Mystery Writer's Mysteries Box Set 1-3

by Becky Clark

  I finally flung the door open. The Do Not Disturb sign flew off the handle and bounced off Scout’s snout, causing her to briefly pin her ears back in fear. She then sang like a diva at the crescendo of her operatic debut while I shrieked. Behind her stood Scott, pale, eyes wide, every muscle tensed. The hotel manager and Jack hurried toward us.

  Scout bounded into the bedroom, hair raised, ears perked, still singing. Scott followed her.

  I quit shrieking but continued to hold the iron in one hand.

  The hotel manager wrapped his hands around my biceps. “What’s going on? What happened?” When I didn’t answer, he shook me, making the water slosh in the steam reservoir of the iron.

  I looked at the iron, then at Jack, then back at the manager. Horrified at my tight grip on the weapon, I dropped it at my feet. We watched as it landed with a thud, slowly teetering to one side. I raised a shaky finger and pointed into the bedroom. “Kid … napper.”

  The manager and Jack pushed past me. I hung back at the doorway to the bedroom. Brad Pitt was still knocked out. Growling quietly, Scout stood over him. The manager returned to where I stood.

  With halting words, I briefly explained what had happened. “You need to get to Brad Pitt’s room. He might have her tied up in there.”

  The manager looked again at the unconscious man sprawled on the bed, then back to me. The look on his face told me he wasn’t sure who or what to believe.

  “But he’s not checked in under his real name. I don’t know which room—” I was flustered. It hadn’t occurred to me that I still wouldn’t be believed.

  “I know which room it is,” Jack said. “It’s my job.” He scurried out.

  The manager followed him and I followed the manager. I called over my shoulder to Scott, “Guard him!”

  The three of us raced up two flights of stairs to the tenth floor. By the time I made it to the hallway, Jack already had positioned his master key in a door sporting a Do Not Disturb sign.

  Before he could open it, the manager put his hand on Jack’s forearm. “Are you sure?”

  Jack looked at me and nodded.

  “Wait,” the manager said. He reached past Jack and pounded on the door. “Hotel management!” He pounded again. “Hello?” When nobody answered, he stepped back and nodded at Jack.

  The door swung open. Cautiously Jack and the manager stepped in. “Hello? Anyone here?”

  I tiptoed behind, worried I was wrong and we wouldn’t find Hanna. And worried that we would.

  Brad Pitt’s room looked exactly like mine, but his blackout drapes were pulled and I couldn’t see clearly. The manager crept into the living area, Jack to the bedroom. I hit the light panel and flicked every single bulb on, bathing the room in incandescence.

  Neither of the men spoke. I broke in half. I’d kidnapped and assaulted an innocent man. He’d attacked me in self-defense. I leaned against the wall and slid to the floor.

  As soon as Jack and the manager made a thorough search of this room, I would no doubt be arrested.

  A slight rustling of the shower curtain attracted my attention. I glanced toward the others, but they hadn’t heard anything. Maybe it was my imagination. Wishful thinking. I crawled across the bathroom to the edge of the tub. When I reached it, I silently counted to three while methodically gathering the shower curtain and my nerves.

  When I got to three-and-a-half, three-and-three-quarters … four, I yanked my fistful of curtain.

  Hanna Lundquist, bound and blindfolded, a room service napkin jammed in her mouth, cowered in the tub. I reached for her. At my touch, she pitched backward, trembling near the faucet.

  “It’s okay, Hanna. I’m a friend of your mom’s. My name’s Charlee Russo. I’m here to help.”

  Jack helped me untie her and get her out of the tub while the manager rattled off apologies to Hanna.

  “Call the police,” Jack snapped at him, clearly miffed that the manager was worried about potential liability at that moment rather than Hanna’s well-being. He hugged her, and I remembered they were old friends.

  At first her arms hung limply at her sides, but then she gripped him tight around the neck.

  The manager hurried away, pulling his phone from his pocket.

  Jack got Hanna a glass of water, which she drank in one long gulp. “What else can we get you?” I asked.

  “I gotta pee.” She shut the bathroom door and Jack and I waited uneasily in the alcove.

  She was clearly in shock and I hoped the police would bring paramedics for her. We heard the toilet flush, water in the sink, and then the door flew open.

  “Where is that son of a bitch?”

  Maybe not shock. Perhaps rage. “He’s in my room. Unconscious, last we saw.”

  In two strides Hanna was in the hallway. “Which way?”

  Jack and I exchanged a glance.

  “On eight. Let’s take the stairs.”

  I wasn’t sure this was a good idea, since the police weren’t here and Brad Pitt could be awake by now, but it didn’t seem like Hanna was stoppable.

  Jack led the way and I hurried to keep up with them. My shoulder and knee throbbed, but I sure didn’t want to miss a minute of whatever was going to happen next.

  When we got to my room, the door stood open and Hanna stormed in. I reached the bedroom in time to see her haul off and slug Brad Pitt in the jaw. He’d been sitting on the edge of the bed, Scout snarling at him, and now he flopped backward.

  Jack, Scott, and I all exclaimed at the same time.

  “Dayum.”

  “Oh!”

  “That’s gonna leave a mark.”

  Scout looked up at Hanna, wagged her tail, and sat at her side. Hanna rubbed her knuckles and shook some pain from her hand.

  Seemed she might have some experience with brawls. “Did you call my mom?”

  “On it.”

  When I’d finished talking to Viv, the manager found us and told us the police were on their way.

  Jack rubbed Hanna’s knuckles.

  While we waited for the police and Viv, Scott insisted on getting ice for Hanna’s hand and for my shoulder and knee, even though I told him I was fine. It hurt like the dickens, but I didn’t want any coddling right now. I needed to focus.

  Brad Pitt struggled to sit, then probed his face. I could see discoloration and swelling beginning near his temple. Scout warned him to stay put by growling quietly and shoving her nose into his. Scott called Scout to his side, allowing Brad to sit at the edge of the bed.

  I expected a tearful confession to tumble out, but he just sat there.

  “Okay, spill. What’s all this about? You really were the B. Pitt on that comment on the Strength in Numbers website, weren’t you?” I demanded.

  He didn’t respond.

  “So how does that tie in with you whacking writers at Viv’s conference?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Whacking?”

  “Killing, offing, making them swim with the fishies.”

  “You watch too many movies. Besides, I told you that was my brother’s problem.”

  We glared at each other. The longer we stared, the angrier I got. “You have two seconds to tell me why you kidnapped Hanna. She was found tied up in your hotel room—” I gasped. “That first day, you said you had a roommate here at the hotel! And that the roommate was cramping your style. Like your brother cramped your style at home. Hanna was here all along and you weren’t the least bit nervous about it! How dare you!”

  “How dare me? How dare Viv?”

  “What did my mom ever do to you?” Hanna asked.

  “I’ll tell you what she did … just ruined my life, is all.” His voice was hard as gravel.

  “How’d she do that?”

  Brad Pitt looked at each one of us in anger. Then his shoulders slumped and he looked at his feet. His voice softened. “I’m sorry, Hanna. I didn’t mean to scare you. I wasn’t going to hurt you—”

  She started to speak but I shook my head to silence her. I didn’t wa
nt his confession interrupted by an angry outburst from her. Plenty of time for that later.

  “What were you trying to do?” I asked.

  He sighed. “I wasn’t going to hurt her. I only wanted Viv to pay for what she did to my brother … and me. When Strength in Numbers helped defeat that annexation proposal my brother was involved in, it ruined him. He lost his law practice, his family, his home. He had to move in with me, which just about ruined me. He couldn’t get another job, sunk into a depression. A crowbar wouldn’t have pried him off my couch. I needed him out. But the only way to do that was to get him his own place to live. Then he could waste away on his own couch and leave me out of it.”

  A revelation slowly dawned on me. “The $339,000 ransom. Is that the price of a house?”

  He nodded. “A nice one. He’d be happy there. Or as happy as Greg can be. On the other side of Oregon from me.”

  “You kidnapped me to get my mom to buy your brother a house?” On the last few words, Hanna raised her voice and lunged for Brad Pitt, pushing his shoulders, slamming him flat on the bed.

  Jack pulled her away as she drew her fist back to punch him again.

  When she was safely restrained, Brad Pitt rolled to one elbow.

  “Scout.” She and I were on the same wavelength and she bounded up on the bed, nose to nose with Brad Pitt. We left Scout to guard him and the rest of us moved to the living room.

  Hanna was wobbly and needed to sit. Jack helped her to the loveseat, then got her another glass of water. He reached for something on the floor by the wall. He picked up Brad’s phone, which must have landed there in our scuffle.

  The manager stood where he could listen for the police. He noticed the armoire cabinet door hanging open and closed it. We all watched while it meandered open again.

  I took a deep breath and said to the manager, “I think Jack’s involved in this too. I don’t think Brad Pitt has told us everything.”

  Scott moved between Jack and the door, crouching a bit and raising his arms in a karate stance.

  Jack didn’t move. “What?”

  I ignored him and spoke again to the manager. I told him about the duffle bag I saw Jack carry to the hotel van. I told him about Jack pocketing Carl’s room key that morning. And I told him how I’d followed Jack as he snuck through the bowels of the hotel and handed a bag to a mystery man in the shadows.

  “You mean when I gave a bag of food to Trombone Bill? What does that have to do with anything?”

  I turned to Jack. “What about Carl’s room key?”

  “Who?”

  “The guy with Mr. Sparkles.”

  “You mean the key that didn’t work? That one?”

  Scott inched away from Jack and looked at me with concern. Neither one of us was sure of what we were doing.

  “Okay, then what about that duffle you snuck out for Roz?” I sounded more accusatory than I felt. None of this was going as I’d expected.

  The manager groaned. “So it’s true. She was stealing from the hotel to start her own restaurant. I didn’t want to believe the kitchen staff.”

  Jack’s eyes widened. “She was doing what? I’m so sorry! I didn’t know. She told me she was taking that stuff to be cleaned with an ionizer.”

  “An ionizer?”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Probably nonexistent,” Jack said glumly. He slapped his forehead. “I noticed a bunch of kitchen stuff missing from storage the last time I was in the basement.” He cut his eyes at me. “I should have realized.”

  I stared at Jack. So when I’d wondered if he was taking inventory when he’d returned the skillet, that’s really what he was doing.

  “Did you follow me to Watanabe’s in the rain?” I asked him.

  “Yes, but not on purpose. It’s on my way home.”

  I stared at him for a bit, then said to the manager, “Maybe he’s not involved after all.”

  There was a commotion in the hallway. Viv rushed in, followed by Lily, Orville, and Clementine. The three of them hung back while Hanna melted into Viv’s arms.

  saRAH poked her head in the room but hovered in the doorway. Hanna reached out to her and they hugged and cried a bit. When they moved apart, saRAH stepped over to Jack. He reached for her hand. Hanna raised her eyebrows at their public display of affection. Jack shrugged and Hanna smiled at him.

  I asked Viv, “Did you know about Roz’s new restaurant?”

  She pursed her lips and then turned to the manager, looking him directly in the shoes. “I’m sorry, Dale. I hated what she was doing, but I couldn’t convince her to come clean.”

  “Yeah, I hate when people don’t listen to good advice from their friends.” I elbowed her.

  “I’m sorry about that too,” she said. “And some of it we don’t really need to discuss ever again, right?”

  “Right.” I knew she was talking about how she had come this close to embezzling from the conference. Heck, maybe she actually already transferred the funds, but I didn’t want to know. “Is that why you were arguing with her in the parking lot?”

  “Yeah. Normally it wouldn’t have been a big deal, but she wanted me to move the conference to someplace where she could do the food, and she was hounding me for all my other contacts. And for the record, it wasn’t a restaurant. She was starting a catering company so she could go all over to set up small satellite companies. She didn’t want to have only one place. She wanted to be able to work and play all over Oregon. Go down to Eugene and hang out during the Asian festival, and Ashland for the Shakespeare Festival, and to the mountains and the coast.”

  I thought back to my search of Roz’s office. “Why do you think she wrote ‘never again’ at the top of the contract for this conference?” My eyes widened at my inadvertent confession that I’d searched Roz’s office. In fact, the three items I’d swiped were still in my messenger bag.

  My friend raised her eyebrows at me, but she didn’t ask the obvious question of how I’d seen the contract. I’m sure she already knew the answer. Luckily, nobody else asked either.

  “I know exactly why she wrote that on the contract,” Viv said. “When we were hashing out the details, she wanted this to be the last contract between the Pacific Portland Hotel and the Stumptown Writers’ Conference. She even showed me some photos of the servers she was interviewing and the kitchens she was looking at renting.”

  “Of course.” I nodded. “The photos I found in her desk.” I clamped a hand over my mouth.

  “You searched her desk?” the manager asked.

  Viv helped deflect his question. “What Roz didn’t understand—no matter how many times I told her—was that a conference is so much more than food.” She touched the manager on his sleeve. “It’s the space here that I like.”

  I smacked a palm on my forehead. “That’s also why she was in touch with the rehab place. She’d have a reason to hang out on the beach for a few days while she set up and serviced their catering contract.”

  Viv nodded. “When I went there, they gave me the third degree—”

  “You went to ReTurn A New Leaf ?” Hanna asked.

  “I’m sorry, baby.” Viv put an arm around her shoulder.

  “You thought I was using again.” Hanna’s voice wasn’t much more than a whisper.

  “Hanna.” I spoke gently. “We just wanted to find you. The important thing is that we did.”

  “And that you weren’t using,” Jack said.

  “I would have told you if she was using.” Garth appeared in the doorway. When he spied Hanna, he rushed to her, brushing Viv aside. “I was so worried when you didn’t answer my calls or respond on Symwyf.”

  Viv’s jaw went slack. “You … knew?”

  I stepped toward Viv to catch her as she wobbled. I eased her into a seat and then turned toward Garth.

  “You were the one who posted that photo of me?” I asked.

  He scowled at me over the top of Hanna’s head. “That,” he said, “was a photo of me. I grabbed a
screenshot from a fan’s page. I wanted to let Hanna know I was at the conference so she could contact me. I thought maybe she’d lost her phone.”

  “Since you lied about traveling the world, what’s the truth? Where have you been?” I asked him.

  “I’ve been right here. I have an apartment in Beaverton.”

  Viv gasped and turned toward Hanna, who simply nodded.

  I still didn’t understand. “How could you not be”—I waved a hand up and down his flowing kaftan—“recognized?”

  Garth batted away the excess fabric of his kaftan until he could reach into the back pocket of his matching harem pants. He flipped open his wallet to expose his driver’s license photo: clearly his face, but also a tidy man-bun and a buttoned up Oxford shirt with a boring, diagonal-striped tie. Probably khakis and tassled loafers, too.

  “You look like you work at a marketing firm.”

  “Close.” He pocketed the wallet. “Attorney’s office.”

  “Viv led me to believe you were a criminal.”

  “Lots of people think attorneys are criminals.” Nobody laughed at his joke.

  “You’re an attorney?” I asked.

  “Nah. I’ve had enough run-ins with the law that I don’t think they’d take me. I’m a worker’s comp investigator for the firm.”

  “You’ve been in Oregon all this time?” Viv asked.

  “How else could I have breakfast with my daughter every Sunday?”

  Incredulous, Viv looked from one to the other. “You knew?”

  “That’s what fathers and daughters do, Viv,” Garth said.

  Hanna nodded.

  “You knew.” The reality slowly settled over Viv’s face.

  “Of course. But it was clear you didn’t want me to know, so Hanna and I decided it was easier on everyone if you thought I was out of the country.” Garth crossed the room and touched his forehead to Hanna’s, then to Viv’s. He held it there. “You should have told me what was going on, Viv. But the important thing is that our daughter is safe.”

  “She’s safe,” Viv repeated, hugging Hanna tight as Garth stepped aside.