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

hired Erika to decorate the
house?”
    “Veronica,” Andrea said.
    That surprised me.
    “Somebody must have recommended her,” I said
because, really, Erika didn’t work for the kind of decorator
service you’d find in your spam folder.
    “She was already involved with the
renovations when I came on board,” Andrea explained. She was quiet
for a moment, thinking, then said, “I don’t know who suggested her
to Veronica. Nobody mentioned it.”
    “Did she know about Erika and Patrick’s
past?” I asked.
    “Maybe. I don’t know,” Andrea said. “But I
doubt it would have mattered. She was absolutely secure in
Patrick’s love for her.”
    Wow, she must have really believed in
Patrick.
    “I couldn’t have tolerated an old girlfriend
that close,” I said, and felt an age-old wave of jealousy zing
though me.
    “Me either,” Andrea said. “But that was
Veronica. She always thought the best of everybody.”
    Had that led to her murder? I wondered.
    “I’ll be there soon,” I said, and we ended
the call.
    I wondered, too, if maybe Patrick’s love
wasn’t as all-consuming as Veronica—and everyone else,
apparently—thought it was. Had he had second thoughts about
marrying her? Had he hired Erika hoping to ignite an old flame?
Could the two of them have plotted to get rid of Veronica?
    I didn’t like to think about that so,
luckily, my cell phone rang. Then I saw that it was Mom.
    Maybe the call wasn’t so lucky an
interruption, after all.
    “Good news,” Mom declared, when I
answered.
    I didn’t need a crystal ball to predict that
Mom’s good news had nothing to do with me.
    “I’ve found several eligible bachelors to
invite to Thanksgiving dinner for your sister,” she told me.
    I should have my own psychic hotline.
    “I’ve discussed these young men in depth with
a number of my friends,” Mom went on, “and two of them are
extremely promising. Others are less so. One I was forced to
disregard completely. I’ll keep looking, of course. There’s still
plenty of time. I’m confident I’ll find the perfect man.”
    Not that I wished anything bad for my sister,
but I kind of hoped Mom wouldn’t find anyone to set her up with
because I didn’t want to be the only one there without a date. I
could just imagine all the questions I’d get from family members I
seldom saw and from whoever else Mom had invited. Some of them knew
that I’d dated Ty but probably hadn’t learned that we’d broken
up.
    I didn’t want my personal life on parade,
fielding questions, seeing the disappointed
too-bad-it-didn’t-work-out expressions on their faces, then having
to listen to their well-intended pep talks about how they were
certain the right man for me was out there somewhere and eventually
I’d find him.
    And as if that wouldn’t be bad enough, who
knew what Mom would actually serve for dinner? Last year she’d gone
with Russian food—although the vodka had helped everybody get
through the day much easier.
    Then, for some reason, Liam Douglas flew into
my head.
    Where the heck had he come from? Why was I
thinking about him? Him, of all people?
    Well, he was incredibly good looking. And,
even though he’d been a total jerk when we’d first met, he’d
apologized. He’d even told a funny joke about lawyers. That counted
for something, right?
    “So you think it’s a good idea?” Mom
asked.
    She’d been blabbing on and I hadn’t been
listening, I realized.
    That happened a lot.
    I had only the vaguest notion what she was
talking about—some trip to Cuba—so what could I say but, “Sure.
Great idea.”
    “Excellent,” she told me. “I’ll get right on
it.”
    We ended the call as I exited the 101, wound
through the streets, and pulled up to the guard house. I presented
my driver’s license out the window to the guy I’d seen on duty many
times, but he waved me off.
    “We have you on our permanent list, Miss
Randolph,” he said.
    “Thanks,” I said, and dropped my license into
my