A Candidate for Murder

by Joan Lowery Nixon

Sally Jo’s eyes were huge. “Cary,” she said, “this is the first time you’ve told this about the body to anyone, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I said. “It just made sense to me right now.”

  Sally Jo glanced quickly around and pulled at my hand, tugging me back toward the ballroom. “We have to get you to a security guard or a policeman right away. You’re the only witness … You’re in more danger than you were before … If they knew …”

  We were almost at the door to the ballroom when a waiter came out and made straight for us. He was a tall, muscular man, but his face was nondescript. So was his expression—a total blank. He carried a small metal tray down at his side but raised it as he stopped directly in front of us. “Sally Jo Wilson?” he asked, looking at both of us as though he were waiting to see which one would answer.

  “Yes?” Sally Jo said.

  “There’s a phone call for you.” The waiter nodded toward a door at the far side of the area. “You can take it in there.”

  The waiters working the ballroom were extra busy, but they weren’t blind. They would have seen me when I came in. They would have known which one of us was Sally Jo. My heart started pounding, and I grabbed Sally Jo’s arm. “Don’t go,” I screeched. “This guy’s a fake.”

  “So I figured,” Sally Jo answered, and she ordered, “Get out of our way.”

  He didn’t budge. “Too bad for you,” he said to her. “You had a chance to stay out of this.” He moved the tray, and we could see the gun he was holding. I knew he could hear my heart. Now it was banging in my ears, and I could hardly breathe. This guy was going to kill us! “We’re going to walk through the kitchen. Go ahead. Now.” He made a little jab with his gun in that direction.

  A waitress appeared behind him.

  “Help us!” I managed to shout, but she wasn’t one of the hotel waitresses. She was Francine.

  “I spotted you,” Sally Jo told her. “The security staff is looking for you.”

  “Let’s get out of here fast,” Francine said to the man. She made a grab for my arm.

  If we left the hotel there was no doubt we’d be killed. If we stayed, at least we’d have a fighting chance.

  And fighting was the word. I used Francine’s momentum to swing her in front of me and into the guy holding the gun. And I kicked. I kicked hard, and as I heard the gun hit the floor I yelled and hit out at both of them. One punch landed so hard that a jolt of pain traveled from my hand to my shoulder, and I screamed, “Help! Somebody! Anybody! Help us!”

  Sally Jo dove in, and I heard a crunching sound as her fist hit Francine’s face. The man made a grab for my neck, but I twisted my head and bit down on his wrist, and he yelped and jerked his hand away. An elbow jabbed my ribs so hard that for a moment tears flooded my eyes and I couldn’t see.

  Suddenly someone grabbed my sore shoulder, trying to pull me away. I struck out with my other hand and too late saw that it was Dexter. I gave him such a clip on the side of the head that he staggered backwards.

  People yelled, and lights went off in my face.

  I heard Dad saying, “Let go, Cary. Let go—now! Everything’s under control.” And I stopped fighting.

  Dad helped me stand up, and as Mom brushed the hair from my eyes I could feel her fingers tremble. I watched the security chief and some of the undercover policemen lead Francine and the gunman from the room. They were surrounded by the newspaper and television people who tried to squeeze through the doors with them.

  Dexter stood and rubbed his jaw.

  “You’re not a butler,” I told him. “Who are you?”

  “A bodyguard,” Dad answered for him. “Your mother knew, but we were afraid you’d be frightened if you thought we had to have a bodyguard.”

  “You should have told me,” I said. I looked at Dexter sheepishly. “At least before I socked Dexter. I’m sorry I hit you. I really am.”

  Dexter just smiled, but his jaw was beginning to swell. So was my right eye. I could feel it.

  Some of Dad’s staff began guiding the banquet guests back to their places, and I told Mom and Dad, “They were going to kill me. I remembered all of what I heard, and it finally made sense. I think I know where Herb Gillian’s body is buried.”

  Sergeant Slater stepped forward. “We’ll need an official statement,” he said.

  Chapter 19

  I gave him a statement. I told him everything I knew, and I went over it all again for the crowd in the ballroom, as Don Franklin wanted me to do. And as I did, I explained how Sally Jo had helped me remember. I saw some of the cameras zoom in on her, and I hoped she’d get some of the attention she deserved from the news media.

  I had kept my promise to Sally Jo. I gave everyone the facts, but the details—the background of the story—were just for her.

  And when I’d finished I went back to the head table and said, “I want to go home, Dad.”

  Mr. Franklin, who was squatting to talk to him, said, “But it’s time for your father to speak.”

  “Dad?” I pleaded.

  “Dexter will see that you and Justin get home safely,” Dad said and smiled. “You’ll have lots of speeches to sit through if this campaign goes well.”

  A short time later, as Justin and I sat in the back seat of the limo, Dexter with the driver in the front seat, I told Justin, “It’s all over, but I still feel shaky and scared.”

  “I feel a little scared of you,” Justin said. “I didn’t know you could fight like that.” He put his right arm around my shoulder, and I winced, but I scooted over next to him.

  “I don’t know why your dad wants to go into politics,” Justin told me. “My dad said that your dad is an idealist and idealists always think the impossible can happen.”

  “Correction,” I said. “Idealists make the impossible happen.”

  We came to a boulevard stop. Justin bent down for a quick kiss, and we temporarily forgot about politics.

  No matter how Justin and I felt about each other now, I knew that if Dad became governor, Justin would probably start dating someone else as soon as I moved to Austin. I had to admit to myself, I didn’t want to be a hermit either. I’d begin dating other people, too.

  But all that was somewhere in the future. What was happening right now was all that mattered, and right now, being here with Justin was exactly what I wanted.

  JOAN LOWERY NIXON has been called the grande dame of young adult mysteries. She is the author of more than 130 books for young readers and is the only four-time winner of the Edgar Allan Poe Award for Best Young Adult Novel. She received the award for The Kidnapping of Christina Lattimore, The Séance, The Name of the Game Is Murder, and The Other Side of Dark, which also won the California Young Reader Medal.