Fanny Packs and Foul Play (A Haley Randolph Mystery) Page 3

  Good to know my deductive reasoning skills weren’t completely destroyed in the presence of such a hot guy.

  Jack cupped my elbow and walked me to the corner of the room.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked quietly.

  “Security,” Jack said. “Pike Warner called me in.”

  Pike Warner was the law firm where I’d met Jack—and where I’d probably still be working if it hadn’t been for that whole administrative-leave- investigation-pending thing—which represented the wealthiest, most prestigious clients in Los Angeles. I figured Julia had called them immediately upon learning of Veronica’s death.

  Families like the Spencer-Tafts didn’t sign up for a gym membership without their attorneys at their elbow.

  “What’s happening?” I asked.

  Jack angled his body so his back was to everyone else in the room—I’m sure they were all staring, and who could blame them—and leaned down.

  “The cops are investigating the scene,” he said, “very thoroughly.”

  I figured they would. No way would they want to be responsible for a foul-up involving the death of a member of such a prominent family.

  Then something else hit me.

  “It was an accident, wasn’t it?” I asked.

  Jack shrugged. “We’ll see.”

  A really ugly picture started to form in my head, but I pushed it out.

  “Let me know if you hear anything,” I said.

  He nodded but didn’t ask me to do the same—he already knew I would.

  Maybe my relationship with Jack had lost some of its mystery.

  Jack left the room, taking most of the heat with him, and I could see that everyone was getting restless and Renée was winding up for another smoke break. I was feeling antsy myself and was ready to break out my touch-of-the-stomach-flu excuse when the door opened and Julia walked in.

  The vibe in the room amped up as everyone rose and crowded around her, expecting to, at long last, hear some definitive news. The aunts looked slightly more haggard than when they’d arrived, worn down by the sudden and unexpected loss of a loved one.

  Julia appeared composed and in control, head up, shoulders back, facing the inevitable with the same we’ll-go-on-no-matter-what spirit that the many generations of ancestors before her must have displayed.

  She pressed her palms together and drew a breath.

  “I’m so very sorry for your loss,” she said, looking at each of Veronica’s relatives in turn. “I know this is a blow none of you expected. It’s a tragedy, one that won’t soon be forgotten or easily overcome.”

  The aunts and Brandie just stared at her.

  I wondered if she had a public relations firm on retainer who’d whipped up that little speech for her.

  “As you can imagine, Patrick is devastated,” Julia went on. “He’s in seclusion. But he sends his heartfelt condolences to each of you.”

  They kept staring.

  “The police officers have assured me that you will be given an opportunity to make your statements within the next few minutes. Immediately afterwards, you will be taken to the airport for your return flight home,” Julia said.

  The aunts gasped.

  “Andrea,” Julia said. “Call the car service and book their airline reservations.”

  “Wait,” Melanie said.

  “Yeah, hold on a second,” Renée insisted.

  “What about the funeral?” Cassie asked.

  “Services and internment will be held at the church in her home town,” Julia said.

  “We can’t just leave,” Renée said. “It’s not right.”

  “It’s disrespectful,” Cassie said.

  “We haven’t even talked to Patrick yet,” Melanie said.

  “Patrick is with his family,” Julia said.

  “We’re his family, too,” Melanie said.

  Julia drew in a breath, as if to steady herself, and said, “There is no reason for you to stay. Everything is being handled.”

  “Well, I’m not leaving,” Renée told her.

  The others nodded in agreement.

  “There are no appropriate accommodations for you,” Julia explained.

  “We’ll stay here,” Melanie said. “There’s plenty of room.”

  Julia drilled the aunts with a don’t-you-realize-I’m-better-than-you glare.

  “One does not expect staff to remain on the premises following an event of this nature,” she said in an if-you-had-any-class-you’d-know-that voice.

  “We don’t need a staff,” Cassie said. “We can take care of ourselves.”

  “We sure can,” Renée agreed.

  I thought Julia might actually morph into a block of ice at any second.

  “I’ll help out,” Andrea offered.

  Julia turned her how-dare-you glare Andrea’s way, so what could I do but say, “And so will I.”

  “Good,” Melanie said. “It’s all settled.”

  Julia’s pinched lips indicated that the matter was far from settled, yet good breeding forbade her from pressing the issue.

  “Very well,” she said and left.

  No way was I staying in that room any longer. If the cops wanted to talk to me, they’d just have to hunt me down.

  I left and walked down the hallway heading for the front door—and spotted Julia.

  Crap.

  She walked over, her I-could-pass-for-a-wax-figure composure once again firmly in place.

  “I realize my comments may have sounded cold,” she said, sounding, of course, incredibly cold, “but I hope you could see that I was attempting to soften the blow.”

  I had no idea what she was talking about.

  “What blow?” I asked.

  “The heartache they will endure when the police reveal that Veronica killed herself,” she said.

  Oh my God, where had that come from?

  “She was an impetuous girl, unfortunately,” Julia said. “She didn’t think things through. Things such as leaving her home and her family, marrying my Patrick, attempting to assist in the running of a major business venture. She was in over her head here. She was glad her relatives were coming because she intended to go back home with them.”

  Okay, I was thoroughly shocked.

  “But she and Patrick seemed like they were so much in love,” I said.

  Julia dismissed my words with a graceful flick of her wrist.

  “She confided in me,” Julia said.

  Wow, had I misjudged Veronica’s relationship with her mother-in-law, or what?

  “But now her aunts and cousin will be here to personally witness the horrifying truth when it’s revealed,” Julia said, and left the thanks-to-you-and-Andrea unspoken yet heavily implied.

  “I can’t imagine Veronica taking her own life,” I said.

  “How could it be anything else?” Julia said. “Even someone so utterly lacking in poise and grace as Veronica wasn’t clumsy enough to fall off of a balcony.”

  Chapter 4

  When I walked into the L.A. Affairs office the next morning, Mindy was on the phone jabbing buttons on the console as if she were sitting in front of a video poker machine in Vegas—and looked as frazzled and desperate as a weekend gambler on an all-night losing streak. This didn’t make me feel so good about myself.

  It was a stretch for me to have patience with Mindy, even under the best of conditions and, really, conditions hadn’t been all that great for me lately.

  Marcie had told me I’d been kind of crabby and I realized that, as always, she was right—and that no matter how difficult my life had seemed to me lately, it was a heck of a lot better than Veronica’s, Patrick’s, and their families’.

  I decided I should definitely stop acting like such a crab-ass and be nicer.

  “Are you ready to party?” Mindy asked, as the lights on her telephone blinked frantically and she held the received away from her ear.

  “Yes, I am,” I told her, then smiled and went on my way.

  I swung by my
office and dropped off my handbag—an adorable Chanel tote that perfectly complemented my gray checked pencil skirt and white sweater—and went to the breakroom. Several employees were in there making themselves a cup of coffee, and chatting.

  Kayla, my L.A. Affairs BFF who was also an event planner, was heating a muffin in the microwave. She was about my age, tall, with dark hair and a curvy figure.

  “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” she asked.

  Okay, this wasn’t the best topic for me to discuss so early in the morning—I mean, jeez, I hadn’t even had my first cup of coffee yet—especially on the heels of my decision to be a nicer person. Kayla had no way of knowing that, of course. The what-are-you-doing question prior to any holiday was standard among friends and acquaintances.

  “My mom is having the family over,” I said.

  Really, I wasn’t sure exactly what Mom had in mind for the day or who she planned to invite—except for some unsuspecting guy who was destined to be set up with my sister. Mom had probably told me the details but I’d drifted off.

  “What about you?” I asked, as I got a cup from the cabinet.

  “Everybody is going to my aunt’s this year,” Kayla said. “I have to be at a client’s house until mid-afternoon, so the family is holding dinner until I get there.”

  Wow, that was nice. I had no idea what time Mom was serving but I was pretty sure it would have nothing to do with my schedule—more likely the time that she’d assigned to the caterer she’d hired.

  “See you later,” Kayla said. She grabbed her muffin and coffee, and left.

  I filled my cup, added a few sugars and a generous splash of French vanilla creamer, and headed out. At the door I turned back, grabbed two bags of M&Ms from the snack cabinet, and went to my office.

  I settled into my desk, sipped my coffee, and got down to work. First things first, was my policy when starting a new day, so I immediately updated my Facebook page, checked my bank balance, and read my horoscope. I was debating whether to look at the Neiman Marcus or the Nordstrom’s web sites for an if-I-don’t-find-one-soon-I’ll-die handbag when I noticed three phone messages from the day before, all from the same person, someone named Mr. Douglas.

  Huh. That was weird. I wasn’t handling an event for anyone by that name.

  Then it hit me—that was the guy who’d called yesterday wanting an immediate appointment with me to, no doubt, talk about an event for his wife or girlfriend. I’d told Mindy to get rid of him, but he’d called back several more times, it seemed.

  Why the heck did he keep calling? Didn’t he get the hint?

  Yeah, okay, I’d decided just a short while ago to be a nicer person, but that didn’t necessarily include spending weeks or months putting together a fabulous occasion for a man desperately in love with someone who wasn’t me.

  Veronica and Patrick Spencer-Taft flashed in my mind. During the occasions when I’d worked with them prepping the Thanksgiving feast I could see how much they loved each other. And beyond that, they made a great team working side by side at Pammy Candy.

  Then an ugly image flashed in my mind. Veronica, distraught and desperate, standing at the glass sliding doors in the master suite of that beautiful mansion, then charging across the balcony, hurling herself over the railing.

  Could she really have done that? Could she have killed herself, as Julia had said?

  True, Veronica’s life had taken a major turn, and I could see where she might have been overwhelmed by the move, the new house, the business, new friends and family. Trying to fit in when her background was so different wouldn’t have been easy.

  Could Andrea, as Veronica’s personal assistant, been so wrong about her and her relationship with Patrick? Was Julia right and she had been planning to go back home with her family, leave Patrick and everything they’d built? Had Veronica been too unhappy and upset to tell Patrick how she felt?

  I didn’t like any of those thoughts or images swirling around in my head, so I pushed them out. They might be for nothing, anyway, once the police completed their investigation. Maybe it had been a horrible accident, after all.

  No matter what, I figured the Thanksgiving Day feast I’d been putting together for the employees of Pammy Candy was off. Maybe Patrick would want me to plan a memorial service instead.

  Not a great feeling.

  My office phone rang. Mindy was calling. I mentally repeated my be-nicer vow and answered.

  “Hello? Hello? Is this the accounting department?” Mindy asked.

  “No, it’s not,” I said—pleasantly, under the circumstances.

  “Haley, is that you?” Mindy giggled. “Oh, jiminy, are you in accounting now?”

  “No,” I said.

  “That’s too bad,” Mindy said. “You’d make a terrific accountant.”

  Good grief.

  “Bye, Mindy,” I said.

  “Oh, wait,” she said. “Haley, you have a call—no, you have a client. Yes, client. A client who called, then came by—no, a client who came by, then called—”

  I hung up—which was the nicest thing I could do.

  I had no idea if a client was in the office or on the phone, so I sat there for a minute in case Mindy transferred a call. She didn’t, but given her prowess with our phone system—thank God she wasn’t working in a missile silo—that didn’t necessarily mean anything.

  I gave it a couple more minutes, then decided there was a real possibility that a client of mine had showed up without an appointment and was waiting for me in one of the interview rooms. I grabbed a new event portfolio from my desk drawer—I always look smart when I carry it—and headed down the hallway.

  All the interview rooms were empty, except one, and—oh my God, who was that guy?

  I froze in the doorway. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think. My heart raced and I felt all jittery inside.

  The man seated in front of the desk was handsome—I mean, really handsome. His hair was somewhere between light brown and blonde, combed carefully into place. He had on a very expensive dark suit, a snowy white shirt, and a gray necktie. Even seated I could see he was tall and that he worked out regularly. I figured him for early thirties.

  He spotted me and rose from his chair. “Miss Randolph?”

  Oh my God, he had the most gorgeous green eyes I’d ever seen in my entire life.

  I fought off the I’m-fifteen-again urge to giggle, play with my hair, and act like a complete idiot—not easy, but I pulled it off.

  Oh, please, let me have pulled that off.

  “Yes,” I said, and walked into the room.

  He extended his hand and we shook—and all sorts of crazy heat raced up my arm.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said. “I’m Liam Douglas.”

  Oh my God, he had a fabulous name. He was tall and sturdy, but long limbed and athletic, like he could morph into a Marvel superhero at any moment.

  “I’m glad I could finally catch you,” he said.

  Catch me? What the heck was he talking about? Why would he—

  Oh, crap.

  He was the Mr. Douglas who’d been calling—and I’d been avoiding like the zombie apocalypse—and now he’d showed up here at the office. I’d suspected he wanted me to stage an event for his wife or girlfriend—men never come in here for any other reason—and now I knew I’d been right.

  To make matters worse he was really hot looking, so his girlfriend was probably gorgeous. They, no doubt, had a fabulous life and were going someplace romantic for Thanksgiving—not stuck at their mom’s house with boring relatives and probably friends they didn’t even know, like I was.

  How the heck was I supposed to be a nicer person when these annoying things kept happening?

  I channeled my pageant-mom’s I-can-look-pleasant-even-though-that-ugly-girl-on-the-end-won-first-place, and said, “I’ll have one of our other planners help with your event, Mr. Douglas. I can’t take on another client right now.”

  “I’m not a client,” he said. “I�
��m an attorney and I need to speak with you.”

  Yikes! Was I being sued?

  My entire life flashed through my head. Had I done something suit-worthy? Well, yeah, probably—but I was sure I’d covered all of that up really well.

  Then Veronica Spencer-Taft flew into my mind. Was this something to do with her death?

  “I’m with the firm of Schrader, Vaughn, and Pickett,” Liam explained. “We represent L.A. Affairs.”

  Oh, crap.

  “Let’s sit down,” Liam said.

  I took the power seat behind the desk and he returned to the visitor’s chair in front of it. He was definitely in attorney-mode, serious and grim—which was kind of hot—as he took his cell phone from the pocket of his jacket and pushed a few buttons.

  “A suit has been brought against L.A. Affairs by one of your clients,” he said, consulting his phone. He looked up at me. “It’s alleged that an assault took place at the event.”

  An assault?

  I had no idea what he was talking about.

  “A sexual assault,” Liam said.

  Oh my God, how horrible. I sank back in my chair, stunned and repulsed.

  Something like that had happened at an event I’d planned? Had I missed the need for sufficient security? Was there something I could have done to prevent such a heinous act?

  Liam consulted his notes on his cell phone again. “This occurred approximately one month ago. Do you recall the event?”

  “I have no idea,” I told him. “No idea at all. I didn’t know anything like this took place. Why didn’t anyone say something sooner?”

  “The pregnancy was only recently discovered,” Liam said.

  I felt ill—like I might really be sick.

  “Do you have notes on the event that you could consult?” Liam asked.

  “Of course. Anything I can do to help,” I said. “What was the occasion? Whose event was it?”

  He glanced at his cell phone again. “It was a birthday party at the client’s home in Pasadena, hosted by Fritz Amos and Max Sheldon. Do you recognize those names?”

  The event sprang into my head immediately.

  “Sure, they were two really nice guys,” I said, as the details of the party formed in my head. “But it was all men. No women. And it wasn’t some wild occasion. It was an afternoon birthday party for their—”