Free Duffel Bags And Drownings by Dorothy Howell

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     doing it—and you should,” Kayla said.
    I wasn’t worried. I have excellent I-can-get-out-of-anything skills.
    “Thanks for the heads-up,” I said, and ended the call.
    Just as I was about to drop my phone into my handbag—a Gucci tote I’d paired with
     my killer gray suit and crisp white accessories—it rang again. Jack Bishop’s name
     flashed on the screen.
    I wasn’t in the best mood this morning—thanks to that whole Ty thing and those horrible
     Daughters of the Whatever that Edie and Priscilla might try to stick me with—and it
     kind of annoyed me that he’d taken so long to get back to me—which wasn’t reasonable
     but there it was.
    “Where have you been?” I barked, when I answered the phone.
    “Miss me?” Jack asked.
    Oh my God, he was using his Barry White voice. I’m totally helpless against his Barry
     White voice.
    Still, I pushed on.
    “You might want to start returning your calls,” I told him. “You could want a call-back
     one day when you need to find me for something.”
    “I can always find you,” Jack said.
    He sounded so sure of himself—which was totally hot, of course—but it annoyed me.
    “Yeah?” I asked. “Like you’re such a fabulous detective?”
    “Turn around.”
    Oh, crap.
    I whirled around and spotted Jack leaning against a support pillar, looking awesome
     in jeans, CAT boots, and a black polo shirt—and way too sure of himself.
    He walked toward me and tucked away his cell phone with a casual flip of his wrist.
     He was early thirties, tall with dark hair, a good build, and a killer grin.
    I melted a little—but, jeez, I hadn’t had my first cup of coffee yet.
    Anyone in my position would have done the same thing.
    “So what’s up?” he asked, stopping in front of me.
    It took me a few seconds to recall why I’d thrown a kind-of-sort-of fit about trying
     to contact him, and I finally said, “What were you doing cruising through that shopping
     center on Ventura two days ago?”
    “You were following me?” Jack grinned.
    Like I could be such a good P.I. he wouldn’t know I was tailing him. Something to
     shoot for, I guess.
    “I was at Cady Faye Catering,” I said. “I’m coordinating a St. Patrick’s Day party
     for a Hollywood couple, the Brannocks. Cady Faye is handling the food.”
    Jack tilted his head. “You were desperate to contact me so you could hand-deliver
     my invitation?”
    “What were you doing there?” I asked.
    Jack shrugged. “Working a case. A rather nasty divorce.”
    I resisted the urge to do a nah-nah-nah-I’m-working-a-murder, and said, “You were
     following someone?”
    “My client suspects her husband is involved with another woman. I was confirming it
     for her,” Jack said.
    Jeri’s married boyfriend popped into my head and, for a few seconds, I wondered if
     it was his wife who’d hired Jack. Then I remembered that Sierra had told me the soon-to-be
     ex-wife was already involved with someone else. Still, she could have had a change
     of heart.
    “Does your case involve Jeri Sutton?” I asked.
    Jack wouldn’t easily give up info in an investigation, but I knew he’d tell me if
     it were important.
    “Jeri was killed inside Cady Faye Catering,” I said. “I saw your Land Rover on the
     surveillance video.”
    Jack tensed. “You’re not investigating the case, are you?”
    His chest puffed out and his shoulders squared, so I figured he already knew I was
     involved. But no way was I getting into it with him—not this early in the morning—so
     what could I do but lie?
    “No,” I insisted.
    His eyes narrowed, as if he thought I wasn’t telling the truth, so what could I do
     but amp up my lie?
    “The employees at Cady Faye are worried about their safety,” I said. “I thought maybe
     you saw something when you were in the parking lot.”
    Jack’s gaze lingered on me for a few more seconds—but not in a good way—and finally
     he said, “What happened?”
    I gave him a rundown of