Evening Bags and Executions(65)

Muriel looked surprised, then shook her head.

I spoke again before she could tell me “no.”

“I can do this. I’ve have experience with murder investigations,” I said.

She drew back a little. “You do?”

“Yes—but always in a good way,” I said.

“I don’t know . . .”

I could see that she didn’t want to go along with this, but I had to do it. I had to redeem myself.

So what could I do but drag Jack Bishop into it with me?

“I’ve got a partner,” I said. “He’s a licensed private detective with years of experience.”

“Really?” she asked.

She wasn’t convinced so I had to hit her with something really big.

“He works for the Pike Warner law firm,” I said.

Everybody knew about the Pike Warner law firm. Talbot and Sheridan Adams were probably represented by them.

“I didn’t realize Pike Warner handled this sort of thing,” Muriel admitted. “I guess I should have called them first.”

Now she looked a little worried about her own job.

“I can make this happen,” I said, using my somebody-is-going-down voice.

“If you don’t get those bobbleheads back, Mrs. Adams will bury you,” Muriel said. “You and L.A. Affairs. The company will be lucky to book a D-list kids’ dance recital after-party.”

I wouldn’t mind if Vanessa lost her job, but I sure as heck didn’t want the whole company to go down. Besides, nobody would ever know Vanessa had gutted the file and sabotaged the party. Everyone would blame me.

“I’ll find the bobbleheads and get them back in time for the party,” I told her. “I swear.”

“Okay,” Muriel said, then hesitated a moment and said again, “Okay, if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” I said.

“The cash is being delivered to the house any minute,” Muriel said. “The person who called this morning said we’d hear back later today with instructions.”

“I’ll be ready,” I said, and stood up.

Muriel rose. “I’ll let you know as soon as I hear something.”

I headed for the door, but she touched my shoulder, stopping me.

“Let’s just keep this between the two of us,” Muriel said. “For now.”

I could see she was worried that letting me handle the ransom would blow up in her face, and honestly I didn’t blame her.

“As long as Sheridan knows it was me who got them back,” I said.

“Of course,” Muriel agreed.

I left the house, got in my car, and drove away.

Yeah, okay, I’d had second thoughts about this whole event planner thing, but no way was I going to get fired— and I sure as heck wasn’t going to let Sheridan Adams blab all over Los Angeles and ruin L.A. Affairs.

I was going to deliver that ransom money and get back those Beatles bobbleheads.

And Jack was going to help me.

Whether he liked it or not.





CHAPTER 20


I had to act natural. Be calm. Cool and collected. I couldn’t let anyone at L.A. Affairs know—or even suspect—there was a problem with Sheridan Adams’s event.

I’d called Jack Bishop the second I cleared Sheridan’s driveway to discuss the situation with him. His voicemail had picked up, so I told him to call me back immediately.

I swung into the parking garage at L.A. Affairs determined not to give the tiniest hint that anything was up. I would go through my morning just as I always did and mentally prepare myself to make the ransom drop when the call came in from Muriel.

I pulled into a parking spot and hopped out of my car, trying to draw on the beauty queen genes I’d inherited from my mom—such as they were—and channel her there’s-no-way-the-judges-could-hate-me-but-I’m-going-to- pretend-everything-is-okay-just-in-case expression. I slammed my car door and turned to walk away, then froze at the sight of a man standing at the rear of my car, blocking my path.

My heart did its this-doesn’t-look-good flip-flop.

He was tall and burly, fortyish, with old-school black hair, wearing jeans and a leather jacket. He didn’t look happy.

My heart amped up its flip-flop to a trot.

I glanced around, anxious to see someone else in the parking garage, or maybe a security guard.

Nobody.

“You Haley Randolph?” he asked.

He sounded like he was from New York. I didn’t know if New Yorkers were really angry all the time or if their accent just made them sound like it.

“That’s me,” I said. I tried to come across all brave and bold, but I don’t think I pulled it off.

He just stared at me, like maybe he was deciding if my body would fit into his trunk.