Messenger Bags and Murder (A Haley Randolph Mystery) Page 6

  Yeah, okay, I was kind of stretching it there. But it seemed to work.

  “No, of course not.” Olivia shook her head, looking truly confused. “I specifically instructed Shannon to speak with you and Kayla, and offer any and all assistance you might need. I don’t … I don’t understand what happened.”

  The thing about rolling over somebody was you had to know when to pull back.

  I don’t like pulling back.

  Still, I could see that Olivia was on the ropes so no need to push any further.

  “Obviously, this is a difficult time for everyone on staff,” I said, as if we were both suddenly on the same side. “And you did instruct Shannon on how to handle the situation.”

  Olivia looked relieved that I had calmed down at little. “I’m sure there’s a very good reason for Shannon’s behavior. She’s an excellent employee. Although she hasn’t been with us long, she excelled at every facet of our training program, which is extensive and intense. I’m sure there’s a very good reason she hasn’t approached you or Kayla.”

  Now, of course, was the perfect moment to turn the conversation to something that would benefit me.

  “I understand you had your hands full yesterday dealing with Elita Winston and her demands for changes,” I said, like we were friends now.

  “Nothing out of the ordinary,” Olivia said, though she still seemed to be a bit lost in thought, probably wondering what was up with Shannon. “Dealing with clients is routine for me.”

  “Even clients who want their entire booth upgraded on a moment’s notice?” I asked.

  “Well, yes. That was a little unusual.”

  “More than unusual,” I said. “A witness stated you two nearly came to blows.”

  Olivia’s I-can-handle-anything posture crumbled. “What? Who said that?”

  “Did you follow Elita to the labyrinth walk? Try to talk to her, smooth things over? And she refused to listen?” I asked. “Did things go too far?”

  Her mouth flew open in an outraged gasp, then snapped shut. She squared her shoulders and said, “Please accept my apology on behalf of the Severin management team for not properly acknowledging and offering comfort for what you and Kayla experienced.”

  Olivia pushed past me and disappeared down the aisle.

  She’d looked stunned and blind-sided by my accusation that she’d murdered Elita. She’d looked pretty convincing.

  But she hadn’t denied it.

  Chapter 7

  Kayla waited outside the door to the workshop we were supposed to attend. I had to admit that, despite all the wine last night, she looked pretty darn good dressed in an awesome navy blue business suit, hair and makeup done.

  “For Priscilla,” she said, holding up her phone.

  We posed in front of the sign that displayed the name of the workshop, and Kayla snapped a pic.

  “Be sure to include lots of emoji,” I said, as she tapped out a text message.

  “Yeah, we’re working hard,” she mumbled.

  We followed the flow of people into the room and I selected seats on the back row of the aisle closest to the door—my go-to spot for any sort of gathering that involved actually paying attention.

  “What’s the workshop about?” I asked.

  Kayla swiped through her phone. “It’s called Creative Problem Solving.”

  Okay, so the first workshop of the conference was a bust for me. I had no problem solving my—or anyone else’s—problems. I’m not bossy. I just know what everybody should do.

  It’s a gift, really.

  The room filled up with well-dressed men and women, the speaker stepped up to the podium, and I drifted off.

  During meetings my mind usually veered between any number of pleasant topics—my next shopping trip, getting together with friends, maybe seeing Liam soon—or simply making a mental grocery list. But, oddly enough, my first thought today was about my clients at L.A. Affairs.

  I didn’t have a lot of events in the planning stages, which wasn’t unusual for this time of year since most everybody was still exhausted from the holidays. The next big moment on the let’s-celebrate-this-even-though-nobody-really-knows-why calendar was Valentine’s Day, otherwise known as Single Awareness Day.

  I’d refused to take on any events for that day. Weeks ago when clients had contacted L.A. Affairs for help staging Valentine’s events, I was still kind of stinging from my breakup with Ty and even though I was seeing Liam, we hadn’t been official—well, we were kind of official, but not official official. So no way did I want to knock myself out planning a fabulous day-evening-weekend-whatever for some other couple.

  All of which was kind of selfish of me, but oh well. I mean, really, I have to draw the line somewhere.

  Yet I did have events going. Everything was up to date with them but I figured I’d have heard from Priscilla by now with the name of the planner who was monitoring them for me. This seemed like the perfect moment to find out—and, of course, kill some time until the workshop ended.

  I dug my phone out of my handbag and dashed off a quick text to Priscilla—emojis included. Then it vibrated and I saw a response from my sister about the message I’d sent yesterday. She was in London on a modeling assignment blah, blah, blah, and was in total panic mode, blah, blah, blah, about Mom’s sudden idea to sell our family home.

  That made me think of my brother, so I checked my messages and, sure enough, he’d weighed in on the situation. The whole thing was news to him and he was weirded-out by it. He’s a pilot in the Air Force, stationed in the Middle East, and almost never got upset about anything, which says a lot about how out-there Mom’s news was.

  Okay, so all three of us were onboard the how-can-she-do-this bandwagon. But what could we do about it? I reminded myself that all of this upset might be for nothing. Mom often got distracted, usually by looking at herself in the mirror, so maybe this whole thing would blow over.

  Crossing my fingers and hoping for the best wasn’t much of a plan, but it was the only thing I could come up with at the moment.

  As I tucked my phone away, the noise level in the room amped up and everybody rose from their chair. Jeez, the workshop was over already?

  “So what was this about?” I asked Kayla as we headed toward the door.

  “Solving problems,” she said. “Ways to energize and refocus your team.”

  I saw no need to energize or refocus my team—all they had to do was follow my instructions. Just as well the workshop had passed me by, unnoticed.

  We moved along the hallway and I spotted Shannon positioned by the wall, stretching up, scanning the crowd. She saw me at the same instance and waved us over.

  “Haley, Kayla, please accept my most sincere apology for not speaking with you yesterday about the … incident,” Shannon said.

  She looked genuinely sincere—actually, she genuinely looked like somebody who’d gotten majorly reprimanded by her supervisor for not following procedure.

  “I know that was a horrific thing for you to witness,” Shannon said. “I’m so sorry you had to endure it.”

  “It was pretty awful,” Kayla told her.

  “Yes, it was,” Shannon agreed. “How are you two feeling today? Better?”

  If anyone needed to feel better, it was Shannon. She didn’t look so hot—pale, tense, grim, like she might be physically sick at any moment.

  Olivia must have really lit into her—which I guess was kind of my fault, after the way I’d lit into Olivia about Elita’s murder.

  “Mostly, I’m just trying to forget about it,” Kayla said.

  My kind-of super-sleuthing instincts took over, so I said, “What’s the latest on the murder investigation?”

  Shannon’s already pale face faded another shade. “I have no idea. Why would I? I’m not involved. I’m not involved in any sort of capacity.”

  Before I could ask anything else, Shannon said, “If you need anything, if there’s anything I can do, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”
r />   She hurried away.

  “I think she’s taking it harder than I am,” Kayla muttered. She glanced at her phone. “The next workshop starts soon.”

  “What’s this one?”

  “Re-invigorate and Transform Your Day,” she read.

  While I’d been through a lot of days that I’d wished could be re-invigorated or transformed—like today, for instance—I wasn’t all that crazy about sitting through a presentation about it. Especially when I had something way more important to do.

  “I’ll meet you there,” I said, and headed down the hall.

  I figured the best place to find Rosalind—my other she-probably-did-it murder suspect—was in the exhibit hall. Hopefully, she was hanging out at Elita’s B&B booth. If not, I was sure Mindy was still on celeb-watch and I could get her to text me if Rosalind showed up.

  A pretty good-sized crowd roamed the exhibit hall—jeez, why weren’t these people in a workshop—and as I wormed my way through, I spotted Rosalind manning Elita’s booth. That hot guy Zander was there, chatting her up.

  “Excuse me, Zander. I could use a few more brochures,” Mindy said, stepping from behind the L.A. Affairs booth. “Just tell me where to find them in the stockroom and I’ll pick up what I need.”

  Zander pushed his cart in front of her, blocking her path.

  “I’ll get them,” he said, flashing a smile.

  “No, really,” Mindy said. “The stockroom isn’t far, and I don’t mind. You’ve done too much already.”

  “Don’t even think about it,” he told her, smiling wider. “I’m here to make your day easier.”

  “Well, all right, if you’re sure. If you really don’t mind,” Mindy said.

  “I really don’t mind,” he told her.

  Zander hit her with another display of his pearly-whites, and left.

  She blushed slightly and turned to me. “Isn’t he the sweetest thing? So helpful. What a nice young man.”

  “So Rosalind is here,” I said, and nodded toward the B&B booth. “How’s it going over there?”

  “People have been stopping by, chatting. Some of them recognize her from the cooking championship,” Mindy reported, them did prune-face. “So much better than yesterday when Elita was here.”

  “I’m pretty sure today will be quieter than yesterday,” I told her, and walked over to the B&B booth.

  “Hello, welcome.” Rosalind uttered a self-conscious titter. “Thank you for stopping by.”

  She had on another ho-hum dress similar to the one I’d seen her in yesterday, flats, little makeup, with her hair in a this-is-really-the-best-I-can-manage up-do. She didn’t come across as an I’ll-gouge-your-eyes-out-to-win kind of gal so I figured I’d do better easing into the real reason I was here.

  I introduced myself, then said, “You won the Comfort Food Championship on TV, right?”

  “I did,” she said, and dipped her lashes. “I was so lucky, so lucky.”

  “I think it was more than luck,” I said. “You must be an excellent chef.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured. “But I was lucky to be on the show at all. I didn’t make the final round of auditions, so I thought I was just out. Then the production company called me at the last minute and said one of the contestants couldn’t compete, so I was in.”

  “What happened with the other contestant?” I asked.

  Rosalind glanced away. “Some sort of accident, or something. I don’t really know.”

  “And now you’re the chef at Elita’s B&B?” I asked. “I figured the TV network would have given you your own show.”

  “Well, there’s been some talk,” she admitted, with a modest smile.

  “So why are you at the B&B?” I asked, and managed a genuinely puzzled expression.

  Her smile dimmed slightly. “I accepted the job with Elita before the network called to tell me I could be in the competition after all. Elita and I were friends. I couldn’t back out.”

  “But if you were friends, it seems like she’d have wanted you to be available for your own TV show,” I said, and pulled off an I’m-kind-of-confused tone pretty darn well.

  “There were some … legal … issues.”

  Meaning Elita had her sign a contract, I figured. It was a serious move, considering Elita was supposedly her friend.

  “So, anyway,” Rosalind said, plastering on a bright smile, “the most exciting part of winning the championship was that I didn’t know I’d won until the day the show aired, and the producer called and told me. All four of us finalists were filmed as if we’d won, so nobody could leak the info and spoil the show’s finale.”

  “That’s really awesome,” I said. “Too bad you can’t take advantage of all the publicity and opportunities because you’re stuck in a B&B in Lake Arrowhead.”

  “Well … that might change,” Rosalind said, and shifted uncomfortably.

  “I know about Elita,” I told her.

  Her gaze came up sharply. “What … what do you mean?”

  I leaned closer. “I know what happened to her.”

  Rosalind seemed to deflate. “Oh, it’s terrible, just terrible. All this pretending. I don’t understand. Everybody insisted I stay, man this booth, so nobody would suspect something had happened. At least I don’t have to do the cooking demonstration Elita insisted on. But what am I supposed to say to people who stop by? I don’t even have a brochure to hand out—Zander can’t find them. And what am I supposed to do about Friday?”

  She looked at me as if she expected me to have answers. I didn’t, of course, so she kept talking.

  “I don’t like it here. I don’t want to stay. I don’t understand. Where’s her family? Why aren’t they here?”

  Rosalind looked completely frazzled now—the best time for me to hit her with my suspicion.

  “What happened at the labyrinth walk?” I asked.

  Rosalind gasped and went white. “I have no idea.”

  “You weren’t with her?” I asked. Jack had told me she wasn’t, but I wanted to hear it from Rosalind herself.

  “No. No, I was nowhere near that place.”

  “Why not? Why didn’t you two go through together?” I asked. “I saw you earlier in the evening. Elita was talking to everyone about your win, showing you off. Why not at the labyrinth?”

  “I—I didn’t want to go. I—I didn’t feel good. I was tired. My feet hurt. I don’t like that sort of thing.”

  Rosalind soared past frazzled to frantic, and was closing in on losing it. I knew it was time to change tactics.

  “Look, I’m just trying to help you out here,” I said in my you-can-trust-me voice. “The police are going to question you, so—”

  She plastered her hand over her mouth, barely suppressing a scream, and raced away.

  I was about to go after her when Olivia Trent planted herself in front of me, a smug look leaking through her I’m-required-to-give-good-service expression.

  “Excuse me,” I said, and dodged around her.

  She moved with me, blocking me.

  “Homicide detectives are here,” Olivia said, looking all together pleased with herself. “They want to question you in the murder of Elita Winston.”

  Oh, crap.

  Chapter 8

  As homicide detectives go, those two were pretty lame—which benefited me in the best possible way. I’d spoken with them for a few minutes in a small conference room tucked away near the business center, and they’d asked routine questions. I’d provided routine answers—basically that I’d seen, heard, and witnessed nothing useful—and they’d sent me on my way with their thanks. I had a feeling they’d eventually talk to Kayla, which I was sure would freak her out big-time, but I figured she was down their list a ways thanks to my I-saw-nothing answers.

  It was a relief, for once, to not be considered a suspect, to basically get a pass on the interview. I’d been tempted to ask the detectives for an update on the investigation—old habit—but I was afraid it would compromise my I’m-totally-cl
ueless remarks. I did manage to sneak in an I’m-lost question about why somebody would want to murder the owner of a B&B. Honestly, the detectives had looked totally clueless, too, so I figured it was just as well I hadn’t asked for specifics.

  As I headed through the main corridor away from the business center, I spotted Jack. I’d texted him, asking to meet up. This meant I’d had to blow off the entire workshop—the name of which I’d forgotten—but it was a sacrifice I was willing to make. Besides, I knew Kayla could fill me in on it later.

  Jack looked as handsome as always, in an awesome suit and necktie that set off the color of his eyes. He also looked even more stressed out than when I’d last seen him.

  “Have you got something?” Jack asked.

  Right to business. Yeah, he was stressed big-time.

  I shifted into private-investigator-wanna-be mode, and told him I’d talked to Olivia, the one person I knew who’d had a confrontation with Elita and also had access to the exact time she was scheduled to walk through the labyrinth.

  “She was stunned that I’d questioned her involvement,” I said. “But she didn’t deny anything.”

  Jack looked positively underwhelmed with my news. Understandable.

  “I spoke to Rosalind, too.” I gave him the rundown on how she’d been a last-minute contestant on the cooking championship show, and that by then she was under contract to Elita for her B&B.

  “Seems to me Rosalind has more motive than anyone,” I went on. “Elita was holding her back from what was probably the biggest opportunity of her life.”

  Jack nodded. “Anything else?”

  “What’s up with Elita’s family?” I asked. “Have any of them showed up here?

  “Her husband’s an accountant. Some kind of health problem,” Jack explained. “Still checking on him.”

  “What about her kids?” I asked.

  “Stepkids,” Jack said, and shook his head. “None of the family has been here.”

  I thought about how, after learning from Mom that she intended to sell the family home, I’d immediately contacted my brother and sister, and I’d heard back from them right away. It seemed odd to me that nobody from Elita’s family had been here, talking to the detectives, the conference center management, and Jack, demanding answers.