Man Bags and Malice (A Haley Randolph Mystery)

Man Bags and Malice

By

Dorothy Howell

Copyright © 2019 by Dorothy Howell

dorothyhowellnovels.com

ISBN: 978-0-9981969-2-3

These stories are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Dorothy Howell.

Cover art by Stacy Howell

Edited by William F. Wu, Ph.D.

www.williamfwu.com

E-book Formatting by Web Crafters

www.webcraftersdesign.com

With love to Stacy, Judy, Brian, and Seth

The author is extremely grateful for the love, support, and help of many people.  Some of them are:  Stacy Howell, Judith Branstetter, Brian Branstetter, Seth Branstetter, Martha Cooper, William F. Wu, Ph.D., and the talented people at Web Crafters Design.

BOOKLIST:

BOOKS BY DOROTHY HOWELL

The Haley Randolph Mystery Series

Handbags and Homicide

Purses and Poison

Shoulder Bags and Shootings

Clutches and Curses

Tote Bags and Toe Tags

Evening Bags and Executions

Beach Bags and Burglaries

Swag Bags and Swindlers

Slay Bells and Satchels

Duffel Bags and Drownings

Fanny Packs and Foul Play

Pocketbooks and Pistols

Backpacks and Betrayals

Messenger Bags and Murder

Man Bags and Malice

The Dana Mackenzie Mystery Series

Fatal Debt

Fatal Luck

Fatal Choice

ROMANCES BY JUDITH STACY

Outlaw Love

The Marriage Mishap

The Heart of a Hero

The Dreammaker

The Blushing Bride

Written in the Heart

The Last Bride in Texas

The Nanny

Married by Midnight

Cheyenne Wife

The Widow's Little Secret

Maggie and the Law

The One Month Marriage

The Hired Husband

Jared’s Runaway Woman

Christmas Wishes

Wild West Wager

Three Brides and a Wedding Dress in Spring Brides

A Place to Belong in Stay for Christmas

Courting Miss Perfect in Stetsons, Spring, and Wedding Rings

Texas Cinderella in Happily Ever After in the West

Waiting for Christmas in All a Cowboy Wants for Christmas

ROMANCES BY DOROTHY HOWELL

Defiant Enchantress

Anna’s Treasure

Tea Time

For all you readers keeping an eye on the percentage of this book you’ve read, please note that following Man Bags and Malice is an excerpt from Fatal Debt, the launch book of my Dana Mackenzie mystery series, and Backpacks and Betrayals, another Haley Randolph mystery.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Excerpt from Fatal Debt

Excerpt from Backpacks and Betrayals

Chapter 1

Run, Kayla hissed.

I glanced over my shoulder, barely seeing her in the dimly lit supply closet where I was hiding—I mean, checking inventory.  I’d pulled the door partially closed and hadn’t turned on the light but she’d found me, as only a good friend could.

I knew by the tone of her voice that something major was going down, and immediately I jumped to semi-panic mode.

Priscilla is hunting for you, Kayla whispered.

Now I launched into full-panic mode.

Priscilla was the office manager.  Lately, when she wanted to talk to me, instead of sending me an email or phoning, she’d started searching for me on foot through the halls of L.A. Affairs where Kayla and I worked as event planners.  Apparently she suspected I routinely dodged her—which was totally true, of course, but still.

I saw her check your office, then the client interview rooms, then the breakroom, then your office again, Kayla reported, her voice low.

Crap.

She had that crazed look in her eyes, Kayla said.

That definitely was not good

What did you do? Kayla asked.

Nothing, I insisted.

Everything is okay with your events? she asked.

Of course.

No problems with a vendor or a client?

None.

So you’re clear on everything?

Yes.

Okay, all of that was a total lie but it had to be said.

Maybe she wants you for something that will be good, Kayla offered.

We both knew that was a total lie, too.

You’ve got to get out of here.  If you give her some time, she’ll cool off.  Maybe, Kayla said.  I’ll cover you.

She grabbed a pack of printer paper from the shelf and stepped out of the supply closet.  I stood behind the door, listening, my thoughts zooming through everything I’d done lately, trying to figure out what might have prompted Priscilla to hunt me down.  I could think of only one thing—and it was tiny, minute, hardly worth mentioning.  Really.

Yeah, okay, actually it wasn’t.

Crap, I mumbled.

I had to get out of there.

I was about to make a break for it when I heard Priscilla shrieking, her voice high and tense like the wild monkeys on one of those Nat Geo TV shows, asking Kayla if she’d seen me.

Yes, I saw her, Kayla said, sounding calm.  She was in the ladies room.

The ladies room was on the other side of our office complex.  See what a great friend Kayla was?

She pushed the door open and waved frantically at me.  I dashed out of the supply closet and down the hall to my office.

I loved my office.  I had it all to myself.  It was decorated in neutral shades, accented with splashes of blue and yellow, and had a big window that overlooked the fashionable intersection of Ventura and Sepulveda in Sherman Oaks, one of L.A.’s most sought after locations.  The view was great—I know because I’d spent a lot of time staring out the window.

I grabbed my handbag from the bottom desk drawer.  It was a classic Burberry tote.  I’ve totally lost my mind over purses.  A number of people have suggested I’m obsessed with them—a title I hold with honor.

I had some actual work that I’d intended to take care of this afternoon, so I snagged the client portfolio I’d left on my desk.  At the door I paused, checked the hallway and saw that it was clear, then fished my phone out of my pocket and headed for the exit.

Staring at your phone was one of the best methods available for ignoring everyone and everything around you, and this ploy provided excellent cover as I hurried past the offices, the client interview rooms, the cube farm, the reception area, and out the door.

***

Patterson International took up two floors of a towering office building in Pasadena, and every year they threw a picnic for their employees and their families on the grounds surrounding the building, a parklike setting with massive greenbelts, huge shade trees, sculpted shrubs, and blooming flowers.  This year, for the first time, L.A. Affairs had been awarded the coveted job of staging the picnic.  I’d been put in charge of the planning because I’d executed a number of events similar to this one, and believe it or not, I was actually good at this job.

Patterson was a high-profile company that made zillions of dollars and often treated their employees to lavish holiday parties, celebrations, and just-for-gee-whiz events.  L.A. Affairs was anxious to ride this wave of corporate generosity to fatten their own bottom line, so everyone up the chain of command was anxious for us—meaning me, of course—to do a spectacular job, thus the reason I’d been dodging Priscilla more than usual lately.  I was doing the required spectacular job, and having her look over my shoulder, ask hourly for updates, and grill me over details I’d already handled, only slowed me down.

I swung into a parking space at the Patterson building, grabbed my tote and client portfolio, and got out of my Honda.  I’d been here last night to make sure setup was underway and had stopped by early this morning to check on prep, plus while I’d been hiding out in the company supply closet—I mean, checking inventory—I’d made calls to all the vendors and confirmed there were no problems.  It was mid-afternoon now and everything was up and running and looking great, and the grounds were crowded with employees and their families.

Patterson had requested a country fair theme for this year’s picnic—actually, the Los Angeles version of a country fair—so I’d arranged for games (nothing that used any type of weapon), bouncy houses (which exceeded industry safety standards), face painting (organic-based paints), and shows featuring magicians, an acrobatic troupe, and musical groups (all with diverse performers).  Tent-tops sheltered tables and chairs where guests could sit in comfort and enjoy a variety of food choices including vegetarian, vegan, organic, and gluten free, all harvested locally from sustainable farms.

There was music, food, drink, smiling faces, and laughter.  Not a problem in sight, nor had there been one single complaint from Patterson throughout the whole process.  Still, I doubted Priscilla had been stalking me through the office earlier to tell me what a great job I’d done.

All the more reason to hang out here as long as possible.

As I headed across the grounds, I spotted something way better than any of the entertainment I’d arranged for—Jack Bishop.  He was totally hot.  Tall, with a muscular build, dark hair, and gorgeous eyes.  Today he had on jeans and a black polo shirt with BISHOP SECURITY printed discreetly on the front.  I hired his company for lots of the events I staged—and not just because he was so good looking and that there was some kind of heat between us.  Really.  Okay, well, anyway, his firm did a great job.

How’s it going? I asked as we met near the games area.

Jack gave me an appreciative glance—which perked up my day since I was wearing one of my awesome black business suits and had my hair in a take-me-seriously-but-know-I’m-fun updo—then turned back to the gathering.

One crasher, he reported.

Crashers were always a problem at an outdoor event, especially here where other companies were housed in the building and workers from nearby businesses routinely enjoyed the lush grounds.  That was why we’d issued wristbands to invited guests and posted PRIVATE PARTY signs.  But no matter how many precautions we took, some jackass always tried to score a free beer.

The guy took off pretty fast when he saw us heading his way, Jack said.

I scanned the crowd and spotted several of Jack’s men, identifiable by their black polo shirts.  I knew, too, that a few of his guys were undercover.

Anything else? I asked.

A confrontation, Jack said.  Care to guess where?

I didn’t have to guess.  I already knew, unfortunately.

I nodded toward the vendor situated across the grounds near the parking lot.  Harper Brothers Wine and Spirits.  I’d hired them before for other events.

Harper Brothers specialized in outdoor events—picnics, parties, festivals, crawls, and fairs.  Their beverage wagon, a walk-in, enclosed, refrigerated trailer, was towed to events.  It had taps built into one side that were sheltered by a pop up awning.  A folding table served as a counter and was placed in front of the taps where the bartenders served guests.  The inside of the wagon was stocked with kegs, wines, liquors, mixers, and garnishes, depending on what the event was contracted for.  Today, it was beer and wine.

Want to know who was involved? Jack asked, though from his tone he was sure I already knew the answer.

Bianca Grady.  Again.

We both watched as the two bartenders on duty pulled beer and poured wine.  No sign of Bianca.

I understand family loyalty, Jack said.  But damn….

Bianca was a regular with Harper Brothers.  Gail Harper ran business.  She’d recently taken over after her dad, who’d started the business decades ago with his now long-dead brother, had passed away suddenly.  Along with the business, Gail had inherited her share of problems, Bianca being the worst.

What happened? I asked.

The usual, Jack said.  Bianca yelling, making a scene.

At a customer or a co-worker—or Gail?

Customer.  The guy moved on like it was no big deal.

Gail was finding her way after taking over the business and was doing a good job so I’d been okay with continuing to hire Harper Brothers, despite the ongoing situation with Bianca.  But now with yet another incident instigated by Bianca, I wondered if I should re-think Harper for more events.

So that’s it? I asked.

Jack shrugged.  A lost kid, teenagers trying to sneak into the building, a few of the spouses hitting the wine pretty hard.  Nothing out of the ordinary.

Let me know if anything major goes down, I said.

He gave me a half-grin—Jack