Messenger Bags and Murder (A Haley Randolph Mystery) Page 8

  “What’s this all about?” another woman at the table remarked, frowning.

  The gal beside me said, “If it’s not chocolate, it’s not dessert.”

  “I would never stage an event that didn’t include chocolate,” I declared, poking at the flaky crush with my fork. “I always feature a huge dessert bar. Massive quantities of chocolate, of course.”

  “You’re my kind of planner,” another woman said.

  None of the men at the table commented and were actually eating the pie.

  Honestly, I don’t get men sometimes.

  I was already feeling the effects of not having my favorite drink in the world—a mocha frappuccino—from the most fabulous place in the world—Starbucks—so no way could I eat a dessert that primarily consisted of fruit. I mean, really, fruit.

  Just as I was planning my excuse to leave the table, my phone rang. I made my apologies and fished it out of my handbag as I walked out of the dining room, and saw that Mom was calling. I paused—mentally and physically—debating on whether I should put off this conversation, then decided it was better to get it over with.

  I mean that in the nicest way.

  “Do you have the information?” Mom asked.

  Note—she didn’t ask how I was, where I was, or what I was doing. That’s my mom.

  “What have you learned?” she asked.

  I had no idea what she was talking about, but felt sure it had something to do with selling our family home.

  “I need you to get back to me with that information I asked you to check on,” Mom said. “Things are happening fast.”

  My anxiety level amped up as I envisioned a staging crew descending on our house, a Realtor caravan rolling up, multiple offers pouring in.

  “Things? What things?”

  “Well, things,” Mom insisted. “I have a hair appointment, plus I had to schedule a massage for this evening.”

  Okay, so really nothing was happening.

  “So you’ll get me that information?” Mom asked.

  I still had no idea what I was supposed to do for her, so what could I say but, “I’m all over it, Mom.”

  “Wonderful,” she said, and hung up.

  So even though nothing was really happening and the sale of our family home didn’t seem to be going anywhere, I knew my brother and sister would want to be kept in the loop. I dashed off messages to both of them. Even though we were all busy with our own lives, and time and distance kept us from being close, I found myself wishing they were here. I could really use some backup if this thing with Mom and the house ever gained any momentum.

  I accessed the conference schedule and saw that the upcoming workshop was something I might actually want to attend—and pay attention to. It was titled Preparing for the Unthinkable: Unexpected Complications and How to Overcome Them, and was presented by a major event planning company in New York.

  I tapped out a quick text message to Kayla letting her know I’d meet her there, then headed toward the main corridor and spotted Charles Kent standing along the wall just ahead of me, staring off at nothing.

  When I’d seen him earlier in the exhibit hall talking with Mindy at the L.A. Affairs booth, he’d told me he knew Elita had been murdered—informed of the news by an acquaintance. I didn’t need Scooby-Doo investigative skills to know he might provide a major clue.

  I stopped next to Charles and offered what I felt was a warm, non-threatening greeting. He gave me a warm, non-threatening response.

  “Are you enjoying the conference, Haley?” he asked, and made it sound as if he were performing Shakespeare.

  “I am,” I told him. “How about you?”

  “I always enjoy the conference, year after year,” he said.

  Wow, Charles must have had a super successful business if he was invited back regularly.

  “This is the first year L.A. Affairs has received an invitation,” I said.

  “Ah,” he said, nodding. “You must be very excited about Friday.”

  Okay, that was a weird comment. Friday was the last day of the conference.

  Anyway, I pushed on to the real reason I wanted to talk to him.

  “When we spoke earlier, you mentioned you’d heard about Elita’s death from an acquaintance,” I said.

  “And you learned of it, too?” he asked, frowning.

  “I discovered her … the crime scene,” I explained.

  “Oh, dear. How horrible for you, Haley,” he said.

  “Was it someone here at the conference who told you? Management seems to be going to great lengths to keep it quiet.”

  “Yes, quite right. They’re keeping it quiet, as they should.” Charles nodded slowly, like a wise old owl making a grave determination on something. “I understand your concern. If word got out of your unfortunate involvement, you’d garner unwanted attention—questions, callous remarks, that sort of thing. I’m sure that’s not what you want to be remembered for here at the conference.”

  “So you learned of Elita’s death from an acquaintance, not someone here?” I asked.

  “Well, yes and no.”

  Charles settled into his story, as if he were seated in a brocade wingback chair, clutching a pipe, surrounded by shelves of leather bound first editions.

  “I’ve known Parnel for many years. Old friend. Back when he was married to Claire, his first wife. Lost her to cancer. Nasty business,” he said. “The girls, their three daughters, were devastated, of course. Tough time. Tough time for everyone.”

  “So that’s who told you about Elita?”

  “If only that were possible. No, unfortunately Parnel suffers from health problems. In a care facility for some time now. Hard to see an old friend struck down.” Charles shook his head gravely. “I learned of Elita’s demise from Shannon.”

  Either that was a weird coincidence, or something even weirder was going on.

  “Shannon?” I asked. “Shannon Alda? Who works here?”

  “Yes, Shannon, Parnel’s daughter,” Charles said. “Elita didn’t take Parnel’s last name when they married, something about maintaining her business persona, such as it was. I had no idea Shannon worked here until I happened to run into her yesterday. I could see she was troubled, so she told me what had happened to Elita.”

  Okay, well, that explained why none of the family had come to the conference center—Shannon was already here. It explained, too, why Shannon had been so upset and hadn’t been able to deal with Kayla and me after finding Elita’s body. I was amazed she could keep working at all, knowing her stepmom had been murdered pretty much right under her nose.

  Wow, talk about a double whammy. Shannon had surely been instrumental in securing an invitation for Elita to attend HPA, especially when her B&B wasn’t even operating yet. She gets her stepmom in the door, then she’s murdered here. Yikes!

  Charles glanced at his wristwatch. “I must be off. Another workshop awaits.”

  He smiled and nodded, and walked away.

  I stood there, a wave of oh-my-God reverberating through me. Shannon must have an iron core to be able to continue with her responsibilities here at Severin at a time like this. Either that or she didn’t want to face her two sisters, knowing how she’d indirectly been responsible for their stepmother’s death.

  “Haley—Hannah? Haley. Yes, Haley?”

  Mindy appeared next to me, her cheeks flushed, craning her neck to see past me. I followed her line of sight and spotted Charles strolling away with the crowd.

  “Am I imagining it, or have you got the hots for Charles?” I asked.

  She blushed and giggled. “Oh, no. Of course not.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, he is a very charming man,” she said, the waved her hands as if to wipe her words from the air. “I’ve known him for years—well, I’ve known of him. Our social circles intersected from time to time, back when I was married.”

  “Is Charles married?”

  “Oh, no. No, no, no. Not anymore.”

 
From the deep frown on Mindy’s face I sensed major gossip was forthcoming—which I was always up for, regardless of the circumstances.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “His wife left him,” Mindy said, shaking her head. “They got a divorce. It nearly killed Charles financially, from what I heard. Then she took all that settlement money and invested it, and lost every cent. All because of Edith—Elita.”

  A few seconds passed while I tried to sort out what she’d just said. Mindy didn’t seem to notice, nor did she hold back on the gossip.

  “I heard that Elita had instigated their separation, then their divorce,” she went on. “Of course, things must not have been good between them, if that happened. Still, there was a feeling among most of our crowd of friends that Elita pushed her into it, then convinced her to invest in her new business, the one that went bust.”

  “Elita contrived to end Charles’s marriage?” I asked, just to be sure I understood. “Then she convinced his ex-wife to put all of her settlement money into Elita’s business, and she ended up losing everything?”

  “Yes,” Mindy told me. “I heard that Charles was livid, absolutely livid. I’m glad to see he’s over it now.”

  I gazed down the corridor and glimpsed Charles as he turned the corner.

  I wasn’t so sure he was over it.

  Likely, he’d seen Elita parading Rosalind around on the first day of the conference. He was probably stunned to see her here. He might have seen her booth and known she was opening another business. It might have brought the whole divorce back to him. He’d been at the conference for years, knew this was Elita’s first time here and that she would be among the first to go through the labyrinth.

  He had motive—a heck of a motive. He had opportunity. Though he was graying, he looked fit enough to swing a shovel with deadly force.

  I was pretty sure I’d found another murder suspect.

  Chapter 10

  I woke the next morning thinking about Shannon and not feeling so great about myself—not the best way to start a new day.

  I rolled out of bed and got ready ahead of Kayla—today I selected a navy blue pinstripe suit and jazzed it up with a Betsy Johnson shoulder bag—and told her I’d meet her at the first workshop, then left our room. The breakfast station was set up in the main corridor again this morning, so I grabbed a cup of coffee and a pastry—wishful thoughts of a mocha frappuccino from Starbucks dancing in my head—and found a spot at one of the tall tables. I definitely needed a caffeine and sugar boost to tackle my morning.

  The thing with Shannon was really bothering me. I’d ratted her out to Olivia for totally ignoring Kayla and me after finding Elita’s body, and gotten her into trouble—and all along it was Shannon’s own stepmother who’d been murdered.

  Of course, I hadn’t known that at the time. Obviously, Shannon had been trying to carry on. Maybe staying on the job at the conference center was easier than facing her sisters and the rest of her family. Maybe she was too overcome with guilt for arranging Elita’s presence at the place that got her murdered. It seemed odd to me that she would continue working even under those circumstances, but who was I to judge? People handled situations—especially anything to do with family—in different ways.

  Getting Shannon into trouble with her supervisor was surely that one extra thing she hadn’t needed to deal with. I owed her an apology.

  The crowd milling around and moving through the main corridor seemed tense this morning. Day three of the conference meant the newness had worn off, and the workshops, luncheons, and events seemed like a grind. Some people would start to miss their loved ones, others would worry about what was happening at their jobs, and most everyone would be concerned about all the work that was piling up in their absence. Tomorrow, everyone would lighten up because the end would be in sight. We just had to get through today.

  After I finished my coffee and pastry and dumped my trash, my cell phone rang. Ty’s name appeared on the caller ID screen. I cringed slightly—not a good sign. He wanted to talk about our last conversation at my apartment, the one that had turned my world upside down. I’d put him off. No way was I up to dealing with it now—not with the Shannon thing uppermost in my mind. I let his call go to voicemail.

  I headed down the main corridor and into the exhibit hall. I didn’t know where I’d find Shannon this morning but I figured this was a good place to start. I didn’t want to text her with a request to meet, figuring she’d think I wanted to complain to her about something else. Not a good way to start off an apology.

  I spotted Zander right away—jeez, that guy must have already walked a hundred miles pushing that cart through the exhibit hall—loaded down with more brochures for the vendor booths. I fell in step beside him.

  “Seriously, you ought to ask for some help with this job,” I said.

  He gave me a big smile and waved one hand around. “This is my domain and I am its king.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. Zander seemed to really love what he was doing.

  “I’m looking for Shannon,” I said. “Have you seen her this morning?”

  He thought for a few seconds, then shook his head. “Not this morning. Not yesterday. Monday. Yeah, late on Monday. Saw her talking to this year’s problem vendor. There’s always one.”

  “You mean Elita Winston? From the B&B?” I asked.

  “That’s the one,” Zander said. “Shannon is pretty easy going—you know, as easy going as anybody can be at this place—but even she couldn’t make that woman happy. If I see Shannon I’ll let her know you’re looking for her.”

  “Thanks,” I said, as he headed down the aisle.

  Before I could even take in what Zander had said, Shannon appeared in the crowd. She seemed surprised—and not the least bit pleased—to see me.

  She walked over, her shoulders straight, her chin up. She still looked pale and stressed, same as when I’d seen her before. But now I knew it was for a different reason.

  “Hello, Haley. Do you need anything? Is there something I can help you with?” she said, with enough chill in her voice to freeze me on the spot.

  “Look,” I said. “I’m sorry I complained about you and got you into trouble with Olivia. I didn’t know Elita was your stepmother.”

  Shannon’s already rigid frame seemed to lock up tighter.

  “I wouldn’t have said anything, if I’d known you two were related,” I went on. “I can only imagine how guilty you must feel, pushing to get her the invitation to attend the conference and then she’s—”

  “I had nothing to do with that.” Shannon blasted the words at me. “I didn’t know she was coming to the conference. I had no idea she’d be here. I was totally surprised to see her name on the brochure.”

  I guess she was talking about the brochure she’d showed Kayla and me at the messenger bag giveaway display when we’d arrived at the conference. I remembered that she’d seemed kind of weird when Zander had delivered them. Now I knew why.

  “You saw her here, right?” I asked, remembering the remark Zander had made. “You two talked about that new B&B of hers?”

  “It isn’t hers,” Shannon insisted. “It belongs to—”

  She clamped her mouth shut and gave herself a little shake. “As I said, let me know if I can assist you or Kayla in any way.”

  She pushed past me without another word.

  I didn’t know if Shannon plain old didn’t like me—she’d totally blown off my apology—or if something else was going on.

  As I left the exhibit hall and headed down the main corridor, I tried to put the pieces together in my head. Zander had seen Shannon and Elita talking Monday before the labyrinth walk, and said that they both seemed upset. Was it because of all of Elita’s demands for changes—reprinting the messenger bag swag brochures, redoing her booth for the cooking demo? Did Shannon think it reflected badly on her, since Elita was her stepmother?

  Nobody wanted to be associated with that person.

  Maybe
it was simply the shock of finding out her stepmother was participating in the conference that had upset Shannon. Apparently, Elita hadn’t let her know she’d be here. What did that say about their relationship? Did that mean it was bad—bad enough to turn deadly?

  The thought buzzed in my head as I turned down the hallway, moving along with the flow of other people heading for the workshop.

  Should I consider Shannon a murder suspect? She knew when Elita would go through the labyrinth. She knew the layout of convention center grounds. She appeared physically able to wield a shovel with deadly force.

  Obviously, I needed more info.

  I grabbed my phone and called the hottest homicide cop in L.A.

  ***

  I managed to get through the two morning workshops without dozing off. It helped that Kayla was there and we passed notes back and forth sharing our opinions of some of our L.A. Affairs co-workers—yeah, just like in sixth grade. Liam sent me a text asking how I was doing and saying that he missed me, which was really nice; I responded that I missed Starbucks—and him, of course—along with lots of emojis. Then my morning got a mega-boost when Jack texted asking if I’d have lunch with him.

  When the workshop broke up, Kayla was totally onboard with me blowing off the official conference luncheon—she knew how hot Jack was—and promised to cover it for us. I hit the restroom, freshened my makeup and fluffed my hair—yes, I know, my lunch with Jack was all about business but so what—then found him waiting at a table in the small dining room at the rear of the conference center.

  He looked awesome in yet another suit and tie. He rose when I approached and held my chair for me—I don’t know how that got to be a custom but I liked it—and sat down again.

  The restaurant was about half full, since most everyone was in the official HPA luncheon. The atmosphere was subdued, reflecting the cream and pale blue color scheme, and the pastoral murals. One wall was sets of French doors that provided a spectacular view of the landscaped grounds and gardens, and a glimpse of the tennis courts and the helipad.

  “How’s it going?” I asked.