Fanny Packs and Foul Play (A Haley Randolph Mystery) Page 2

  “No, no, that simply won’t do,” Julia said to the foreman as I walked up. She huffed irritably. “It is the absolute height of bad taste.”

  Erika drew back from the iPad as if she’d smelled something stinky and then exchanged a knowing look with Julia.

  “Horrid beyond words,” she agreed.

  Julia held up a carefully manicured hand and the foreman had the good sense to move the iPad away from her.

  “Completely unacceptable,” Julia decreed.

  “I discussed this with Veronica,” the foreman said. “She liked the design and wanted to—”

  Julia drew herself up and averted her eyes, indicating she had no intention of gazing upon so hideous a sight any longer or listening to his explanation—especially if it involved Veronica.

  He stepped back and said, “I’ll have another design ready for you later today.”

  She didn’t acknowledge him as he walked away, which I’m sure he was grateful for.

  “Hello,” I said, using my I-get-paid-to-be-nice-to-snooty-people-like-you voice.

  They gave me the standard you’re-the-hired-help greeting.

  “Where’s Veronica?” I asked. No way did I want to involve either of them with the Thanksgiving feast planning, if I didn’t have to.

  “Inside,” Julia told me and pursed her lips, “probably envisioning mauve carpeting and brass bath fixtures.”

  Erika snickered.

  Yeah, I was on the verge of clicking these two onto my mental I-hate-you list.

  The front door opened and Andrea, Veronica’s personal assistant, walked out carrying the tools of her trade, an iPad and a cell phone.

  “Hi, Haley,” she said, as she joined us.

  Andrea was about my age, short with dark hair. She managed to look both fashion-forward and competent at the same time—not easy to pull off.

  “Veronica is in the master suite,” she said, and nodded toward the house. “She should be down any minute. Today’s the big day.”

  I remembered then that some of Veronica’s relatives from back east were scheduled to arrive this afternoon for a visit. She’d been super excited about having her own family close by, for a change.

  And, really, who could blame her?

  Andrea glanced at her wristwatch. “They should arrive shortly.”

  Julia uttered a barely audible grunt and shared another knowing look with Erika.

  “It seems the Thanksgiving plans are shaping up great,” Andrea said, with more enthusiasm than was necessary.

  “Veronica does appear to enjoy a good meal,” Julia commented, causing Erika to put on a very poor attempt at suppressing a smile.

  “Oh, here they come,” Andrea said.

  Everyone turned as a black limousine approached, then pulled into the circular driveway. The doors opened and three women and a teenage girl piled out.

  Erika gasped.

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” Julia muttered.

  “I’ll call Veronica,” Andrea said, and put her cell phone to her ear.

  The four guests were in high spirits, smiling, chatting, and directing the chauffeur as he unloaded their luggage.

  “I’ve never seen so much traffic in all my born days,” one of the women declared.

  “And expensive cars everywhere you look,” another exclaimed.

  “Can you believe this weather?” the third one said, giving herself a little shake.

  I figured all of the women for somewhere on the high side of fifty. Two of them had on stretch pants and T-shirts, and the other wore a lavender track suit. They all had fanny packs belted around their waists. None of them wore makeup. Their hair was I’m-over-forty short.

  The teenager had on jeans, sneakers, and a sweatshirt. Her blonde hair was in a loose ponytail and she had earbuds plugged into her ears which, it seemed, was a universal accessory for someone her age, fourteen or fifteen, I guessed.

  “Welcome,” Andrea said, joining them.

  They turned and gasped as they looked up at the house.

  “Oh my Lord, would you look at this place,” one of them said.

  “It’s just like one of those mansions on TV,” another said.

  “Maybe we can film one of those reality shows here,” the woman in the track suit said.

  They all laughed. The teenager girl ignored them; she seemed more interested in the construction guys.

  “I’m Andrea, Veronica’s assistant,” Andrea said.

  “Did you hear that?” one of the women asked, nudging the other two. “Our little Veronica has her own assistant.”

  “We’re just proud as punch of her,” another of them added.

  Andrea gestured toward the house and said, “Veronica is upstairs. She’ll be down in a second.”

  “Can’t wait a second—long ride,” the woman in the track suit declared, then darted past Andrea into the house.

  Andrea, who had studied photos of her employer’s guests—standard procedure for a top tier P.A.—introduced everyone.

  “May I present Veronica’s aunts Melanie and Cassie? Her aunt Renée just went inside. And this is Melanie’s daughter, Brandie,” she said, drawing me into their circle. “This is Haley Randolph. She’s the event planner for the Thanksgiving Day dinner.”

  “It’s so nice to meet you,” I said, and really it was. The women were thoroughly enjoying themselves, completely thrilled by the new sights they were experiencing. The teenage girl looked embarrassed, as a teenager would.

  “An event planner?” Melanie gasped.

  “That must be more fun than a Friday afternoon off,” Cassie declared.

  I couldn’t help smiling. Yeah, I liked these gals.

  I expected the introductions to continue but when I glanced around, I realized that Julia and Erika had disappeared. Andrea did, too, then recovered by motioning the guests toward the front door.

  “Please come inside,” she said, and they headed into the house.

  Andrea hung back and whispered, “I can’t imagine what’s delaying Veronica. She’s been so excited about their arrival.”

  “Where’s Patrick?” I asked.

  “At the factory,” she said. “He’ll be here later.”

  “I’ll check on Veronica,” I offered, since it would be extremely bad form for Andrea to abandon the guests.

  “Great, thanks,” Andrea said. “The master suite is in the east wing. Turn right at the top of the stairs.”

  I followed everyone into the entryway. Even though I’d been here before I was still awed by the place. The vaulted ceiling soared past the second story and a massive staircase swept down to the marble floor. There were exquisite chandeliers and statuary niches. Huge rooms opened up in all directions, some of them furnished and decorated, others occupied by workmen who were laying carpet and painting. The whole thing could have come off looking like a don’t-touch-anything museum, but the warm colors and softened design features made it welcoming.

  “Would you just look at this place?” Melanie murmured, craning her neck to take in everything.

  “It’s beautiful,” Cassie agreed, shaking her head in wonder.

  Brandie broke tradition with teenagers everywhere by staring wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

  “I’ve got an emergency,” Renée declared as she scampered into the entryway from one of the other rooms. “I’ve been all over this house and I can’t find a bathroom.”

  “Oh, you and your old bladder,” Melanie declared. “We can’t take you anywhere.”

  “You can take me anywhere,” Renée told her, “as long as there’s a bathroom close by.”

  “This way,” Andrea said, gesturing to a hall on the left.

  She threw me a please-hurry look. I headed up the staircase as she herded everyone out of the entryway.

  When I reached the second floor I heard hammering and a drill running somewhere off to my left where I figured the guest bedrooms were located. I turned right. At the end of a short hallway, double doors stood open so I walked inside.


  The master suite was absolutely huge, with a retreat, a spacious bathroom, and four walk-in closets that I could readily spot. It was decorated in varying shades of blue, giving it a welcoming, restful vibe. Glass sliders led out to a balcony that overlooked the east side of the property and the wooded area that provided privacy.

  “Veronica?” I called.

  She didn’t answer.

  Okay, that was weird.

  I knew how excited she was to have her family visit. She’d talked about it for weeks every time I’d consulted with her on the plans for the Thanksgiving feast. None of her relatives had been to Los Angeles before and she was anxious to show off her new home, the candy business, and her new life.

  “Veronica?” I called again. “Your family is here.”

  I checked out the bathroom, the retreat, even the closets, but didn’t see her. Huh. That was really weird. All I could figure was that she’d gone downstairs and I’d missed her.

  As I headed for the door, I heard voices coming from the balcony. I crossed the bedroom and slipped through the glass sliders, expecting to see Veronica there talking with one of the servants or perhaps a workman.

  Nobody was out there.

  Voices floated up from below. I walked to the edge of the balcony and looked down. Three workmen were standing near the rose garden gesturing wildly and talking in urgent tones.

  I realized why.

  Veronica lay face down on the flagstone patio. A massive pool of blood oozed out around her. Two of the workers spotted me and started shouting. I couldn’t understand them, but I didn’t have to.

  I already knew Veronica was dead.

  Chapter 3

  “I can’t believe this happened,” Andrea whispered. “It’s just … well, it’s just freaky.”

  We were in a small den on the west side of the house, a comfortable room with plush furniture, a huge flat-screen, and windows that allowed in lots of sunlight and a view of the koi pond. Veronica’s three aunts were huddled together on the sofa looking like trees in a petrified forest, staring straight ahead at nothing. Brandie was seated in a nearby chair fiddling with her cell phone. Servants had brought trays of sandwiches and drinks but nobody had touched anything.

  The police and forensic techs were outside going about their business. We’d been asked to wait in here until we could give our statements. Patrick had arrived and was somewhere in the house, presumably with his mother; Andrea had mentioned that the rest of the family was out of the country. I had no idea where Erika was.

  “Veronica must have been out on that balcony hundreds of times,” Andrea said in a low voice. “What could have caused her to fall?”

  I’d asked the workmen on the ground that same question, after I’d gotten over my initial shock. They’d all shaken their heads and told me they’d seen Veronica falling, but hadn’t witnessed her actually going over the railing.

  “Nobody seems to know. Maybe the police will find a witness,” I whispered back. “Were there any surveillance cameras on the property?”

  Andrea shook her head. “Only by the front door. Veronica didn’t like the idea of security cameras capturing their private lives.”

  Renée rose from the sofa, unzipped the jacket of her track suit and tossed it on a chair where everyone had dumped their belongings. She picked up one of the fanny packs I’d seen on all the gals when they’d arrived, and held it by the strap. It was orange, with a bedazzled turkey appliqué on the front.

  “This whole trip has turned into nothing but a waste of time,” she grumbled.

  “How can you even think of something like that at a time like this?” Melanie demanded.

  Brandie’s gaze darted between her mother and her aunt.

  “I can think whatever I want. And it’s a perfectly valid comment,” Renée said, shaking the fanny pack at her. “What are we supposed to do out here now? Look what Veronica’s gone and done to us again.”

  Melanie shot to her feet. “It was an accident! A horrible accident!”

  “I know it was an accident!” Renée said. “I didn’t say it wasn’t!”

  “You’d better watch your mouth,” Melanie told her.

  “Stop it! Both of you!” Cassie rose and stepped between them. “This isn’t the time or the place. Now, cut it out.”

  Obviously, these three aunts of Veronica’s were sisters, and these were the roles they’d played for decades.

  Renée and Melanie eyed each other for a few seconds, then Renée headed for the door.

  “I need a smoke,” she said.

  “The police said we’re not supposed to leave the room,” Cassie called.

  Renée ignored her and left, slamming the door behind her.

  Melanie uttered a disgusted grunt and sat down, as did Cassie. Brandie folded her legs under her and burrowed deeper into the chair, and started punching buttons on her cell phone again.

  Andrea and I exchanged an uncomfortable look, then she whispered, “I need to make a call.”

  “Me, too,” I said.

  I didn’t, but I wanted out of that room. I figured Andrea felt the same.

  Andrea held up her cell phone to the guests and said, “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”

  I followed her out of the room without an explanation.

  The house was silent as we walked down the hall to the entryway. Work had ceased, so there was no more equipment running. I figured all the construction guys had been rounded up and were being questioned. The lab techs were on the east side of the house, well out of view and earshot, thankfully.

  “This whole thing is so sad,” Andrea said, shaking her head. “I don’t know how Patrick will ever get over losing her.”

  I’d seen the two of them together several times during the planning of their event and couldn’t disagree.

  “They seemed happy together,” I said.

  “It was love at first sight,” Andrea said with a dreamy smile that made me think Veronica had shared the story with her more than once. “Patrick had gone back east to check on his family’s holdings and he met Veronica selling candy at a farmer’s market. She said they both knew instantly that they were meant to be together forever. A fairytale match—the big city millionaire and the small town girl.”

  I smiled at the image that bloomed in my head, and said, “So that’s how they started Pammy Candy?”

  “Veronica was making and selling the candy at local swap meets, fairs, that sort of thing. Nothing big, just something for a little extra income,” Andrea said. “Patrick saw the potential and wanted to take it national. Veronica always said their love grew along with the candy business. They eloped, sort of, and got married by candlelight in the small, rustic church Veronica had attended all her life. Just the two of them. Very romantic.”

  The image of my mom flashed in my head—and there was nothing romantic about it. If I, or my sister or brother, eloped robbing her of the opportunity to plan and attend our wedding, she would have a meltdown on a biblical scale.

  “Patrick wanted to move the business to L.A. because he had more contacts here,” Andrea said.

  “Pammy Candy is everywhere now,” I said. “It was a good decision.”

  Andrea’s smile faded. “I’m not so sure. Veronica acted like everything was great, but it wasn’t an easy adjustment for her. That’s why Patrick hired me to help her.”

  Julia zinged into my head. I wondered how much she’d tried to smooth Veronica’s transition.

  Andrea glanced down the hallway. “I’d better get back in there. Coming?”

  With so much gloom and doom in the room, I didn’t really want to go in there again—which was bad of me, I know—but since I couldn’t leave until the police had taken my statement and no way did I want to wander the grounds or the house and possibly run into Patrick or the lab guys, I followed Andrea back down the hallway.

  Maybe I could get the staff to send in something chocolate—or a few beers.

  Renée had returned from her smoke break w
hen Andrea and I walked inside. Brandie was still pecking on her phone while Melanie and Cassie sat staring at nothing. Nobody spoke.

  Jeez, I wish those police would hurry up so I could get out of here.

  I mean that in the nicest way, of course.

  No way could I take this much longer. I’d been here for hours and I had tons of work to do back at the office—okay, I didn’t have that much to do but that’s not the point.

  Just as I was about to tell Andrea that I felt I was coming down with a touch of the stomach flu—my all-time favorite excuse to get out of most anything—the door opened. I expected to see detectives walk in but—oh my God, it was Jack Bishop.

  Jack was a totally hot private detective. He was a little older than me, tall with dark hair and gorgeous eyes. We’d met a year or so ago when I’d been in the accounts payable department of a law firm at which Jack did consulting work—long story. We were kind-of-sort-of friends and colleagues because we’d helped each other out with cases from time to time.

  There was a crazy heat between us that neither of us had acted on because, up until recently, I’d had an official boyfriend, Ty Cameron. Now, Jack and I were—well, I don’t know what the heck we were.

  Jack’s entry into the room stirred the aunts. They turned, did a double-take, and stared. Renée eased her shoulders back and sat up straighter on the sofa. Brandie yanked the clip from her ponytail and let her hair fall around her shoulders. Even Andrea stared—not that I blamed them, of course.

  Jack nodded to everyone in the room, and sidled up next to me.

  “I figured you’d be in here,” he said in a low voice.

  Thank God he didn’t use his Barry White voice. I’m totally helpless against his Barry White voice.

  “How did you know I was even in the house?” I asked.

  Jack gave me his don’t-question-the-master grin—which was way hot—then I realized that he’d recognized my Honda parked out front.