“Hi, Charlie!” a high-pitched female voice suddenly said. “I’ve been a big fan of your podcast for several years now. This is the first time I’ve ever had the urge to call in.”
“Thank you,” Charlie said, as she waited for the caller to identify herself. When nothing else was said, Charlie rolled her eyes. “What’s your name, caller?”
“Mandy.”
Charlie looked at me with exasperation and shook her head. “Hello, Mandy. What’s your question?”
“Mr. Anderson? It’s so wonderful to meet you! I have a question for you.”
“I was kinda hopin’ you did,” I returned, grinning as I did so.
“How can you write about a place so well that it feels like … like … well, like I’m actually there! How do you do it?”
“I would imagine it has something to do with the fact that I was actually there. If you get a chance, Mandy, I would encourage you to visit Ireland. Make it happen. I guarantee it’ll take your breath away. It’s truly a magical place.”
“All right,” Charlie announced, “we have another caller. You’re on with Charlie Goodman and Zachary Anderson. Go ahead, caller.”
On and on it went. At one point, Charlie scribbled something on a sheet of paper and slid it over to me. Jillian and I leaned close to see what it was.
Current # of listeners: 4,045.
Surprised, I looked up at Charlie. She nodded and looked at something else on her screen. A second note was hastily scribbled out.
Current call queue: 14.
We took another break, only this time, the moment Charlie went offline, she hastily grabbed her cell phone.
“Dana? It’s Charlie. Listen, you mentioned before that you want to get some experience podcasting, didn’t you? Great. Get over here. I need your help manning the phones. What? Who’s with you? Oh. Are they familiar with a computer? Think she’d want to help? I’d be more than happy to … omigod. What? No, well, in the time it’s taken to place this call, my queue has gone from just over a dozen to thirty plus. Yeah. Thanks, Dana. Hurry, ’kay?”
Dana, Charlie explained later, was her little sister. And whoever else Dana was talking about must have been a close friend, because within ten minutes, two teenagers were standing before us. Charlie hastily interrupted me, after answering the latest caller’s question, saying she’d be right back, all without giving any explanation.
“Watch this screen here, click that there, and you’re talking to the caller,” Charlie hastily explained. “After you put on that headset, that is. Now, tell them that they may, or may not, be able to get online with our guest, due to the volume of callers. In the event that they can’t, get their question, and perhaps I could get Zack to read them all, one after the other. Got it? Great.”
The next caller to be put through surprised all of us, especially me. I was kind of expecting an occasional question about the recently returned Irish jewels, but surprisingly, it didn’t come up. What did come up were questions about what happened at the expo yesterday.
“Hello, caller, you’re on the air with Charlie Goodman and Zachary Anderson. What’s your question?”
“Hey, Zack,” a male voice said, “this is Tom, from Covington. Listen, I’ve got a question.”
“And I’ve got an answer,” I returned, having long grown comfortable with this type of interview.
“What do you think was the motivation for yesterday’s attack at the book convention?”
Surprised, I looked over at Charlie.
“That’s not a question about a book, Tom,” Charlie hastily interrupted. “I’m going to need you to …”
“It’s not a specific book question, but it is a question about an expo about books,” Tom hastily pointed out.
“It’s okay, Charlie,” I said, waving a dismissive hand. “I can answer it. Tom? The official answer is, I don’t know. I wish I did. They’ve been having a devil of a time trying to identify the person of interest, as well as figure out what his motive could be for attacking the expo.”
“Next caller,” Charlie quickly announced, looking over at Dana. The younger sister nodded and clicked the appropriate button. “You’re on the air with Charlie and Zack. What’s your question?”
“Hi, Zack,” another male voice said. “Is it true they found a voodoo doll at the crime scene?”
“And we have another question about yesterday’s attack,” Charlie groaned.
“Yes, there was, and no, as far as I’m aware, it hasn’t been taken seriously.”
I heard a gasp of surprise. Looking over at Dana, I saw she was nervously nudging her sister and pointing at her terminal’s screen. Charlie leaned close, saw whatever it was she was supposed to see, and jerked up straight in her chair. She looked over at me and scribbled a third note.
# of listeners has jumped to over 15,000.
# of callers is 200. Service maxed out.
“Okay, look, peeps,” Charlie nervously began, “Mr. Anderson is here to talk about his career as an author. He’s not here to answer questions about yesterday’s attack. I … what’s that?”
Dana’s friend, Krissi, the second teenager, had whispered something in Charlie’s ear.
“It looks like we have a caller from Pomme Valley, Oregon,” Charlie said, as she looked over at me. “Would you care to take it?”
I shared a curious glance with Jillian. “Absolutely. Put them through.”
“Caller, you’re on the air. What’s your name and what’s your question?”
“I was just wondering if you’ve made any progress on the case,” an unusually nasal voice wanted to know. I got the distinct impression whoever it was wanted to disguise their voice. “Any news?”
“Harry?”
“Who’s Harry?” the voice wanted to know.
Now, I know I’ve heard that voice before. I’ve heard it fairly recently, telling me he was going to look for … formula. Baby formula! That’s it. He was going to check for stolen baby formula. This was a Pomme Valley police officer!
“Ah, now I recognize the voice. Hello, Officer Jones. How are things in PV today?”
There was a gasp of surprise and the call quickly terminated.
“That was Officer Jones?” Jillian said.
“Who is Officer Jones?” Charlie asked. “And no, don’t tell me he’s an officer in your home town. That’s a given. If my show is gonna get pre-empted by a police investigation, I might as well know the facts.”
“Well,” I began, “the short version is confirming what you know. I hail from Pomme Valley, and so does Officer Jones. For those who don’t know, PV is down in the southwestern area of Oregon. As for the facts, well, the PV police chief and the New Orleans police chief seem to have a little wager going, and that phone call seemed to be an attempt to get some news.”
“A wager?” Charlie repeated. A smile formed. “All right, you’ve piqued my curiosity. What’s the wager?”
“That they,” and I pointed straight down to the corgis, “will solve the case before the local New Orleans police does.”
“Your dogs? Your dogs have been challenged to solve a case before the local police department?”
I smiled and nodded. “Sounds weird, but yeah, that’s right.”
Charlie leaned forward and fixed her brown eyes on me. “All right, Mr. Anderson. What am I missing? Why would the local cops challenge your dogs to solve an ongoing police investigation? Unless … wait. You’re telling me they’ve solved cases before?”
I nodded again. “Guilty as charged. If you’ll pardon the pun, they’re quite good at sniffing out clues.”
“I see I’m going to have to dig into this a little bit more,” Charlie admitted, giving the dogs a grin. Neither dog, I should mention, was looking at her. “So, about this wager. Do you know what the terms are?”
“I don’t, no,” I admitted.
“Are you, er, they winning?” Charlie asked. “Oh, for you people who are listening, I am talking about Zack’s dogs. He has two corgis with
him, aptly named Sherlock and Watson. And, it sounds like they’ve been challenged to solve the events from yesterday. That ought to make everyone happy.”
Dana, who, like her sister, had on a pair of over-the-ear headphones, suddenly stiffened with surprise. She looked over at Charlie and I saw right away that her face was ashen. Charlie, unfortunately, didn’t notice. Jillian did, though. Also at that time, both Jillian and I heard twin warning woofs. Glancing down at the floor, I saw that both corgis were awake, and both were staring directly at Dana. Coincidence?
“Er, excuse me, Charlie?” Jillian said, raising a hand. She then pointed it at Dana. “Is your sister all right?”
Charlie glanced at Jillian and then looked over at her sister. The look of alarm that spread over Charlie’s face wasn’t something I was going to be able to forget anytime soon.
“Guys? Stay where you are. I’ll be right back.”
Our podcaster quickly muted her microphone and paused her show. She turned to Dana.
“What’s the matter? You’re freakin’ me out.”
Dana turned to her computer and tapped the screen. “I think … I think you’re gonna want to hear this one.”
“Who is it?” Charlie asked, as she quickly rose out of her chair to see the caller’s information on the screen. “The number is blocked. Hmm. There’s no information. Have they identified themselves?”
Dana shook her head. She then looked over at me. “He says he wants to talk to your guest.”
Charlie met my questioning look. “Zack? Are you okay taking this call? I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Something tells me that I shouldn’t put this on the air.”
“I’d still record it,” I argued, growing nervous. Who could be on the call?
“Oh, there’s no way I’m not recording it,” Charlie stated, as she started typing commands on her computer. “Now, I’m not transmitting this, but I’m gonna make it sound like I am. Dana? Send him over.”
Dana clicked her mouse and nodded affirmatively at us.
“Caller? You’re on the air with Charlie Goodman and Zachary Anderson. What’s your name and what’s your question?”
“Who I am,” an angry, distorted voice snapped, “is not important. As for my question, well, I won’t ask it until you put us back on the air.”
Charlie blinked a few times. “I’m sorry?”
“I know you’re offline. Put me back online, now!”
“Perhaps when you have your own show you can call the shots,” Charlie replied, growing angry. “But, until such time as that happens, I’m going to tell you that I dictate what will and will not happen here.”
“If you don’t want to learn more about the second attack,” the distorted caller snarled, “then by all means, continue to feign stupidity. Otherwise, resume broadcasting.”
It was Charlie’s turn to turn pale.
“You … you’re the one who’s responsible for yesterday’s attack?”
“I am.”
“How do we know you’re not someone who’s just looking for a little publicity?” I asked, growing angry.
“Like you?” the caller snapped. “As for me, I was wearing a black jacket and a yellow shirt. I know you found the doll and noticed Oya’s veve. You were supposed to. How about I confirm the locations of the pins? One in the shoulder, two in the heart, and one on the side?”
“It’s him,” Jillian whispered. “The red-haired mystery man.”
“Red-haired mystery man,” the caller repeated, having overheard Jillian’s comment. “I like that. Who else is on the line?”
“No one for you to be concerned about,” I hastily snapped. “Now, will you drop all these theatrics? Just tell us what’s on your mind.”
“Very well, Mr. Author. I’ll drop it for now. Now, put this show back online. I’m currently logged into your live feed, Ms. Goodman, so I’ll know full well when it resumes.”
Charlie looked at me, her eyes pleading with me to give her some advice. I nodded at her computer. Charlie held her breath and resumed her live show.
“A-all right, we’re back,” Charlie nervously began. “W-we have a caller on the phone who h-has a question for Mr. Anderson. G-go ahead, caller.”
“Better,” the male caller scowled. “Now, listen carefully, Mr. Anderson. I know you were at the book expo yesterday. I got to listen to you prattle on and on about your boring Irish drama, so now you’re going to listen to me. Since I was interrupted before I could carry out my plans, I’m here to tell you all that there will be another attack.”
Charlie gasped with alarm. Jillian covered her mouth in horror.
“Why?” I demanded. “Why would you do such a thing twice?”
“What’s the matter, Anderson? You’re the PV police consultant, you tell me? Haven’t you or your two Dog Wonders figured it out yet?”
I looked down at the corgis, who by now, were sitting on their haunches and staring straight at me.
“How does a voodoo goddess fit into this?” I asked, hoping I could entice Mr. OffHisRocker to divulge a few tidbits. “What does Oya have to do with it?”
“No more answers, writer. Time is ticking. You’d best get moving.”
The call abruptly terminated and we all heard a dial tone.
SIX
“That was, without a doubt, the best show I’ve ever done! Holy cow! Can you believe it? I was talking to an actual wanted police suspect!”
“You make that sound like it’s a good thing,” I said, as Charlie led the way down the stairs.
“Man, you can’t buy publicity like that!” Charlie continued. Her skin was flushed, her eyes were sparkling with energy, and she practically bounced down the steps. “Do you know how many people were tuned in before the police asked me to shut down? Go on. Guess!”
“Umm, I don’t know. We do know it was jumping upwards. Maybe twenty thousand?”
“Try sixty-five!” Charlie all but cried out. “Sixty-five thousand people were tuned in to my show. That’s more than three times my largest audience yet! Oh, I so need to thank MCU. Do you know if they like chocolates? I can send them a box. Scratch that. I’ll send ’em a case! Or, what about one of those fruit basket things? Oh, I know! How about something local? A gift basket with, I don’t know, a variety of hot sauces? Maybe some gumbo?”
I laughed and held up my hands in an I have no idea gesture.
“How long before the police will let you air that episode?” Jillian asked.
“As soon as it is no longer an on-going investigation,” Charlie answered. “That detective was very keen to point that out, along with all the fines and charges I’d be facing if I don’t play by the rules. That’s okay. I can wait. I am gonna promote the ever-lovin’ crap outta this! Ohhh, I have so much to do.”
Seeing the waiting taxi parked outside Charlie’s house, I turned and held out my hand. “I’m sorry we didn’t talk more about books.”
Charlie batted my hand away and practically threw herself at me to encompass me in a hug. “Oh, no you don’t. No apologies. Are you kidding me? You’ve given me such a boost in popularity that I have no idea how I’ll ever repay you. In fact, I was really hoping I could get you back on the show once this case has been wrapped up and I’m actually allowed to talk about it. Oh, I’m sorry. I never told you. I actually did read Heart of Éire. I loved it!”
I laughed and gave the podcaster a friendly smile. “Thanks for that, Charlie. All right, you’re on. I can’t say when that’ll be, but as soon as I’m able, then we should definitely think about trying a do-over. Did the police give any estimates how long they think it’ll take before you’ll be cleared to release this particular episode?”
Charlie shook her head. “No matter how much I pushed, I couldn’t get a definitive answer. But, tell you what, there’s the detective, right over there. He might know.”
Glancing over, I groaned. It was Detective Martins, with his ever present shadow, Gregory Plinth. The two men had placed themselves between us and our cab and neit
her wore smiles. Looks like we weren’t getting out of here without getting grilled. Again.
“Hello again, Detective Martins,” I said, raising my voice so that Jillian knew what was waiting for us.
“Mr. Anderson. We just seem to continue bumping into each other. Why is that, do you think?”
I shrugged. “Small town?”
“New Orleans has a population of nearly 400,000,” the detective told me. He shook his head. “Could it be that you always seem to attract trouble?”
Before I could stop myself, I felt a soft snort of amusement slip out. “You act as though you know me. Or have been speaking with a friend of mine. According to him, I’m the epitome of bad luck.”
“I’ve checked into you, Mr. Anderson,” Detective Martins informed me. “You have quite the colorful history in Pomme Valley.”
I stared expectantly at the detective, as though I was waiting for him to ask a question. As it happens, in this case, that’s exactly what I was doing. I got the sense he was baiting me, and until I figured out what his angle was, I was not going to bite.
“Nothing to say, Mr. Anderson?”
“I’m sorry, did you ask a question? It sounded like a statement to me.”
Jillian hooked her arm through mine. “And to me, as well. Where are you going with this, Mr. Martins?”
“That’s Detective Martins.” Jillian was sternly corrected.
“If you want to be called one, then I suggest you start acting like one,” my fiancée calmly told the detective, as she brushed by him and reached for the door of the taxi.
“We have been working the case,” Gregory Plinth suddenly added. “We know that our mystery caller knows his way around a telephone system.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“He bounced the call through Prague, then Berlin, then …”
“That’s enough,” Detective Martins snapped, as if knowing that particular bit of information was going to give us the leg up on this investigation.
Case of the Ragin' Cajun Page 9
