Five Spot Page 23

  I started. “Excuse me?”

  “We go through this cleanup operation every year. The hotel allows us to decorate all we want.” Patsy twirled a finger overhead, and my gaze landed on the pink Happily Ever After banner. “But they ask that we undecorate also.” She giggled. “We leave the place as gray and beige as we found it.”

  I swallowed and rephrased the question. “Why is Batsy at the airport?”

  “She drove your mother.”

  “What!?”

  “It’s okay. Batsy didn’t mind.”

  “What!?” My heart rate was somewhere in the stratosphere, but I took a deep breath and tried again. “I mean,” I asked slowly. “Why is that?”

  “Your mother didn’t need to be jostled around in a crowded van, did she? She’s quite frail.”

  I said a four-letter word, and Patsy kept staring.

  “Is there a problem?” she asked.

  “Of course there’s a problem!” I flapped my arms, and Patsy took a small step back. “My mother isn’t on the shuttle. Adam promised he’d put her on his shuttle!”

  “He was going to.” Patsy spoke calmly, perhaps to demonstrate how it’s done. “But it was so crowded, what with everyone’s mementos bags, and luggage, and book purchases. Batsy was helping to jam everyone in, and you know Batsy—she likes to make herself useful.”

  I cringed. “So she offered to take my mother to the airport?”

  “Adam thought you’d be happy about it. So did your mother.”

  “Oh?”

  “She said you’d be pleased she was getting such personalized attention.”

  ***

  Proof that there is a God in heaven, Patsy scurried off to help Hatsy undecorate.

  With shaky hands I pulled my cell phone from my purse. But when I noticed Judy staring at me from the front desk, I left the lobby and sought shelter near the pool table.

  “Where are you?” I said the moment Wilson answered.

  “The golf course.”

  “The what!? How can you shoot golf balls at a time like this?”

  “Hit balls,” he said. “Annette plays, and she found out I play, and here we are. She’s using rented clubs, and she’s still beating the pants off me. Figuratively speak—”

  “Stop! Stop!” I begged. I started pacing around the pool table. “Stop shooting, stop hitting, stop doing whatever it is you’re doing and go save my mother!”

  “Tessie? From what?”

  “Not what, who!” I shook myself. “I mean from whom. Haven’t you been listening?”

  Wilson skipped a beat. “That business meeting has addled your brain, Darlin’.”

  Oh, good Lord! How tragically behind the times the man was. “Wilson!” I snapped. “Tori Fister has been released!”

  Ah. Finally, a reaction.

  “What!?” he shouted. “She’s out on bail? Are you staying safe?”

  Me, safe? I decided the pool room was still too public a spot and scurried into Happily Ever After headquarters.

  “Listen to me,” I said as I shut the door. “The charges were dropped, Tori’s gone, and so is Batsy. Batsy Glee has my mother!”

  “Huh?”

  “She took her to the airport. The killer has Tessie, Wilson! So hop in that golden chariot and go find her.” I whimpered. “I’m so scared!”

  “I’m on my way,” he said, and I heard him tell Annette he had to go. “I’ll be right there, Jessie.”

  “No!” I kicked at a pink balloon that had lost its helium. “Not here! Not me! It’s Mother who’s in danger.”

  While he promised he was making progress toward the car, I quickly summarized my conversation with Tori. “It was Batsy,” I said. “The poison was in the candy. I’m sure of it.”

  “We’re not sure of anything now. We’re back to square one.”

  “Stop arguing with me!” I snapped again. “You said it yourself, remember? You asked Mykal to protect my mother. Why? Because a good way to hurt me would be to hurt her!”

  “Shit!” Finally, the man was catching on. Also good news—he told me he’d almost made it to the parking lot. “But I’m still not following,” he said. “If you think it was Batsy, she poisoned the candy in Penelope’s room. Penelope, not you, Jessie. Why would she go after your mother?”

  Oh, good Lord, why would she? Did that make any sense?

  “Oh, I don’t know!” I cried and whined. “Everything’s so muddled!”

  “You’re muddled,” Wilson said, but he also agreed we were better off safe than sorry. “You know what Batsy drives?”

  “Shit!”

  “I’ll take that as a no.”

  I started pacing around this, that, and the other worn out and discarded pink decoration while Wilson came up with a viable plan. He’d call Jo Keegan, get Batsy’s car info from her, and also solicit her help.

  “She can get out in a patrol car and get the state troopers involved,” he said. “We’ll find her, Jessie. I promise. Meanwhile you sit still and stay safe. You got it?”

  “May I pace?”

  “You’ve got my permission. And call your mother to warn her,” he added and hung up.

  ***

  I glared at my cell phone. Darn it! I couldn’t call my mother.

  First of all, it would scare her half to death if she found out she was driving around with a crazed murderer. Plus, she’s hard of hearing. Especially on the phone, and especially in a moving car. I’d have to scream to be heard, which meant Batsy would overhear me.

  “Shit!” I said a few hundred times as I stumbled around the now-empty poster tripods. “I can’t text her, either!” I kicked at another balloon. Mother does not text. She doesn’t even know how to check a text message.

  I was repeating my new favorite word and abusing those poor balloons when Patsy walked in.

  I jumped ten feet in the air.

  “What are you doing in here?” she asked, but she didn’t seem interested in an answer. “I think these are trash, don’t you?” She didn’t wait for an answer to that, either, but dropped the armload of pink streamers she was carrying directly into a trash basket. “Why Hatsy insists on saving everything, I’ll never know. This undecorating is taking forever.”

  “Well then, I’ll leave you to your task!” I scooted around her and left conference headquarters without further ado. I wouldn’t call my mother, but I could call some other people. Because, as Mother herself would say, I was not about to sit around like a bump on a log while she was in danger.

  ***

  I made it back to the lobby before stopping short.

  How could I be so stupid? I couldn’t ask people to be on the lookout for Batsy’s car until I knew what Batsy drove. Duh!

  I called Wilson back.

  “You staying safe?” he asked.

  “Absolutely.” I turned away from Judy and walked in the opposite direction. “But what about Mother’s safety?” I whispered, and he tried to reassure me everyone was working on it.

  “Jo’s out here in a patrol car somewhere, we’ve got the state troopers on the lookout, and Annette’s with me.”

  “Keeping my eyes wide open,” I heard the more than hotter than hot Ms. Trudo call out.

  “We’ll find her,” Wilson told me. “But the traffic’s miserable—end of the holiday weekend. Meanwhile, Jo called in her one uniform to babysit you.”

  “Oh, please.”

  “Don’t argue with me, Jessie. Sit still and stay safe, and wait for that cop. And for God’s sake, don’t eat anything.”

  I rolled my eyes and promised to be a good little girl. But making a few phone calls certainly seemed safe enough. I whisked past the front desk and grabbed a slip of paper and a pen out from under Judy’s nose.

  “What’s the car?” I whispered once I was out of earshot.

  About then, Patsy made another appearance, and I jumped ten feet again. She and Judy scowled at me from opposite directions.

  “Umm,” I said as I landed. “What are you up to, Pa
tsy?”

  “Undecorating.” She frowned once more and headed toward the conference rooms.

  I shrugged at Judy and moved to the farthest recess of the lobby while Wilson yammered on and on about my safety.

  “Batsy’s car,” I demanded, and he gave me the details—make, model, color, year, et cetera.

  I jotted down the basics and hung up to call Louise Urko.

  At least she knew half the story—she knew Tori was innocent. I summarized the latest developments as quickly as possible, and Louise interrupted with only a dozen or so un-fantasticals.

  She did have a few questions about Batsy, but I cut her off and told her I still had one other person to call.

  “Meanwhile, be on the lookout for my mother.” I described Batsy’s car and hung up while Louise was recruiting Roaring Tori and the cab driver onto the team.

  ***

  We needed Adam Sheppard on that team. But how to get in touch with Adam?

  I marched up to the front desk and asked for his cell phone number.

  “No can do,” Judy chirped.

  “Come on, Judy,” I said. “You must have his number. He’s driving one of the shuttles today.”

  “I didn’t say I don’t have it. But I can’t give it out to just anyone.”

  “I’m not just anyone. I’m a pink person!”

  She smirked. “You think that helps your cause?”

  I took a deep breath and tried again. “I’m Adelé Nightingale. I am in the Romance Writers Hall of Fame,” I said firmly.

  “Whoopee. And?”

  “And Adam’s one of my biggest fans.” I raised an eyebrow. “My biggest fan.”

  “He has a crush on you.”

  “Exactly! Therefore, he won’t mind getting a call from me. In fact, he’d like getting a call from me.”

  Judy rolled her eyes. “Why do I even care?” she asked herself. She clicked something on her computer screen and gave me the number.

  I punched it into my phone and was about to hit call when I noticed her staring. I excused myself and retraced my steps to the pool table.

  If possible, Adam had more questions than Wilson and Louise combined, but somehow I got through the basic update of what had happened since he had driven off in his shuttle bus—starting with Tori being freed, and ending with my mother in harm’s way.

  “I can’t picture Batsy killing anyone,” Adam said. “I really wanted it to be Tori.”

  “Adam! Stop arguing with me and be on the lookout for Batsy’s car!” I blinked twice. “In fact, tell everyone in that van to keep their eyes peeled.”

  “What about discretion?”

  “What about it?” I reminded him my mother was in danger and hung up.

  ***

  “Okay, now what?” I asked the pool table.

  I could think of no one else to call, and without a car, I had no option but to sit still and stay safe. “Wilson will be happy.” I snarled at the somewhat bedraggled flower arrangement at the center of the table and peeked around the corner to scan the lobby.

  No uniformed cop. I would have bet money Jo Keegan hadn’t bothered calling him. But before getting too indignant, I scolded myself that I didn’t need a bodyguard. My mother was the one racing around Georgia with a homicidal maniac.

  Needless to say, sitting still was not within the realm of possibility.

  I twirled around to face the pool table. Perhaps it’s not normal, but I knew shooting a few balls would calm my nerves. And surely that uniformed cop would find me if he ever did show up. I was in as public a spot as the lobby. And, if some non-Batsy boogeyman suddenly popped up, I’d be armed.

  “Not to brag,” I told Hatsy’s flowers as I moved them from the pool table to the nearby bistro table. “But few people wield a pool cue with more skill than yours truly.”

  I racked the balls and bent down to break.

  But then it hit me.

  I dropped the cue stick and spun around.

  Those flowers had seen better days.

  And the water they were standing in? All murky.

  Murky. Yet crystal clear.

  Chapter 40

  With shaky hands and beating heart, I found my phone and hit Wilson’s number.

  “She’s here,” I hissed. “The killer is here.”

  “What? How did she get back so soon? The traffic is from hell, Jessie.”

  “It’s not Batsy!” I lowered my voice as my eyes darted around the room. “Where is she?” I whined. “You have got to get back here, Wilson.”

  “Would you calm down?” He promised he’d turn around at the next exit. “But it’ll take me a while to get there. Who are we talking about anyway? And where are you?” He thought a second. “Where’s that uniform Jo promised us?”

  I told him there was no uniform, and he muttered a four-letter word.

  “My sentiments exactly.” I peeked into the conference headquarters, double- and triple-checking that I was alone. “I figured out the means,” I whispered. “It wasn’t a hodgepodge. It was a tea! Like something one of Zelda’s Wayward witches might concoct.” I grimaced at the flowers. “A toxic brew in a flower vase.”

  “No way, Jessie. You can’t mean Zelda.” But Wilson corrected himself before I had a chance. “Flowers?” he said. “Are we talking about Hatsy?”

  “We are. I’m sure of it.”

  “Ten minutes ago you were sure it was Batsy.”

  “Don’t argue with me!” I stepped forward to take a closer look at the wilted flowers and whispered that same four-letter word.

  “What’s going on?”

  “The pink flowers are going on.” I closed my eyes and prayed for strength. “They’re oleander.”

  “What? They’re poisonous as hell.”

  “No kidding.”

  Okay, so neither of us is a botanist, but we are southerners. Oleander is exceedingly common down here, and everything about it is exceedingly poisonous—the flowers, the stems, the leaves, the roots.

  “Why do I know everything in this vase is deadly?” I asked and took another look. “That’s fool’s parsley.” I cringed. “And I think that’s bloodroot.”

  “They poisonous?” Wilson asked.

  “Absolutely.” I shook my head. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice this before.”

  Wilson told me not to be so hard on myself. “Everyone and his brother—including me—has been staring at those flowers all weekend. No one caught on.” He thought a second. “But why Hatsy? What’s the motive?”

  I admitted I didn’t know. “I know how, and I know what. But the why is still puzzling.”

  “What’s puzzling?” Patsy Glee asked, and I practically jumped out of my skin.

  ***

  “Gotta go!”

  I hung up, swung around to face Patsy, and laughed hysterically.

  She frowned, but bless her heart, she did give me a second to regroup. She bent down to prop the posters she was carrying against the nearest wall. She brushed her palms together and stood up. “Now then, what’s so puzzling?”

  I stared at the posters. At An Everlasting Encounter to be specific.

  “Adelé?” she asked. “Are you okay? What are you thinking about?”

  “Motive.” I bit my lip and looked up. “Umm, Barney Splawn’s motive.” I blinked twice. “That’s it! I’m thinking about my plot. You know? For Shimmering Silk?”

  Patsy nodded excitedly. “The one in the Sahara, right? It sounds so exotic! Who’s Barney?”

  “The evil villain. And, umm, I’m trying to figure out why he has it in for Slipper Vervette. And why his father had it in for Slipper’s mother. That was Barfey, of course.”

  “Barfey?” Patsy asked, and my eyes darted back to the flowers.

  She followed my gaze. “Oh, for Pete’s sake. I can’t believe Hatsy missed those. Must I do everything around here?” She stepped around me and reached for the flower vase.

  “No!” I grabbed it from under her hands. “I’ll take these!”

&
nbsp; She stepped back. “Are you feeling well, Adelé?”

  “Oh, fine! Fine, fine, fine!” I looked around. “Umm, where is Hatsy?”

  “Good question. She’s supposed to be helping me undecorate. More accurately—I’m supposed to be helping her. But now she’s got some crazy idea to save all of those.” Patsy pointed to the vase I was clutching to my bosom. “She’s going to dry them and make potpourri sachets for next year’s mementos bags.”

  “Won’t that be nice!” I clutched tighter. “You know what? I’d like to do the same.” Clutch, clutch. “Dried flowers to umm—to remind me of my Hall of Fame year! Hatsy won’t miss these, will she?” I didn’t wait for an answer, grabbed my purse to flee, and knocked over my poster. “Or this! One can never have too many mementos!”

  I rescued An Everlasting Encounter and ran for the elevator.

  I was juggling my burdens and heading upward before I realized Patsy had never actually told me where Hatsy was.

  Chapter 41

  “We’ll be safe in our room,” I said. “We’ll sit still and be safe.” I tried sounding confident, but apparently I was bonding with that deadly flower arrangement. I likened it to Slipper Vervette talking to her pet scorpion and shut up before I went completely cuckoo.

  At least no one joined us—I mean, me—on the elevator. Deserted is good, I told myself and tried to ignore the creeping feeling that the Goodnight Inn was kind of creepy without all the pink people. And without Wilson. Let’s face it, my bodyguard would have been a welcome sight right then.

  If nothing else, he could help me lug all my junk. I balanced my purse on my left shoulder, kept a firm grip on the poster with one hand, held the flower vase with the other, and finally exited on the fourth floor.

  Far too cognizant of the deserted hallways, I put my nervous energy to use and thought about Hatsy. I thought about murder. I thought about motive, means, and opportunity.