Swag Bags and Swindlers (2 page)

C
HAPTER
2

M
eetings were, of course, the bane of every office employee's existence—especially when combined with a PowerPoint presentation guaranteed to dull the senses and numb the butt. I'd suffered through countless meetings in my long, arduous journey toward finding the perfect job, and had learned to survive by drawing on the skill-set I'd perfected in high school and college—looking as if I were paying attention while thinking about something fun.

Of course, cakes and cookies helped, too. I loaded my plate from the assortment on the refreshment table as everyone filed into L.A. Affairs' conference room. This was one of the many benefits I would continue to enjoy once I attained permanent, full-time status.

Vendors from our approved list provided us with scrumptious treats for our meetings at no charge, to keep reminding us how tasty their goods were so we'd keep booking them for events. While this wasn't illegal, it probably wasn't all that ethical—but, really, what did we care?

I helped myself to coffee from the refreshment table and headed for the chairs, which were set up theater style. At the front of the room was the podium. The video screen hadn't been pulled down from the ceiling, so there was still hope we could eat our snacks and get out fast, before this meeting cut into our lunch hour.

“Let's all be seated,” Priscilla called, as she stepped up to the podium. “We have a great deal to cover today.”

Priscilla didn't look as overwhelmed as when I'd stopped by her office earlier this morning. Obviously, my taking over Suzie's events in true superhero fashion had saved the day for her.

Damn. Wish I'd thought to wear a cape.

While my hard and fast rule on attending meetings was to sit in the back row—preferably behind a tall or large person where I could doze off as needed—I cut in front of two other girls and claimed the seat next to Eve, another of my L.A. Affairs' besties.

Eve knew all the office gossip—I mean, really,
all
of the office gossip—which made her my first choice in meeting buddies. Kayla sat down on the other side of me.

Everyone settled into a seat and the chatter died down. Priscilla started talking about some new vendors that had been added to our approved list. I popped a chocolate chip cookie into my mouth, and just as everything was starting to turn into blah-blah-blah, Kayla nudged me.

“This didn't take long,” she whispered.

At the front of the room, Vanessa took over the podium. She was a little shorter than me and had black hair. Everything about Vanessa's appearance was perfect—her hair, her nails, her figure, her clothing, her styling—which was really irritating; if this were high school, I'd start rumors about her. Though she claimed she was only twenty-nine, I was willing to bet she'd made the turn into her thirties.

Vanessa began blabbing about her favorite subject—herself. As usual, she'd come up with another idea of how to better handle an event and felt compelled to share it with everyone—just as if we were interested. And, as usual, Vanessa had printed her suggestion on card stock—and included a photo of herself—that Priscilla was forced to hand out.

At this point, I drifted off.

I'd gotten a text from my best-friend-since-as-long-as-I-can-remember, Marcie Hanover, this morning. She'd been completely out of her mind over a new handbag she'd seen online—something I could totally understand.

While Marcie and I were different in appearance—she was blond and petite—we were in complete sync in our crazed devotion to designer handbags. We'd started a business selling knockoffs at purse parties that had brought in serious cash. Both of us were always on alert for the next “it” bag, and Marcie had definitely found one this morning.

I'd clicked on the link she'd sent and there before my eyes appeared the Sassy, the most gorgeous satchel I'd ever seen in to-die-for blue leather. My heart had actually started to beat faster at the sight. I absolutely had to have one—and I knew Marcie felt the same, which was why we were BFFs.

I munched on another chocolate chip cookie and let the Sassy satchel fill my mind as I mentally reviewed my wardrobe. A handbag in that particular shade of blue would look great with—wait. Hang on. The Sassy wouldn't go with anything I already owned. Oh, well. I'd just have to go shopping.

Just as I was visualizing Marcie and me hitting all our favorite stores, Kayla nudged me again.

“Yes, Haley has stepped up,” Priscilla said, standing at the podium again, smiling and gesturing toward me.

Damn. She'd just announced how I'd saved the day by taking over Suzie's events and I'd missed my moment.

“Seriously?” Eve asked, as if she couldn't believe it.
“Seriously?”

I glanced around. Everyone was staring at me. Wow, they all looked as if I was the office hero, all right.

“So,” Priscilla continued, “see Haley if you have any questions.”

She blabbed on for a few more minutes, then the meeting broke up. Everyone headed for the door.

“Haley?” Priscilla called, making her way toward me. “I'll bring Suzie's files to you as soon as possible.”

“Great,” I said, and couldn't help but note that all the other employees were eyeing me, envious, probably, that I'd beaten everyone else to Suzie's events.

“You know, Haley,” a girl next to me said, “that new brand of pumpkin-flavored coffee creamer we just got is really good.”

Okay, that was weird. But some people showed their adulation in odd ways.

“Thanks,” I said, and smiled as the crowd funneled out the door of the conference room into the hallway.

I headed for my office—which I loved. It was my private sanctuary filled with neutral furniture and accented with splashes of blue and yellow. The best feature was the big window where I could stand and look out onto the Sepulveda and Ventura intersection, and the Sherman Oaks Galleria across the street.

One of the things I loved most about my office was that I didn't have to stay in it if I didn't want to. L.A. Affairs had no problem—at least not one that had been mentioned to me—with event planners spending vast amounts of time checking out venues, talking with clients, and coordinating with vendors in person. This, of course, made L.A. Affairs the perfect job for me and I saw no reason not to take full advantage of it.

I grabbed one of my event portfolios and my handbag, and left my office.

“Haley?” Mindy called as I passed her desk. “You know, I just love a fine-point pen.”

Jeez, was she getting weirder all the time, or what?

“Good to know,” I said, as I breezed out the door.

I took the elevator to the parking garage, got into my Honda, and headed east on Ventura Boulevard toward Studio City.

My biggest upcoming event—and my excuse for getting out of the office—was the high-profile fiftieth anniversary gala for Hollywood Haven, a retirement home for entertainers. The star-studded celebration would take place at the iconic Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel on Hollywood Boulevard, complete with a red carpet, dinner, dancing, and a salute to the Golden Age of Hollywood.

I'd been coordinating the event with the home's assistant director, Derrick Ellery, one of the few people in the place under the age of sixty. Luckily, Derrick was much younger than that—probably midthirties—and he'd been a dream to work with.

I drove into the parking lot and found a spot near the entrance. The Hollywood Haven property was huge, a sprawling complex that had been built in the sixties. The one-story building was laid out in a large U shape with a central courtyard and lush gardens, walking trails, and fountains fanning out in all directions. The building's dark wood and towering trees gave it a calm, restful feel.

The residents had all had careers in the entertainment field—singers, dancers, actors, playwrights, songwriters, screenwriters, circus performers, musicians, acrobats—really, just about everything imaginable. People who'd worked in related fields were also allowed to retire at Hollywood Haven—talent agents, studio personnel, in-house attorneys, and production crew members.

I'd been there a half dozen times or so since I'd started planning the gala. Derrick and the rest of the staff were super nice, courteous, and easygoing. I'd met only a few of the residents, none of whom had much input on the event. Everything was rolling along smoothly with everyone at Hollywood Haven.

Still, something about the place gave me a weird vibe—which I ignored. The gala prep was going well. Derrick had loved everything I suggested. He hadn't fought me on anything or made any outrageous requests. And, really, all that mattered was that the event turned out great, regardless of my vibe antenna.

I gathered my things and walked in through the main entrance. The spacious lobby had thick carpeting, a massive chandelier, and a couple of comfy seating groups. Every area I'd seen so far at Hollywood Haven was immaculate and upscale—probably because the A-list stars whose donations helped keep the place running figured they might end up here one day and wanted it to look nice.

Karen, the receptionist, was at the front desk, a long counter sort of like the ones in a hotel lobby, talking on the phone. She'd seen fifty, easily, but was fighting it with regular visits to the hair salon to cover the gray—can't say that I blamed her. I was supposed to sign in, but since I'd been here so many times, I just smiled and waved. Karen smiled and waved back, and I headed down the hallway where the offices were located.

I had a number of things I needed to finalize with Derrick for the anniversary gala. Since Hollywood Haven was funded, in part, by big name celebrities who would be in attendance the night of the gala, I'd figured Derrick would be worried beyond all reason that there would be problems. Not so. Derrick was really cool about everything.

I paused outside his office door, gave it a quick knock, and pushed it open.

“Hi, Derrick,” I said. “I just need to—”

But Derrick wasn't seated at his desk. He was lying on the floor beside it.

Derrick didn't seem so cool right now.

Derrick seemed dead.

 

Since this was a retirement home, finding someone dead wasn't an unusual occurrence, apparently. Karen had calmly picked up her telephone and started making calls when I'd gone to her and reported what I'd discovered.

But Derrick wasn't simply dead. He'd been murdered.

I hadn't mentioned that fact to Karen because the place was full of old people in precarious states of health, and I didn't want to be responsible for shocking any of them into a premature heart attack.

When I'd seen Derrick sprawled on the floor beside his desk, there was no missing the huge bloodstain that had soaked the front of his white shirt and saturated the beige carpet beneath him. I'd taken a quick look around his office, then pulled the door closed—careful not to touch the knob—and headed for Karen's reception desk in the lobby.

No way did I want to hang around while the police and the crime scene techs went about their jobs, so I headed outside. I had some quick thinking to do—which was so much easier if I had a Starbucks mocha Frappuccino, my favorite drink in the entire world—yet I had no choice but to push on with my brain cells functioning in as-is condition.

I followed one of the paths that led through the gardens at the front of the building and wound my way through the grounds. Behind me, the parking lot was crowded with official police vehicles. So far, I hadn't seen any of the residents hanging around to get a look at what was going on.

But, jeez, everybody here was old. Guess they'd already seen it all.

Under different circumstances, I'd use this opportunity to hunker down and spend some quality time doing an Internet search for the Sassy satchel that Marcie and I absolutely had to have, but all I could think about was my future.

This look-at-me-I'm-responsible thing was really weird.

What if—yikes!—somebody at L.A. Affairs learned that Derrick Ellery had been murdered, thereby possibly putting Hollywood Haven's fiftieth anniversary gala in jeopardy—along with my permanent, full-time employee status?

My life flashed in front of me—Priscilla downgrading my job performance, being told I'd have to wait months to be reevaluated, having to continue working at Holt's.

Oh my God.
Oh my God
. What would I do?

I drew in a breath to calm myself.

If word somehow reached L.A. Affairs, I'd have to downplay Derrick's role in the gala prep. That would be a total lie, of course, but what else could I do? Whatever it took, I was going to quit my job at Holt's.

My cell phone rang. I whipped it out of my handbag hoping it was Marcie—she's really good at calming me down—but I saw Karen's name on the caller ID screen instead.

“The detectives are looking for you,” she said when I answered.

Wow, she sounded super calm. I figured this was the same voice she used when ordering Chinese takeout. This whole finding-a-dead-body thing must be really routine for her.

I wondered if that was a category on her job performance evaluation. If so, she'd aced it.

“They want to talk to you,” Karen said.

I was in no mood.

No way did I want to talk to homicide detectives right now. I'd done that in the past and they'd always had a way of rattling me with their suggestions that I'd done something wrong just because I'd found the victim. They'd pushed and prodded, made nasty remarks, turned on their cop we-think-you-did-it X-ray vision, and accused me of all kinds of things.