Five Spot Page 16

  “Some people actually admire my past,” I said. “Some people think I was resourceful and independent.”

  “And I’m one of them, okay?” Wilson waited until I stopped glaring. “Not every twenty-something could put herself through college—Duke, no less—sharking at a pool table.”

  I shrugged modestly.

  “But that’s my point, Jessie. You’ve done a great job keeping your not-very-incriminating past a secret, and Densmore still found out.”

  I stared out the window at what I believe was the putting green. “Russell found out about Adam’s smoking habits, of all things.”

  “Yep. So why is there nothing on any of the Womac men? Five of them.” Wilson held up a hand to emphasize the five, and I agreed it did seem too good to be true.

  “Here’s my theory,” he said. “The Womac brothers are too squeaky clean. They must be gullible.” He put down his fork and offered a meaningful look.

  I leaned forward. “Gullible enough to do Tori’s dirty work for her? To steal drugs or poisons for her?”

  “Maybe.”

  “So Tori had this all premeditated?” I was a bit skeptical. “She planned on harassing the 3P Hall of Famers until one of us caved in and switched sides to Double D. But yet, somehow she knew plan A would fail, so as a backup she packed some poison, obtained from one or another of the Womac brothers, to kill one of us.” I sat back. “Sorry, Captain Rye, but that sounds more far-fetched than Barney Splawn’s sinister plot to destroy Slipper.”

  “Far-fetched, but I hope it’s accurate.” He tapped my glass. “You want another mimosa?”

  ***

  I didn’t order another drink, but perhaps I should have. Because after the waiter had cleared our plates, Wilson had some more disconcerting news to impart.

  “Jo Keegan’s always right,” he said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Densmore checked. Jo may seem inept, but she’s damn lucky. She’s done this before.”

  “You mean, made false arrests?”

  “More like premature arrests. She must have instincts, or intuition, or whatever, on par with your mother.”

  I grimaced. “In other words, she’s always right.”

  “So far she has been. She makes arrests based on gut instinct and worries about motive, means, and opportunity later. Densmore found at least three examples where she made an arrest way too quickly.”

  “But let me guess—some new piece of evidence always popped up out of nowhere to prove her case.”

  “Bingo.”

  “This sounds like a fairy tale, Wilson.”

  “But remember, Jessie. Fairy tales do happen.”

  Chapter 28

  Wilson, who you may recall had sipped coffee all through lunch, fell facedown onto the bed and fell instantly asleep.

  Me?

  Blame it on my midday mimosa, but I felt compelled to check my cell phone. “Candy Poppe has broken her record,” I told Mr. Cupid. “Seven messages.”

  Blame it on that midday mimosa, I hit call back.

  “She quit,” Candy told me by way of greeting.

  “Who? What?”

  “Karen quit working for Pierpont Rigby.”

  “But it’s Sunday,” I said. “She wasn’t working today, was she?”

  “Jessie! That’s not the point. She owns a phone, for Pete’s sake, and she called him. What should we do?”

  I watched my husband, who was merrily snoring away atop that lovely king-size bed. “Maybe it’s a good thing.”

  “What?”

  “No, really,” I said. “Maybe Karen decided she shouldn’t work for someone she’s dating. You know, the old mixing business with pleasure?”

  “Wake up, Jessie! Karen quit everything. Everything.” Candy pronounced each syllable separately. “She told Pierpont she doesn’t want to see him ever again.”

  “Why did she tell him that? Why did she tell you that?”

  “She didn’t tell me. Mrs. Marachini told me.”

  “The polka-dot bra lady? I think I need to sit down.”

  I did so, and Candy told me the whole sad story. Apparently she was at work that morning, and Mrs. Marachini had stormed into Tate’s. Nothing new there. Mrs. Marachini’s shopping sprees at Tate’s Department Store are the stuff of legend.

  “But she wasn’t here for our Labor Day lingerie sale,” Candy said. “She walked right by a whole rack of polka-dot nighties and right up to me and started chewing me out. In front of all the customers.”

  “I’m sorry, Sweetie,” I said. “Somehow Mrs. Marachini knows Karen quit?”

  “She’s his aunt or something. I guess Pierpont called her right after Karen called him. Mrs. Marachini thinks I lied to get Karen this job, and then Karen left Pierpont high and dry with his falling-apart mansion. And she broke his heart!”

  “Poor Pierpont!”

  “Gosh, and I might be poor, too. Mrs. Marachini was so mad that my manager’s threatening to fire me.”

  That seemed highly unlikely. After all, Candy Poppe is the best bra and underwear saleswoman on Planet Earth.

  “Did you talk to your boss?” I asked. “Did you talk to Karen?”

  Candy’s answers were yes, and no. Her manager had calmed down and assured her she still had a job.

  “But Karen won’t answer her phone, and obviously I can’t leave work right now to go talk to her.” She let out an exasperated sigh. “What did you say to her, Jessie? That made her quit like that?”

  “You think it’s my fault she quit?”

  Candy sighed again. “I guess not. But what happened?”

  I thought back. “We talked about this murder and my being a target.”

  “Gosh, I should have asked about that.”

  I told Candy not to worry about it. “There’s nothing you can do anyway,” I said. “Then we talked about Slipper Vervette and Conrad Montjoy.” I related the scorpion story, and Candy gasped.

  I smiled. “It’s good, isn’t it?”

  “He opened the parasol, like, right there, inside her tent? Isn’t that bad luck?”

  My face dropped. “It was an emergency. Superstitions don’t count in emergencies.”

  “I guess not. But what about Karen? You guys talked about Pierpont Rigby, right?”

  “And it went well.” I explained how Karen had seemed a bit insecure, and how I’d encouraged her. “I convinced her to go ahead and try a second date, but then—” I hesitated. “Umm, I think I might have blown it.”

  “How? What did you say to her, Jessie?”

  “I suggested we double-date.”

  “You and Wilson, and Karen and Pierpont? That’s a great idea!”

  I winced. “Maybe not.”

  “Why not?”

  “I invited them to dinner.” I winced some more. “I told her I would cook.”

  “What!?” Candy screeched, and Wilson skipped a snore. “Are you crazy?”

  “I was tired, okay?”

  “No!” Candy said. “Not okay. Call her and fix this, this instant. And for Pete’s sake, don’t threaten to cook!” She hung up, and Mr. Cupid looked at me accusingly.

  “I’m a big dummy,” I muttered and hit Karen’s number.

  ***

  But Karen Sembler is no dummy. The woman has caller ID so she knew who was calling, and it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to deduce why.

  I left a brief but pertinent message. “I promise not to cook.”

  I hung up, set the alarm to go off thirty minutes later, and finally joined Wilson for a much-needed nap.

  But in keeping with the rest of my weekend, someone knocked less than ten minutes later, and my bodyguard sprang into action—also in keeping with the current trends. Yadda, yadda, yadda. We had the usual argument about his gun and my safety, but eventually Gavin and Mykal were admitted into room 422.

  “Tessie’s resting in her room,” Mykal told us as we ushered them to the sitting area. “So we’re reporting in for the team.”

  “And?�
�� I asked. “Who did you talk to? Who did you see?”

  “It’s more like who we didn’t see,” Gavin said. “Namely Mia Madison.”

  “Neither hide nor hair since she dropped her coffee cup this morning,” Mykal added. “Scuttlebut has it she’s holed up in her room with a migraine.”

  “Because she feels guilty,” Gavin said.

  “Keep talking.” That was Wilson.

  “If you want to trust Roger Hollingsworth,” Gavin continued. “Mia blames herself for what happened to Tori. Apparently she was about to fire her, so Tori had to take desperate actions.”

  “Desperate enough to murder one of us?” I shook my unconvinced head. “Sorry, but I don’t trust Roger Hollingsworth—he loves to think the worst of people. And besides, Tori doesn’t officially work for Mia. She’s self-employed.”

  “That’s what Faith and Zelda kept saying,” Gavin agreed. “Everyone at lunch had an opinion about the exact relationship between authors, agents, and publishers. Our discussion was quite heated.”

  Wilson asked if Geez Louise had voiced an opinion.

  “She sided with Zelda and Faith and told Roger he was ‘completely and totally wrong, wrong, wrong.’” Gavin used air quotes and put his hands down. “Mia can’t very well fire a person who’s not really an employee.”

  “But then Roberto got a tad testy and took Roger’s side,” Mykal continued. “He said if Mia wanted to break ties with Tori, it’s the same thing as firing her.”

  “Is that true?” Wilson asked me.

  I reminded him I’m not much of a businesswoman but described the agent-publisher relationship as I understood it. Louise wouldn’t have much of a job if she couldn’t guarantee her clients publication with 3P. Conversely, Roberto and 3P wouldn’t be much of a publishing house without Geez Louise hustling to recruit the best authors.

  “It’s a symbiotic relationship,” I concluded. “One imagines Mia Madison and Tori Fister have—or at least had—the same arrangement.”

  “But if you want to believe Roger Hollingsworth,” Gavin said, “Mia’s about to end that symbiotic relationship.”

  Wilson nodded. “Roaring Tori was desperate to hold onto her partnership with Double D. Meaning she was desperate to recruit more authors.” He raised an eyebrow. “Her buddy Louise Urko’s clients.”

  “Wilson!” I said. “You heard her yourself. Louise says it isn’t a competition at all. It’s just in fun.”

  “Yep, and maybe your agent is living in fairy-tale land. Maybe she’s read a few too many happily ever after romances.”

  “Says the man who actually believes in happily ever after.”

  “It happens, dammit. But not in business.”

  I folded my arms and glared. “I, for one, trust Geez Louise Urko’s perspective about anything and everything to do with business. Especially the publishing business. She’s nothing less than fantasti—”

  “Ahem!” Gavin said, and I spun around.

  “What?”

  “Much as we love hearing you two lovebirds bicker, the Villains and Vixens are waiting.”

  Mykal tapped his watch. “Your panel discussion begins at three o’clock sharp.”

  I told him he was beginning to sound like Hatsy and turned to Wilson. “Prepare to be fascinated.”

  Chapter 29

  I scanned the Bad Guys audience. No Mia Madison. No Charm Willowby, either. I leaned over and whispered my observations to Gavin.

  “That’s the other tidbit of news,” he whispered back. “Charm’s been AWOL since breakfast also.”

  I chose to take that as a good omen. “If Charm was present,” I told Gavin, “she’d let everyone know I don’t deserve a place on this panel.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Correct.” I tilted my head toward the audience. “Yesterday at the ‘Fizzling to Sizzling’ talk she took great pleasure in announcing I never officially received my Cupid, and therefore I’m not really in the Hall of Fame.”

  Gavin blinked twice. “Is she that petty?”

  “Apparently.”

  “You didn’t believe her?” he said. “You know you’re in.”

  “Yes, but I still plan to keep my hands off my Cupid. You know, just in case.”

  Gavin said something about Charm Willowby and the Bad Guys, and soon Hatsy Glee was on stage.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said as the crowd quieted down. “In keeping with Happily Ever After tradition, we are proud to present one of the highlights of the weekend. Our annual discussion of the Bad Guys!”

  She waited for the enthusiastic applause to die down. “And in keeping with the Romance Writers Hall of Fame tradition, our panel this year is comprised of the fiv—” She stopped and tried again. “The four most recent inductees into the hallowed halls of the Romance Writers Hall of Fame!”

  More thunderous applause.

  Gavin kept his eyes on the audience but leaned toward me. “Nervous energy,” he whispered.

  I reminded him it had been a heck of a weekend, and he reminded me we weren’t through yet.

  “Smile!” he said brightly, and I offered the Happily Ever After crowd the royal wave.

  ***

  It started out predictably enough.

  In keeping with Happily Ever After tradition, Patsy, Batsy, and Hatsy had armed themselves with portable microphones, ready to scurry around the room as needed. In theory, all questions were supposed to pertain to the Bad Guys—those antagonists everyone loves to hate. But in reality, anyone could ask anything about any topic they had a burning desire to learn about.

  Evidently my husband had no burning questions. He was on his cell phone, presumably with Russell Densmore, before the first hand went up.

  Zelda Bell fielded the first question, from an attractive twenty-something who was clearly enamored with the Wayward witches. “I just love them all!” she said. “Carlotta, Paladia, Aubrey, Juniper—”

  Yadda, yadda, Yadda. Zelda smiled modestly while the woman continued her extensive list of the magical residents of Wayward, but Hatsy Glee was not so patient. She raised her microphone and mentioned that ever-important schedule we needed to adhere to. “Your question?” she asked.

  “Oh, right,” the fan said and finally mentioned Sir Cedric. “He’s so sinister! And he’s a vampire! How did you think of that, Ms. Bell? You seem kind of old for something so new.”

  Several people coughed, and the young woman realized what she’d said. “Oh! Oh, no! I didn’t mean it like that!”

  Zelda graciously conceded that she is rather ancient. “But even old biddies like me like to branch out and shake things up,” she said. “And the little town of Wayward was in need of something unpredictable.” She thought for a second. “Although Sir Cedric is somewhat predictable, isn’t he? For instance, we never see him in the light of day.”

  The audience laughed, and Zelda’s fan continued, “So the idea of introducing a vampire into the mix just came to you? Out of the blue?”

  Reminiscent of something my mother would do, Zelda tapped her forehead and told the audience she puts on her thinking cap whenever she sits down to write. “I have an actual thinking cap, too,” she said. “It’s a witch’s hat—like the ones you see on Halloween.” Zelda raised her hand about a foot above her head. “I put that on, my evil muse joins me, and voilà! One day Sir Cedric showed up.”

  Someone asked if she had her witch’s hat with her that weekend, and Zelda pointed to the ceiling. “My Cupid is upstairs guarding it,” she said. “But I could wear it for the book signing this evening. Would you like that?”

  Of course the pink crowd applauded that idea, and I winked at Gavin. Ancient or not, Zelda Bell was one savvy businesswoman. Wearing her witch’s cap practically guaranteed her a successful evening of book sales.

  The next question was for Faith Hollingsworth. “Your stories are so sweet, but your villains are so evil! How do you switch from such mild-mannered characters to such evil characters?” The fan seemed quite thrilled with t
he evilness of Faith’s bad guys.

  Faith gave it some serious thought before answering and then became downright philosophical, explaining how she draws her characters from real-life experiences.

  “So you actually know some evil people?” The fan seemed doubtful.

  “I know some truly kind and considerate people.” Faith made a point of nodding to her colleague Zelda. “But doesn’t everyone also know people who behave badly?”

  Did she actually indicate her husband? I tried to catch Gavin’s eye, but I do believe he was purposely avoiding looking in my direction.

  “What’s rewarding for me, as an author,” Faith was saying, “is making sure the bad guys get their comeuppance.” Oh, yes. That time she was definitely glaring at Roger. “Mark my words, in my stories all the bad guys will be punished.” More glares aimed at Roger. “Every last one of them.”

  Batsy pretended not to notice the wave of tension that lingered from that response and quickly handed her microphone to a fan toward the back of the room, who requested we each discuss our latest villain. “What are you working on right now?” she asked.

  Gavin started that discussion. Apparently the bad guy in his latest work was in actuality a bad girl—a disgruntled coworker underhandedly seeking revenge and banking on the misfortunes of others. It sounded downright sinister, and I recollected how much I love my own choice of career, where stumbling through the various minefields of office politics is not a part of my routine.

  Zelda gave a few more details on the motivation behind Sir Cedric’s latest wicked scheme, Faith discussed a backstabbing church organist who sounded even scarier than the vampire, and then it was my turn. I made mention of Barney Splawn but confessed I hadn’t yet ironed out all the details.

  “I know more about the motivations of a certain scorpion than about Barney the bad guy,” I said. “I’m just getting started.”

  Bless her heart, one of my fans took the microphone from Patsy to tell me she was sure I’d flesh out Barney in no time at all. “He’ll end up being the evilest of your evil villains. I’m counting on it!”