Duffel Bags And Drownings by Dorothy Howell Page A

well that I’d seen Cady’s
     arrival because he was there when she’d walked in and had a total meltdown after Lourdes
     told her about Jeri.
    “I saw her come in at the same time you did,” I told him.
    “Not before?” he asked.
    Okay, now I got it.
    “Several people had mentioned they thought they’d seen Cady earlier,” I said. “But
     I didn’t see her.”
    Dan nodded and, for some reason, I felt disappointed that I hadn’t come up with some
     fabulous new info that would break the case wide open for him.
    I wished I had a lead or some evidence to share with him, but I didn’t. Everything
     I’d turned up so far had gone nowhere. All I had was suspicion and some unrelated
     loose ends.
    “Have you uncovered anything,” Dan asked, and gave me a little grin, “in your job
     as the costume police?”
    I grinned back—I couldn’t help it. He had one of those grins.
    “Nothing,” I said. “How about you? Want to share something?”
    His grin morphed into something totally different, and I got the impression he wasn’t
     thinking about Jeri’s homicide investigation.
    It made me forget about the case, too.
    He was giving off an I’m-going-to-ask-you-out vibe—which, hopefully, I wasn’t confusing
     with an I-still-think-you-might-be-a-suspect vibe—but he didn’t say anything. We shared
     a long, smoldering middle-school moment, then both of us seemed to come to our senses
     at the same time.
    “Maybe when this case is closed?” Dan asked.
    “Maybe,” I said.
    He gave me another little sideways grin which, in turn, caused my heart to do a weird
     little skip. But when he walked away I wasn’t thinking about my erratic heartbeat.
     I was thinking about Cady.
    Apparently, Dan considered her a suspect in Jeri’s death.
    But why?
    * * *
    “Something major just went down,” Kayla told me. “Have you heard?”
    I hadn’t but, of course, I wanted to—but only if it was something good, which I doubted,
     given the way my week had gone so far.
    We were walking through the hallway at L.A. Affairs. I’d just arrived—a few minutes
     late but oh well—and was headed for a rendezvous with a desperately needed first cup
     of coffee in the breakroom. Kayla, who always got there early, seemed wired already.
    “Priscilla assigned the Daughters of the Southland luncheon this morning first thing,”
     Kayla said. “She hired a new girl and stuck her with it.”
    I was in no mood to be toyed with.
    “Are you sure?” I asked.
    “Positive,” Kayla told me. She heaved a sigh of relief. “Looks like we’re in the clear.”
    She headed back the other way and I kept walking toward the breakroom.
    This was definitely good news—on a day when I could use some. The Brannocks’ St. Patrick’s
     Day party was this evening. Everything was pretty much done—I’m actually darn good
     at this job—but there were always a few last minute things to handle and, of course,
     a snag or two to deal with. Today’s possible snag was Cady Faye Catering.
    “Haley?”
    I heard Priscilla call my name as I passed her office. My Holt’s training immediately
     took over. I found another gear and walked faster.
    “Haley?” she called again. “Haley!”
    There was really no place I could escape Priscilla—this works much better when there’s
     a stockroom to hide in—so I stopped and turned around, as if I hadn’t heard her call
     my name three times already.
    Priscilla hurried toward me looking a bit grim. I flashed on the possibility that
     Kayla had been wrong and that Priscilla was about to assign the Daughter of Southland’s
     luncheon to me. Immediately, I mustered my I-can-get-out-of-this brain cells—not easy
     without the benefit of a mocha frappuccino from Starbucks, a Snickers bar, or a cup
     of coffee.
    “I need to check with you about the Brannock party today,” Priscilla said, in a low
     voice. “Is Cady Faye Catering handling everything to our standards?”
    Yikes! This might be worse than