Evening Bags and Executions(81)

I don’t know. I wasn’t really listening.

Anyway, I had a lot going today, the Holt’s fashion show—which would finish up before noon—and Sheridan Adams’s event, where I would spend the rest of the day and evening until the party ended. I had to be on hand to handle any problems that might arise.

I might have to rethink the whole event planner job. Being a party guest seemed like a heck of a lot more fun.

Mom was the quickest—though certainly not the easiest—item I could check off my list this morning, so I went to her house first.

The temporary housekeeper—a really young blonde who was texting a desperate request to be reinstated at dental hygienist school when she let me in the house—pointed to the patio doors. I spotted Mom seated at an umbrella table poolside, flipping through a magazine.

“Hi, sweetie,” she said when I walked outside.

Mom tended to get distracted—especially when the new issue of Vogue arrived—so I came right to the point.

“I found the perfect housekeeper for you,” I said.

Mom perked up. She actually closed the magazine and turned to me—which I appreciated because I’d gone to a heck of a lot of trouble, and then some, to accomplish this.

“She’ll do everything you want done, exactly as you want it done,” I said. “She’s flexible with her daily schedule and her days off. She’s an excellent cook. She knows all your favorite dishes. She can start immediately.”

An I’m-a-pageant-queen smile bloomed on Mom’s face.

“Oh, Haley, that’s wonderful,” she said. “Where did you find her? Who is she?”

I drew a breath and braced myself.

“It’s Juanita,” I said.

Mom’s you’re-my-favorite smile vanished. Her lips curled into a very unpageant-like snarl.

I cut her off.

“Juanita is the only person who can be your housekeeper,” I said.

After the last time I was at Mom’s house I knew there was only one real option available. I’d driven to Juanita’s house in Eagle Rock and talked with her. Just as I’d suspected, the entire incident that caused Juanita to leave in the first place was Mom’s fault.

After much discussion, I’d convinced her to return to work for Mom. It wasn’t easy.

Nothing concerning Mom is easy.

“She left without a word,” Mom said. “She disappeared. I was completely abandoned.”

“Juanita explained the whole thing to me,” I said. “It was a family emergency. Her daughter who is pregnant was having problems.”

What Juanita really told me was that after sharing that troubling news with Mom, her only comment was to ask Juanita what she planned to serve for dessert that night.

I saw no need to mention that.

Mom pressed her lips together and stewed for a moment, then said, “Well, it has been extremely difficult here without her.”

At this point, I would usually keep quiet and wait for Mom to mentally process everything.

I didn’t have that kind of time.

“So you’re good with it?” I asked.

“Everything will be like it was?” she asked. “Nothing will change?”

Nothing except for the substantial salary increase I’d had to promise Juanita to get her to come back. Plus paid holidays, a membership to a spa, annual passes to Disneyland, and the new car I still had to discuss with Mom’s accountant.

Anyway, the important thing was that Juanita had agreed to work for Mom once more. Now I had to make sure Mom didn’t drive her away again.

“You might want to inquire about Juanita’s family once in a while,” I said. “Show some interest in her personal life, and not expect her to just come here and work for you.”

Okay, now Mom looked totally lost.

Jeez, what was I thinking?

I decided to move on.

“It’s all settled,” I announced. “Juanita will be here this afternoon.”

Mom nodded thoughtfully and said, “You’re right, Haley. Some people are meant to be together no matter what. You can’t explain it and it’s useless to fight it, so you may as well accept it.”

Ty popped into my head.

My heart began to ache, so I pushed him out.

Mom opened her magazine again, so I figured I should get away while I could. I left the house, got into my car, and headed for Sherman Oaks.

As I cruised down the 2 past Glendale, I plugged in my Bluetooth and called Detective Shuman. I hadn’t heard from him in a while and wondered if Detective Madison had, but no way was I going to call him and ask.

I was starting to get an icky feeling in my stomach about Shuman.

His voicemail picked up. I left a message asking him to call me.

As I transitioned west onto the 134 I ran the mental checklist of everything I had to do today. The fashion show at Holt’s would begin in a couple of hours, but it didn’t require much effort on my part—mostly I had to show up and make sure the models didn’t mutiny after they got there and saw the clothing they’d have to wear down the runway.