LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

he’d made.”

      Breath went out of me. My cheeks flamed.

      “Maybe you heard the same thing that I heard,” Madison said, moving even closer. “That the two of them were getting back together.”

      I gulped, stunned. I knew the shock showed on my face because the detective grinned sadistically.

      “Sounds like a motive for murder to me,” he said, looking altogether pleased with himself.

      Madison chuckled and walked out of the office. Shuman followed, but I couldn’t even look at him. I grasped the door casing trying to hold myself up.

      People thought I wasn’t good enough for Ty. That didn’t surprise me. All anyone had to do was look at Claudia and me. She was stunning and, as my ex-beauty-queen mom had often said, I was merely pretty.

      I couldn’t compete with Claudia in the looks department. But that’s not why Ty was attracted to me. He said his grandmother thought I had spirit, and he liked the way I’d told him the truth about how awful Holt’s clothing was, and that I—I…

      I got a yucky feeling in the pit of my stomach. Why did Ty want to date me?

      I thought back and realized he’d never really said. I mean, I could think of a million reasons he’d want to date me, but what had Ty actually said?

      Then my stomach started feeling really yucky. Was Detective Madison telling me the truth? Had Ty been getting back together with Claudia?

      A zillion thoughts flew through my mind. Ty canceling our dates, being late for our dates, talking on the phone through our dates. Always distracted, supposedly consumed with business. Plus, we hadn’t slept together yet.

      I looked down the hallway. Ty and Sarah had split up, both of them on their cell phones. I’m not big on suspense, so I headed toward Ty, ready to ask him exactly what was going on.

      But as I passed Sarah, two words she said caught my attention: “Ty” and “Europe.”

      I froze behind her, blatantly listening to her conversation. She slapped her phone closed a few seconds later and opened her Louis Vuitton organizer.

      “Ty…Ty’s going to Europe?” I managed to ask.

      “For several weeks,” Sarah said, frantically flipping pages.

      My heart sank.

      Ty was going to Europe for several weeks. And he’d never even told me.

      Chapter 5

      It was a Fendi day. Definitely a Fendi day.

      The January weather was fabulous, as always in the Golden State, as I walked along Wilshire Boulevard. Shirtsleeve weather, as my father’s relatives from back East like to say, on the rare occasions when they can tolerate my mother long enough to visit. They’re always impressed by it while I, a native, take it for granted. I freely admit to being a California-weather wimp. Extreme heat, cold, or humidity and I freak out.

      I’d selected the Fendi bag this morning because it so perfectly complemented the Chanel suit I had on—the kind I used to wear every day before last fall—and I needed to present just the right image. Facing down a vice president at the prestigious, old-money Golden State Bank & Trust would take some finesse—something I’m a little short on, but hey, that’s what the Fendi and Chanel were for.

      A reverent hush hung over the lobby of the GSB&T as I walked through the big glass door. It was exquisitely appointed in rich dark wood, sumptuous leather furniture, and fine artwork. Their branch offices that spread out across the West offered a more contemporary look, catering to the masses. But here at their main office, old money, good taste, and quiet sophistication reigned supreme. It was sort of like being in someone’s rich grandmother’s house.

      The bank’s greeter, a young woman wearing a gray skirt, a navy blue blazer, and a necktie, for some reason, approached.

      “Good morning, ma’am,” she said quietly, giving me the GSB&T smile called for in their customer care handbook, no doubt. “How may I assist you?”

      I hoisted my Louis Vuitton organizer—a surprise gift from Ty, which proved he was crazy about me, didn’t it?—so she could see it and be jealous.

      “I’m here to see Bradley,” I told her, managing to sound as if calling unannounced on a vice president at the B & T were the most routine of events.

      “Is Mr. Olsen expecting you?” the greeter asked.

      “No,” I told her, giving her an eyebrow bob that indicated making an appointment was oh so far beneath me.

      I may not have gotten my mom’s looks, but I can summon her I’m-better-than-you gene when I need it.

      And I needed it today. I didn’t know if Bradley Olsen’s secretary would schedule an appointment for me if I called—I’m pretty sure my picture, with a red circle and a line drawn through it, was plastered next to her telephone—but I figured if I showed up, he wouldn’t refuse to see me.

      The Golden State Bank & Trust had gotten caught up in that whole mess last fall, and while you’d think Bradley Olsen would be grateful that their involvement was settled quietly—meaning no lawsuit or unseemly publicity—I just didn’t know how he’d feel about being reminded of the whole thing. When I’d brought Evelyn in here before Christmas to open that account with my settlement money, Mr. Olsen didn’t seem all that glad to see me.

      “Tell him Haley Randolph is here,” I told the greeter. “And Ty Cameron will be joining us momentarily.”

      Ty wasn’t coming—he didn’t even know I was here—but what was the point of having a sort-of boyfriend if you couldn’t use him, occasionally?

      The customer greeter must have recognized the Cameron name as one of their biggest and oldest depositors—I think their account number is “one”—because she invited me to be seated, offered to bring me coffee, then took off. As I’d discovered last fall, the B & T was anxious to make the Camerons happy.

      A moment later, the customer greeter returned and escorted me though the silent corridors, the heels of my Jimmy Choos clicking on the marble floor, and into Bradley Olsen’s well-appointed office.

      He stood next to a desk big enough to land a squadron of F-22s on, and was as impeccable as his surroundings. Already over the hump and into his fifties, I guessed. Tall, trim, a touch of gray at his temples, an expensive suit and conservative necktie.

      He didn’t look surprised to see me—or glad, either.

      “Good morning, Miss Randolph,” he said, and gestured to a chair. “Please, have a seat. Can I offer you coffee? Tea, perhaps?”

      “No, thank you,” I said, and sat down, placing my Fendi bag and Louis Vuitton organizer on the edge of his desk where he would be sure to see them and know that I deserved to be here.

      He sat and an awkward moment passed until he finally said, “So, how is Ms. Croft?”

      “Evelyn?” I was surprised he remembered her. The new account we opened with a mere eighty grand was hardly cause for excitement at the Golden State B & T.

      “Fully recovered,” I reported. Physically, that was true. I didn’t think Evelyn would want me telling the bank VP that she was too afraid to walk out her own front door these days.

      “I’m so glad to hear that.” Mr. Olsen looked relieved. “Really, I’m so glad. Please give her my warmest regards.”

      Another uncomfortable moment passed as he glanced from me to his office doorway.

      “Should we wait for Mr. Cameron?” Mr. Olsen asked.

      I made a show of looking at my watch, then shook my head.

      “He must have been delayed. There’s a situation with advertisers,” I said, which could have been true. I’d

Скачать книгу