Darren went back into his motel room and slammed the door.
I got in my Honda and left.
Since the Lacy Cakes bakery was on my way to the office—and would delay my actual arrival—I decided I’d stop in and give Paige the go-ahead for the Beatles cake Sheridan Adams wanted for her party. I parked near the entrance to the alley, grabbed the portfolio I’d brought with me from L.A. Affairs, and headed toward the rear door of the bakery.
My cell phone rang. Muriel’s name appeared on the caller I.D. screen.
I froze. Oh my God, was she calling to tell me that Eleanor and Rigby had reported to Sheridan that I’d failed their Beatles trivia quiz and that I was fired? This was exactly the sort of thing someone like Sheridan would push off on her personal assistant.
Since I’m not big on suspense, I answered.
“Hi, Haley,” Muriel said. “Listen, I hate to spring this on you so close to the party, but Mrs. Adams has decided she wants gift bags for all her guests.”
“All two hundred of them?” I asked.
“Custom-made,” Muriel said.
Where the heck was I supposed to get custom-made gift bags?
“Something that reflects the essence of the Beatles.”
The Beatles had an essence?
“And she wants them filled with special, unique items,” Muriel said.
Now I kind of wish she’d fired me.
Muriel seemed to read my these-people-have-way-too-much-money thoughts and said, “I’ll e-mail you the details. Call me if you have any questions.”
“I’ll get it handled,” I said.
Okay, I had no idea how I was going to pull this off, but what else could I say?
“Send me the contract amendment and I’ll have her sign it,” Muriel said, and we hung up.
I flipped open the portfolio and got the name and e-mail address of the woman in the L.A. Affairs’ legal department who’d drawn up Sheridan’s original contract. I sent her a message about the gift bags.
Lucky for me, Jewel, Vanessa’s former assistant—who was probably working under an assumed name at a Taco Bell drive-through somewhere in Montana—had done a great job setting everything up, so all I had to do was pull off the gift bags and follow up on everything else—provided, of course, that Sheridan Adams wouldn’t make any more requests for additions to her party.
I tucked my phone away, then closed the portfolio and went through the Lacy Cakes back door. Paige was still working on the cake—and yes, now I could see that it was definitely a frog, although why anyone would want a cake shaped like a frog I couldn’t imagine. A guy was busy at the huge mixer whipping up cake batter. We exchanged head nods.
“Hey, girl, come on in,” Paige called.
Darren’s comment that Paige seemed too anxious to take over Lacy Cakes flashed in my mind. She seemed happy and carefree, yet conscientious enough to fill the orders Lacy had accepted and not let her customers down.
But looks were deceiving. I’d been fooled by appearances in the past.
I’m sure all the great detectives had made that mistake. Pretty sure.
“I talked to Darren about the cake,” I said, joining her at the worktable. “He said to go ahead with it.”
“Awesome,” Paige said, and gave a little fist pump.
I opened the portfolio and pulled out L.A. Affairs’ copy of the info on Sheridan Adams’s cake that had been given to Lacy and was now in the possession of the LAPD along with all the other stuff they’d taken from the bakery as evidence. The cake was supposed to be shaped like a six-foot-long submarine.
“She wants it to be yellow,” I told Paige.
“Yeah, sure. Off their Yellow Submarine album,” she said, bobbing and swaying as if the tune was playing in her head. “One of their best songs in, like, the whole world is on that album.”
I wasn’t in the mood for another Beatles quiz.
“You’re sure you can do this cake?” I asked. “Sheridan Adams is a huge deal.”
“Oh, yeah, no problem,” Paige said. “Because all you need is love. Right?”
I had no idea what she was talking about.
“So Darren’s keeping the bakery open, huh?” Paige asked.
I didn’t think that telling Paige her future at Lacy Cakes didn’t look so hot would benefit anyone—especially me.
“He hasn’t decided anything yet,” I said.
Yeah, okay, that was a kind-of lie, but I needed that cake and I needed it to look perfect, and it absolutely had to be delivered on time, so what else could I say?
“I’ll photocopy all this stuff and bring it back,” I said. I tucked the papers into the folder again and left.
I headed back to L.A. Affairs—it was late and I didn’t want to miss my lunch hour—thinking about Darren, Belinda, and Paige. So far, they were my only suspects in Lacy’s murder and, really, none of them had much of a motive—that I’d uncovered, anyway.