Apparently Barry had again changed his mind about rushing to his office. He limped back to my side. Julian spoke earnestly into his cell phone. No, no ambulance after all, the injuries were slight. Police, yes. Yes, he went on, the attack had looked intentional, please send both state patrol and the sheriff’s department. Yes, he would wait for them to arrive.
Barry’s skin was ashen. He squinted, clearly miserable.
I asked, “You still want to talk? You want to tell me how you knew that was going to happen?”
Once again I got the beseeching brown eyes. “I do, Goldy.” His voice cracked. “Just not right now.” He rummaged in his pocket and held out a small keychain. “I left the lounge kitchen open for you, but you might want to lock it behind you, to protect the food while you’re setting up, the way you said you needed to.”
I frowned, but took the key.
“Could we… Goldy, you’re an old friend of mine.” His mouth twisted in a half-smile. Were those tears in his eyes? “Could we have our little chat later at the party? I have some things I absolutely have to do right now.”
“Not a good idea, Barry. Come on. At least tell
He blushed. “I didn’t say that.” I glared at him. Barry shook his head. “I really don’t know who the driver was. I thought I did, but… Look, I really need to go.” He started limping down to the mall.
“Barry!” I yelled sternly. “You can’t leave before the cops get here!”
Barry stopped moving. His eyes slid to the offending truck, now moving slowly back toward the construction site. The vehicle’s yellow auxiliary lights blinked as it lumbered downward. Back on Doughnut Drive, the crew waved traffic around the hills of dirt.
“Hey, old coffee buddy, I have a job to do.” His voice had become testy. “That mess and the traffic jam need to be cleaned up before the Elite Shoppers arrive. The only thing I have to do is to make sure the shoppers can enter freely. That’s how the mall makes money, remember?” I shook my head. He put his hands into his wet pockets and made his tone charming. “I’ll talk to the cops, don’t fret. I’ll see you up at the lounge. Say, half an hour? Forty-five minutes, at the latest.” He managed a wink before turning away. Good old Barry.
“But Barry—” I protested.
He moved forward, determined. After a moment he yelled over his shoulder, “Mall security will investigate this incident! They’ll be my first call.” He gave me a backhanded wave. “The shoppers’ lounge, Goldy. Thirty minutes.” He staggered away,
I shivered and clasped my arms around my ruined jacket. What was going on? It was clear I wasn’t going to find out standing in the parking lot. Would the cops need me, if they already had Julian? Trying to ignore the pain, I walked over to him. Julian was closing his cell phone and shaking his head.
“Look, Julian, thanks for your help. I… need to get back to work. Barry’s expecting the event to go off on time, I’m sorry to say.”
Julian grinned ruefully. “I’ll make your excuses to the cops, don’t worry. But I swore on my mother’s Bible that I’d stay here until state patrol and the sheriff’s department arrive. One handles traffic accidents, the other… Oh, hey, we got company.”
Victor Wilson was hustling toward us. He carried another first-aid box and a wrapped packet that I recognized as my emergency apparel kit. His wide, dirty face was crinkled with concern. Forty yards behind him was Liz Fury. Had she been setting up in the lounge all this time? I checked my watch. Incredibly, only twenty minutes or so had passed since the truck had begun its killer course toward us.
“Are you all right?” Victor demanded. “Your assistant down there gave me this to bring you.” He moved his load into one hand and offered me his free arm. It was sunburned, rippling with muscles, and streaked with mud. “Come on, lean on my arm. So you’re the caterer? Man, I am just so sorry that happened to you. Is everyone all right?”
“Barry Dean isn’t,” I muttered.
“Yeah, well, I figured that.” When Victor talked, it came out as a wheeze. “Look, I am
Still gripping his arm, I hesitated. Liz was telling Julian that she’d heard the crash and the yelling, so she’d quickly left the lounge. Some women in the mall told her about the truck. What had happened? As Julian filled her in, sirens announced the approach of law enforcement.
Victor guided me gently back to my van, where I gave Liz the key to the lounge kitchen, which had been unlocked when she arrived. She would double-time it, she promised me, transporting the rest of our equipment and supplies. She would also figure out how much we’d lost, and see how we could fill in with emergency back-ups of cheese, vegetables, crackers, and breadsticks. Victor insisted on calling two of his workers over to help with toting the remaining food boxes. I gingerly took my clothing packet as Victor and his crew accompanied me to the mall entrance. Three screaming, flashing prowlers—one state patrol, two sheriff’s department—roared up Doughnut Drive. Julian waved. The cop cars careened in his direction.
Victor deposited me at the ladies’ room door and told me to go slow, I didn’t look too great. He and the crew would make as many trips to the kitchen as they needed to so that we’d have our supplies. It was the least he could do, he said. Shoppers stopped to look at the hard-hatted construction workers with their raggedy paint- covered clothes. Victor gave the shoppers a defiant look. His crew stared at the floor. I thanked them all.
It took me almost fifteen minutes to strip off my ruined uniform, splash myself with water and soap, then more water. I wiped down with enough paper towels to fill an entire wastebasket. I downed half a dozen ibuprofen packed with my emergency clothing, wriggled into my clean outfit, then walked out into the bright light of Westside’s marble-paneled hall. I immediately smacked into Liz, who was coming in from the van. She reeled back, but somehow managed to keep her grip on a wrapped vat of meatballs.
“How’re we doing?” I asked grimly.
“Great. That construction guy and his crew brought up everything but the meatballs. I’ve hardly had to leave the kitchen at all. This is the last load. The van’s locked.”
“Wonderful. I’ll have to bring Victor some cookies. Maybe later in the week.”
As we made our way up the stairs to the lounge, Liz gnawed the inside of her cheek, as if she were pondering something.
“How old is Julian?” she asked abruptly.
“Twenty-two. Why?”
“Oh, nothing, just wondering,” she replied. She was avoiding my eyes. “Actually, I’d just like Julian to… talk to Teddy. If that’s OK.”
Was it OK for Julian to talk to her son
Truck attack or no truck attack, I had a party to cater.
CHAPTER 4
The high-ceilinged shoppers’ lounge bustled with activity. The walls and ceiling sparkled with decorations. Jewelry salespeople (uniformly dressed in trim navy outfits, with keychains dangling from their wrists) hurried to and fro; portly security guys (straining the buttons of mustard-gold suits) paced, asked each other questions, and paced some more. A pair of tuxedo-clad bartenders clanked wine bottles onto a long table. In the far corner, a gaggle of long-haired, black-clad young men set up instruments. Ah, the band. Barry had told me what the first tune would be: “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend.”
I remembered that Barry had also informed me he’d spent a small fortune decorating this new lounge, which didn’t even count the temporary decorations for the cocktail party. Even though I’d visited the lounge before, I was still impressed. Oriental-patterned wall-to-wall carpeting complemented creamy beige silk wallpaper and brass wall sconces. Floor-to-ceiling west-facing windows rose at the far end of the room. Those expanses of glass framed a breathtaking view of the mountains. The furniture had all been moved out to make way for the display cases and buffet tables.
