“Grab those salt and pepper shakers,” I ordered, as I unfolded my tourist map. “All right, who has a pen?”
Jillian held up a purple felt-tip pen and waggled it in front of me. “Will this do?”
“Yes, it’s perfect. Thanks. Okay, let’s do this. I want to mark the map everywhere Sherlock and Watson had us stop. Maybe it’ll shed some light for us. So, first up, we have the convention center.”
Jillian tapped a big rectangle on the map. “That would be here.”
I passed her the pen. “Great. Circle it, would you?”
“What was next?” Tori wanted to know.
“Café Beignet,” I answered.
Aimee tapped its location on the map. In this fashion, a series of purple marks appeared on the map. Some were in the heart of the French Quarter, others were simply little stops along busy streets. I stared at the map for so long that my eyes started to burn. Vance came up behind me and stared over my shoulder at the map.
“How does this help us?” my detective friend wanted to know.
I shrugged. “I thought I might be able to see a pattern.”
“You don’t, do you?” Vance asked.
“Nope, aside from them all being fairly close together.”
“They’re all close together,” Jillian murmured, as she gently tapped one of the marks on Bourbon Street. “I think that might be the key you’re looking for?”
“Say what?” I asked, confused.
“What was that?” Vance said, at the same time.
Jillian traced her finger along Bourbon Street before dropping it down to do the same to Royal.
“If you notice, everything here is within walking distance of one another. Also of note is the fact that we’ve had a person following us who was also on foot.”
“How is that important?” I asked.
“Don’t you see? We know food is involved, and we know the affected areas of interest are close to one another.”
“Sounds like you’re suggesting our perp doesn’t have a car,” Vance mused.
Jillian nodded. “Yes, exactly. I think … I think our mystery man might be a delivery person.”
“For a restaurant?” I asked, certain I would be ridiculed for suggesting such a hypothesis. When no laughter—or teasing—manifested, I sighed with relief. I think I was beginning to see where my fiancée was going with this. “Our guy is someone who is very familiar with the city.”
“Especially the French Quarter,” Vance agreed. “If he’s a delivery driver, er, delivery what … walker? I don’t know the correct term. Whatever. If our guy works for a local restaurant, is there any way to tell which one?”
“And that must be why there are so many references to food,” Tori added. “Sherlock and Watson must be trying to get us to pay attention to certain things.”
I cleared my throat. “My question is, what does this guy have against me? There were bigger names at the expo than me. Why single me out?”
“He definitely seems to know who you are,” Jillian recalled. “Remember the podcast? He called in and said he listened to you talk about Heart of Éire during the panel. That means he was somewhere in the audience, doesn’t it?”
“Or, he was close enough to overhear what was being said,” Vance argued.
Jillian nodded. “You have a point. Anyway, if I remember correctly, he said he was interrupted, and that there’d be another attack. Wouldn’t that suggest some type of animosity toward Zachary?”
I held my hands up in mock surrender. “What animosity? What am I accused of doing? I didn’t organize that expo. I’m not the one who booked the guests. I can’t imagine what this guy has against me.”
“Yet, he seems to think you’re the one who stopped him,” Vance observed. “We might be able to use that to our advantage.”
I turned to my friend. “How, exactly?”
“We use you to draw him out.”
“Bait? Me? I seem to recall that using a live person as bait has never really worked too well for us before,” I argued. “What makes you think it’ll work this time?”
Vance sat back and grinned. “My instincts. They’re never wrong.”
“Your instincts?” I scoffed. “All right, let’s review. You originally thought I was guilty of murder …”
Aimee gasped with surprise and scooted her chair a few inches away from me. Jillian laid a hand over the girl’s and shook her head no, and then rolled her eyes. Thankfully, Aimee flashed her a smile.
“… you unwisely bet against whether or not a certain piece of Egyptian jewelry could be found by a human before a certain pair of dogs could. There’s also …”
“All right, that’s enough,” Vance grumped. “Point made. What I’m trying to tell you is that … is that … hold on.”
“Did you forget what you’re trying to say already?” I teased. “I’m so getting you some gingko for Christmas this year.”
“You guys are funny,” Aimee decided.
Vance pulled out his small notebook, flipped to an empty page, and hastily scribbled a note.
“Look, I’m not trying to be paranoid here,” he was saying, as he casually tore the sheet from the notebook and slid it to me, “it’s just that I think this could work.”
I looked down at the note and had to order myself not to respond.
I THINK THERE’S A CHANCE WE’RE BEING WATCHED. DON’T REACT.
Vance thought someone was spying on us? Who? Only a few tables were occupied out here on the patio. Of the three that were filled, one had a couple, and the other two had two small families. I could only assume Vance’s finely-tuned instincts needed a tune-up.
I signaled the waiter I was ready for the check and handed him my credit card. “Lunch is on me, so use that, if you would. Aimee, I do appreciate all your help.”
The girl whipped out a pen from some concealed pocket and hastily scribbled her number on Vance’s note. “Keep in touch, would you? I’d love to know how this works out.”
Once we were outside, I was about to suggest we head west, back toward our hotel. The farther west you went, the fewer people you encountered. I figured it’d be easier to spot someone tailing us, provided someone was tailing us, that is. But, before I could say anything, I felt the leashes go taut. Sherlock and Watson, it would seem, had someplace to be.
“All right, guys. You’ve got the lead. Let’s go. Just don’t try to cut anyone off, or dart between anyone’s legs, just because you can, ’kay?”
As was the case whenever the dogs have been alerted to something, I was ignored.
“Oh, man, I am so sorry. Please excuse us. Look out, coming through! This is the Corgi Express, comin’ up on your six. Look out! Sherlock? I swear I’m gonna … whoops! My bad, ma’am. No, I wasn’t going to threaten my dogs. That’ll happen later.”
Thankfully, it didn’t last long. Less than five minutes later, we came to a stop. Looking down at the dogs, I could see both of them were staring at a nearby gift shop. Slowly walking up to the perimeter of the store, I could see they had every trinket, bead, and article of clothing every other store catering to tourists had. The dogs, though, only had eyes for the displays placed just outside the front door.
“Whataya got?” Vance asked, as he appeared at my side. “Anything good?”
I pointed at the display. “You tell me. That display? It has beaded necklaces and quite the variety of Mardi Gras masks.”
I felt Jillian’s soft hand tap my shoulder. “Zachary? Look at Watson. She’s looking at a display, too, only it isn’t the same one.”
Sure enough, Watson was staring at a similar display, only on the opposite side of the store. What did it have?
“Cookbooks,” I breathed. I looked over at Jillian and nodded. “Cookbooks and masks. It would seem as though we need to figure out why the dogs are so interested in food.”
I really shouldn’t have bothered. The reason why the dogs kept zeroing in on food was so freakin’ obvious that I’m surprised I didn’t pick up o
n it earlier. But, to my credit, no one did.
NINE
Monday afternoon found us back in the hotel, but this time, we were in the recently opened giant conference room on the ground floor. What were we doing? Well, MCU—wanting to get the most bang for their buck—arranged with our hotel to rent their meeting room so that they could try again with another book signing. Joining me for this outing were Vance and Tori, of course, with Jillian and the dogs sitting nearby. At the next table over was Cassie Merryman, sitting quietly at the center of her table with stacks of books on either side. Jack Dalton and Mark Spears were also there, at their own respective tables. I should also point out that three other publishers expressed interest in pooling resources with MCU, so on the opposite side of this conference room were several more sets of tables.
I have to hand it to my publisher. They certainly knew what they were doing when it came to promotional marketing. I have no idea where they were currently running their advertisements, but it certainly had the intended effect. There was a large crowd of people waiting outside the hotel’s lobby when the conference room doors opened to allow in visitors.
“Look at all of them,” Vance murmured. He polished off his bottle of water and leaned back in his chair. “And all they want to do is hand you money. Wow. I could get used to doing this on a regular basis.”
I turned to stare at my friend. “Really? You’re comfortable speaking to groups of strangers day in and day out?”
Vance shrugged. “Sure, why not? With what they’re paying us in royalties, I figure it’s the least we could do.”
“Don’t ever let MCU hear you say that,” I laughed. “They’d sign us up for a coast-to-coast book tour in less time than it takes to click a pen.”
“How bad would that be?” Tori asked. “MCU pays for your hotel, your food, your travel expenses, and on top of all that, pays you monthly. Do you know what? I think I’d like to try it.”
Vance looked over at his wife. “What, write a book? When are you going to have time to do that? You’re always complaining about how you don’t have enough free time.”
“I think I can do it,” Tori insisted.
Interested, I leaned forward. “What kinds of books, Tori? What genre would you pick?”
“Well, I would never want to compete with you,” Tori began. “Your stories are too good. I was actually thinking more along the lines of a children’s book?”
“I have several author friends who specialize in writing books for children. Say the word, and I can ask them to pass along some advice.”
Tori clapped excitedly. “That would be wonderful! Thank you, Zack!”
“I should warn you, though,” I cautioned, as I waggled my finger at her, “the one thing I do know about children’s books is that it’s a tough genre to gain your footing. But, once you do, then it’s pretty much smooth sailing. Also, since most children’s books are illustrated, you’re going to want to think about finding someone who can illustrate your stories.”
“She doesn’t need to worry about that,” Vance chuckled.
Tori nodded. “True story.”
“One of your daughters,” I guessed.
“Both, actually,” Tori confirmed. “Thank you, Zack. Any and all advice you can send my way would be greatly appreciated.”
“Anything for a friend.”
I looked back at the rows of chairs that had been set up and spotted Jillian sitting there with the corgis. Sherlock was on her lap and Watson was curled up on the adjacent seat. Realizing I didn’t want my fiancée sitting by herself, a few extra chairs were added to our table. Seeing what we were doing, Jillian nodded and hurried over.
“You’re the sweetest.”
“Hey, you looked like you could use some human company,” I said, giving her hand a squeeze. “Plus, you need to hear the news Tori just gave me.”
Jillian looked at her friend. “Oh? Oh, my! You’re expecting!”
Vance snotted the water he was drinking.
“No, silly,” Tori giggled. “I’m going to try my hand at writing!”
“That shouldn’t be too difficult for you,” Jillian decided. “You have a very active imagination. What kind of books?”
“Children’s stories,” Tori announced.
“Oooh, that’s an excellent idea! I’ve often thought about cleaning up and publishing some of the stories I’ve written, too.”
It was my turn to choke on my drink, only I had soda, of course. Thankfully, it didn’t make too much of a mess this time around.
“What? You’ve written some stories? How come I’ve never known this about you?”
“You’re a professional writer, Zachary. I, obviously, am not. I didn’t want to waste your time by getting your input on some silly stories I wrote years ago.”
“I’d really like to read some,” I insisted. “All kidding aside, I’d be honored to be able to read through something you’ve written.”
Jillian waggled a finger at me. “Only if you promise to tell me if it truly stinks.”
Talk about taking the wind out of one’s sails. Perhaps this was something I shouldn’t have pursued?
“Um, well …”
“Zachary Michael, if you want any chance of reading what I’ve written, then you need to promise me you’ll be honest with me. I’m a big girl. I can take harsh criticism.”
“That goes for me, too,” Tori announced. “I’ll accept your help only if you are completely honest with me, too.”
I sat back in my chair and studied the two women.
“Dangerous ground, pal,” Vance softly murmured.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “All right, fine. If you want honesty, then that’s what I’ll give you guys. I just don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.”
“You won’t,” Jillian assured me. Tori met my eyes and nodded, too. “We can’t get better if we don’t get honest critiques.”
I made a play of whipping out my phone and bringing up the voice recorder. Hitting the Record button, I set the phone on the table and looked expectantly at Jillian.
“Would you care to repeat that, ma’am? For the record?”
Jillian giggled, deactivated the recorder app on my phone, and slid it back to me.
“Not a chance, buster. Oh, look, Zachary. They must have unlocked the gates. Here comes the public!”
A steady stream of people filed in through the open doors. Most of the fans had already figured out which authors they wanted autographs from. Many of them were clutching books tightly to their chests. For the record, this is the exact reason I typically don’t do book signings: this was nothing more than a popularity contest. If, by chance, you hadn’t built up a following of fans and readers, then you were going to look silly, sitting by yourself on the opposite side of the table. It’s also why I was very glad I had Jillian and the Samuelsons with me. They could keep me company in case no one showed up.
Thankfully, in this case, as the large mass of people entered the conference room and caught sight of the name placards next to our seats, the vast majority of them headed my way. I ended up taking tons of pictures with every fan who had a phone. I signed so many books that I honestly lost count. The really cool thing was how many of them were the new Ireland book. And, after announcing to the gathering masses that the reason I wrote Heart of Éire was sitting with me, Vance and Tori got to experience the joys of writing their own name so many times that they—quite literally—ended up misspelling them. Been there, done that.
“This is insane,” Vance whispered, nearly an hour later. “My hand is hurting so bad that I’m afraid I’ll end up chopping it off to give to the next person if I’m asked to sign something again. I have no idea how you can do this for so long.”
I looked at Tori. “Better get used to this. Book signings will typically be either so damn popular that the time will fly, or you’ll be bored out of your skull while waiting for someone to stop at your table.”
“I can see why you avoid these things,” T
ori said, as she looked around the room. “At least the other MCU authors seem to be doing pretty good, too.”
“We’ve got one heck of an advertising team,” I said, as I signed yet another paperback copy of Heart of Éire. I slid the book down the table, over to Vance and Tori, so they could add their signatures next to my own. “I’ve been asked over and over why I don’t self-publish my books. The simple fact is, I could, only I’d be responsible for handling everything. And let’s face it, I suck at advertising. I’d much rather have someone else do it.”
“Do you think I should self-publish?” Tori asked, after the latest fan wandered off with his thrice-signed book.
“If you can’t find a publisher, then you most certainly could,” I told my friend’s wife. “And, if you still encounter problems, then all you have to do is ask. I’d be more than happy to help get your book published.”
Tori laid a hand over mine. “Thanks, Zack. You’re the best!”
I grinned at Vance. “Did you hear that? Huh? Your wife just said I was the best!”
“Don’t let it go to your head,” Vance playfully grumped, giving his wife a huge grin.
“Too late,” Jillian giggled. “It already has, I’m sure.”
“I can feel the love in this room,” I snickered.
A group of four teenage girls approached our table. Looking up, I noticed all four couldn’t have been more than sixteen. Two were blonde, one was a redhead, and the fourth was a brunette.
“Hello, ladies!” I said, as I gave the girls a smile. “What can I do for you?”
Wordlessly, they held out their copies of Heart of Éire.
“Would you like me to sign them? I’d be more than happy to. Plus, my friends here, Vance and Tori, would also love to sign them, seeing how they’re the reason I wrote it in the first place.”
“Really?” the redheaded teenager asked. “Was it their idea to set the story during Ireland’s Great Potato Famine?”
“Well, no,” I admitted, “but it was their idea to base it in Ireland.”
Case of the Ragin' Cajun Page 14