Duffel Bags And Drownings Read online

  We stopped at the entrance to the employee lounge. Inside were tables and chairs, vending machines, a fridge and microwave. On one wall was a bulletin board pinned with announcements, and on another ran a row of lockers; duffel bags and backpacks were piled up under them.

  Near the restrooms, two clothing racks held leprechaun costumes. Guy servers rotated in and out trying them on, while the girls sat idle at the tables. I’d worked with Maisie’s Costume Shop on other events and knew they’d do a great job.

  Maisie, a stout woman in her forties who owned the shop, checked the fit on each server as they came out of the restroom, and her assistant Wendy entered their sizes on her iPad.

  “Hey, Haley,” Wendy called.

  Like most of the wardrobe people I’d met, Wendy had a fashion-forward sense of style that bordered on outrageous. Today she had on boots, tights, shorts, a tank, and vest in progressive shades of purple. But since she probably didn’t weigh a hundred pounds on a rainy day, she really pulled it off.

  Faye’s cell phone rang. She stepped away and answered it.

  “Awesome costumes,” I said.

  Wendy gestured toward the clothing racks. “We brought skirts for the girls. Jeri is going to try on one so we can see how it looks. What do you think?”

  “I think it will be great,” I said, “as long as the servers don’t look better than the guests.”

  Wendy laughed, then stopped as Fay’s voice rose.

  “She didn’t get back to you?” she said into her phone. “She assured me she would. I’m so sorry. I’ll get on it right away. Yes, of course. You have my word.”

  Faye snapped her phone closed and exclaimed, “Has anyone seen Cady?”

  “Wasn’t she here just a minute ago?” someone asked.

  “I thought I saw her car out front when I came in,” one of the girls said.

  “Well, is she here, or not?” Faye asked, looking more annoyed by the second. “And where is Jeri? She’s supposed to try on the skirt with her costume. Why aren’t people here, where they’re supposed to be? Things have to get done.”

  “I’ll look for them,” one of the girls said.

  “Me, too,” another one added.

  “All of you,” Faye said, “please, look for them. And tell them to report back to me immediately.”

  Faye blew out a big breath as the girls hurried out of the room, then caught sight of me standing nearby.

  “Oh, Haley,” she said. “Please don’t think this sort of thing happens often. Really, we’re all dedicated to the success of this business. I’m sure Cady is here somewhere and she’s anxious to go over the menu with you.”

  “No problem,” I said.

  I thought there definitely was a problem but this didn’t seem like the time to say so.

  “I’ll look for them, too,” I said.

  Honestly, I didn’t know how I’d have any better luck finding Cady and Jeri than anyone else, but it seemed like a great excuse to get away and call Kayla at the office to see if there’d been any new developments.

  I walked along the hallways amid the hustle and bustle of the people who were doing actual work, and called Kayla’s cell phone. Her voicemail picked up so I left a message. I tried the office line. Her voicemail picked up there, too.

  Yikes! Did that mean Kayla was in with Edie and Priscilla getting fired? Of course, if that happened, it might be safe for me to go back to the office.

  I mean that in the nicest way, of course.

  I tucked my cell phone into my handbag and strolled along, trying to look as if I intended to actually accomplish something. It did seem weird that both Cady and Jeri were nowhere to be found. Maybe they’d both slipped out to a nearby Starbuck—I’d done that myself a time or two during the workday.

  I opened doors along the hallway and peered inside. One was a storage closet containing plates, glasses, bowls and cups. Nobody there. The next door was linen storage; plenty of tablecloths and napkins but no people. The one after that was the ice room. I pulled the door open and looked inside. No one there either, except—

  Something was strange about the room. I heard water dripping.

  I got a weird feeling

  Water pooled on the floor under the big tank. I hadn’t noticed that when I was in here earlier.

  My weird feeling got weirder.

  I looked up and saw a black shoe sticking out of the water tank. Yikes!

  I raced up the stairs. Facedown in the water was a leprechaun. Dead.

  Chapter 2

  I’d been involved with a few murder investigations in the past—long story—and homicide detectives had always wanted to talk with me simply because I’d had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Today was no exception. After all, I’d discovered the body. And it didn’t help that the sleeves of my fabulous navy blue suit jacket—now hanging in the women’s restroom--were dripping with the same water in which the victim had died.

  After spotting Jeri in her leprechaun costume floating in the water tank, I’d pulled her out. I’d hoped that maybe, somehow, she was still alive. But then I’d seen the scratches on her face and the big dent in her skull.

  So here I was seated across the table from Detective Elliston, one of LAPD’s finest, in a small conference room at Cady Faye Catering. Elliston had seen 50, easily, but hadn’t seen the inside of a gym lately. He seemed anxious for his partner to arrive so he could get this interview over with—and, I suspected, have lunch.

  “So, let’s go over this one more time, Miss Randolph,” Detective Elliston murmured, consulting the little notebook in his hand. “You arrived here at—”

  A blood curdling scream sounded from outside the conference room. Oh my God, had somebody else been found dead?

  Detective Elliston turned his head in that direction. I bolted out of my chair and flew through the door into the shop’s display room.

  Standing just inside the shop entrance, surrounded by several people, was Cady Wills, sister of Faye Delaney, the “Cady” in “Cady Faye Catering.” Cady was the same size and shape as her sister, but with blonde hair rather than brown, and she was in the throes of an all-out hysterical rant.

  “She’s dead? Dead? Jeri’s dead?” Cady screamed. She flung out her arms, then plastered her hands on her head. “She can’t be dead!”

  Everyone around Cady tried to calm her, but she wasn’t having it. Her screams grew louder. I was tempted to bitch-slap her—just to get her to calm down, of course—but her sister Faye showed up and led her away.

  As her screams faded into the bowels of the building, I walked over to a young woman who’d stayed behind. I’d seen her here on my previous visits, but had never officially met her.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  I figured her for a couple of years older than me, maybe, short with dark hair. Pretty—except for the stunned expression on her colorless face.

  She shook her head. “I didn’t mean to upset Cady like that. She walked in so I told her. I mean, I had to tell her, didn’t I? Somebody had to tell her.”

  “You work here, right?” I asked.

  “Lourdes Vaughn,” she said. “I’m Faye’s assistant.”

  I guess I should have figured that, given that she had on nice pants, blouse, and blazer, and wasn’t wearing a hairnet.

  “I’m sure Cady will feel better after she goes home and gets some rest,” I said.

  I had no idea if that would help or not, but it seemed like the right thing to say.

  “With all the work we have scheduled for today? No way will Faye let her leave,” Lourdes said. “Besides, Cady wouldn’t get any rest at home. Not with that husband of hers.”

  That didn’t sound good.

  Lourdes glanced toward the hallway that led to the rear of the shop. “I hope Faye won’t be mad at me for telling her,” she said.

  “Did you know Jeri well?” I asked.

  Annoyance flashed across Lourdes’ face. “I’m afraid so,” she told me. “Everybod
y knew Jeri well. She made sure of it.”

  Lourdes huffed irritably, then turned to me and gasped, as if really seeing me for the first time.

  “Oh, you’re Haley. From L.A. Affairs. Sorry, I didn’t recognize you right away.”

  She was in all-out back-pedal mode now, anxious to make a good impression on me, the person who’d given Cady Faye Catering their big break.

  It was kind of cool.

  “Look, this is all probably nothing,” Lourdes said. “I don’t see how Jeri could have been murdered, like the cops are saying. I mean, lots of people didn’t really like her but that doesn’t mean somebody—somebody here—actually killed her. Who would dislike her that much?”

  Good question.

  “Miss Randolph?” Detective Elliston called.

  I turned and saw him standing outside the conference room next to—oh, wow, some really hot looking guy. He was in his early thirties, I figured, a little over six feet tall with a muscular build, blond hair and—oh wow again—deep blue eyes.

  “My partner, Detective Grayson,” Elliston said.

  “Dan Grayson,” he said, and offered his hand.

  I took it. Heat raced up my arm.

  “She found the victim,” Elliston said. “Haley Randolph.”

  Dan nodded. “We’ll need a few more minutes of your—Randolph? Haley Randolph?”

  The heat that had consumed me turned to ice.

  “The Haley Randolph?” Dan asked, frowning.

  Oh, crap.

  Yeah, okay, I had a bit of a reputation with the LAPD. It was because of those other homicide detectives I’d met during past investigations—long story.

  “Let’s get this over with,” I said, then put my nose in the air—one of the few traits I’d inherited from my pageant queen mom—and glided into the conference room.

  I took a seat at the table. The detectives sat side by side across from me.

  “I’ve heard about you down at headquarters,” Dan said.

  I don’t think he meant that as a compliment.

  “Then you’ve probably also heard that I’m better at solving murders than some of the detectives,” I told him, and refrained, somehow, from doing a fist-pump.

  A tiny grin pulled at his lips—which I only noticed because he was sitting directly across from me, I swear.

  “Tell us what happened,” Dan said, shifting into serious-cop mode.

  “Faye needed to find Cady and Jeri, so I and some other people went looking for them,” I said, trying to make it sound routine.

  “But you’re the only one who looked in the ice room,” Dan pointed out. “Why is that?”

  I’d learned a long time ago that the less said to a homicide detective, the better—for me, anyway. So no way was I going to let this interview get bogged down with a lot of unnecessary details.

  “You’d have to ask the others why they didn’t look there,” I said.

  “Why did you come here today?” Dan asked.

  This didn’t seem like the best time to mention that perhaps my job at L.A. Affairs was hanging in the balance, and that hiring Cady Faye Catering for a huge event had put me out on a very shaky limb.

  “A routine call,” I said.

  Dan glanced at the notebook Elliston had placed on the table. “You’re coordinating a big party for some important Hollywood people, aren’t you? Were you worried about the success of your event?”

  Of course I was.

  “Of course not,” I said.

  No way was I admitting anything to two homicide detectives looking for a suspect.

  “There’s a lot of pressure on you to make these parties come off flawlessly,” Dan said, and made it sound like I was on the bomb squad.

  “Your job was at stake, wasn’t it?” Dan went on. “You and the victim got into a confrontation.”

  “No,” I told him. Okay, now I was starting to get rattled.

  “Things got out of control,” Dan said. “You hit her.”

  “I did not,” I said. Yeah, I was really rattled now.

  “She fell into the water tank and you left her there to die,” Dan said.

  “Of course not!”

  Jeez, I’m usually better at this sort of thing. Something about this guy had me all keyed up.

  He leaned closer. “There was no trail of water leading from the ice room. And you’re the only person in the entire building whose clothing is wet. How do you explain that, Miss Randolph? How?”

  I drew in a breath and tried to calm myself. Honestly, I’m not very good at calming myself, so what could I do but shift the conversation in a different direction?

  “There’re all kinds of exits from this place,” I told him. “There’s construction going on so things are wide open. People are all over the place—the builders, catering staff, servers, the costume people, delivery guys—and none of them know who’s supposed to be here and who’s not. Anybody could have slipped in and out unnoticed. Have you looked at the surveillance tape?”

  Both detectives just stared at me.

  “And tell me this,” I demanded. “How the heck could killing somebody at my caterer cause my event to go smoother?”

  Neither of them said anything, which suited me fine.

  I shot to my feet and said, “If you have any more questions, you can call my lawyer.”

  I stomped to the door, stone-faced, hoping nothing about my expression revealed that I didn’t actually have an attorney.

  Detective Grayson called my name. I turned around. He was on his feet, his chest puffed out, his nose slightly flared—which is a totally hot look on men—and said, “You’re involved in a murder investigation, Miss Randolph. Don’t leave town.”

  I gave him what I hoped was a defiant glare—which I’m afraid was actually an I-think-you’re-really-hot glare—and left the room.

  I headed toward the rear of the building, more than a little rattled. I desperately needed my all-time favorite drink, a mocha frappuccino from Starbucks. But since this place was, after all, a catering business, I figured I could find a suitable chocolate substitute in their kitchen.

  I mean, really, if you can’t pilfer something sweet after finding a dead body, when can you?

  I headed for the cool room where the desserts and salads were prepared, but got lost in the maze of hallways and ended up at the employee lounge. Vending machine candy would do nicely, I decided, and walked inside.

  The place was oddly quiet, after the hustle and bustle of the earlier costume fittings. I figured the police had already gotten the info they needed from the servers. The duffel bags and backpacks were all gone, except for one, so I guessed most everyone had gone home or, hopefully, was headed to the catering event the staff had been loading the vans for when I drove up.

  Wendy stood at the clothing racks, going through the costumes and consulting her iPad. I headed straight for the vending machines.

  “This is crazy, isn’t it?” Wendy said. “I mean, Jeri dying? Do you think maybe it was, you know, an accident? She wasn’t really murdered?”

  “All I know is what the cops are saying,” I said, as I pulled a ten from my wallet and fed it into the vending machine. “Want something?”

  Wendy walked over. “Sure. How about a—oh my God, I love your handbag!”

  I held up my Chanel satchel—it was a fabulous bag, and believe me, I know a fabulous bag when I see one—and we spent a minute or so admiring it, a welcome break from talking about Jeri’s murder.

  “Have you seen the new Flirtatious?” Wendy asked.

  My senses jumped to high alert. A new handbag was out? And I hadn’t seen it?

  “Elle is featuring it this month,” Wendy said. “I got my issue this morning.”

  That explained why I hadn’t heard about it. My issue was probably in my mailbox waiting for me.

  I whipped out my cell phone and Googled it. A few seconds later the Flirtatious appeared on my phone. Wendy crowded close and we stood in reverent silence admiring it, a gorgeous yellow l
eather satchel perfect for spring and summer.

  “I’m getting it,” I said, the image burning into my brain.

  “Really?” Wendy asked, dragging her gaze from my phone to my face. “It costs a fortune.”

  “Handbags are my vice,” I admitted. “I don’t smoke or do drugs. I buy handbags.”

  “Cigarettes and drugs would probably be cheaper,” Wendy said.

  I couldn’t disagree.

  I forwarded the Flirtatious link to Marcie, as a best friend would, and started pushing buttons on the vending machine. I gathered the candy from the delivery tray, passed some to Wendy, and we sat down at a table.

  “Maisie’s going to be really ticked off,” she said, ripping open a Snickers bar and nodding toward the racks of costumes. “One of the leprechaun outfits was stolen.”

  I tore into a bag of M&Ms and poured most of it in my mouth.

  “I wonder if any of the police are still here?” Wendy said, glancing toward the door. “Maybe I should tell them.”

  “There’s no such thing as costume police,” I said.

  Wendy bit into the candy bar. “Even if the guy brought it back later, it’s still wrong to just take it.”

  I gulped down the M&Ms.

  “Wait,” I said, as the chocolate super-charged my brain. “A costume is missing? Other than Jeri’s?”

  Wendy nodded. “It’s crappy, you know, not turning it in, keeping it for himself to wear on St. Patrick’s Day.”

  “It was a guy?” I asked. “How do you know?”

  Wendy touched the screen of her iPad. “It was a size extra-large. Only two of the guys needed that size.”

  My brain cells starting popping. I shoved the rest of the M&Ms in my mouth. One of the servers—a big guy—had been so anxious to leave the place he’d run out in a costume, looking like a giant leprechaun?

  “Maybe he’ll bring it back,” Wendy said. “Maybe he had a family emergency, or something, and had to leave right away.”

  Ideas pinged around in my brain as I finished off the M&Ms—none of them involving a family emergency—and I pointed to the lone, green duffel bag sitting under the lockers I’d spotted when I walked in.