Fanny Packs and Foul Play (A Haley Randolph Mystery) by Dorothy Howell

other
employees. With the official kick off of the holiday season coming
up, Holt’s had hired a ton of new sales clerks. They were all
seasonal workers, here only until the first of January.
    All the new faces I spotted seated around the
breakroom looked as tired and worn out—and kind of shell-shocked—as
all of us permanent employees.
    Retail work had that effect on people.
    If one of them had stolen Bella’s string
cheese it wasn’t readily apparent, not that I could see,
anyway.
    The breakroom door swung open and banged
against the wall. I didn’t have to look in that direction to know
that Rita, the cashiers’ supervisor, had burst into the room.
    Rita was about as wide as she was tall—which
would have been okay except that she continually dressed in stretch
pants and knit tops with farm animals on the front.
    Her goal in life was to make lives
miserable—especially mine.
    “Your lunch break is over, princess,” she
barked at me.
    I hate her.
    “I have four more minutes,” I told her. It
wasn’t true, but so what.
    “Some kids just dumped half the greeting
cards onto the floor,” Rita said. “You need to go pick them
up.”
    I was about to make the kindest remark I
could think of regarding Rita and what I thought she could do with
the greeting cards—it did not involve me picking them up—when a
girl hopped up from the table next to ours and said, “I’ll do it,
Rita. No problem. I was finished eating anyway.”
    Okay, that was weird.
    And disappointing—for Rita, anyway. She
glared at me and I glared back—yes, just like eighth grade.
    “I’m glad to help out,” the girl said.
“Anything I can do, just let me know. That’s what I’m here
for.”
    “Thank you, Gerri,” Rita said. She mad-dogged
me until Gerri dumped her trash and clocked-in, and the two of them
left the breakroom.
    “She’s one of the new people,” Sandy
said.
    I figured, because I hadn’t seen her before.
She was probably early twenties with dark hair, and kind of average
in height, weight, and looks.
    “What was she eating for lunch?” Bella
demanded.
    “Gerri’s a really hard worker,” Sandy said.
“We were in the shoe department yesterday and, wow, she was
shelving merchandise like a ninja. I think she’s hoping they’ll
keep her on after Christmas, or maybe give her more hours.”
    “More hours in this place? No thanks,” I
said.
    “I ought to check out her trash,” Bella
mumbled.
    “She probably needs the money,” Sandy said.
“Especially with Christmas coming up.”
    I couldn’t argue with that. And, really, the
income from Holt’s had been a lifesaver when I’d started here last
year. I was lucky to have a full time job at L.A. Affairs that paid
well, but since my benefits hadn’t kicked in yet, I was sticking it
out here because of the medical coverage.
    Being responsible is inconvenient at
times.
    My cell phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled
it out and saw that Jack was calling.
    “Gotta go,” I said, as I sprang out of my
chair.
    “Must be a hot guy,” Sandy said.
    “Ask him if he’s got a brother,” Bella
called, as I dashed out of the breakroom.
    No way did I want to have a conversation with
Jack in front of anyone, so I hit the green button on my phone as I
raced down the hallway past the managers’ offices and the customer
service booth. I pushed through the swinging doors and went into
the stockroom.
    “The undercover investigator will be in place
tomorrow,” Jack said when I answered.
    He sounded tense, deeply entrenched in
private-detective mode—which was way hot.
    I’d talked with him yesterday about putting
one of his people in the Spencer-Taft mansion for extra security
under the guise of someone from a concierge service, and he’d liked
it. I was glad he was making it happen.
    “Did anything pop on the work crews?” I
asked.
    “Everybody’s clean, so far,” Jack said.
“Still checking.”
    I paced through the aisles of the stockroom.
It was quiet back here,