Clutches and Curses (7 page)

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Authors: Dorothy Howell

BOOK: Clutches and Curses
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C
HAPTER
7
I
hit the breakfast buffet bright and early the next morning, armed with a hearty appetite and an awesome Marc Jacobs purse. Maya noticed it right away. Yesterday, I could tell we'd be friends. This just proved it.
I didn't see Maya as my absolute-forever-no-matter-what best friend—that distinction still belonged to Marcie—and she didn't seem like the kind of friend you'd call when you were upset and just wanted somebody to agree with you
regardless
. But she'd definitely be one of those friends you knew would have your back if a bitch-fight broke out at a party or something.
“It's fabulous,” she said, and rushed over as I helped myself to a muffin. She gave my handbag the moment of silence it deserved, then said, “As soon as I have my degree and get my bakery business up and running, I'm going to get me one of those—maybe two. No, make that a dozen.”
“Why stop at a dozen?” I asked.
I wasn't joking.
Maya got a faraway look in her eyes and her lip curled up. I could see her determination growing.
“Yeah,” she muttered. “Hell, yeah.”
I might have to bump her up to absolute-forever-no-matter-what best friend status.
A dozen or so motel guests were checking out the buffet, filling paper plates, and eating at the tables. Some of them were probably Holt's employees, in town to work at the new store. I didn't recognize any of them.
I grabbed an orange juice and stepped out of the way so Maya and I could continue talking while she kept an eye on the food.
“You're really planning to start a bakery after you graduate?” I asked around a mouthful of muffin.
“And a catering business so I can expand what I've already started,” Maya explained as she wiped down the counter. She rolled her eyes. “If I could get Bradley, the jackass who manages this place, to recommend me to the other Culver Inn motels in town, I could do a lot more business now.”
“Your food is great,” I said, finishing off the muffin. “Why won't Bradley put the word out for you?”
“Because he's a self-centered, thoughtless, self-absorbed idiot,” Maya said.
From what I'd heard about Bradley, I couldn't disagree.
“His family, the Penningtons, own the whole chain. They're wealthy like you wouldn't believe,” Maya said. “Anyway, I'm going to have to figure a way to get money for my fall classes somehow.”
At the mention of money, I mentally shrank back a little. I'd rather not be reminded of my own dismal financial situation. But I pulled myself together for Maya's sake. That's what friends do.
“Have you gotten any scholarships?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Unfortunately for me, I didn't screw up my life at a young age by getting married or having a baby, nor have I been in rehab or jail. Scholarships for people like me aren't easy to come by.”
I knew the feeling. I'd been that route myself.
“Can your family help out?” I asked. I knew my parents would help me—if I asked, which I had no intention of doing.
“Mom's divorced. My dad left us.” Maya said. “I've got two younger brothers still living at home, so Mom's got her hands full just taking care of them. I can't ask her for anything. It wouldn't be right.”
“So you're doing the student loan thing,” I concluded. “I am, too.”
I knew she had to be taking that route, same as me. No way could I afford college—and living expenses—any other way. I sure couldn't get by on the pittance Holt's paid me, even with my liberal use of multiple credit cards.
“I've got student loans to Mars and back,” Maya said. She sighed heavily. “I'm going to have to bake a lot of muffins to pay all that money back.”
We had to pay that back?
Yeah, okay, I knew that. I just hadn't really thought about it. Sort of.
Anyway, no need worrying about that now. Graduation for me was on a very distant horizon.
“I work lots of jobs,” Maya said. “There's lots of ways to make money at the convention centers on The Strip. Easy stuff, like handing out brochures and pointing people in the right direction. I can hook you up, if you want.”
“Might be fun,” I told her.
“Hey, listen,” Maya said, “I'm catering a small event next week. I can't hire you, but you should come anyway. It's a handbag club.”
My senses instantly snapped to attention. The world stopped rotating for a nanosecond. My heart rate picked up.
Handbag club? There was such a thing as a handbag club? How could I not have known this? How could something this huge have gotten past me?
I've really, really got to get a grip on my life.
“They meet at a cute little shop near Green Valley Ranch. It's such a fun group. You'll love it,” Maya declared. She pulled her cell phone from her apron pocket. “Give me your number and I'll send you the details.”
I yanked my phone from my pocket at warp speed and we exchanged info.
Oh, yeah, my luck was finally changing.
On the way out of the motel, I checked the registration desk hoping to see Amber. I still needed to thank her for putting herself out there for me yesterday. I also wanted to give her a shout out for booking those guests I'd heard during the night into the room on my deserted wing; it was comforting to know that somebody could now hear me scream.
Amber wasn't on duty, so I went out to my car and headed to Holt's.
My cell phone rang as soon as I hit St. Rose Parkway. It was Marcie.
“Oh my God, Haley, are you okay?” she asked when I picked up.
I could tell right away that she was genuinely worried, but I didn't have a clue what it was about. My IRS bill, my flat tire, my dented fender, my traffic ticket, my official-boyfriend-turned-sort-of-boyfriend?
Jeez, I hope she wasn't calling with more bad news.
Not that things could get much worse.
“I just saw it on the Internet,” Marcie said. “A girl got murdered in the Holt's store in Henderson?
Your
Holt's store?”
“Yeah, and get this,” I said. “It was Courtney Collins, my friend from high school. The one you found on Facebook.”
Marcie gasped. “What happened?”
I saw no reason to get into the whole I'm-a-murder-suspect-again thing with Marcie. Some things even a best friend doesn't need to hear.
“The police are investigating,” I said.
Marcie was quiet for a moment, then said, “You're not blaming yourself for this, are you? Because of the curse?”
“Well, jeez . . . I don't know,” I mumbled.
Really, I hadn't even thought about it. And now that I was, it didn't feel so great.
Could it be true? Could the curse—which I still didn't believe in, of course—that crazy old lady put on me have somehow caused Courtney's death?
The whole curse thing was starting to be more than a little annoying.
“I'm not cursed,” I told Marcie as I changed lanes, cutting off a pickup. “It's all a bunch of b.s.”
“Maybe,” Marcie said. “But there must be something you can do.”
“Sandy said I should see a psychic to find out how to break the curse,” I said.
“It couldn't hurt,” Marcie said.
Maybe she was right. Marcie was almost always right.
“It might help with Ty,” she added. “Have you heard from him?”
“No,” I said. “Not yet.”
I sped through a yellow light, my phone pressed to my ear waiting to hear Marcie's words of encouragement, her oh-so-logical explanation of why Ty hadn't called, her everything-will-be-fine pep talk.
Marcie didn't say anything.
Crap.
“Think about going to a psychic,” Marcie said. “And don't, under any circumstances, gamble.”
We hung up as I pulled into the Holt's parking lot. Since it was early, only a few cars were there. I swung into a space near the door, cut the engine, and sat there for a minute.
What was up with Ty? Why hadn't he called? I mean, if he really didn't want to move in with me, the least he could do was say so. It had been his big idea in the first place. You'd think he'd at least—
I gasped and bolted upright in the seat. Oh my God.
Oh my God
. Ty hadn't called because he was coming to Vegas. He wanted to surprise me. That had to be the reason. Why hadn't I thought of that before?
I imagined what our reunion would be like. Ty—looking hot in an Armani suit—swooping into the parking lot in a black limo, sweeping me into his arms, whisking me to the heliport for a romantic ride over the Grand Canyon, begging my forgiveness for not coming sooner, pleading with me to move in with him—the only thing that could possibly make his life complete.
My heart thudded in my chest—sort of like it does when I'm standing outside the Louie Vuitton store—as I realized that Ty actually had another reason for coming to Vegas. Courtney's murder—not that I considered that a good thing, of course.
Ty had personally visited the Holt's stores where three other people had died—long story—to calm the employees and assure us everything would be taken care of. So it stood to reason that he would come here, too.
I gasped. Ty might be in the store at this very minute.
Oh my God. I looked like crap. I had on jeans and a sweater. I looked like I was going to be working all day—which I was, of course, but that wasn't the point. The point was that I hardly looked like the kind of girl who might get whisked away to a romantic rendezvous. I wasn't even wearing a Victoria's Secret bra, for God's sake.
No time to worry about that now. The important thing was that Ty was here, and we could see each other and hash out this moving-in-together thing.
I jumped out of my car and scanned the parking lot. No sign of Ty's Porsche. Okay, that didn't mean anything. He probably flew in and took a cab from McCarran Airport.
I rushed to the store's double doors and stopped in my tracks. A security guard blocked the entrance. He wasn't there yesterday. Yesterday when I arrived, the doors had stood wide open. Nobody had been in the front of the store checking I.D. or anything.
“Name?” he asked, consulting the clipboard in his hand. I told him and he ran his finger down the column of names, then opened the door for me.
The store looked pretty much the same as it had yesterday. Not much work had gotten done with the homicide investigation in full swing, apparently. Workmen stood around talking. Employees drifted toward the rear of the store, no one in much of a hurry. Guess everybody was still in shock.
I gazed around the store. No sign of Ty.
Fay—the new Rita in my life—wasn't in sight, either, so I checked the easel for today's duty assignment. “
Store manager
” was written next to my name.
This couldn't be good.
Or maybe it was. My spirits lifted as I realized that Ty was probably in Preston's office waiting for me. Yeah, that had to be it.
I struck out for the office suite in the rear of the store, bobbing and weaving around the other employees, then turned down the hallway to Preston's office.
My stomach tingled a little. Ty would be there. Just steps away. Waiting to surprise me.
I paused for a second, ducked into the employee breakroom, grabbed my time card, and punched in.
Ty would want me to get paid for this. Really.
I rushed to Preston's office and burst inside. Preston sat at his desk, the florescent ceiling light reflecting off the bald spot on his head.
“Oh, yes, Haley,” he said.
My gaze bounced around the room. Where was Ty?
“Thanks for coming in,” Preston said.
Why wasn't he here?
“I wanted to talk to you about yesterday,” he told me.
Where could Ty be?
“I talked to the corporate office,” Preston said.
In the stock room? Training room? Restroom?
“The big man himself spoke with me.”
My attention jumped back to Preston. He had to be referring to Ty.
“What did he say?” I think I shouted that.
“He wanted to come to the store.”
“When's he getting here?” I'm sure I shouted that.
My thoughts ran wild. Ty was on his way? He could get here at any moment?
Did I have time to go back to the motel and change my bra?

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