by L C Hayden
“I don’t like this, Bronson. I don’t like it one bit.” Mike cleared his throat. “My brother-in-law is a detective in Tucson. I talked to him last night. He’s up to his eyeballs in paperwork. I’m sure he’ll welcome the opportunity to get out and do some real detective work. I’ll see what he can find about that charter flight and who hired them, which is what I assume you want to know.”
“You betcha.”
“Okay. I’ll get back to you, soon as I hear from Dave.”
“Thanks, again.”
“Don’t mention it. I’m keeping tabs, remember?”
Bronson smiled. He knew there wasn’t anything Mike wouldn’t do for him or vice versa. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll just subtract it from the ones you owe me.”
“Ouch.”
“I’ll wait to hear from you.” Bronson disconnected and returned to the consultant’s party, his mind reeling with unanswered questions.
Chapter Twenty
The bartender flashed Bronson a frustrated look. “Just coffee, you said?”
“Yep. Plenty of cream and at least three heapin’ spoonfuls of sugar.”
“Sir, this is a bar.”
“That serves drinks. Make mine a coffee.”
The bartender sighed. “Right away, sir.” He turned and poured the coffee.
“I thought you said you were down to two-and-a-half level spoonfuls of sugar.”
Bronson didn’t have to look over his shoulder. He recognized that voice. It belonged to the love of his life who at this moment was probably the same person shooting darts at him—poisoned ones, at that.
The best defense is a good offense, Bronson remembered from his high school chess tournament days. “What are you doin’ here?” This was work, after all, and he had always made sure that work and his private life never mingled.
Carol put her hands on her hips and flashed him a warning look. “You’d know that, if you had been listening to me yesterday.”
So much for an offensive attack. Best to shift gears—quickly. He looked at the pleasant looking woman who stood beside Carol. He noticed her badge. She was not one of the people on his list. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meetin’ you, Ma’am.”
Carol perked up. “This is Gay Toltl Kinman.”
Bronson knew that from the badge.
Carol rolled her eyes and sighed in frustration. “You know, Gay Kinman.”
That hadn’t helped. Bronson mentally checked the names of every case he’d worked on.
Gay smiled and offered Bronson her hand. “There’s no reason why you’d know me. We’ve never met. I’m Gay Kinman and I write—”
“Children’s books,” Bronson finished for her and shook her hand. He felt proud he recognized the name. He looked at Carol and she smiled and nodded.
Bronson had scored a point. Now he knew how the male peacock displaying all of his feathers felt. “Our grandkids love your Alison Leigh Powers Mysteries. Didn’t I hear somewhere your work had been nominated for several awards?”
Gay beamed. “Very nice of you to remember that.”
“So what’s a nice author like you doin’ in a conference like this?”
“It’s a great place to sell books. These people are mystery lovers and readers, and I find it fascinating trying to solve a case.”
“How many people here are writers?”
“I’d say at least half.”
That created about two-hundred-and-fifty possibilities. Too large a number to work with. “Any idea who wrote the script?”
“No, sorry. That’s one thing we don’t discuss. It’s like cheating. But we’ll find out on awards night.”
The waiter cleared his throat and pointed to the steaming cup of coffee. Bronson accepted the drink and handed the bartender a five-dollar bill. “Keep the change.” He sipped the coffee. Perfect. He leaned on the bar and looked at Gay. “Is this the first time you’ve attended this conference?” His gaze shifted from Gay to Carol, and he knew she knew he was working, but not as a consultant. He’d have a lot of explaining to do once he returned to the room.
“Oh no. This is at least my sixth or seventh conference.”
“So you no longer get the advertisements.”
Gay’s forehead creased. “What advertisements? L’ee has been running this conference as long as I’ve been coming. She’s strictly a word-of-mouth advertisement type of person. She feels flyers advertising something like this cheapens it.”
“So there’s no contest either.”
“Contest?”
“Yeah, like first place winner gets an all-expense paid vacation to the convention site.”
“Oh goodness, no.” She let out a small laugh. “You apparently don’t know L’ee. She’s a fine person, but very much a tightwad.” She sipped her drink. “An all-expense paid convention contest? No, never.”
Bronson finished his coffee and turned toward the bartender. Another cup of that delicious coffee would hit the spot just right. He smiled at the bartender who cringed.
Carol grabbed her husband’s arm. “You better not be asking for seconds—not unless it has only two level spoonfuls of sugar.”
Women. Why must they always be so health conscious? “I was just going to set the cup down.”
The bartender perked up.
Bronson looked at Gay. “So what progress have you made solvin’ the conference’s case?”
“None, but that’s because I’m not a player. My publisher kept delaying the release date of my latest mystery. I thought it wasn’t going to come out in time for the convention, so I didn’t register. But as it turned out, the book did come out. So I’m just here to promote my book and to chat with my friends.”
Bronson inwardly smiled at the golden opportunity that just dropped in his lap. “So you’re free to find out who wrote the script?”
“Yes, I am, but why would I want to do that?”
Good question. Why indeed? “I’ll let you in on a secret.” He lowered his voice and both Gay and Carol leaned closer to him. “There’s a question about copyright. I need to warn the author before he or she reveals himself or herself at the awards thing.”
Gay gasped.
Carol’s eyes narrowed as she studied her husband.
“Goodness. That’s serious.” Gay looked around the room as though trying to figure out who could have written it.
“Then you’ll help me find the person who penned the script?”
“Yes, of course.”
“But you must keep this under wraps.”
Gay put her index and thumb fingers at the edge of her lips and moved them along her lips as though she was zipping them shut. “Mum’s the word.” She finished her drink and set the glass down on the bar. “I’ll get on it right away.” She turned and walked away.
Before Carol could say anything, Bronson turned toward her. “Carol Bronson, what are you doin’ here?”
“If you’d been listening—”
Bronson slapped his forehead with his open palm. He should have known better. “That’s a cop out. What are you doin’ here? You know by now that I never want you gettin’ involved in my work.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong. This is a mystery conference, and you’re the consultant. Nothing else is going on, right?”
Bronson rubbed his chin.
Carol frowned. “Oh, Harry Bronson. How can you get yourself involved in another case so soon?”
Darn that woman. How did she do that? How did she always manage to know what he was up to? “I didn’t—” He stopped. There wasn’t really much to say. He removed his glasses and chewed on the ear piece. “This one came chasin’ me.”
“Meaning?”
“Meanin’ don’t mingle with these people. I’m not sure who’s who or what’s what. Until I do, I want you safe in the camper or in the room.”
“I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can. Heaven help anyone who tries to kidnap you.”
“Is that a compli
ment or an insult?”
“A compliment, sweetheart. A compliment. Now get out of here.”
“When you get back to the room, you and I—we’re talking.”
Oh-oh. “You betcha.” He leaned over, kissed her, and watched her walk away. He then retrieved the spiral notebook he kept in his pocket. Only one name remained unchecked from the list he had made when he looked at the applications.
He wondered why Norman Childes had not shown up.
Chapter Twenty One
Norman Childes hesitated to call his friend. One thing about him, he had a violent temper. One small glitch in the plans would set him off. Norman wiped his face with the palm of his hand. Might as well get the call over with. He grabbed his wallet and keys and headed out.
He had spotted the pay phone in the motel’s lobby, but even that one would be too risky to use. Better walk across the street and use the one at the gasoline station. That should be safe enough. He wished he could use his cell, but if the call ever got traced. . . No, better to stick with the public phone. He should have grabbed his bottle of Tums. The acid in his stomach had doubled since this ordeal began. It would all lead to murder, again.
Casey’s death had been enough and done with a long time ago. But this. . .
Norman heard the squeaking of tires and a horn blaring. He felt the air sucked out of him as he watched in horror the eighteen wheeler approach.
Heart thumping, Norman stepped back onto the sidewalk. What was he thinking, stepping off into a busy street and not looking? Maybe he had a death wish.
Probably did.
He didn’t want to be involved with someone’s death again. His muscles tightened and he literally felt sick. Maybe the gasoline station would have some antacid medicine.
He waited until the traffic cleared before crossing the street. Without hesitating, he went to the phone, took out his handkerchief, and covered his palm with it before picking up the receiver. You can never be too careful.
He dialed the number by memory. As instructed, nowhere did he have the number written down. That small detail would protect his friend and him.
A hesitant voice at the other end answered, “Yes?”
“It’s me, S—” He froze. A slip like that could cost him his job or even his life. “It’s Norman Childes.”
“That was very clever.”
“I’m sorry, for a minute there I slipped and used—”
“No excuses. The bottom line is you messed up.”
Even though Norman knew his friend couldn’t see him, he nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it. What do you have to report?”
“Trent Powers is here. He and Bronson have been talking.”
“About?”
“Too risky. I couldn’t let them see me, and there was no place to hide. They talked for about fifteen minutes.”
“We can’t chance it. You know that, don’t you?”
Norman broke out into a sweat. He nodded.
“Don’t you?” his friend repeated, this time with more emphasis.
“Yes.” Norman’s voice came out barely above a whisper.
“Trent has been a thorn in our side for quite some time. He’s lived long enough. Get rid of him.”
Norman felt all the air leave him. He had feared this would be his command.
“Norman? Don’t disappoint me. I surely don’t want to lose you too.”
The line went dead.
* * * * *
Carol heard the knock on the door. She hesitated. She remembered what her husband had told her. “Trust no one.” She looked through the peephole. No one was there.
People are always knocking on the wrong doors. It happens in every motel, Carol told herself. No need to panic.
A surge of anger nipped at Carol’s nerves. How dare he. Bronson had taken a perfectly happy trip and ruined it for her. She had half a mind to go out and. . .and. . .and what?
Mingle?
That’s what she’d do. If she couldn’t beat him, she’d join him. Maybe she could get some snooping done. Learn the ins and outs of the convention. That should help her husband.
Trust no one.
Carol paused. Surely, if she went down to the lobby where hundreds of people had gathered, nothing would happen to her.
She grabbed her purse and walked out.
* * * * *
Four doors down from the Bronsons’ room, the hallway took a turn to the left. From there, Sam leaned against the wall and watched Carol leave the room. Just as I suspected. She’s becoming suspicious. Otherwise, she would have answered the door. Bronson must have warned her. All that means is that I’ll need to move more carefully and definitely faster. Sam smirked at the irony behind the thought.
Sam retrieved the cell phone and called room service. “We need more towels immediately. My spouse is taking a shower and the maid this morning must have forgotten to replace the towels.” Sam gave room service Bronson’s room number and disconnected.
Less than three minutes later, the elevator door opened and a maid, a very pregnant girl who was probably still in her teens, stepped out carrying an armful of towels.
Sam walked toward her, key in hand, and said, “I’ll take those.”
The maid handed the towels over and started to leave.
“Do me a favor,” Sam said. “I have my hands full. Could you open the door for me?”
The maid looked at the locked door, bit her lip, and hesitated.
“Hurry. My better-half is almost out of the shower and will be very upset if the towels are not there. Sometimes my spouse has a terrible temper and won’t hesitate taking this directly to the manager.”
Still the maid hesitated. Sam glared at her. The nervous teen retrieved her key and opened the door for Sam.
“Thank you,” Sam said and stepped inside Bronson’s room.
Chapter Twenty-two
By now, most of the guests who attended the “Meet Your Consultant” gathering had wondered off toward the lobby, and Bronson had grasped the chance to speak to Tom and Marie O’Day. As an added bonus, Katherine Shepard joined them. Bronson nodded a hello. “Glad you all could come,” he said.
“Thanks for the invite, but I’m rather curious.” Tom sloshed the liquid in his glass and looked down at it. “What was the purpose of this gathering?”
Bronson scratched his chin. “Must there be a purpose to everythin’? Can’t a group of people gather for the joy of it?”
“Not in your case. You had an ulterior motive.”
“Yeah?” Bronson could use a cup of coffee. He turned to the bartender who quickly walked away. “What makes you think so?”
“My husband has made a hobby of studying people.” Marie first looked at Bronson, then at Tom. “He finds you fascinating.”
“Is that so? Since this is confession time, I find the three of you fascinatin’ too.”
Tom turned to the bartender and asked him to refill his Coke. “Actually, Marie is quite right. I formed several hypothesis about you.” He handed the bartender two dollars for his drink.
When Bronson didn’t comment, Tom continued, “I’d bet you’re the kind of guy who loves California. The ocean. Disneyland. The movie stars.”
Not quite his style, but Bronson figured that O’Day was definitely working up to something. He’d play along. “Reckon most everyone is fascinated with that.”
“True. True.” Tom sipped his drink. “You go much to California?”
Bronson did a mental check. California? Wasn’t that the state the previous consultant lived in? “Probably not as much as you’ve been there.”
Tom looked at Marie.
Marie looked down at her hands.
Bronson looked at Tom and Marie. He smiled.
They smiled.
Bronson made a mental note to tell Paul McKenzie to extend his search for the O’Days to include California.
“I’m from Texas,” Katherine said. “Best state in the union.”
Bronson
looked outside the room and spotted Carol. He had assumed she had gone back to the room. Darn that woman! “Can’t argue with you. Texas is a good state. Mighty big and good.” He saw Carol chatting with some of the convention attendees. “If you’ll excuse me for a minute, I see someone I have to talk to.”
* * * * *
After talking with Bronson, a black cloud hovered over Trent Powers. Bronson had not written the skit as he had been told. Then, to top it all, although Bronson hadn’t specifically said anything, Trent felt sure Bronson thought the contest had been rigged. That meant Sam had made sure both he and Bronson showed up. Trent understood why Sam would want Bronson there, but Trent couldn’t imagine why Sam wanted him too.
Whatever game Sam had set up for them, Trent wanted nothing to do with it. He’d have a drink, and then pack his bags, and off he’d go, even if he had to pay his own way back. He headed for the bar and ordered a Rum and Coke.
“I’d like to buy you a drink. Can I just pay for that one?”
Trent turned toward the source of the voice. He felt the air sucked out of him. “You! What are you doing here?” He looked at the badge. It read Norman Childes. A million questions popped into his mind. This man most certainly wasn’t Norman Childes.
Norman smiled as he fingered the badge. “Norman is my roommate,” he said as though he had read his mind. “He accidentally picked up my badge, and he’s somewhere around here wearing my name. So until I find him, I’m wearing his.”
Trent nodded and saw Bronson walking out of the room. He would be very interested in learning this new turn of events. Trent might even consider leveling with Bronson. If Bronson knew the truth, he’d be better prepared and more alert.
“So, can I buy you that drink?” Norman smiled.
“Sure, but I was just heading to the can. Meet you here in a few minutes.”
“I’ll be here.”
“Swell.” Trent headed toward the restroom sign. He slowly turned his head so he could see if “Norman” was watching him. Not only was he not watching him, he had turned so that his back faced Trent.