Booked For Murder

by CeeCee James

  “Enjoy your stay at Oceanside Hotel.” I gave him my sweetest smile.

  He smirked before stomping off towards the elevators. The smile melted from my face as the circular doors spit out three more cape-wearing champions who tromped over to join the throng.

  I stifled a sigh of exhaustion. Only two hundred more guests to check in. It’s going to be great!

  I hated it when my subconscious teased me.

  This day really was something for my diary.

  The entire day was filled with creatures from all manner of games and fandoms. Some I recognized as the speeding blue blurs from a video game or the plumbing duo who always tried to rescue the princess. Other costumes just left me more confused and questioning my sanity.

  Momma, having let go of her dreams of selling hand-made trinkets to the costumed masses, had come out to visit just one time. She’d wandered up to the front desk and primly rested her hands on the counter. I heard her suck in her breath sharply at the view of a group of half-naked girls with a red “S” emblazoned on their chests. With a look of disdain on her face, she arched one of her penciled-in eyebrows. “Maisie, what kind of business are you running here?”

  “It’s the Comic-Con, Momma. I was telling you about it, remember?”

  She turned to me with a blank look and blinked.

  “It’s supposed to be fun,” I added, sliding yet another key across the counter to a guest.

  Momma sniffed. “Fun like this in my day meant there’d be a tar and feathering afterward. You go get some sheets and cover up those poor girls. Or you can be expecting a rash of pneumonia to break out.”

  Just then a centaur ran by. Momma stared for a second before adding, “Come to think of it, the boys could use some, too.”

  Although I doubted the truth of the old wives’ tale of cold temperatures making people ill, this time I couldn’t question Momma's area of wisdom. She stared again at the guests before giving me a disappointed expression as if I was contributing to some poor girl’s downfall and trundled back to our suite.

  Finally, the other front desk clerk, Sierra, came to spell me. Sierra was not my favorite co-worker. She’d applied for my position and been denied. Secretly, I thought she resented my presence. But, right now, as her eyes narrowed at the sight of me, I decided it might not be such a secret.

  I’d try to mend that relationship later, but right now I needed to check out the convention hall and see how everything was going. It was amazing how the guests had transformed the normally cool and elegant foyer. Their colorful costumes and boisterous attitudes were in stark contrast with the glittering chandelier overhead.

  I moved across the foyer to take a quick peek into the convention center. Two of the six sets of double doors were propped open into a wide entrance and were nearly impassable with the mass of people moving in and out of the room.

  The noise inside the enormous hall was deafening, with walls lined with screens flashing with animated advertisements for the different games being showcased. Large posters showed characters frozen in some action sequence of an epic battle or deep archaeological exploration. Or posed against a colorful background of an odd land, like Dr. Seuss and Tim Burton had tried to plan a reunion of the most absurd beasts.

  Three of my staff were milling about in there to keep an eye on things. I searched the room for them.

  A man dressed like Thor stopped me. “Nice costume,” he said as his eyes quickly traveled from my heels up my pink Dior dress suit, pausing a moment at my chest. I fought the urge to cross my arms and opted for a frosty smile instead.

  “Oh, really? And who do you think I am?” I asked, curious.

  “Easy. Dr. Harleen Frances Quinzel, Ph.D., before she turns into Harley Quinn.”

  “Who?”

  “The Joker’s girlfriend.”

  I opened my mouth to correct him when a shout echoed through the foyer. Heads of all colors, sizes, and shapes swiveled to the center of the convention room.

  That scream had a ring of panic I didn’t like, and I hurried in that direction. “Excuse me, excuse me.” The repetitive command rolled off my tongue as I shoved past fur and brightly colored satin costumes, trying to reach the source of the noise.

  “She’s trying to kill me!” The scream was definitely a female, and her voice shushed the crowd. My ears nearly rang at the sudden silence.

  Chapter 3

  Adrenaline fueled my weaving through the crowd. “Excuse ME!” With one last shove, I made it past the ring of spectators.

  I was momentarily stunned at the scene in front of me. And that was saying a lot, considering how the day had been going. A blonde young woman wearing only a bit more than a bikini—there was a metallic band of ruffles circling her waist—stood with her fists clenched and face screwed into a snarl. Another dark-haired young woman stood in front of her dressed like an Amazon warrior, that is if Amazons had discovered fluorescent green paint. The dark-haired woman’s black-lined eyes slitted with disdain at the ruffled bikini girl. While the costumes made the situation alarming at first, I soon recognized it as a boring old cat fight.

  My eyes tried not to roll out of my head. “What seems to be the problem?” I pushed past the last few spectators to stand as a referee between the women.

  “SHE has been chatting with MY boyfriend and sending him pictures!”

  Wow, really?

  “He wrote to me first. Plus, I am wearing more in those pictures than you're wearing right now in front of hundreds of people.”

  “You know I’m Saturn Girl! We already talked about this. What are you supposed to be?”

  They both looked like they were about fifteen years old. “Look, I'm going to have to ask you two to lower your voices and calm down, or I’ll have to ask you to leave.” I threw a little “teacher’s tone” in my voice, hoping it would produce the results I needed.

  The crowd mumbled and slowly moved away from me as they began to lose interest. Authority had arrived so the clothing and claws would stay in place.

  At least, I hoped it would.

  One man left standing there appeared to be in his late fifties. He stood out to me because he wasn’t wearing a costume. Instead, he had on a blue checkered shirt and khaki shorts. Sweat trickled down his face, his head firmly covered with a straw fedora.

  “All right, ladies,” I said, moving my hands in a calming fashion. One of the attendants I’d assigned to the room sidled up. I mentally ran through my list of staff for his name. Gary Smith. He was one of the two maintenance guys, both of them new employees like me. But with a crowd this large we needed all the help we could get. Apparently, he took his new role a bit too seriously. Right now, he was dressed in a business jacket and sunglasses. I half-expected a mic to be clipped to his shirt sleeve like an FBI agent.

  The two young women stared at me expectantly. That teacher tone worked better than I thought. At least I knew that if this whole hotel manager thing didn’t work out, I had a backup. “What’s going on here? Do you know each other?”

  The blonde flashed a guilty look at the Amazon woman. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  The Amazon woman shrugged her shoulders. “We’ve known each other since kindergarten.”

  I moved closer to them. “Well, what’s going on then?”

  The blonde sighed. “I just didn’t like her getting into my business. Texting my boyfriend,” she sent that last statement with a snarl.

  “Ladies.” This time it was the man with the hat that stepped forward. “No more fighting. What man is worth a friendship?” He smiled beseechingly at them.

  “Yes, Uncle Norman,” the blonde answered, glancing up at the brunette.

  “Come here,” her friend answered, reaching for a hug.

  Well, that was easy.

  Their uncle smiled and motioned with his hands towards a booth. “Go have fun, kids. No more fighting.”

  The young women rejoined the crowd. I studied the man, still sweating under the fedora. “Thank you for your help. Are yo
u feeling okay? I know it’s hot in here.”

  His smile was wide and genuine. “No, I’m fine. I’m always sweaty. Part of getting old, I guess.” He glanced around the room. “You did a real nice job in here.”

  “Thank you. So, you’re their uncle then?”

  He laughed and stuck out a red hand. “That’s just what they call me around these things. Name’s Norman, Norman Olsen.”

  I shook it, keeping all reaction to the clammy feeling from my face. “Nice to meet you. I’m Ms. Swenson. I’m the manager here. Are you staying at the hotel, Mr. Olsen?”

  “I did book a room here, mostly for any of my employees that wanted a place to change. I live about twenty minutes away. In the Palisades.”

  My eyebrows flickered at the name of the exclusive housing development. Starter homes ran at ten million plus in that neighborhood.

  “Well, it’s nice to have you here at the convention. If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “Thank you.” He pulled out a toothpick from his front pocket. “Cinnamon,” he said pointing it at me. “I’m trying to quit smoking.”

  “It’s not easy, I hear. I commend you.”

  He put it between his lips and moved it from side to side. “Old age. Keeps taking away from me all the things I love, and replaces them with things I hate. Like ear hair.” His eyes twinkled at his own joke.

  How on earth do I answer that? I opted for a wise smile.

  “Anyway, like I said, you’ve done an excellent job here. I go to these all around the country.”

  “Oh, really? It’s nice to know we compare.”

  “Yeah. I actually developed that game over there.” He removed his toothpick and pointed it across the room to a screen flashing swords. “That’s my baby.”

  My eyebrows raised, impressed. “You must love coming to these things and seeing the fans of the game then.”

  He looked around the room with a satisfied smile. “Nothing better in life than happy people.” He slid the toothpick back in his mouth and spoke around it. “I see one of my associates, so I’m going to head over there. Thank you again for your help.”

  “No, thank you!” I answered with a small wave of my hand.

  He drifted away until his fedora blended in with the many other headdresses in the crowd. I sighed and glanced around for my other employees working the convention. After making eye contact with Stan, the other maintenance worker, and receiving a thumbs-up in response, I squeezed my way back through the crowd.

  It was a painful trek as more than one person stepped on my feet. Finally, I arrived at the front desk where Sierra flashed me another sour look.

  “You’re back,” she stated.

  I ignored the tone. “Just for a minute. I’m going to my room for lunch. You need anything, call me.”

  “You do what you need to do. But, if I was the manager, I wouldn’t be taking a break right now.” She sniffed.

  “I’ve been out here since six. It’s been eight hours, and I need to eat something. I’ll be back shortly.” I could feel her eyes blazing into my back as I marched down the hallway to my room.

  As I unlocked the door, the sound of an avalanche of pans greeted me. My hand paused on the doorknob as I decided if I wanted to continue inside.

  Too late. Bingo heard the door open and raced baying around the corner, his big ears flapping.

  “Hi, big boy,” I whispered, sliding off my heels. I groaned a tiny bit at the soft feel of the carpet on my bare feet. Leaning down, I scratched behind the dog’s ears before moving into the kitchen.

  Momma was there, this time clad in an apron. She smiled at me, her red curls pulled back into a bouffant.

  My mouth dropped open. Momma had very liberally been into the makeup, somehow emulating a cat eye complete with blue eyeshadow.

  “You like it?” she asked, batting her eyes.

  “Wow.” I sat on a stool and stared. “It’s quite dramatic. How’d you learn to do that?”

  “YouTube videos.” She stepped around a pile of pots on the ground.

  The suite had a lovely kitchen area with one tiny flaw. There was only one cupboard to store the pans. Even though I’d told Momma we needed to downsize, she still insisted on keeping every pot, pan, and broiler that she’d ever owned. So, they were stacked haphazardly in the cupboard like clowns in a circus car. And, every time she opened the door, nearly every pan fell out.

  Even though I loved Momma’s cooking, it got so that I was thinking about pushing for us to eat takeout more often just to avoid the noise.

  She passed me a glass of sweet tea and went back to whatever was bubbling on the stove. I took a long sip.

  “YouTube videos, huh?” What the heck was she watching? And how was it that my mother was more technologically advanced than me?

  “Yes. This wonderful gal named Miss Carman.” Momma whisked at the tomato soup in the pot, then opened the oven to check on the parmesan covered garlic bread. “She says “Flick with the eyeliner. Flick! Flick!” And, so I did.” Momma closed her eyes so I could admire the said flick.

  I took another drink and studied the makeup—Momma had always reminded me of Raquel Welch, and the eyeliner just accentuated that. “It’s lovely, Momma.”

  She preened a bit as she went back to her whisking. In another moment, she had the bowls dished up and was slicing the bread.

  I looked around the kitchen filled with warm sunshine. Bingo lay sprawled out in a rectangle on the ground. This life… it’s pretty, darn good.

  After resting a half-hour, I felt fortified enough to get back to the job. My feet throbbed a few times sadly as I slid the heels back on. I shoved my cell in my suit pocket and, after kissing Momma’s cheek and giving Bingo a rub on the neck, I headed back to the front desk.

  The foyer was still milling with people. I peeked into the convention room—crowded as expected—and noted none of my staff looking bored. Satisfied that everything was going as planned, I headed down the hall to the side of the building where the pool was located.

  It was quiet back here. Ninety percent of the hotel’s rooms were filled for the Comic-Con. What remaining guests we had were probably at the amusement park or the ocean, the two main attractions people came into the town of Starke Springs for.

  As I walked into the pool’s enclosure, I heard a loud clang coming from the chain link fence. I turned to look, but didn’t see anything. Hedges from the dog park obscured the other side. Must be a dog.

  There was one man in the water, floating by the pool’s famous, yellow water slides. The man bobbed slowly in an inflatable chair, and I just had a quick glimpse of a cigarette in his mouth before he had his back to me.

  This was clearly a no smoking area, as marked by several signs. “Sir?” I called.

  He didn’t move. Of course, he would ignore me. Impatience flamed in my chest as I realized I was going to have to walk around the entire pool to get his attention. Heaven help him, if he turned his back on me again when I got to the other side.

  I stepped cautiously along the pool deck, noting the huge puddle of water on one side. That’s odd. Was there a leak? Finally, I made my way around.

  “Sir?” I tried again. “You can’t smoke here.”

  He stared at me through thick sunglasses, not moving a feature. I frowned. Something was off. He was a little too still.

  “Sir?” A flicker of alarm grew in my chest.

  I studied the item in his mouth and nearly gagged. It wasn’t a cigarette. It was a slender rectangular package.

  And his face wasn’t blue from makeup.

  Ten minutes later, the ambulances had arrived, bringing a crowd from the convention hall following the stretcher to the pool. After dialing 911, I’d tracked down Mr. Phillips on the golf course, and he was also on his way.

  As the emergency workers pulled the man to the edge of the pool, a crowd began to form. Mouths of centaurs, superheroes, and villains hung open.

  “Back! Everyone back!” Two pol
ice officers commanded as they walked down the line and herded the crowd outside the pool’s gate.

  I whipped my cell from my pocket again and called my maintenance crew to get them to come help corral the guests back into the hotel.

  As I hung up, the police were pulling the body from the water. One officer retrieved the item from his mouth and placed it in a clear bag. He murmured something that sounded like, “Granola bar,” to his partner.

  I looked away, frowning. Immediately, the crowd grew restless with loud comments.

  “What happened? Is Uncle Norman dead?” A voice from the crowd immediately set off a chain of questions being fired from every direction.

  “Dude, is that Uncle Norman?”

  “Uh, I don't know.”

  “Man, you're right!”

  “Ah, man.”

  I watched one guest pull out his phone to take pictures and stalked over there.

  “Everyone inside! Please! Right now!” I shouted to be heard over their conversations. Luckily, my maintenance men arrived.

  They both walked up to me. “You doing okay?” Gary asked, his hands jammed in his business jacket pockets. “What do you want us to do?”

  “Not really. I need you guys to get everyone back inside, if you can.”

  He nodded and they both headed to the crowd. Together, along with the officers, they began to turn the human tide back into the building.

  Glancing at the scene, I was relieved to see two of the officers holding up sheets to prevent the onlookers from taking further pictures and videos.

  I followed the crowd back into the hallway. “Keep going! All the way to the foyer, please. The police are handling things. Please, be considerate of the friends and family and wait until they make a statement….” I shook my head.

  The crowd had stopped moving. They weren't listening.

  One young man closest to me looked like he was about to cry. “Dude, he was like family. He's always supported his fans. He responds to all the tweets and posts and everything. This sucks.” More and more faces appeared distraught.