Brooks-Lotello Collection

by Ronald S. Barak

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Day One, 8:55 a.m.

  BROOKS ENTERED THE MIDSIZE conference room, one floor down from the large ballroom where he had just attended the welcome presentation. Guess this subject isn’t as popular as the opening orientation, doesn’t draw as large a crowd or require as large a room. Three hundred people in a room that sits 250 projects a more successful affair than the same 300 people in a room that sits 500.

  In reviewing his four options for the nine o’clock hour, Brooks had selected the one titled “Publishing Houses: The Big Five versus the Smaller Indies,” presented according to the program by James Llewellyn, CEO of Gander House Publishers, “one of the biggest, if not the biggest, in the business,” and Rory Wexler, president of Plymouth Rock Publishing House, a smaller “indie” publisher. Even Brooks recognized the behemoth publisher GHP. “Indie” must stand for “independent.” Strange. I would have thought that the larger publishing houses would be more independent than the smaller ones. Exactly why I selected this seminar. If I’m going to pay homage to Eloise’s fantasy for me, I ought to learn something about how manuscripts make their way from author to reader.

  A creature of habit, Brooks headed for what was now “his” third row, but he hit a snag. All of the third-row seats were already taken. He had to choose between an opening in the second row and another in the fourth, unless he wanted to sit even farther back from the dais. He chose the fourth row. Brooks had no problem adopting a high-profile attitude in a setting where he felt confident, such as in a courtroom or as a guest lecturer in a law school auditorium. A writing retreat, however, was an altogether different proposition.

  LEWIS APPROACHED THE SPEAKER’S platform in the conference room. She expected to say hello to the two speakers, Llewellyn and Wexler, before introducing them to the audience. There were three other nine o’clock sessions. Lewis had dispatched members of her staff to introduce the lecturers in those assemblies. She assigned this set of introductions to herself because Llewellyn was the most prominent of the nine o’clock speakers. Lewis never skipped a beat, in this instance, the chance to curry favor with the foremost publisher in the business by blowing some smoke up his behind with her flattering introduction of him.

  She spotted Wexler up on the dais looking to and fro, beads of dampness on his brow belying the air-conditioned cool temperature in the room. She looked around for Llewellyn but didn’t see him anywhere. She glanced at her watch. Only two minutes until nine o’clock. She wondered if that was the cause for Wexler’s apparent discomfort. “Have you seen James?” Lewis asked Wexler.

  “No. We were supposed to go over our planned question-and-answer routine out in the hallway fifteen minutes ago. He didn’t show. I texted him. He didn’t answer.”

  First Lasko. Now Llewellyn? What the hell’s going on? “Can you handle the presentation by yourself?”

  “Not really. We prepared a question-and-answer approach. I can’t play both roles by myself.”

  “Hmm. Guess I’ll have to sub in for James. Do you have a copy of the Q-and-A you guys put together?

  “Just my copy. Here you go. I can open up the original on my cell phone.”

  “Have to make do. No choice. You lead. I’ll follow.”

  SITTING IN THE FIRST row and using my hearing-impaired headset and tablet with the volume turned up, Lewis and Wexler have no idea I’m hearing every word of their so-called private conversation. Hey, they could have asked me to take over Llewellyn’s part of the presentation. I know the subject just as well as he does. Besides, he saved what he planned to say on his phone.

  BROOKS LISTENED TO THE introductions and follow-on, question-and-answer format designed to provide the audience with a summary of the challenges confronting the publishing industry today and the attendant author expectations of the publishing houses, large and small. Very interesting session. But I wonder what happened to Llewellyn. According to the program brochure, he and Wexler were to conduct this session. Lewis’s bio refers to her as the Thriller Jubilee program director and an author. It doesn’t list any publishing experience on her part. Llewellyn’s unavailability must have been awfully last-minute not to have allowed for another publishing executive to replace him.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Day One, 7:30 p.m.

  THE REMAINDER OF THE first day had played out smoothly for Brooks. After the nine o’clock session sans Llewellyn, Brooks had attended two more seminars of his choosing, at ten o’clock and eleven o’clock. Attendance seemed to be growing as the day wore on, however, and this time he had been consigned to rows five and six. He was not the only one who had wanted the “strategic” row three.

  Brooks had enjoyed the day in spite of being denied his row of choice. He had learned a lot about how to become a successful novelist, and had added quite a bit of notes to his mini-tablet file.

  He had met three conference registrants from Philadelphia at the eleven o’clock presentation. They had invited him to join them for lunch. After a quick text to Eloise, who had replied that she was happily curled up under an umbrella on the patio adjacent to their room with a glass of iced tea and a good book, Brooks had joined up with his new acquaintances. The company was pleasant. Two of his lunchmates were indie published writers who knew each other and had been in the same writing group for years. The third was a friend of theirs—not a writer, just someone who loved books. Brooks was impressed by the two novelists. He was also a bit envious.

  Brooks had experienced more of the same in the afternoon but hadn’t crossed paths again with any of his three new friends from Philadelphia that afternoon. They must have been off at events other than the ones that interested him. He had elected to skip the 5:30 cocktail party hosted by TITO. The idea of standing around in a large ballroom all by himself was intimidating. Besides, he wanted a power walk around the hotel grounds, a quick shower, and a short nap before he and Eloise were to meet Lotello and Klein for dinner at 7:30 on the dining room terrace overlooking the bay.

  Lotello and Klein had spent the day exploring the island. At dinner, they recapped their adventures. Eloise talked about the book she was reading and her luxurious day doing … absolutely nothing. Quite different from her daily routine back home, she pointed out. They were all anxious to hear how Brooks had spent his day learning how to become a bestselling author.

  Brooks obliged. “The sessions were very informative. I had no idea how involved and complicated it is to become an author. At least a successful one. There’s all the writing tips and techniques a new author must assimilate. Then there’s the business demands of being a writer. This is not for the faint-of-heart. Writing is a full-time job. For the uninitiated like me, it’s even more demanding than practicing law or presiding over courtroom trials.”

  Brooks also shared the intrigue surrounding the missing Llewellyn. Eloise and Klein were quick to respond. Each in their own way, they allowed as how they thought Brooks’s imagination was working overtime. In contrast, Lotello was pensive, if not downright somber. He turned away from Brooks and gazed out at the water.

  “What?” Brooks asked Lotello.

  Lotello hesitated. And then: “Nothing really. But your panelist, this guy Llewellyn. He may not be the only conference bigwig to recently disappear. Late yesterday afternoon, I was sitting in the bar having a drink after a workout in the fitness center. I overheard three women sitting at the table next to me chatting about someone who was supposed to lead an all-day training session yesterday, who was a no-show, without any notice or warning. A last-minute substitute teacher was brought in. According to one of the women, who was a participant in the class, hotel security said there was no indication that the missing teacher had checked out of her room, but they had not been able to find her anywhere. The speculation was that she may have drowned while swimming in the bay.”

  “That’s dreadful,” Eloise said.

  Brooks stared at Lotello. “I chalk up one missing person to the one person. I chalk up two missing persons to somethi
ng—or someone—else.”

  “Or perhaps simply a tête-à-tête,” interjected Klein.

  “Ah, yes,” Brooks added, “but what to do about it?”

  “Nothing, is what to do about it, Cyrus,” Eloise said. “You’re here to learn how to become a novelist, not to conduct searches for missing persons. Leave that to the authorities, please.” Eloise attempted to change the subject. Tapping on her menu for emphasis, pointedly to redirect the conversation to something more to her liking, she asked, “So, what’s everyone having for dinner tonight?”

  Brooks held his tongue. Best to let Eloise think she’d had the last say. Nothing says I can’t walk and chew gum at the same time.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Day One, 8:30 p.m.

  BECAUSE THOSE NOT INVOLVED in the Virtuoso craft program on Monday don’t generally arrive at the TJ retreat until late Monday or early Tuesday, the official annual dinner meeting of TITO’s officers and directors was not customarily held until Tuesday evening, following the opening retreat cocktail reception. Because some of the insiders do arrive earlier, a smaller, less formal, cliquish gathering is always held the evening before, on Monday night, for the earlier arrivals.

  Tonight’s official dinner was still nothing more than a social gathering for TITO’s insiders. The real business of the organization was conducted by telephonic video conference calls throughout the year among TITO’s executive committee members, and then cosmetically and superficially ratified by the board after the fact at tonight’s, Tuesday’s, formal annual board dinner meeting.

  Understandably, this year’s Monday evening dinner had exuded a much more somber than festive ambience in light of the mysterious and sad disappearance of fellow director Lasko. Those who had attended the Monday night gathering were in shock but had agreed with the supposition that Lasko had suffered a heart attack and drowned while out for a swim. People were very quiet and atypically retired quite early following dinner.

  Tonight’s formal annual business dinner meeting took on a much more serious and aggressive tone. First of all, a second director, Llewellyn, was now also missing. It was therefore all but impossible to continue dismissing the circumstances at hand as nothing more than random strokes of ill fortune. Skipping the usual banter, those in attendance quickly took their seats around the large dining room conference table. Dinner was served, the waiters dismissed, and the doors closed behind them so that the TITO insiders could privately and candidly discuss what little was known.

  TITO president, prominent bestselling author Ryan Hart, easily the tallest and most visible person in any gathering, whose distinguished English accent was usually accompanied by his dry but engaging wit, was clearly distressed and not himself. But it was his meeting to conduct. Without wasting any words, he wanted Lewis to summarize for the group what she had privately told him about the Lasko and Llewellyn disappearances. “Lisa, what can you tell us?”

  Lewis responded that there was dismally little to report. She said that when Lasko failed, without notice, to appear for her Virtuoso class some thirty-six hours earlier—yesterday, Monday morning—the hope was that she would belatedly turn up with some kind of explanation in hand. Unfortunately, Lewis added, that was not to be, and, as the day wore on, it was accepted that Lasko had drowned.

  Lewis switched her train of thought to Llewellyn. She explained that today, Tuesday, again without notice or explanation, Llewellyn failed to appear for the morning session he was scheduled to co-anchor. With two missing persons, Lewis stated the obvious—that the likely explanation shifted to something more ominous.

  Lewis gathered herself and continued. “Both Genevieve and Jim each checked into their hotel rooms in keeping with their reservations. Hotel security examined each of their rooms. There was nothing unusual. Their suitcases had been unpacked and their personal contents were where one would expect, in the various cabinet drawers, closets, and bathrooms. Each of their beds had been slept in, although no one could say when or for how long. Bathroom towels had been used. No signs of any foul play were evident. They have simply each vanished.”

  Hart thought to himself Damn, when I listen to what Lisa just reported, it sounds like she’s suggesting they might be off illicitly rendezvousing somewhere together. They couldn’t be that irresponsible, could they?

  Hart glanced at Lewis. He motioned for her to continue.

  She did. “Hotel security did discover footprints in the sand leading from Genevieve’s bungalow to the ocean. They are unable to rule out something more than an accidental drowning, for example that Genevieve might have met with some form of foul play in her bungalow, and her body then carried out to the water and disposed of. Hotel security has nothing further to offer regarding Jim. He’s simply missing.”

  Hart recognized that Lewis was finished. He looked around the room. He wondered if and when someone might state the sordid inevitable. It just seemed more plausible, if distasteful. Notwithstanding Llewellyn’s marriage, his womanizing proclivities were well known to most in the room.

  Sure enough, straight-laced bestselling Remington, one of TITO’s founders, whose novels had been made into epic movies, indelicately asked what many others in the room were perhaps reluctant to ask: “Any chance Jim and Genevieve simply hooked up and somehow—”

  “Hey, Len, knock it off,” cut in one of the others. “That’s totally uncalled for. And in poor taste.” All eyes were subtly focused on director and publicist Arianna Simpson, whose rumored relationship with Llewellyn, Hart knew, was another not so well-guarded secret among the gathered.

  Remington unconsciously tidied his mustache, as if he could somehow hide behind it.

  Hart looked at Lewis. She declined to take the bait and jump into the fray. At least not out loud. It fell to Hart, clearly the person in the room with the greatest standing, and the presidential gavel, to steer the focus away from Remington’s suggestion that hung over the room like a bad smell. “Lisa, apart from hotel security, have you contacted the island authorities? Are they doing anything? Have they said anything? Anything you can tell us about that?”

  “I did explore that. Yesterday. As we all know, Punta Maya is a tiny island. Its police department consists of one investigator and one secretary. As it turns out, the investigator and his wife are away from the island on a two-week holiday. As needed, the Punta Maya police department contracts with Barcelona for backup support. The local secretary offered to reach out to the appropriate Barcelona authorities on our behalf, but cautioned that they are very bureaucratic and overbearing and didn’t recommend that. She led me to worry that their presence could become … a distraction. I was reluctant to pursue that before seeing how the board felt.”

  Hart speculated to himself that Lewis was being less than candid, that the idea not to contact the authorities in Barcelona and possibly make life complicated for TITO was understandably more likely Lewis’s. No reason for her to admittedly put her neck on the chopping block.

  Connor, another bestselling author and active TITO founder and director, provided Lewis with some cover, not unlike the coiffed silver mane that ran from atop his crown down to his shirt collar. “I agree that we don’t want to prematurely draw attention to all of this and possibly upset the conference atmosphere. What if hundreds of participants decide to leave? What if they demand the return of the money they paid to be here, including their travel and hotel expenses on top of their TJ registration fees? Our operating margins are too thin. Such a stampede could bankrupt TITO.”

  “Okay, okay,” Hart said, reasserting his presidential prerogative, “at least for now, unless anyone has a different view, we’ll carry on, business as usual. And hope we get through the week without any further … incidents. Hopefully, Genevieve and Jim will even somehow turn up unharmed. With a simple explanation for their respective absences.”

  No one took exception. The dinner that had by now grown somewhat unappetizing was quietly picked at. Almost as an afterthought, Hart said “At the risk of being i
nsensitive, it seems we must nevertheless take care of business. Can I please have a motion to ratify and approve the executive committee’s actions for the past year?” The motion was made, seconded, and unanimously carried.

  For a second night in a row, the insiders retired for the evening unusually early.

  ANOTHER COUPLE OF “INCIDENTS,” as Hart delicately phrased it, may really dig their grave. Pun intended. If they’d like, I can also refer them to an excellent bankruptcy lawyer. Ah, yes, but that’s not all I’m gonna do, as they’ll soon find out.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Day Two, 7:50 a.m.

  BROOKS NOTICED LEWIS VISITING with several persons in the lobby. They were all wearing conference ID badges. He now felt in his element, entirely self-assured.

  As the conversation seemed to be ending, Brooks approached Lewis. “A moment of your time, Ms. Lewis?”

  Lewis glanced at Brooks’s ID. “Of course, Mr. Brooks. I don’t believe we’ve met. I hope you’re enjoying the retreat.”

  “It’s Judge Brooks, Ms. Lewis. Retired. From Washington, D.C. At your service. This is my first Thriller Jubilee retreat. Mrs. Brooks thought it was about time I broadened my horizons. I am indeed enjoying myself.”

  “I’m so pleased to hear that, Judge Brooks. Are you here by yourself?”

  “Not at all. I’m afraid I’m not that brave. The wife and I are here together. And in the company of our very dear friends, Frank Lotello and his wife, Leah Klein. Ms. Klein is a well-respected D.C. trial lawyer. Mr. Lotello is … D.C. Homicide Detective Lotello.” Brooks intentionally emphasized Lotello’s title. It was actually “Investigator,” but Brooks thought “Detective” sounded more dramatic.

  The reference to Lotello seemed not to have been lost on Lewis. “All four of you are attending TJ?”