Bell, Book, and Scandal jj-14

by Jill Churchill

  "If that is what happened, isn't Sophie powerful enough to go after whoever did it to her with hammer and tongs?"

  "Probably not, if Felicity's right," Shelley said. "Sophie's exalted position might be in danger as well."

  "That's a happy thought," Felicity said with a grin. "She'd never be able to derail any new writer's budding career again."

  "There are plenty of new young people coming up to do that, judging by my own experience here at the conference," Jane said. "Two of them totally rejected me without even reading my material. Not that I'm even at the budding stage yet. More like a feeble little seed."

  "You can't ever let yourself think that way again," Felicity said fiercely. "Now let's order a nice big breakfast before the waiter throws us out."

  Jane and Shelley were still feeling a bit rocky from their chocolate overload the night before and or-

  dered unbuttered toast and glasses of watered-down orange juice.

  "You two make me look like a pig," Felicity said, tucking into a spicy Spanish omelette to which she'd added hot sauce and lots of pepper.

  In spite of her strong resolution to forget all about Vernetta, Sophie, and Zac, a tiny bell at the back of Jane's mind kept tinkling, as if saying "Remember, remember."

  Somebody had said something revealing in the meeting in Sophie's suite. Her subconscious was sure of it, whether Jane cared or not. She wished she could muffle the thought and enjoy the last day of the conference.

  Just as they were finishing breakfast, a friend of Felicity's dropped by their table with a huge wad of copies of Miss Mystery's picture. "Do any of you need more of these?"

  Felicity introduced her to Jane and Shelley, but didn't give their names. "No, thanks, Sudie. There are hundreds of them floating around already, and she can't possibly find all of them."

  Sudie said, "Then I'll just follow her and replace what she's picked up."

  When she was gone, Felicity said, "She's not even a writer. She's a fan and means well. She always goes overboard though. I really need to finish my packing so I can have everything waiting at the concierge desk when the final activity is over. May I just leave my bill and tip and let you pay the waiter and give me a copy

  of the bill later on? I'm a fanatic about keeping receipts."

  "Of course it's okay," Jane said. "I'll protect it with my life."

  When Felicity had gone, Jane asked, "What shall we do until this noon thing?"

  "Shopping?" Shelley asked faintly, knowing Jane would object.

  "Nope. I'm shopped out. I might make one last trip to the book room if the booksellers haven't already started packing up."

  "It's still shopping, isn't it? I'll come along."

  Each of them managed to snatch up one last book from a bookseller to take upstairs. Shelley picked one out of a box that had been filled but not yet sealed. As they passed the front desk on the way to the elevator, Sophie was chewing out someone at the front desk about her bill. Corwin was standing with his back to her, pretending he wasn't with her.

  Sophie said, "I have the receipt in my purse. Corwin, I left it in the room. Go find it."

  Jane glanced at Corwin and was astonished at the look on his face. It was purest example of sheer hatred she'd ever seen.

  How interesting, Jane thought, frowning, as Shelley pulled her along to the elevator.

  Twenty-seven

  The elevators were mobbed with conference participants who were going down to the lobby to check out. There were also families checking out, dealing with tired, overwrought children, luggage, shopping bags, and backpacks, all of which had to be removed before anyone could enter the elevator to go up.

  Shelley and Jane found themselves nearly cheek by jowl with Corwin and the rest of the people who had waited impatiently. All three of the conference attendees made a successful effort not to acknowledge each other.

  Jane and Shelley were silent all the way to the suite. When Shelley closed the door behind her, she laughed and said, "If looks really could kill, that look Corwin gave Sophie would have vaporized her into a small pile of ash."

  "I didn't realize that you saw that, too. He really despises her," Jane said. "And no wonder. Treating a grown man like that. Not even a 'please.' "

  'A 'please' would have made it marginally less offensive," Shelley agreed.

  "You don't think…" Jane began.

  Shelley stopped her. "No, we're not thinking about Corwin. We've done all we could or should have done. We've stepped out of this and slammed the door behind us."

  "But wouldn't you like to know if Corwin or someone other than Vernetta poisoned the chocolates that made Sophie so sick?"

  "If someone else found out and told me, yes. That would be mildly interesting."

  "And why she or he attacked Zac?"

  "That doesn't seem to matter to Zac. Why should it matter to us? What possible reason would Corwin have for doing that?"

  Jane knew from that remark that Shelley hadn't entirely shut the door of her own mind to the events.

  "Look, Shelley, we assumed that Corwin probably didn't like this job with Sophie, just because nobody possibly could. I suppose our impression was that he was probably well enough paid to tolerate her while looking for a better job and more congenial boss."

  "I never gave Corwin much thought. I guess you're right though. So what?"

  "Now that we've seen how he really feels, doesn't that alter your view even a little bit? He could have poisoned Sophie, actually trying to kill her so the dreadful Vernetta would be the obvious suspect. That way he could be free to seek another job in publishing without Sophie sabotaging him. As she would. She has no idea of how much contempt he has for her. We do. And she's mean enough to say anything to ruin his chances if he dared to escape from her."

  "I'll accept that reasoning. Marginally. But where does Zac come into it?"

  "Maybe he doesn't. These might be entirely unrelated events," Jane claimed, knowing as she spoke she wasn't on firm ground.

  "Jane, you know that's absurd. It was all about Zac's book and Vernetta's plagiarizing. Vernetta is responsible for that. Now she's on her way back to her trailer house or wherever they live, and it's someone else's problem to bring her to justice."

  "You're right about the book being at the center of it. But there must be some connection we're just not seeing clearly."

  Shelley dropped wearily onto a sofa. "We don't have to! All we have to do is go to this last ceremony or game or whatever the closing event is, and then go home and return to our own lives."

  Jane sat down across from her. "So you don't care if we ever know the truth?"

  "I do care. I just don't want us to be the ones who waste our time and effort hunting it down. Unless the part of your brain that produced Frederic Remington comes up with something new. We put two and two together, you working on

  Zac and me working at the computer, and found out that Vernetta had plagiarized Zac, and let the proper people know about it. We've done a good job there."

  She went on, "With Felicity's help, we've put that awful Miss Mystery in her place. We don't have to unravel something else that we don't truly need to care about."

  Jane was hard-pressed to argue any of these points. Shelley was right. They hadn't truly needed to do any of these things. They'd come here to have a good time and learn interesting information that would be valuable to Jane.

  Eventually someone else would have pointed out that the book was plagiarized. Felicity had already half believed she knew who Miss Mystery was and would have described the woman and warned her friends if Shelley hadn't taken that picture of her.

  What's more, Jane had annoyed Mel by making him find the page Zac had been holding. Just when their romance was going so well. She didn't dare alienate Shelley as well.

  Jane sighed, smiled, and said, "You're absolutely right. Let's forget it and survive the rest of the conference and put it out of our minds. I'm feeling better and a bit hungry. May I raid some of those snacks in the cabinet
in the mini-kitchen?"

  Shelley hauled herself off the couch and said, "You've come to your senses. Let's see what goodies are in there."

  They found lots of good things in the cabinet. Fancy little bags of chips, many tiny bottles of excellent booze, pretzels the shape of stars, itsybitsy peanut butter sandwiches. They stayed away from the many chocolates stashed in there, but Jane suggested they each have a bottle of brandy with their snack.

  "We don't want to be tiddly for the final event, Jane."

  "The bottles hold hardly more than a tablespoon. We can't become drunk on them."

  Shelley agreed but said, "We could if we drank all of them." And they sat down at the big table with their snacks, sharing little packets. Both women knew they'd been dangerously close to making each other seriously angry for the first time in their long, satisfying friendship, and put all thoughts of plagiarism, publishing, writing, mingling, and the other participants' problems out of their minds.

  Twenty-eight

  Before the conference's final activities, Jane called home again for the umpteenth time, this time to ask Katie to keep the washer and dryer free because she had so much clothing to wash when she came home.

  "Oh, Mom, can't it wait a while? I'm washing all of Todd's bedding already. He's been eating in his bed and it's full of crumbs. And yes, I've already vacuumed his room, if that's your next question."

  Jane was astonished at this display of domesticity, and agreed that her clothing could wait until the next day. "I'll be there before two."

  When Shelley and Jane entered the meeting room a little bit late for the closing ceremonies, the first thing Jane noticed was that it was an enormous room. Shelley, who knew a lot about hotels, understood. Jane didn't.

  "Isn't this where the small rooms were yesterday? Or wasn't I paying enough attention to know where we are?"

  "Those rooms for the seminars are this room. Look at the breakdown walls where the former walls have been hidden."

  "What a great idea! I'd never have guessed. And look at that food!"

  Shelley swiveled around and gawked. The back of the room was lined with draped tables that bore an almost alarming assortment of food: sandwiches, chips, dips, salads, desserts, and drinks.

  "We really should have read the brochure!" Shelley exclaimed. "Now we've already ruined our appetites for all this gorgeous stuff."

  "I haven't," Jane admitted. "We only snacked. Why are these people dressed so weirdly?"

  Studying the crowd, Jane felt as if she were at a Halloween party for grown-ups. A great many of the attendees were in costume. Jane and Shelley stood in the long line for food and glanced around and discovered at least three Arthur Conan Doyles, two of them accompanied by his creation, Sherlock Holmes. The third one was with a group of women who were dressed as grubby little boys — Doyle's Baker Street Irregulars.

  There were also at least half a dozen Miss Marples with their knitting, prissy dresses, purses, and frumpy hats. Several men and a few women had attended as Hercule Poirot.

  There was a whole flock of 1930s butlers in their black uniforms who were gathered together laughing. A few maids of the same era, somequite glamorous, were on the fringes of this boisterous group, with drinks on plastic trays.

  Many of the costumes eluded them. Several ladies were dressed in floral clothing from the Golden Era of Mystery, with big floppy hats and strings of cheap fake pearls. These must have been minor characters from books featuring deadly garden parties. One gentleman wore golf trousers that Jane remembered were called bags and looked a bit like the huge flapping jeans that teenage boys wore nowadays. Except that they were gaitered up at the knees.

  Shelley muttered, "You'd have to put a cattle prod to my temple to force me to dress up like that."

  "I think it's sort of cute. But for myself, I agree. Hey, Shelley, let's have our pictures taken with the butlers and maids."

  "Heaven forbid!"

  "Don't be a spoilsport," Jane said as they finally approached the food tables.

  They loaded up on tiny ham sandwiches, chips, dips, salads, and desserts as if they hadn't eaten for weeks, then looked for a place to sit. Tables for eight were scattered through the room. Some were fully occupied. Most had a few empty spots. They spotted Felicity, surrounded by fans, and Jane put down her drink in order to slip Felicity's lunch bill into her hand. She was blessed with a grateful smile and a wink.

  "We want a table with two places together,

  don't we?" Jane asked Shelley as they balanced their full plates and wove their way with caution through the banquet room.

  Neither of them was still wearing her tag and most of the others weren't either, so when they found a spot and asked if they could join the strangers, they were welcomed with introductions. Shelley said she was Enid Potts and Jane said she was Olga Strange.

  There were two published authors at the table who cheered them and asked them to sign their copies of Miss Mystery's picture for posterity. Obviously they'd checked Miss Mystery's web site this morning.

  Shelley said, "We are not lesbians, we're neighbors; Enid and Olga aren't our real names; and neither of us has ever been to Alaska."

  The authors laughed heartily about how well they'd misled Miss Mystery.

  Jane whispered to Shelley, "Aren't you glad we didn't go home earlier? It's fun to pretend to be celebrities. We should grab a few of these pictures if they're still around and sign them to ourselves."

  A man lurched by their table. A very tall man, wearing heavy shoes that looked as if they'd been built up somehow to make him taller. Jane glimpsed him in profile as he passed, and saw that he was wearing a Frankenstein mask.

  "Who's that?" Jane asked the man sitting next to her.

  'Sophie Smith's assistant. Corey or some name like that," he said.

  "Corwin," Jane muttered. He was the last person, aside from Sophie Smith, she would have expected to be in costume. He reminded her of the horrifying glass man in her awful dream. Something about the way he moved. She involuntarily shuddered and tried to put away the memory.

  "Are you cold?" Shelley asked.

  "No. Someone just walked over my grave."

  "I wonder where that old phrase comes from?" Shelley said, setting off quite a discussion among the others at the table.

  The talk then veered to whether Frankenstein was really classed as a mystery. Most thought it was, but one woman claimed it was a twisted love story. The man sitting next to Jane declared it pure horror.

  Soon waiters hovered nervously from table to table, asking people if they were finished and clearing plates. Another crew of wait staff was taking away the food that was left on the serving tables, and leaving only the drinks.

  At the head table, which had been empty during the meal, half a dozen people started assembling. The room became quiet and a short woman took the podium and fiddled with the microphone, finally forcing it down far enough to be heard.

  "I hope all of you have enjoyed this conference as much as we have." She went on to call on all

  the committee heads to stand up and be introduced and applauded. Then she introduced herself and the rest of the people at the head table.

  "These are our judges in the various categories of costumes. Now line up in like groups, you clever impostors," she instructed cheerfully.

  While those who were in costumes straggled into line on the right side of the head table, the speaker went on, "We have no real rules, understand. It's all personal opinion. In each group of the same characters, whoever we vote the best representation will win a twenty-dollar gift certificate to next year's conference. Those who are in a category by themselves will receive a five-dollar gift certificate to be redeemed by one of the wonderful bookstore owners who served us all so well over the last few days."

  The parade began with the butlers walking one at a time before the judges. Some bowed. Some said, in fake British accents, "Would master like a glass of port?" They were all hams.

  Next were the maids, then
the Poirots, the Miss Marples, the three Conan Doyles, the Sherlocks, the whole group of Baker Street Irregulars, and the assorted miscellaneous imitations who explained whom they represented. Corwin wasn't anywhere in the lineup, Jane noticed. She glanced around and saw him at the drinks table pouring a soft drink, then winding his way to the table where Sophie sat in solitary splendor. She looked unusually grumpy.

  Twenty-nine

  "Let's just sit here for a bit and finish our coffee," Jane said. "The elevators will be mobbed."

  She turned slightly to make sure Sophie was doing the same thing. Corwin had tossed his Frankenstein face in the trash and discarded the oversized paper coat he'd worn. He was changing his shoes when Sophie spoke to him harshly. Jane couldn't hear the words. Sophie's expression told her.

  As Corwin rose, Jane said, "I've changed my mind. This coffee is cold and icky. Let's go."

  Shelley raised an eyebrow and asked, "Why are you so fidgety?"

  "I've had another Frederic Remington moment. The little bell that kept dinging in the back of my head finally spit it out. Come on. We want to be on the right elevator."

  Shelley sighed and took a last sip of her coffee and followed Jane. As they crossed the lobby briskly, Shelley said, "Tell me what this is about."

  "No time. And I don't want to rehearse it."

  They forced themselves into a crowded elevator and stepped out on their floor. Jane dawdled, pretending to be searching her purse for the room key. Then she suddenly said, "I found it," holding up the key. Shelley showed her that she'd had her own key in her hand the entire time.

  Corwin had stepped into Sophie's suite and propped the door open to carry out his and Sophie's luggage. Jane stopped just before they reached the door and peeked in the room. There was no sign of Corwin. He was probably in the bathroom washing off the smell of the rubber mask. She stepped inside, all but dragging Shelley behind her. Removing the doorstop and quietly closing the door, she gestured at the sofa and whispered, "Let's sit down."