Free Clutches and Curses by Dorothy Howell

was Tony’s. He looked like a motorcycle kind of guy. He didn’t, however, look like the kind of guy Courtney would hook up with.
    But what did I know? High school was a long time ago.
    I got into my car and left.
    A lot could have changed for Courtney since I’d known her back at Monroe High. Maybe things had changed with her family, too, but I couldn’t stop wondering where the heck they were at a time like this. Surely they knew about Courtney’s death by now. Why weren’t they here taking care of things?
    I turned onto Warm Springs Road. That guy Mike popped into my thoughts. I figured him for Courtney’s ex by the way Tony talked about him; that would explain why he was, apparently, stalking her.
    Detective Dailey flashed in my mind. He and Webster had been to Courtney’s apartment and talked to Tony. Surely they’d learned about Mike and were checking him out.
    I got a yucky feeling in my stomach.
    Or had they already decided they needed to look no further than me?
    Oh, crap.
    I pulled to a stop at a red light and looked around. I’d been to Vegas a lot but hadn’t often ventured into Henderson. I wasn’t sure where I was, exactly, but I knew the Sunset Station Casino was around here somewhere.
    I thought about hitting the slots, even though I wasn’t exactly feeling lucky lately. But I could sure use the money, if I got on a hot streak.
    Marcie had told me not to gamble with that whole I’ve-been-cursed thing hanging over me, and she’s almost always right about things.
    I really hate it when other people are right.
    When the light changed, I swung into the parking lot of a strip mall and pulled out my phone. I hadn’t heard it ring but it might have.
    Yeah, okay, Courtney’s apartment had been as silent as the vacuum of space, and I hadn’t turned on the car stereo, so I’d have definitely been able to hear it ring, but still.
    I checked messages. No one (translation: Ty) had called.
    At this point, there was only one thing to do—go shopping.
    The Delicious handbag bloomed in my mind, crowding out all else, bringing everything into focus.
    So what if I was a murder suspect? So what if my official boyfriend hadn’t called me? So what if I’d—possibly, but I still doubted it—been cursed? So what if my financial situation was more precarious than walking in four-inch stilettos?
    The important thing was that I wanted that bag. And if I got it—the hottest, hardest to find, most gorgeous bag in the entire world—wouldn’t that prove I wasn’t cursed?
    Yes, of course it would. Then I could call Marcie with my fabulous news, tell her there was definitely no curse on me, and hit the slots.
    I accessed the Internet on my cell phone, found the nearest mall, and took off.
    Â 
    Okay, so maybe I really was cursed.
    The thought came to me once again as I crawled into bed for the night. I’d combed every store in the mall that might conceivably carry the Delicious handbag, and not one single bag was available.
    I still hadn’t heard from Ty.
    Marcie hadn’t called me, either. She was probably out shopping with friends or something, while I was stuck in this crappy motel, helping open a crappy store, because I had a crappy job—which was all my own doing, I know, but still.
    Mom hadn’t called me, either, which was good, usually. But she’d never said a word about my not going to beauty-queen-spa-week with her. Had she felt obligated to invite me? I was, after all, her only other daughter. Was she secretly glad I hadn’t gone?
    I’ve got to get a grip on my life.
    Â 
    I awoke with a start. The room was dark. No light streamed in from around the heavy curtains on the windows. I glanced at the clock on my bedside table. The neon green digits glowed 3:14.
    Sitting up, I tried to figure out what had awakened me, though my brain wasn’t exactly running at peak performance level.
    Bad