“Let’s get out there and have a successful evening,” Jeanette called, our cue that the meeting was adjourned.
I made my way out of the training room and down the hallway to the sales floor. Sandy and Bella, my Holt’s BFFs, eased up beside me.
Sandy was young, red-haired, perky, and a complete idiot when it came to her loser boyfriend. He was a tattoo artist who treated her like crap. She was always making excuses for him, though I could never figure out why.
Bella, ebony to my ivory, was about my age, tall, with a flair for hair styling. She worked at Holt’s to save money for beauty school with the intention of becoming hairdresser to the stars. In the meantime, she practiced on her own hair. She seemed to have jumped onboard Jeanette’s fall theme because tonight she’d fashioned her hair into a pumpkin atop her head—or maybe it was a harvest moon. Hard to tell since everything had gone 3D now.
“I still can’t believe Holt’s is putting on a fashion show,” Sandy said.
Wow, that was a pretty lame idea, all right.
“Using only Holt’s clothing,” Sandy said, shaking her head.
Yikes!
“The whole thing is b.s.,” Bella said.
“It might be fun,” Sandy said.
She had an annoying way of always finding the good in everything.
“Fun would be a day off work with pay,” Bella told her.
“It’s a big deal,” Sandy said. “A fashion show in every store, all on the same day. Maybe the clothes for the new fall line will be nice. They’re all hidden in the stock room. Have you sneaked a peek?”
“I didn’t want to go blind,” Bella grumbled.
“The prizes look really cool,” Sandy said.
“Only the prizes for the store that sells the most clothes the day of the show,” Bella pointed out.
“We’ll win, won’t we, Haley?” Sandy asked.
I got a weird feeling.
“Haley is only the in-store fashion show coordinator,” Bella told her. “Not a miracle worker.”
“But Haley has a great eye for fashion,” Sandy insisted.
“Nothing in this store can be called fashion,” Bella said, then turned to me. “No offense, Haley, but not even you can come up with fifteen different looks using only Holt’s clothing and accessories, send them down the runway, and make them look so good that customers in the audience will buy enough of them to make our store win the contest.”
Bella might have kept talking. Sandy might have, too. I stopped listening.
Oh my God. This must have been what Jeanette said I’d agreed to take on. I was heading up a Holt’s fashion show? An actual audience would see it? The store employees were depending on me to win first place—using only Holt’s so-called fashion line?
How could I pull that off? Nobody could pull it off.
I couldn’t listen to any more of this. If another sentence with the words “fashion” and “Holt’s” in it was spoken, surely it would cause gridlock in the space–time continuum and the entire planet would implode.
Somehow I had to figure a way to get out of heading up this fashion show, and the best place to do that was the breakroom. I desperately needed a Snickers bar—and some M&M’s. Maybe a Kit Kat—or two. And a side of Reese’s Pieces.
I spun around, intent on making an all-out dash to the breakroom, and ran straight into Detective Madison.
Oh, crap.
What was he doing here? Had he come up with some evidence in Lacy Hobbs’s murder, twisted it to suit his investigation, and showed up to arrest me?
Oh my God, if that happened my life would be over.
But at least I wouldn’t have to head up the fashion show.
Then I noticed that Madison didn’t have that gleeful I’m-going-to-get-you look in his eyes I usually saw. It was more like an I-wish-I-didn’t-have-to-be-here look.
I got a yucky feeling in my stomach.
“You called Detective Shuman today,” Madison said.
My yucky feeling got yuckier.
“Don’t bother calling him again,” he said.
No. No, no, no. This couldn’t mean something had happened to Shuman. It couldn’t.
“What—what happened?” I asked. “Is he okay?”
“No. He’s not okay.”
I’m pretty sure my heart skipped a beat. But before I could ask anything, Madison went on.
“Don’t try to call Amanda Payton,” he said.
How had Madison known I’d attempted to contact Amanda today? Someone in the District Attorney’s office must have told him. But why?
“What’s going on?” I asked.
Detective Madison hesitated, as if it took some effort to speak, then said, “Shuman is on administrative leave.”