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

except for the store’s canned music track
that played faintly. The shelves were all jammed with Christmas
merchandise that would be displayed on Black Friday.
    Andrea had told me that Erika and Patrick had
dated, and I hadn’t told Jack yet. I wasn’t sure if it was old news
or something relevant to Veronica’s murder, and I hadn’t wanted to
look like I was just talking crap about Erika—not to Jack,
anyway—nor did I want to tell him something he already knew.
    But neither did I want to look as if I hadn’t
come up with anything new that would move the investigation
forward—which, I know, was kind of shallow of me, but there it
was.
    “Did you know that Patrick and Erika used to
date?” I asked.
    Jack was quiet for a few seconds so I knew
this was something he hadn’t heard, which was totally awesome
because now, for a change, I was the hot one.
    I gave him the run down on what Andrea had
shared with me, then added, “So I’m wondering if it was really over
between Patrick and Erika.”
    “It must have been, if she was decorating
their house,” Jack said.
    I shook my head as I paced. Men. They really
knew so little about the devious ways of women.
    “Maybe not,” I said. “It could mean she
definitely wasn’t over Patrick and wanted to get into the house and
do away with Veronica. Then she would be in the perfect position to
swoop in and take Patrick.”
    “Who hired Erika?” Jack asked.
    “I’m going out there this afternoon,” I said.
“I’ll find out.”
    “Good,” Jack said. He shifted to his Barry
White voice and said, “Thanks, Haley.”
    My breath caught. I’m totally helpless
against his Barry White voice.
    He ended the call before I could say
anything—which was good, because I couldn’t think of anything to
say, anyway.
     
    * * *
     
    I hadn’t really planned on going out to
Calabasas this afternoon but while talking to Jack I’d decided I
should. I was worried about Veronica’s family, even though Jack had
security personnel on the property, and I wanted to check on things
personally. Plus, I’d told Andrea I’d help out.
    Of course, more info was definitely needed
from the family and I figured I would be in a better position to
root it out than someone who was investigating the murder in an
official capacity. Homicide detectives tended to put people off—or
maybe that was just me.
    I swung by my apartment after my shift ended
at Holt’s—my fabulous apartment, which I totally loved, was only a
few minutes from the store—and freshened my hair and makeup, and
changed into pants and a sweater that were nicer than the jeans and
T-shirt I’d worked in all day. I headed out to Calabasas and called
Andrea as I merged onto the 101.
    “I wanted to come by,” I said, when she
answered. “Will you let the gate guard know?”
    “Sure,” she said. “I’ll put you on the
permanent list.”
    “How’s it going?”
    “Okay,” Andrea said, then paused a few
seconds and added, “but kind of boring, really. They toured
Universal Studios yesterday so they’re exhausted—the aunts, anyway.
This was supposed to be their first full day with Veronica and
Patrick, so that’s not helping.”
    “How’s Patrick holding up?” I asked.
    “He asked me to move into the house while
Veronica’s family is here, to look after them and try to keep them
entertained,” Andrea said.
    “Wow, that’s tough,” I said. “Can you do
that?”
    “For what he’s paying me? You bet,” Andrea
said. “But other than that, I haven’t heard anything. Nobody’s been
here or called.”
    I figured Patrick would be too consumed with
grief—and understandably so—to concern himself with the house
guests. He’d done all he could by having Andrea stay with them.
    “What about Julia?” I asked. “Hasn’t she
checked on them?”
    “Not once.”
    Okay, I knew Julia might be upset too, but
that was crappy.
    “Oh, by the way,” I said, shifting into
wanna-be private detective mode, “who