Five Spot Page 21

  ***

  Server number eight procured one more twenty before leaving us to enjoy our breakfast, and everyone dug in.

  “Okay, so we already know the Hollingsworths aren’t getting along,” I said. “But what about Roberto? I wonder who he’s mad at.”

  Louise waved a piece of toast at me. “You know what a hot head he is. It could have been anyone at 3P. Someone’s always about to lose her job.”

  “How about someone in personnel?” Wilson said. “I bet your publisher was nailing down that list of aliases Jo wanted.”

  “Pen names,” I said.

  “But I’m more interested in that first argument Derrick witnessed.” He got up to refill my mother’s coffee, and I asked Louise if she understood the significance of the episode between Penelope and Tori.

  “I’m not an idiot.” Louise shook her head in disgust. “Tori lied to me. When we talked after her arrest, we went over every single detail of that morning. Over, and over, and ov—”

  Wilson reached for her cup. “And?”

  “And Tori promised me she’d slept in. She swore she saw absolutely no one until the preinduction ceremony. A lie!” Louise put her plate down and looked at Wilson. “And this was not your typical, run-of-the-mill, teeny tiny-itsy bitsy white lie.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” he said gently. “We don’t have means, but we do have solid opportunity and motive. You agree?”

  Louise thought long and hard. “You’re completely and totally sure?” she asked.

  “I’m sure beyond a reasonable doubt.”

  “Motive,” I spoke up. “Tori was trying to even the score between 3P and Double D to keep her job.”

  “She couldn’t convince ya’ll to switch publishers, so she resorted to this horrible thing,” Mother said. “She was desperate, wasn’t she?”

  Wilson set down his empty plate. “Which is why she chose the easiest target. Penelope had a room to herself.”

  “No one to help her ward off Roaring Tori,” Gavin said and glanced at his partner.

  I pushed my plate away also. “But I still don’t get it,” I said. “Where exactly was the poison? In Penelope’s candy, in her breakfast special, or in her water at the preinduction ceremony?”

  “Not the water,” Wilson said. “Because then you’d be dead.”

  Mother flinched, and he apologized. But he reminded her that the water glasses had not been switched, just our seats. “Tori targeted Penelope—not Jessie. I’ve been wrong about that.”

  “So it was either the candy or the breakfast special?” she asked.

  “I’m guessing both,” he said. “Tori kept showing up in Penelope’s room, and she kept trying to get her to eat. That’s what clinches it for me.”

  “This is what clinches it for me.” Louise pointed to the remnants of my breakfast. “You’re letting Jessica eat like a normal person.”

  “I never said she was normal.”

  Chapter 36

  The murder more or less solved, the team faced its next Herculean task—preparing my husband for his Paramour for a Day duties.

  I smiled encouragement. “Since you’ve finally admitted I was never the intended target, you have no excuse not to go through with it.”

  “Yeah, and what am I supposed to do with whoever wins this thing?” he asked.

  Okay, good question. I addressed my agent. “This was your cuckoo idea,” I said. “So tell the poor guy what to do.”

  “I thought you’d never ask!” Louise clapped her hands to drown out the groans coming from you-know-who and described her vison of what a Paramour for a Day should do all day. “First of all, stop, stop, stop making those funny noises.”

  Wilson shut up.

  “Now then,” she said. “Begin with the golden chariot and take the lucky winner out for a spin! A long, magical, fantastically fantastical spin!”

  “Drive her around.” Wilson nodded gamely. “Got it.”

  “And think romance! Take her out to lunch at some secluded little hideaway only you know about—”

  “I know the best pizza joint in the county,” he suggested.

  Louise blinked twice. “And after lunch, think of an adventure for your afternoon. Nothing ho hum-hum drum, mind you. Think fantastical! Think frolicsome! Think fantastically frolicsome!”

  “Frolic?” he asked.

  “Exactly! Think paramourish!”

  “Say what?”

  “Wilson Rye!” Louise stood up and pulled him to his feet. “You know perfectly well how to act paramourish.” She shook him. “You are perfectly capable of sweeping a girl off her feet!”

  Gavin looked at me. “He is?”

  I, too, was skeptical, but ever the optimist, Mother took Louise’s side and insisted that my husband is perfectly darling. “That’s the same thing as paramourish, isn’t it?” she asked me.

  “Sort of.” I scowled. “Maybe.”

  “Hey!” Wilson glared at yours truly. “Once upon a time I saved your sweet ass from getting tossed off a roof. Wasn’t that paramourish?”

  I conceded it wasn’t bad.

  “Not bad!? Candy Poppe still talks about it.” He looked at Louise. “She says it’s the most romantic thing she’s ever seen.”

  “That’s the spirit!” Louise gave him a good shake. “Think fantastically romantic! And for Pete’s sake, act debonair! Act suave! Act sophisticated!”

  “Suave and sophisticated?” I leaned toward my mother. “What do you think?”

  “I suppose it is possible,” she said skeptically. “And of course the golden chariot won’t hurt.”

  “Not you, too, Tessie!” Wilson took a deep breath and turned to Gavin and Mykal. “I know I’ll regret this, but what about you guys? Got any advice?”

  Mykal tapped his chin. “Don’t wear pink.”

  ***

  Needless to say, Wilson agreed to no pink. However, he hadn’t packed a kilt, which was Louise’s strong suggestion. He also possessed no tights and no cape—her second choice.

  “Well then, how about going to the raffle drawing bare chested?” she asked hopefully.

  Wilson rolled his eyes. “How about I wear my tux from Friday night,” he suggested, but the rest of us nixed that idea as well. “Why not?” he asked. “I’m supposed to be suave and debonair, right?”

  “Wrong.” Gavin and Mykal informed my fashion-challenged husband that a tuxedo was simply not proper attire for day wear.

  “Day wear.” I hopped up and asked Wilson what he would wear if he weren’t busy being paramourish.

  “I’d be headed to the golf course,” he said. “A polo shirt and khakis, I guess.”

  Stellar sleuths that we were, the team noticed he was wearing a T-shirt and jeans. I grabbed his golf clothes from a suitcase and shoved them into his hands, and Mother and Louise guided him toward the bathroom.

  “You’re all waiting while I change?” he asked.

  We were, and we did.

  “Very nice,” I told him when he reemerged.

  “Darling,” Mother agreed.

  “More than darling.” Gavin and Mykal voiced their approval.

  We looked at Louise.

  “I still say a kilt would be better.”

  ***

  “Incoming,” Gavin said under his breath, and sure enough, Hatsy Glee came bearing down on us as we entered the banquet hall.

  She tapped her watch. “The drawing,” she scolded. “We begin at ten o’clock sharp!”

  Wilson tapped his watch. “It’s 9:55,” he said. “And I suggest we begin now before I change my mind.”

  Thus the Glee Club ascended the stage, which had been mightily pinkified for the big occasion. Patsy and Batsy poured all the raffle ticket stubs into a humongous bowl, and while several of us marveled that something that large even existed in pink, Hatsy got the room’s attention.

  “The moment we’ve all been waiting for!” She gestured to the big pink bowl. “Who will be this year’s lucky winner?”

  “Who, who
, who?” the crowd yelled, and Wilson threw me a significant frown.

  I pretended not to notice and directed my attention toward Hatsy, who was waving to our little group at the doorway.

  “Louise Urko!” she called out. “The genius who thought of this year’s prize. Would you do the honors, please?”

  Hatsy again pointed to the ominous pink bowl, and Louise grabbed Wilson’s wrist and dragged him away amid resounding applause. Indeed, some of the more forward of the Happily Ever After crowd took to whistling.

  Louise and Wilson finally reached the stage, and Louise handed him off to Batsy, who more or less wrangled him into position near the pink bowl.

  Wilson tossed me another frown from across the room, and I fluttered a few fingertips and mouthed a “paramourish.” I don’t believe he could read my lips from that distance, but he began turning on the charm, anyway—flashing the baby blues and preening in what I can only describe as a paramourish way.

  “What a ham,” I muttered.

  “He’s darling,” Mother told me. We watched him preen some more, and she reconsidered. “A darling ham,” she clarified.

  Ho hum. I decided to concentrate on Geez Louise, who was stirring the pot, or rather, mixing the raffle tickets. Her whole right arm had disappeared into the bowl as she dragged out the procedure for the sake of suspense. Either that, or she was simply having too much fun fishing around in there, talking about the “man-prize,” and telling the audience what a “fantastically fantastical” paramour my husband was destined to be.

  Somewhere in there, she finally got around to the task at hand and pulled out the winning number. “Number one! Zero! Five! Four! Zero!”

  The lucky winner sprang from her seat, holding her half of the ticket stub overhead and spinning around for everyone to see. “10540! 10540!” she exclaimed.

  I blinked twice. “She looks like a heroine from one of my books,” I told the remaining troops.

  “She’s hot,” Mother said. “Isn’t that the right word, Honeybunch?”

  “Hotter than hot,” Gavin answered for me.

  “More than hotter than hot,” Mykal concluded.

  ***

  But you know me. Ever the professional, I adopted a most gracious and pleasant demeanor as Wilson left the stage to greet the lucky winner amid much applause and many, many unnecessary hugs.

  Eventually they got a hold of themselves. Wilson offered his arm to the more than hotter than hot raffle winner, and they approached our little group still standing in the doorway.

  “This here’s Annette,” he told us, with a huge—and I do mean huge—grin on his face.

  “Annette Trudo!” Ms. Trudo flashed a set of pearly whites and hands were shaken all around.

  “Congratulations, Ms. Trudo.” I kept that gracious smile thing going. “I trust you’ll have a very pleasant day, but I do hope you haven’t a plane to catch?” I tapped my watch and reminded her how the rest of the Happily Ever After crowd would be heading home as the day progressed.

  “No worries!” she said. “I’ll catch a later flight.” She pulled her cell phone from her purse and jiggled it in front of Wilson’s nose. “Give me a minute?”

  “Whatever you need, Annette!” He watched her sashay away before turning back to me and promptly losing that ridiculous grin.

  I raised an eyebrow. “What happened to being reluctant and indignant about this paramour thingy?”

  “You told me to be flattered, Jessie.” He pointed to the perfectly chiseled twenty-something bottom a few steps away. “So I’m flattered.”

  Gavin stepped forward. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he said.

  “Or I,” Mykal agreed, and the guys mentioned they’d be leaving for the airport on the first shuttle.

  Wilson thanked them for all their help, and they shook hands. He also said good-bye to my mother and gave her a big hug since she, too, would be gone before he got back.

  By then, the more than hotter than hot Annette Trudo had returned. “All fixed!” she chirped.

  She took Wilson’s outstretched arm, and together they crossed the lobby to where Adam held the door.

  Before exiting, Wilson turned and blew me a kiss.

  ***

  Ho hum.

  While my husband and his date drove off for their fantastically frolicsome day doing who knows what, the rest of us got down to business. For most of the Happily Ever After crowd, that meant packing up, saying good-bye, and vacating the premises. And who better to orchestrate that operation than Hatsy Glee? Still on stage, she somehow managed to regain everyone’s attention and give directions. Apparently the Goodnight Inn had only two shuttle buses, so anyone requiring a lift to the airport needed to be packed and ready, and down in the lobby several hours before their flight.

  “Remember it’s at least an hour’s drive, even without the holiday traffic.” Hatsy gave her poor watch one final tap. “Let’s stay on schedule.”

  “That means us,” Gavin said, and he and Mykal started giving out hugs.

  “I won’t be far behind you,” Mother said as she embraced Mykal. “What a pleasure it was to meet you boys.”

  I agreed that seeing Gavin and Mykal is always a pleasure and thanked them immensely for their help that weekend, while Louise instructed Gavin to keep writing once he got home. “Think Hall of Famer!” she said.

  “Don’t you mean fantastical Hall of Famer?” Mykal asked, and with a few dozen air kisses, the guys headed to the elevator.

  “I need to be going, also.” My mother spoke the words I knew were coming but dreaded hearing. Her flight wasn’t until midafternoon, but packing would take her a while.

  “I should help you,” I said as we hugged each other. “I should drive you to the airport, but Roberto will kill me if I skip his silly business meeting.”

  “Don’t call it silly to his face, or he really will kill you,” Louise said.

  Mother giggled. “And the golden chariot isn’t available anyway, is it?” She insisted she’d be fine using the hotel shuttle.

  I sighed dramatically and apologized that the weekend hadn’t gone as planned.

  “No, but I always enjoy seeing you and Wilson, no matter what the circumstances.” Mother turned around. “And you also, Louise, honey,” she said with a few more hugs.

  I sighed again, and bless his heart, Adam must have noticed my dismay from across the lobby. He marched over, asked what the trouble was, and I complained about my stupid business meeting during my mother’s hour of need.

  “No problem. Leave it to me.” Adam pointed to himself and informed us that one of the bus drivers had called in sick. Therefore, he would be driving the second shuttle bus all day. He asked Mother when she needed to be at the airport and promised me he’d get her luggage downstairs and make sure she got on his shuttle on time.

  “Adam!” Batsy hollered over, and we realized the first shuttle was already in the throes of being overloaded with pink people, their luggage, and their mementos bags.

  Adam saluted and hurried off to help, and I gave my mother one final hug.

  “I guess you’ll be fine,” I said.

  “Land’s sake, Jessie! I don’t need a bodyguard, do I?” She pulled away and walked off to the elevator all alone.

  Chapter 37

  “Roberto!” Louise flapped her arms at me, and we rushed off to our business meeting in Conference Room D.

  But I was soon wondering why we’d been in such a great hurry. Geez Louise seemed enthusiastic enough, but Roberto Santiago’s business meeting certainly lived up to all her warnings—long and boring, boring and long.

  Perhaps it wouldn’t have been quite so excruciating if I’d gotten adequate sleep over the weekend. Or if I wasn’t seated with a line of sight past Louise and out to the lobby, perfect for watching everyone and his brother—make that sister—escape the Happily Ever After.

  Roberto and Louise had barely delved into Adelé Nightingale’s past sales figures before Gavin and Mykal crossed the
lobby, luggage and mementos bag in hand. And there went Charm Willowby and Maxine Carlisle, while my agent and publisher brainstormed about how best to “optimize” Adelé’s newfound fame and prestige.

  I murmured an occasional “mm-hmm, sounds good,” whenever a response seemed required and tried my best to stay alert. In fact, I forced myself to wake up and pay attention when discussion turned to my residual rights. Don’t quote me, but I think it had something to do with the movie and TV options for my books.

  But by the time we—or rather, they—were calculating Adelé’s future potential as 3P’s newest Hall of Famer, I’d lost interest again. I went back to dozing quietly and/or watching my friends and colleagues vacate the premises. Large groups of fans paraded past the lobby also, and I imagined those Goodnight Inn shuttles were packed to overflow—

  Louise kicked me under the table.

  “Sounds good!” I yelped. I sat up straight, gave my head a good shake, and forced myself to pay attention. And to my credit, I listened to a full five minutes of Roberto’s accounting of my soon-to-expire residual rights to A Deluge of Desire before my mind wandered off to Wilson, frolicking the day away with the more than hotter than hot Annette Trud—

  “Lunch!” Louise slapped the table, and I snapped to attention. She glared at me from across the way. “Roberto would like to order us lunch, Adelé! Doesn’t that sound fantastical?”

  “Fantastical,” I murmured, and ignoring the fact that I had eaten a big breakfast, I thanked my publisher. He pulled out his phone to call the kitchen, I ordered a garden salad, and the two business people ordered sandwiches.

  Bless his heart, Roberto also ordered a cold bottle of Korbel. He smiled at me. “Adelé Nightingale prefers Korbel,” he told room service.

  I smiled back and said a little prayer that I wouldn’t nod off completely after a midday dose of bubbly.

  ***

  But no worries! I perked right up when server number eight appeared with his serving cart.