Fanny Packs and Foul Play (A Haley Randolph Mystery) (3 page)

Okay, that was weird.

I knew how excited she was to have her family
visit. She’d talked about it for weeks every time I’d consulted
with her on the plans for the Thanksgiving feast. None of her
relatives had been to Los Angeles before and she was anxious to
show off her new home, the candy business, and her new life.

“Veronica?” I called again. “Your family is
here.”

I checked out the bathroom, the retreat, even
the closets, but didn’t see her. Huh. That was really weird. All I
could figure was that she’d gone downstairs and I’d missed her.

As I headed for the door, I heard voices
coming from the balcony. I crossed the bedroom and slipped through
the glass sliders, expecting to see Veronica there talking with one
of the servants or perhaps a workman.

Nobody was out there.

Voices floated up from below. I walked to the
edge of the balcony and looked down. Three workmen were standing
near the rose garden gesturing wildly and talking in urgent
tones.

I realized why.

Veronica lay face down on the flagstone
patio. A massive pool of blood oozed out around her. Two of the
workers spotted me and started shouting. I couldn’t understand
them, but I didn’t have to.

I already knew Veronica was dead.

“I can’t
believe this happened,” Andrea whispered. “It’s just … well, it’s
just freaky.”

We were in a small den on the west side of
the house, a comfortable room with plush furniture, a huge
flat-screen, and windows that allowed in lots of sunlight and a
view of the koi pond. Veronica’s three aunts were huddled together
on the sofa looking like trees in a petrified forest, staring
straight ahead at nothing. Brandie was seated in a nearby chair
fiddling with her cell phone. Servants had brought trays of
sandwiches and drinks but nobody had touched anything.

The police and forensic techs were outside
going about their business. We’d been asked to wait in here until
we could give our statements. Patrick had arrived and was somewhere
in the house, presumably with his mother; Andrea had mentioned that
the rest of the family was out of the country. I had no idea where
Erika was.

“Veronica must have been out on that balcony
hundreds of times,” Andrea said in a low voice. “What could have
caused her to fall?”

I’d asked the workmen on the ground that same
question, after I’d gotten over my initial shock. They’d all shaken
their heads and told me they’d seen Veronica falling, but hadn’t
witnessed her actually going over the railing.

“Nobody seems to know. Maybe the police will
find a witness,” I whispered back. “Were there any surveillance
cameras on the property?”

Andrea shook her head. “Only by the front
door. Veronica didn’t like the idea of security cameras capturing
their private lives.”

Renée rose from the sofa, unzipped the jacket
of her track suit and tossed it on a chair where everyone had
dumped their belongings. She picked up one of the fanny packs I’d
seen on all the gals when they’d arrived, and held it by the strap.
It was orange, with a bedazzled turkey appliqué on the front.

“This whole trip has turned into nothing but
a waste of time,” she grumbled.

“How can you even think of something like
that at a time like this?” Melanie demanded.

Brandie’s gaze darted between her mother and
her aunt.

“I can think whatever I want. And it’s a
perfectly valid comment,” Renée said, shaking the fanny pack at
her. “What are we supposed to do out here now? Look what Veronica’s
gone and done to us again.”

Melanie shot to her feet. “It was an
accident! A horrible accident!”

“I know it was an accident!” Renée said. “I
didn’t say it wasn’t!”

“You’d better watch your mouth,” Melanie told
her.

“Stop it! Both of you!” Cassie rose and
stepped between them. “This isn’t the time or the place. Now, cut
it out.”

Obviously, these three aunts of Veronica’s
were sisters, and these were the roles they’d played for
decades.

Renée and Melanie eyed each other for a few
seconds, then Renée headed for the door.

“I need a smoke,” she said.

“The police said we’re not supposed to leave
the room,” Cassie called.

Renée ignored her and left, slamming the door
behind her.

Melanie uttered a disgusted grunt and sat
down, as did Cassie. Brandie folded her legs under her and burrowed
deeper into the chair, and started punching buttons on her cell
phone again.

Andrea and I exchanged an uncomfortable look,
then she whispered, “I need to make a call.”

“Me, too,” I said.

I didn’t, but I wanted out of that room. I
figured Andrea felt the same.

Andrea held up her cell phone to the guests
and said, “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”

I followed her out of the room without an
explanation.

The house was silent as we walked down the
hall to the entryway. Work had ceased, so there was no more
equipment running. I figured all the construction guys had been
rounded up and were being questioned. The lab techs were on the
east side of the house, well out of view and earshot,
thankfully.

“This whole thing is so sad,” Andrea said,
shaking her head. “I don’t know how Patrick will ever get over
losing her.”

I’d seen the two of them together several
times during the planning of their event and couldn’t disagree.

“They seemed happy together,” I said.

“It was love at first sight,” Andrea said
with a dreamy smile that made me think Veronica had shared the
story with her more than once. “Patrick had gone back east to check
on his family’s holdings and he met Veronica selling candy at a
farmer’s market. She said they both knew instantly that they were
meant to be together forever. A fairytale match—the big city
millionaire and the small town girl.”

I smiled at the image that bloomed in my
head, and said, “So that’s how they started Pammy Candy?”

“Veronica was making and selling the candy at
local swap meets, fairs, that sort of thing. Nothing big, just
something for a little extra income,” Andrea said. “Patrick saw the
potential and wanted to take it national. Veronica always said
their love grew along with the candy business. They eloped, sort
of, and got married by candlelight in the small, rustic church
Veronica had attended all her life. Just the two of them. Very
romantic.”

The image of my mom flashed in my head—and
there was nothing romantic about it. If I, or my sister or brother,
eloped robbing her of the opportunity to plan and attend our
wedding, she would have a meltdown on a biblical scale.

“Patrick wanted to move the business to L.A.
because he had more contacts here,” Andrea said.

“Pammy Candy is everywhere now,” I said. “It
was a good decision.”

Andrea’s smile faded. “I’m not so sure.
Veronica acted like everything was great, but it wasn’t an easy
adjustment for her. That’s why Patrick hired me to help her.”

Julia zinged into my head. I wondered how
much she’d tried to smooth Veronica’s transition.

Andrea glanced down the hallway. “I’d better
get back in there. Coming?”

With so much gloom and doom in the room, I
didn’t really want to go in there again—which was bad of me, I
know—but since I couldn’t leave until the police had taken my
statement and no way did I want to wander the grounds or the house
and possibly run into Patrick or the lab guys, I followed Andrea
back down the hallway.

Maybe I could get the staff to send in
something chocolate—or a few beers.

Renée had returned from her smoke break when
Andrea and I walked inside. Brandie was still pecking on her phone
while Melanie and Cassie sat staring at nothing. Nobody spoke.

Jeez, I wish those police would hurry up so I
could get out of here.

I mean that in the nicest way, of course.

No way could I take this much longer. I’d
been here for hours and I had tons of work to do back at the
office—okay, I didn’t have that much to do but that’s not the
point.

Just as I was about to tell Andrea that I
felt I was coming down with a touch of the stomach flu—my all-time
favorite excuse to get out of most anything—the door opened. I
expected to see detectives walk in but—oh my God, it was Jack
Bishop.

Jack was a totally hot private detective. He
was a little older than me, tall with dark hair and gorgeous eyes.
We’d met a year or so ago when I’d been in the accounts payable
department of a law firm at which Jack did consulting work—long
story. We were kind-of-sort-of friends and colleagues because we’d
helped each other out with cases from time to time.

There was a crazy heat between us that
neither of us had acted on because, up until recently, I’d had an
official boyfriend, Ty Cameron. Now, Jack and I were—well, I don’t
know what the heck we were.

Jack’s entry into the room stirred the aunts.
They turned, did a double-take, and stared. Renée eased her
shoulders back and sat up straighter on the sofa. Brandie yanked
the clip from her ponytail and let her hair fall around her
shoulders. Even Andrea stared—not that I blamed them, of
course.

Jack nodded to everyone in the room, and
sidled up next to me.

“I figured you’d be in here,” he said in a
low voice.

Thank God he didn’t use his Barry White
voice. I’m totally helpless against his Barry White voice.

“How did you know I was even in the house?” I
asked.

Jack gave me his don’t-question-the-master
grin—which was way hot—then I realized that he’d recognized my
Honda parked out front.

Good to know my deductive reasoning skills
weren’t completely destroyed in the presence of such a hot guy.

Jack cupped my elbow and walked me to the
corner of the room.

“What are you doing here?” I asked
quietly.

“Security,” Jack said. “Pike Warner called me
in.”

Pike Warner was the law firm where I’d met
Jack—and where I’d probably still be working if it hadn’t been for
that whole administrative-leave- investigation-pending thing—which
represented the wealthiest, most prestigious clients in Los
Angeles. I figured Julia had called them immediately upon learning
of Veronica’s death.

Families like the Spencer-Tafts didn’t sign
up for a gym membership without their attorneys at their elbow.

“What’s happening?” I asked.

Jack angled his body so his back was to
everyone else in the room—I’m sure they were all staring, and who
could blame them—and leaned down.

“The cops are investigating the scene,” he
said, “very thoroughly.”

I figured they would. No way would they want
to be responsible for a foul-up involving the death of a member of
such a prominent family.

Then something else hit me.

“It was an accident, wasn’t it?” I asked.

Jack shrugged. “We’ll see.”

A really ugly picture started to form in my
head, but I pushed it out.

“Let me know if you hear anything,” I
said.

He nodded but didn’t ask me to do the same—he
already knew I would.

Maybe my relationship with Jack had lost some
of its mystery.

Jack left the room, taking most of the heat
with him, and I could see that everyone was getting restless and
Renée was winding up for another smoke break. I was feeling antsy
myself and was ready to break out my touch-of-the-stomach-flu
excuse when the door opened and Julia walked in.

The vibe in the room amped up as everyone
rose and crowded around her, expecting to, at long last, hear some
definitive news. The aunts looked slightly more haggard than when
they’d arrived, worn down by the sudden and unexpected loss of a
loved one.

Julia appeared composed and in control, head
up, shoulders back, facing the inevitable with the same
we’ll-go-on-no-matter-what spirit that the many generations of
ancestors before her must have displayed.

She pressed her palms together and drew a
breath.

“I’m so very sorry for your loss,” she said,
looking at each of Veronica’s relatives in turn. “I know this is a
blow none of you expected. It’s a tragedy, one that won’t soon be
forgotten or easily overcome.”

The aunts and Brandie just stared at her.

I wondered if she had a public relations firm
on retainer who’d whipped up that little speech for her.

“As you can imagine, Patrick is devastated,”
Julia went on. “He’s in seclusion. But he sends his heartfelt
condolences to each of you.”

They kept staring.

“The police officers have assured me that you
will be given an opportunity to make your statements within the
next few minutes. Immediately afterwards, you will be taken to the
airport for your return flight home,” Julia said.

The aunts gasped.

“Andrea,” Julia said. “Call the car service
and book their airline reservations.”

“Wait,” Melanie said.

“Yeah, hold on a second,” Renée insisted.

“What about the funeral?” Cassie asked.

“Services and internment will be held at the
church in her home town,” Julia said.

“We can’t just leave,” Renée said. “It’s not
right.”

“It’s disrespectful,” Cassie said.

“We haven’t even talked to Patrick yet,”
Melanie said.

“Patrick is with his family,” Julia said.

“We’re his family, too,” Melanie said.

Julia drew in a breath, as if to steady
herself, and said, “There is no reason for you to stay. Everything
is being handled.”

“Well, I’m not leaving,” Renée told her.

The others nodded in agreement.

“There are no appropriate accommodations for
you,” Julia explained.

“We’ll stay here,” Melanie said. “There’s
plenty of room.”

Julia drilled the aunts with a
don’t-you-realize-I’m-better-than-you glare.