Messenger Bags and Murder (A Haley Randolph Mystery) Read online

  “We won’t let you down,” Kayla told her, with a confident smile.

  Priscilla didn’t smile back. Actually, she looked as if she were feeling kind of sick.

  “We’re going now,” Kayla said.

  I followed her out of the office, then looked back. Priscilla collapsed into her chair, planted her elbows on her desk, dropped her face into her palms and shook her head wildly.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Kayla whispered.

  “Hell, yeah,” I murmured.

  The only bump in the road ahead of me was my promise to Marcie that I would tell her everything at dinner tonight. It would have to wait. It suited me better, really. I kind of wanted to forget the whole thing for a while anyway.

  I headed for my office, my spirits high, my steps light, Highway to the Danger Zone playing in my head. Now, instead of slogging through my daily grind, I was off to a fantastic retreat for a whole week.

  What a heck of a way to start off a Monday.

  No way could anything bad happen now.

  No way.

  Chapter 2

  “Oh my God, everybody who’s anybody is going to be at this thing,” Kayla said, studying her phone and the info Priscilla had sent.

  We’d both rushed home, packed, I’d picked her up, and we were now headed north on the 101 toward Santa Barbara.

  “Yeah?” I asked. “Who?”

  The freeway hugged the coast and we were treated to awesome views of the ocean on our left, and the rugged mountains on our right. The sky was blue, the sun bright, the weather awesome, as expected in Southern California.

  And, as expected, Kayla and I looked pretty awesome, as well, still dressed in our killer business suits. Even though this event was taking place at a retreat, apparently no one was allowed to actually relax. According to the info Priscilla had provided, business attire was expected until after dinner, when standards were slightly downgraded to dressy business casual.

  Kayla swiped through her phone. “All the most prestigious companies will be there. I’ve never even heard of some of them.”

  I’d glanced over the information about the conference earlier, but only enough to find out what I should pack for the week. My most fashion-forward business suits were now in a garment bag, and my suitcase held shoes, accessories, and my stunning, look-at-me-and-be-jealous array of designer handbags.

  I’ve completely lost my mind over designer handbags. I absolutely must have the hottest, coolest, trendiest, of-the-moment purse, and I’d go to any lengths to get it. Really, any lengths.

  Some people say I have a problem; I say it’s no problem at all.

  “The convention center looks awesome. They’ve got all kinds of amenities, including their own vineyard and a helipad. You can tell they’re shooting for big-money clients,” Kayla said, swiping more screens on her phone. “It looks like this week’s schedule will have a huge lineup of classes for all sorts of hospitality products and services.”

  I wasn’t a big fan of attending classes—I tended to drift off—because they all pretty much seemed alike—mind-numbing and butt-flattening. Maybe I could find a way to get out of most of them.

  “Catering, lighting, music, flowers, table linens, and candles,” Kayla went on. “Selecting venues, hiring security and construction companies. Furniture and seating. There’ll be vendors and an exhibit hall.”

  I perked up a little. Oddly enough, all of that stuff sounded interesting to me. I actually liked my job.

  “Oh, wow, and get this,” Kayla said. “They’re giving away messenger bags. Five of them. From a designer named Carlo Casale. Have you heard of him?”

  “What?”

  I nearly swerved into the other lane.

  Oh my God, Carlo Casale—I think he’s Italian, but if he’s not he should be—was simultaneously the hottest and the coolest designer in the entire world. His bags were to die for, sought after by absolutely everyone and, of course, impossible to find. His latest messenger bag had been featured in all the fashion magazines and on the trendiest websites. I’d fallen in love with it—and become obsessed with it—the moment I’d seen it.

  “Is it the Titan messenger bag?” I asked. Actually, I might have shouted that.

  Casale’s latest line was the Galaxy collection. Each item was named for a planet, or a star, or a nebula, or something—I don’t know, I get all of those things mixed up. All I knew for sure was that Titan was Saturn’s largest moon because I’d read it in a Vogue magazine ad. The gist of the whole thing was that if you carried a Casale bag your career would soar—the galaxy was the limit, not simply the sky.

  Cool, huh?

  “Yeah, it’s the Titan. The bags are a giveaway,” Kayla said. “Friday, to close the event.”

  To make sure nobody left early, no doubt.

  I hate it when that happens.

  “What kind of giveaway? A random drawing? Some sort of conference participation criteria?” I asked, my mind buzzing through all the things I’d do to get one of those bags, then deciding, of course, I’d do anything to get one.

  We’ve all got our priorities.

  “It doesn’t say,” Kayla said and flipped to the next screen on her phone.

  Obviously, Kayla wasn’t as crazed over the Titan messenger bags as I was, but that’s okay. I could still be friends with her. I was all about diversity.

  “I think you know this guy,” she said and tapped on her phone. “Jack Bishop.”

  I nearly swerved into the other lane again.

  Oh my God, Jack would be there? At the conference? The one I was also attending? We’d be there together for an entire week?

  Jack was a private investigator who was even hotter and cooler than Carlo Casale—but in a totally different way. Jack owned his own security firm. I’d met him a while back when I was employed at an L.A. badass law firm and Jack had done some consulting for them. Since then we’d worked together on cases. The heat between us was undeniable but it had never gone anywhere. I’d been involved with someone else, and I’m a one-man-at-a-time kind of gal—no exceptions. Jack always respected that—sort of.

  “I’ve seen him in the office,” Kayla said. “He’s really hot.”

  “I’ve hired his firm for some of my events,” I said and managed to sound calm even though my thoughts were racing. “He does a first-class job.”

  “He’s handling security at the conference, and it’s his first time there,” Kayla said, gesturing to her phone. “Wow, that firm of his must be awesome, if he got this gig.”

  It didn’t get bigger than HPA. This was a high-visibility opportunity that would elevate Jack’s business and bring in tons more clients. I knew he’d do a great job.

  Kayla went on about the week’s events but, honestly, I wasn’t really listening until my GPS intruded on my thoughts and announced my freeway exit was coming up. I followed the streets that rose into the hills above Santa Barbara, then turned onto a road marked with a discreet sign—meant to keep out the riff-raff, I suspect—that wound through a wooded area.

  The Severin Retreat and Conference Center appeared as we crested a rise, making it seem as if we’d somehow time-traveled to ancient Greece. The huge building was made of white stone and had tons of columns, statues, and carvings that gave it an elegant and dignified look in a restrained way that screamed don’t-think-for-a-minute-you’re-actually-going-to-have-a-good-time-here. A perfectly manicured lawn stretched out in front of the building dotted with fountains and gardens of artfully arranged flowers. Down a shallow incline was a small lake with—and, really, I’m not kidding here—swans.

  A team of valets in cream-colored jackets and blue bow ties descended on us when I pulled to a stop, and made quick work of unloading our bags as a young woman in a cream-colored business suit—cream being as wild as it got at Severin, apparently—approached.

  “Welcome,” she said, clutching a tablet and wearing an I-get-paid-to-be-this-friendly smile. “I’m Shannon Alda, your personal hostess.”

&
nbsp; She was petite, with blonde hair and blue eyes. I figured she was a couple of years younger than me, likely a recent graduate with a degree in hospitality who’d impressed somebody enough to score a job at a prestigious place like Severin. She looked composed, confident, and capable, and seemed to be on top of things because she already knew our names.

  “I was so sorry to learn about Rachel and Sienna,” Shannon said, as we headed toward the building’s entrance. “Do you have an update on their hospitalization?”

  Actually, I’d forgotten all about them—which was bad, I know. But I’d had all kinds of other stuff on my mind, little of which had anything to do with L.A. Affairs or the HPA conference.

  Luckily, Kayla held her phone in her hand, as if she had a hotline to the hospital, and said, “There’s been no change.”

  “Everyone is so relieved you two could step in at the last minute,” Shannon said.

  She ushered us inside. The lobby was huge—really, you could have played a pro baseball game in here.

  Cream was the go-to color. It had been accessorized with varying shades of blue, a good choice for the month of January when it was too early for pastels, and the reds and oranges of the holidays brought back too many thank-God-we-survived memories. The ceiling featured a series of domes, each painted with scenes of nearly naked cherubs and plump adults wrapped in strategically placed scarves, frolicking on clouds. The check-in desk stretched along the far wall and was backed by a mural of green meadows, trees, flowers, and grazing sheep.

  A number of conference attendees were scattered throughout the lobby, seated in groups, and huddled in knots. Everyone wore their finest business attire and was perfectly groomed. There was a little commotion nearby where a woman was leading another woman around as if she were a dog on a leash, presenting her to everyone they passed. Otherwise, conversation was low, voices muted.

  Shannon did a series of modified Vanna White moves—discreet gestures, as per the Severin employee handbook, no doubt—and pointed to the right where the main corridor led to the exhibit hall and the meeting and conference rooms, then to our left where the guest rooms were located.

  “Your bags are being sent to your room,” Shannon said, tapping on her tablet. “Since you’re new to the conference this year, you’re in the first group for the labyrinth walk. It’s a timed departure. I’m sending you the link now with all the information.”

  Kayla and I pulled out our phones and I saw that, already, I’d received a text from Priscilla wanting an update. Jeez, did she really think something text-worthy had happened already?

  I didn’t respond. I had something really important that required my immediate attention.

  “I understand the conference has the Titan messenger bags?” I asked, and managed to sound calm and controlled.

  Shannon’s half-frozen, Severin-regulation smile amped up. “Oh, yes, and they’re gorgeous. One of them is on display. Would you like to see it?”

  It took everything I had not to push through the crowd, elbows-out to clear a path, but I managed to channel my beauty pageant mother’s I’m-better-than-you attitude and walked sedately alongside Shannon. Kayla might have said something. I don’t know. I wasn’t listening.

  We entered the massive exhibit hall. The space was filled with vendor booths. Conference attendees roamed the aisles, chatting with the booth monitors, looking things over, picking up brochures.

  Shannon stopped and gestured to a large display stand positioned prominently near the entry. Upon it, enclosed in a glass case, sat a Titan messenger bag.

  Someone moaned. I thought it was Shannon, but I’m afraid it was actually me.

  How could I not? The bag bore the signature fabric and distinctive logo that all Casale items were known for. And it was gorgeous—no, actually, it was beyond gorgeous.

  I paused in humble reverence, giving myself a moment to take it in. I didn’t trust myself to get too close yet, fearing I might actually lick the glass. Somehow, I pulled myself together—I can push through when I have to—and joined Shannon and Kayla at the display.

  “The giveaway bags are carefully stored. They’re filled with swag, but not this one, of course,” Shannon said. “The Casale rep felt the swag would alter the shape and the crisp lines of the display bag since it’s positioned upright in the case. She felt it would diminish its desirability.”

  Oh my God, a Casale rep had been here? And might return? Wow, this conference was getting better and better.

  “The HPA participants have been extremely generous with their swag donations, awarding the most desirable goods and services their firms offer,” Shannon said.

  “Like the Oscar and Emmy swag bags?” Kayla asked.

  “And just as valuable. See for yourself.” Shannon circled the display stand, then frowned. “There’s a brochure with all the details. It should be here.”

  As if on cue, a hot-looking guy wearing a Severin polo shirt—cream colored, of course—hurried over pushing a cart loaded with cardboard boxes.

  “Just got these from the printer—again,” he said, and started unloading brochures from one of the boxes. He passed one to each of us and gave a decidedly un-Severin-like eye roll. “One of the vendors insisted on a change.”

  The brochure was a slick tri-fold with the Titan messenger bag on the front. Inside was a list of the vendors who’d contributed swag. Everything had been selected to appeal to hospitality industry professionals, an enticement to try out their services and then recommend them to wealthy clients for their high-profile events.

  “Thanks, Zander,” Shannon said.

  He emptied the box, gave her a friendly nod, and walked away with the cart.

  My eyes widened as I read the list of vendor-donated swag. This was awesome. Trips and cruises, discounted use of venues, free products and services. I noted that L.A. Affairs had jumped on the try-us-on-the-cheap bandwagon, offering the services of one of our event planners at no cost. I wondered who would get stuck doing that.

  “This is a spectacular giveaway,” Kayla said, flipping through the brochure.

  “It’s impressive,” Shannon agreed, looking over the list. “The swag alone is valued at—”

  She paused, blinked rapidly at the brochure, then pressed her lips together and frowned.

  “Well, yes, the giveaway is stunning,” she said, drawing in a breath. “Enjoy the conference.” She hurried away, yanking her phone out of her pocket.

  “I guess the value of the swag is some sort of secret,” Kayla said.

  “Yeah, and we almost heard it.”

  I hate it when that happens.

  “We’d better go,” Kayla said, checking the time on her phone. “We can’t miss our turn in the labyrinth walk.”

  I had no idea what a labyrinth walk was, but I figured somebody would explain it when we got there. I took one last lingering look at the Titan messenger bag, and left.

  Luckily, Kayla had read over the info Shannon had sent so she led the way. Outside she gestured toward the vineyard, helipad, tennis courts, and swimming pool as we followed a long walkway that took us away from the conference center and wound through a wooded area. Trees, flowers, and shrubs were plentiful, and placed among them were benches, statues, and fountains. Twinkle lights and accent lighting lit the path, since the sun was almost down.

  Up ahead I spotted a woman dressed in a white flowing dress with a wreath of flowers in her graying hair, standing next to some tall shrubs. She swayed back and forth to music that, apparently, played only in her head, as she raised her outstretched arms skyward.

  “What the heck?” I mumbled. “Can we ditch this?”

  “I wish. Priscilla has texted twice to make sure we’re following the conference schedule,” Kayla whispered back. “She wants pictures.”

  So far the labyrinth walk wasn’t screaming party-on, but it seemed we had no choice.

  The woman dressed like an aging fairy stopped swaying as we approached.

  “Welcome. You may call me Bliss,
” she crooned and waved her hands toward the trees that surrounded us. “You are indeed here on a most special evening. The full moon will light your way to internal peace and tranquility as you walk through our labyrinth.”

  I glanced up and saw that the treetops shone with yellow light as the moon peaked over.

  “What is this? A maze?” I asked, looking at the flagstone path that disappeared through the double row of tall shrubs.

  “Oh, no.” Bliss shook her head and favored us with a dreamy smile. “In a maze you could become lost and wander aimlessly looking for your destination. In our labyrinth you’ll simply follow the path, and along the way you’ll find internal peace and tranquility.”

  I figured having some internal peace and tranquility in my life wouldn’t hurt anything, although usually I wasn’t a big fan of it. The moon over the treetops did look pretty, plus all the flowers made the air smell sweet. And, if we got this over quickly, we could go do something that was actual fun.

  “The labyrinth on the full moon offers a centering effect that puts us in touch with the wisdom of our bodies,” Bliss went on, and started swaying again for no apparent reason. “It’s the moment when we must slow down, become aware of the sky, the air, the scent of the earth and all it offers.”

  Kayla and I shared a what-the-heck look.

  “Please take a moment to center yourselves and relax your minds, while those ahead of you finish their walk.” Bliss said. “Our retreat values silence, stillness, and a quiet reflective atmosphere.”

  We stepped to the side and Bliss started swaying again.

  “Rachel and Sienna are lucky they missed this,” I murmured.

  “They probably crashed their car on purpose,” Kayla whispered back.

  Wish I’d thought of that.

  The low hum of voices floated through the air. I looked back down the walkway and saw three women headed toward the labyrinth, and behind them were two more groups of people. If we didn’t get moving we’d be stacked up like aircraft over LAX waiting to land.