Free Swag Bags and Swindlers by Dorothy Howell

hated being late for anything. I couldn’t bear the thought that he’d tell me he had to go.
    â€œI heard about the thing with Kelvin Davis,” I said.
    Ty didn’t respond. In my head I pictured him frowning slightly and mentally calculating where this conversation might go. Ty was always several steps ahead of everything and everybody.
    â€œI know you’re a person of interest in the murder investigation,” I said. “I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”
    â€œYes. Of course. I’m fine,” he said.
    I picked up a note of concern in his voice, which made my heart beat faster for a different reason.
    â€œEverything is all right?” I asked. “No problems?”
    â€œNone,” he said.
    I wasn’t sure I believed him. But I didn’t know if he was trying to protect me from something, or if he simply thought this was none of my business.
    â€œGreat,” I said. “So, well, I guess that’s it then.”
    â€œHaley?”
    â€œYes?”
    He didn’t say anything, and I couldn’t seem to put together a coherent sentence. Apparently, he couldn’t either.
    Another few seconds passed, and it hit me that this conversation had become totally awkward and uncomfortable. Plus, I didn’t want to be left hanging on the line when Ty announced—as he’d done a zillion times when we were dating—that he had to go and attend to something more important than me.
    â€œLook, I’ve got to run,” I said.
    â€œOh. Okay,” Ty said. “Well, uh, thanks for calling.”
    â€œBye.”
    I ended the call and fell back against the seat, exhausted.
    Â 
    After I left L.A. Affairs for the day—I’d hardly gotten anything accomplished, thanks to my conversation with Ty—I drove to my parents’ house in La Cañada Flintridge, an upscale area in the foothills that overlooked the Los Angeles Basin.
    Visiting Mom in person was sometimes quicker than having a telephone conversation with her. At her house, she’d often get distracted by her own reflection in a mirror—she was, after all, a former beauty queen—and I could slip away unnoticed.
    I exited the 210 freeway, wound my way through the streets, and pulled into the circular driveway outside my folks’ home. The house—actually, it was a small mansion—had been left to my mom along with a trust fund, by her grandmother. No one in the family knew—or was willing to say—just how all of that came about.
    Not that Mom cared, of course. She’d taken what she considered her rightful place among the wealthy of Los Angeles, a place she truly belonged. She’d dragged my dad along with her, as well as me and my two siblings.
    My older brother flew F-16s for the US Air Force, and my younger sister attended college and did some modeling. Dad was an aerospace engineer. The only loose cannon in our family was, of course, Mom.
    I parked my car, and by the time I reached the front door, it opened. Juanita, Mom’s housekeeper for as long as I could remember, smiled as I walked inside. For me, Juanita had always been a soft spot to land during my childhood when Mom was—well, when Mom was being Mom.
    â€œShe’s in her study,” Juanita said.
    I headed through the house to the room Mom had deemed her study, where the only thing she actually studied were the issues of Elle, Vogue, Harper’s Bazaar , and Cosmo she received each month. No way would Mom allow a new fashion trend to slip past her unnoticed.
    Now that I was here, I was concerned about why Mom had been repeatedly trying to reach me. Past experience told me, however, that it was something that would benefit her, not me.
    â€œHi, Mom,” I said, as I stepped into her study.
    She was seated on a chaise, flipping through a magazine, dressed in a Zac Posen sheath and Louboutin stilettos. Her dark hair was perfectly coiffed. Her nails and makeup were