Free Clutches and Curses by Dorothy Howell Page B

paid me, even with my liberal use of multiple credit cards.
    â€œI’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.
    â€œI 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.”
    â€œMight be fun,” I told her.
    â€œHey, 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.
    â€œThey 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.
    â€œOh 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.
    â€œI just saw it on the Internet,” Marcie said. “A girl got murdered in the Holt’s store in Henderson? Your Holt’s store?”
    â€œYeah, 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.
    â€œThe 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?”
    â€œWell, 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.
    â€œI’m not cursed,” I told Marcie as I changed lanes, cutting off a pickup. “It’s all a bunch of b.s.”
    â€œMaybe,” Marcie said. “But there must be something you can do.”
    â€œSandy said I should see a psychic to find out how to break the curse,” I said.
    â€œIt couldn’t hurt,” Marcie said.
    Maybe she was right. Marcie was almost always right.
    â€œIt might help with Ty,” she added. “Have you heard from