Evening Bags and Executions(75)

But maybe there wasn’t a reason. Maybe there wasn’t anything that could be pointed to with a definite look-that’s-it kind of thing. Maybe some relationships were just meant to be.

Maybe that applied to Mom and her housekeeper also.

I cut across three lanes of traffic and headed south on the 2 to Eagle Rock.





Much as I didn’t want to, I had to go to work at Holt’s. I’d blown off my shift last night and I couldn’t do it again. I still hadn’t heard from Muriel about the ransom exchange, but I kept my cell phone in my pocket so I could blast out of there the minute she called with the instructions.

Bella and I were in the stock room putting looks together for the fashion show—or trying to—sorting through boxes of shoes and accessories.

She pulled a pair of whose-big-idea-were-these canvas turquoise and orange pumps out of a box.

“Damn. This stuff gets scarier and scarier,” Bella said. “I thought doing this show would be cool because I wouldn’t have to work on the sales floor. But all the nausea medication I’m needing is costing me a fortune.”

“The best accessories for Holt’s clothing are a can of lighter fluid and a pack of matches,” I said, “but I haven’t found them in any of the boxes.”

“Keep digging,” Bella told me.

“Haley?” a woman called.

Immediately I recognized the voice of Jeanette, the store manager. I didn’t know how I would hold up if she wanted to talk about how great the Holt’s clothing line was again.

I kept my back to her and pretended to sort through the necklaces—a move I’d practiced numerous time with customers on the sales floor—but Jeanette wasn’t to be put off.

“I need to see you in my office, Haley,” Jeanette said.

Bella and I exchanged a what-now look before I turned to Jeanette. I had no idea why she wanted to see me in her office, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t for something that would be good—for me.

“I’m kind of busy right now, Jeanette,” I said.

“This can’t wait,” she said, and headed toward the stock room door.

A zillion things flashed in my head.

Had she finally learned that Ty and I had broken up and was now exiling me to the ad-set team on night shift? Cutting my hours—or worse, giving me more hours? Putting me in charge of something—as if this fashion show wasn’t punishment enough?

Bella gave me a let-me-know-if-you-need-backup eyebrow bob—as a BFF would—and I followed Jeanette out of the stock room.

We walked down the hallway and she stopped outside of her office.

“Someone is here to see you,” she said, gesturing inside.

My heart jumped.

Was it Ty? Had he come to see me? Was he using something about the store as an excuse to talk to me?

The scenario flashed in my head. Me walking into the office. Ty standing there looking handsome but troubled. His expression stating that, without me, his life is meaningless. Us sharing a long, lingering look. Then both of us rushing together, hugging each other, kissing, saying that we’re sorry, that we can’t live without each other. Me telling him how Mom had said we were meant for each other—no, wait, I’ll leave out the part about Mom, it’s kind of a mood killer—me telling him how I missed him and—

“Haley?” Jeanette said.

I snapped back to reality and hurried inside her office.

Detective Madison stood behind Jeanette’s desk.

Talk about a mood killer.

Then it hit me—was Madison here to arrest me for the murder of Lacy Hobbs? Last time I’d talked to Shuman about the case, he’d said Madison hadn’t come up with any leads, evidence, or suspects. All he had was me. Had he finally decided that was enough?

But Detective Madison didn’t have that overjoyed, gleeful look on his face that I’d expect to see if he’d actually come to arrest me. There were no patrol officers with him, and whomever he’d partnered with in Shuman’s absence wasn’t there, either.

I had no idea why he was there, but I’d learned—the hard way—to keep my mouth shut around homicide detectives, especially Madison.

But he didn’t seem all that anxious to get the conversation rolling, either. A couple of minutes passed while we were locked into some sort of who’s-going-to-speak-first confrontation. Madison broke first.

“When was the last time you spoke with Detective Shuman?” he asked.

He’d said the words softly, but I felt as if he’d blasted them at me with a laser cannon.

Shuman. Oh my God. Shuman.

“Why? What’s wrong? What happened?” I asked, blasting him right back with my questions.

“Nothing,” Madison said. “Maybe nothing.”