Purses and Poison - Dorothy Howell

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my God. How could someone not know what a Judith Lieber bag was? Only the world’s most glamorous, gorgeous evening bags ever. They transcended fashion. They were art. Sort of.

      “It has Austrian crystals,” I said—actually, I think I moaned. “Elegantly handcrafted.”

      “Sounds expensive.”

      “And a satin lining,” I said.

      Evelyn shook her head. “No, no.”

      “It comes with a gorgeous box.” I was whining now.

      “Out of the question.”

      “And a keepsake bag!”

      “No!” Evelyn said.

      She picks now, of all times, to be assertive?

      “I’m just following your instructions, Haley.”

      I hate it when other people are right.

      When I’d gotten that big chunk of money last fall, I’d paid for my college classes and books, zeroed out my credit cards, and paid my rent and car payment ahead a few months. I bought some essentials, too, like a gorgeous Louis Vuitton tote, and the fabulous Coach handbag, wallet, and cosmetic bag combo set I’d had my eye on.

      And there were so many more things I could have bought.

      I knew me. I knew that all that money could disappear if I didn’t do something drastic. Putting it in a savings account, or an IRA, or a mutual fund, or something boring like that was a possibility. But I knew I would suffer the financial penalty and take it out. So that left putting it in the safekeeping of a friend or family member. Money is the best way to ruin a friendship, so I didn’t entrust it to Marcie; I liked her too much for that. And there was no way I would turn it over to my mom or dad. They would have asked how I’d gotten the money and I wasn’t about to go into all of that with them.

      So that left one person I could turn to. Evelyn. She was trustworthy and honest; plus, I knew that with her Holt’s settlement, she didn’t need any money so she wouldn’t take mine. I made her promise not to give me any funds unless it was for something like medical bills, rent, or school. It had all made perfect sense.

      Until I spotted that Judith Leiber bag.

      “Okay, okay,” I said, shaking off my disappointment. “Two thousand dollars for an evening—”

      “Two thousand dollars?” Evelyn exclaimed.

      “It’s a very reasonable price,” I explained. “Anyway, I’ll figure out something else.”

      “You’re not upset with me, are you?” Evelyn asked, twisting her fingers together.

      I really wasn’t, so I smiled. “No. Of course not. But I really do have to go.”

      “Oh well, of course. I was just hoping…well, that is…I wondered if you’d mind…” She moved to the blinds and pulled them open a quarter inch. “My neighbor. I think something’s wrong.”

      I went to the window and she stepped aside so I could look out.

      “Across the street, on the corner,” Evelyn said.

      The place looked like every other house on the block. Well-tended lawn, painted trim, clipped shrubbery.

      “You want me to go over there and check on them?” I asked.

      “No! Oh no!” Evelyn shook her head. “No, don’t do that. Please. It’s just that, well, I’ve known Cecil for about twenty years, ever since I’ve lived here. His wife died a few years ago. A traffic accident. Very sad. And now Cecil has a new girlfriend.”

      “What’s the problem?”

      Evelyn twisted her fingers together. “I think the new girlfriend killed him.”

      Great. I had to find out what was up with Evelyn’s neighbor. Plus, I didn’t get my own money to buy that Judith Leiber evening bag.

      And my day wasn’t over. Now I had to go to work. At Holt’s.

      I waved good-bye to Evelyn, jumped in my car, and headed for the freeway.

      I wasn’t scheduled to work until the evening, usually, but today was an exception. Everyone was coming in to get the store back in shape after the cops tore everything apart looking for the missing server.

      Yeah, yeah, I know it was all my fault. But anybody in my place would have done the same thing. I mean, what choice did I have? I couldn’t announce that I was the missing server the cops were trying to find.

      Everybody was standing there. Sarah couldn’t wait for me to look like an idiot—especially in front of Ty. And Ty would have been embarrassed by me. Plus, I didn’t want him to know that I’d done the whole save-the-event thing to try and impress him. I’d have looked totally desperate. And I certainly couldn’t say that I was afraid Claudia would recognize me and blab to the ex-queen’s cult that I was working as a caterer. How pathetic would that make me look?

      And those attorneys from Pike Warner. They would have gone back to the firm and told the whole story to everybody. I didn’t want anything added to all the other stuff they were saying about me there.

      Detective Madison couldn’t wait for me to screw up again. He would have found some way to twist the whole thing into making me a murder suspect. Again.

      Once word got out, who knows who else would have found out? I would have looked like a complete idiot to absolutely everyone.

      I exited the freeway, heading toward Holt’s.

      It didn’t matter now, anyway. Everything had turned out okay, pretty much.

      Holt’s store employees got a whole day off yesterday, and I’d heard Ty say he was paying everyone extra for the hard job of getting the entire store back into shape today. The inventory team would have to come back, but oh well, they traveled from store to store all the time. Jeanette’s quarterly bonus would suffer, but it’s not like she used her money for anything worthwhile, like decent clothes or designer handbags.

      True, Holt’s had been all over the news, but there was no such thing as bad publicity; that’s what everybody says, anyway. The department store had been in business for over a hundred years and had survived worse scandals.

      Anyway, it didn’t matter now that I’d stood there silently and let all that stuff happen. The whole thing was over with. The media had shone their spotlight on Holt’s for a while, but it had already moved on to the next big story. That’s just the way it was with newspeople. By the 6:00 p.m. news broadcast tonight, it would all be forgotten.

      I parked in front of the Holt’s store thinking this would be an easy day here. No customers. Every day at Holt’s would be easier if it weren’t for the customers.

      Big signs were up in the windows announcing that we would reopen tomorrow for our “biggest sale of the season.” Even so, I noticed a crowd of about two dozen people gathered at the corner of the building. I guess some people just couldn’t wait for a great sale.

      It felt kind of good to be at the store, back to normal, back to the regular routine of life. Nobody knew what I’d done yesterday—and nobody ever would—so I was clear on that. And, aside from Claudia being murdered, everything was okay again.

      Colleen—to be generous, I’ll call her “slow”—stood inside the big plate-glass doors, on guard duty. When I walked up, she pointed to the sign that said the store was closed.

      “I work here,” I said to her through the glass.

      She gave me an apologetic shrug and pointed to the sign again.

      Colleen knew I worked here. She saw me just about every day. Plus, I had my Holt’s name tag in its lanyard hanging around my neck.

      I might have to downgrade her from “slow.”

      “I…work…here,”

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