the Sherman Oaks mall in what was proving a very difficult hunt for the Enchantress evening bag. Marcie and I hadn't found one at Nordstrom last night, but I did buy an absolutely perfect cocktail dress to wear to Sheridan Adams's party. Even though I'd be on duty that night, I needed to fit in.

I grabbed my cell phone and saw that I had a missed call.

Yikes! It was from Detective Shuman.

I called him immediately.

“Haley, I'm—I'm glad you called back,” he said when he picked up.

Shuman sounded like he was stressed out to the max. Not good.

“Can—can you get away?” he asked.

Something major must have happened. He'd never reached out to me like this before.

“Of course,” I said, using my I'm-here-for-you voice.

I don't use that one very often.

“Where can I meet you?” I asked. “Where are you?”

“I'm in Bellflower,” he said.

Bellflower? What the heck was he doing in Bellflower? It was a city south of here and inland, maybe forty miles away. Of course, in L.A. forty miles translated to well over an hour's drive—if you were lucky.

I grabbed a pen from my desk drawer.

“Give me the address,” I said. “I'll be there as soon as I can.”

“No, no,” Shuman said. “Don't come here. It's too dangerous.”

My heart jumped. What the heck was Shuman up to? “I'll meet you at—at—hang on,” he said.

He went quiet. The noise in the background—traffic, I think—died. I heard a thump, like a car door had closed.

“There's a park. I forgot the name. It's north off the 118 in Simi Valley,” Shuman said. “Can you find it? Can you meet me there?”

Okay, this was totally weird.

“Sure,” I said, jotting down the info. “What's going on?”

“I'll call you when I get close,” he told me.

“Are you okay—?”

Shuman hung up.

I didn't like the sound of this. Shuman was majorly stressed out. Something was going on.

I'd never been to Bellflower. It was probably a nice place, but like all cities it surely had its share of criminal activity. Was that what Shuman was doing there? Investigating Amanda's murder, even though the LAPD had put him on leave?

For a second I considered calling Detective Madison to see if I could find out anything, but as soon as the idea came into my head I pushed it out. Madison wouldn't help—not me, anyway—and anything I said to him might make things worse for Shuman at the department.

Of course, I could be worrying for nothing. Maybe Shuman's mom lived in Bellflower and he was just upset after visiting with her—which I totally understood. I'd have to wait to find out.

I'm not good at waiting.

I couldn't picture sitting here in my office for the next hour or until I heard from Shuman. I gathered my things and left.

 

I pulled into the Best Western parking lot and spotted the Lacy Cakes delivery van nosed in outside room 112. Since I had some time to kill before Shuman would get here from Bellflower, I figured another chat with Darren about the future of the bakery couldn't hurt—along with a few questions about Lacy's murder.

I parked, got out and knocked. A minute later he opened the door.

Darren looked much as he had every other time I'd seen him, dressed in work pants and a work shirt. Today the back of his hair—what there was of it—stuck straight up, like he'd been napping. I wondered what he'd been doing with his days since he'd been in town.

“Haley, isn't it?” he asked. I nodded and he stepped outside, which suited me fine because I didn't really want to be alone inside the motel room with him.

“Your cake order,” he said and nodded. “Didn't Paige call you?”

A knot the size of a Prada satchel jerked in my stomach.

I guess he read the this-cannot-possibly-be-happening expression on my face because he said, “She's still doing your cake. I told her to call you just in case you heard what was going on.”

I was relieved—somewhat.

“What's going on?” I asked.

“I'm closing the bakery,” Darren said.

I can't say I was surprised by his decision, considering everything.

“Paige must have been disappointed,” I said. “Belinda, too.”

“Those two,” Darren grumbled. “All this fuss over something that was never going to be theirs in the first place.”

He looked as if he had more to say and had been holding it in for a while. I kept quiet—which wasn't easy for me, but that's what we sort-of-kind-of private detectives do.

“I can't run a business here from up north,” Darren said, sounding agitated. “It's too far away to deal with problems. I can't be running down here every time something comes up.”

“Like the break-in?” I asked.

He huffed irritably. “What if it happens again when the bakery is open for business? How much stuff could be taken? How much would that cost me?”

Belinda had told me Darren was a tightwad, and I couldn't disagree since he was still driving the delivery van instead of renting a car. Plus there was that whole thing about him possibly dipping into the church collection plate.

“Must have been expensive to get the locks changed after the burglary,” I said.

“Damn right it was,” Darren said. “And I'd just shelled out money to have Paige make me a key.”

Hang on a second.

“You didn't have Lacy's keys?” I asked.

“I don't know what happened to them,” he said, flinging out his arms. “I guess she had them on her when they took her body away. Good thing Paige had a key, otherwise I'd have had to change those locks when I got here—just like I had to change them after the break-in.”

I'd suspected that the burglary was really an inside job, that Belinda or Darren had used their key to walk in, had taken some of the items they'd been arguing over, staged the break-in, and locked up after they left.

Since Lacy's keys were missing, it seemed that only Paige had a key and she'd made a copy for Darren. Had she given one to Belinda also?

And had Lacy's keys really been taken to the crime lab? Maybe her killer had grabbed them with the intention of returning to the scene and destroying evidence.

“It's just too much to fool with,” Darren declared. “I'm not putting myself out so Lacy can have some sort of legacy—not after the stuff she put me through all these years.”

“I understand how you feel,” I said.

Darren stewed for another minute, then said, “Don't worry about your cake. Paige will make it for you. But that's it. No more. I told her not to take any more orders.”

“Fair enough,” I said.

“I'll be glad when all of this is over and done with,” Darren mumbled, and went back inside his motel room.

A visit to Lacy Cakes seemed in order. I drove over, parked, and went around back. The door to the workroom was open, as usual, and the same guy was baking cakes when I walked in.

Paige stood at a worktable studying three round cake tiers spread out in front of her. She smiled and waved.

“Hey, girl, come over here,” she called.

“Sorry about the bakery closing,” I said as I joined her at the worktable.

“I guess you talked to Darren, huh?” she said. “Listen, he wanted me to call you, but I didn't because I thought you'd worry. But don't. I'm going to get your cake done and it's going to be great.”

“That's good to know,” I said. “But what are you going to do for a job after the bakery closes?”

“Belinda and I are going to buy it—if we can,” Paige said.

Wow, I guess a lot had happened since I'd last talked to Paige.

“So Belinda didn't inherit an interest in the bakery from Lacy?” I asked.

“Darren told her he'd talked to Lacy's lawyer. Everything went to him in Lacy's will,” Paige said.

“Belinda must have been upset,” I said.

“Yeah, but I don't know why,” Paige told me. “She and Lacy weren't all that close. Some stupid fight they had back in the day. Both of them were pretty bent over it.”

I'd heard Lacy never forgave Belinda over that whole concert tickets thing, but I hadn't heard that Belinda was mad over something that Lacy had done.

“Belinda, too?” I asked.

Paige waved her hands. “She was going on and on the other day about Lacy stealing her stuff, talking trash about her, turning the family against her. I don't know. I wasn't really listening.”

I could totally relate.

“We're trying to get the money together to buy the bakery,” Paige said.

“Must be expensive,” I said.

“You know it, girl,” she said, and rolled her eyes. “I'm trying to get my dad to loan me some money. I'm not sure what Belinda is going to do.”

“I guess Belinda didn't get any of Lacy's life insurance, either?” I asked.

Paige shook her head. “Not one dime.”

After listening to Ty talk about opening new Holt's stores, Wallace, and Holt's International for months while we were dating, I knew any start-up required a lot of cash—even for something small like Lacy Cakes. From all appearances, Belinda wasn't exactly swimming in money, and if Paige was depending on her dad for her share of the investment, the future of the bakery didn't look so great.

But money, of course, wasn't the whole problem with opening a new business.

“Do you and Belinda really know each other that well?” I asked. “Running a shop together can be tough.”

Paige shrugged. “I talked to her some when she came in to see Lacy. We hit it off pretty well.”

“Does Belinda know anything about baking?” I asked.

“Not really, but it doesn't matter. I'll make the cakes and she'll do everything else,” Paige said. “Besides, it's not like I have a choice. It's partner with Belinda or hit the streets.”

Lacy Cakes had a fantastic reputation and an established clientele, so if Paige and Belinda could keep the place going it would be a gold mine for them. I could see why they were willing to take the chance.

“I hope it works out,” I said. “And thanks for taking care of my cake.”

“No problem,” she said.

I walked back to my car, figuring that Shuman should call me any time now. I drove to the Subway down the block, went inside, and bought sandwiches, chips, and sodas, and with the help of my GPS I headed for the park in Simi Valley. Just as I transitioned onto the westbound 118, he called and said he was about fifteen minutes away.

I exited the freeway and drove north through a residential neighborhood, then turned into the parking lot. Not a lot of cars were there. I spotted two moms with toddlers in the grassy field off to my right. No sign of Shuman.