Plus, Holt’s had gone to a lot of trouble and expense to set this up. That witch Sarah Covington—Ty thought the world revolved around her, he let her intrude on everything, and I do mean everything—had put a great deal of effort into it.
And Ty was my boyfriend. Sort of. This was his store, his luncheon, his reputation. I couldn’t just stand there and do nothing.
“I’ll serve for you,” I said.
Her eyes widened—they looked really watery. “You can’t do that—”
“I’ve done it before,” I told her, which wasn’t true, but what was the big deal? All you had to do was set plates on the table.
Besides, I knew the caterer, sort of. Marilyn whatever-her-last-name-was had catered several events I’d attended; plus, I’d seen her at my mom’s house—Mom certainly wasn’t going to cook at her own dinner party.
I was sure Marilyn didn’t know who I was, but if I mentioned Mom—something I rarely do—I knew she’d be okay with me filling in, rather than be shorthanded or have the server barf all over everything.
“It will be fine,” I told her. “Just give me your vest and tie, and take off. Nobody ever looks at the wait staff, anyway. I doubt anybody will even notice.”
I knew my friends outside would notice. But so what? I’d just tell them I’d spit in their dessert if they gave me a hard time.
“Look,” I said, “if you throw up in the food, they’ll send you home, and you won’t get paid, anyway. Plus, they won’t hire you again.”
She stewed on that for about a minute, then gave me her vest and tie, and slipped away.
I dashed up the big concrete stairs to the second floor of the stockroom, feeling pretty good about myself that I’d done something to help out that girl. And I’d probably saved the entire promotional event. Ty would surely be impressed. Sarah Covington wouldn’t have done what I was doing.
I’ll have to work that into the conversation with Ty, somehow.
In the juniors section of the stockroom I pulled a white blouse off a hanger—just why on earth Holt’s carried white blouses, I didn’t know. No one was in the stockroom—it was off-limits to employees today and the inventory team was still working in the store—so I changed into the blouse, put on the vest, which was a little big but oh well, and the bow tie, and got back downstairs in time to grab a tray of salads and head outside.
Wow, look at me go. Making the big decisions, putting them into action—and I didn’t even have my bachelor’s degree yet.
Then I froze at the top of the loading dock stairs.
Oh my God. Oh my God.
There stood Claudia Gray.
Claudia Gray. Gorgeous—and I mean gorgeous—poised, confident, beauty queen, and high fashion model Claudia Gray.
Not only did she know my mother, not only did she know all of my mother’s friends, but she was Ty’s ex-girlfriend.
Oh my God. Now I thought I might throw up.
What was she doing here? Then I saw her talking to some of the models and realized she must be their pageant coach.
I ducked back into the loading dock, nearly causing a pileup among the servers behind me.
I couldn’t go out there. I couldn’t. Claudia looked fabulous, and I had on a caterer’s uniform.
What if Claudia recognized me? What if she told my mother—and my mother’s megabitchy pack of backstabbing friends—that she saw me here? At Holt’s?
I never quite got around to telling Mom that I worked here. I never quite got around to telling Mom a lot of things. She didn’t know about all that crap I had gone through last fall: how I lost that fabulous job; how I ratted out her tennis club’s gorgeous pro; how only I and five of Drew Barrymore’s closest friends ended up with a so-hot-it-smokes red leather Notorious handbag. Mom didn’t even know I was sort-of dating Ty.
“Keep it moving, will you?” the server behind me said as he skirted past me and down the steps.
Oh my God. I had to do something.
I put down the tray and ran to the stockroom. I pulled a blond wig off a naked mannequin, twisted my hair into a knot, and yanked it on. Then I grabbed a pair of sunglasses from the accessories department section, slid them on, reclaimed my tray of salads, and started serving.
Nobody noticed me. I served the entree, the fruit bouquets, Jeanette made endless remarks, Claudia emceed the fashion show, I refilled coffee, tea, and lemonade, and nobody recognized me.
Whew! What a relief. Seemed like the day was coming off pretty well, thanks to yours truly.
The prize raffle was winding down, the caterers were packing up, and I’d had enough. My feet hurt and the mannequin’s wig was making my head itch.
Marilyn hadn’t said a word to me, and I hadn’t heard any of the servers ask about the other girl. Nobody missed her, which miffed me a bit, since I’d single-handedly saved the entire day, but oh well. Marilyn would just mail her paycheck, and nobody would be the wiser.
I’d still have to find a way to work it into a conversation with Ty, though.
I went upstairs to the juniors section of the stockroom and changed back into my sweater. The white blouse was rumpled and didn’t smell quite so fresh, so I shoved it behind the hair dryers; I’d just enter it as a return in the inventory computer when I clocked in and put the wig back later.
I went downstairs hoping Claudia would be gone when I looked outside. Maybe I could hang out with Bella and Sandy for a while, see who’d won a prize at the raffle.
But before I reached the loading dock, I heard screams from inside the store. I ran through the swinging door that opened near the customer service booth and saw a crowd of people outside the women’s restroom. The door stood open and I saw more people inside. Men and women. Everybody looked stunned. Two women were crying and somebody was still screaming.
I pushed my way inside the restroom. The crowd had broken back in a semicircle near the diaper changing station. On the floor of the handicapped stall lay Claudia Gray. Dead.
Chapter 2
For once in her life, Claudia didn’t look so good.
She lay facedown on the floor, her head near the toilet. There was a big gash over her left eye. Blood had soaked her hair and puddled under her cheek, along with some other really gross-looking stuff.
I stepped into the stall just far enough to bend down and get a closer look at her. Her pupils were fixed and dilated. I touched her neck—which creeped me out big time—but didn’t feel a pulse.
Claudia was dead.
I launched into take-charge mode.
“Everybody move back,” I said, waving my arms toward the door. “Don’t touch anything.”
Slowly, everyone left the restroom, some sniffling, some white faced, others craning their necks for another look. I didn’t recognize anybody. They must have all been on the inventory team.
“You.” I pointed to a tall guy. “Keep everybody together. And make sure nobody leaves the store.”
See how I’m meant to be in charge?
I pointed to a heavyset woman wearing jeans and a man’s T-shirt. I picked her because she looked like a lesbian, and you can always count on a lesbian in a crisis.
“Stand at the door,” I told her. “Don’t let anyone go inside.”
She