by CeeCee James
First thing that came up was a link to Nova Southeastern University College. I clicked it and discovered the name Caleb James listed as an alumnus of the pharmacy program, graduating a few years earlier. His minor was in computer programming, which explained his career choice.
The next link showed his house address, his phone number, and people associated with him. I shook my head. It shouldn’t be this easy to find information on people. I snorted at the next option. Apparently, for just a small fee, I could check his credit score, too. And, what about his blood type?
Among the stock articles was a seemingly unimportant link titled “Blankets and Sandwiches.” I clicked on it and waited for it to load.
In the meantime, while I was distracted, Bingo had threaded his way under my desk. He was there now, all sprawled out and snoring. My feet were pinned against my office chair legs and were beginning to feel cramped and tingly.
“Hey, buddy,” I whispered. “You want to scoot over just a tiny bit? Give me some room?”
As though it took every last bit of his effort, Bingo opened one eye. He wuffled air, making his lips flap, and then the eyelid dropped closed. Snoring, he seemed to sink even further into the carpet.
It was no use. I picked up my feet and sat cross-legged in my office chair. Okay, so what’s going on with this story?
The picture that popped up was a black and white photo of a dirty man in a ragged coat. His feet were shod in old boots, and he sat propped against a building holding a sign. The sign read, Vet. Please help.
Beneath the picture, the article began.
James Place has already helped two thousand Veterans this year. Started by Norman Olsen, in honor of his war veteran brother, James Place offers a helping hand to homeless veterans to get them back on their feet. Run entirely on donations, the organization feeds, houses and helps wounded and homeless vets who have otherwise lived on the streets.
Norman says, “Some of them feel like they’ve given everything. And nothing’s left for them. I’m here to show them that people care and respect them. Together, we can move forward.”
Norman says the organization works as an advocate for vets, helping them obtain the physical and mental help they may need.
Named after his brother, LT. James L. Olsen, Norman hopes the organization will continue to help thousands more, and even expand into other cities.
I blinked after reading it. Wow. Maybe all my worries about Norman were unfounded. This man really was an enigma.
And Caleb… he must have taken his uncle’s name as surname. Maybe to honor him? My brain was on overload. I could feel it starting in my temples, a pulsing pain that was getting stronger by the minute. Nothing for it. I needed Tylenol, dinner, and some sleep. I’d tackle the rest of this in the morning.
At five the next morning, I woke up to the throb of the headache. Lovely. Today was the first day of the Fantasy/Sci-Fi Convention. This one was being billed as the Sixth Annual Spielberg Tournament. The word ‘annual’ was a bit odd to me since the Oceanside Hotel had just begun hosting these, but I supposed they could have been held elsewhere. And the attendees didn’t seem to mind the wording discrepancy, as was evidenced by nearly every room of the hotel being filled.
I dressed in a hurry and sidled out the front door so quietly that even Bingo wasn’t disturbed. I checked twice to be sure the door was locked before heading down to the foyer.
Just like the last convention, even though it was six in the morning, the conference hall was already bustling with activity. Clarissa manned the front desk, so I walked into the hall to see how things were going.
Booths were in the final stages of being set up along both walls. A few men ran around placing chairs in rows. Covering the back wall of the hall was a movie-theater-sized projector screen. The energy in the room was contagious. Apparently, the convention was going to have a live show on the internet.
As the morning rolled along, the room began to fill with guests. It weighed heavily on my shoulders that this event had to go without a hitch. I truly believed my job depended on it. So, I spent a good bit of the morning introducing myself to the CEOs and heads of the production companies, or at least the people they had sent here to represent them.
This time, I’d hired a set of security guards just to monitor the activity. I wasn’t taking any chances. I also had all other hotel employees, from maintenance men to housekeeping, staffing the convention. I caught one bellboy looking bored as he played on his cell, and walked over to him.
“How ya doing?” I asked.
He jumped and flushed with a guilty expression. “Sorry,” he said, jamming the phone into his pocket.
“You’re not into fantasy or science fiction? I thought this would be right up your alley?” I gestured to the front where several well-known authors sat on a panel. I suspected that they’d be answering questions after the movie ended.
“This stuff is too technical for me. DeadPool’s more my style.” He smirked. Then, as if thinking I’d disapprove of that answer, he stood straighter and clasped his hands behind his back. “But that’s okay. I’m just here to make sure everything runs smoothly.”
“Thank you …” I double-checked his name tag, “Peter. We definitely want this one to go better than the last one.”
He smiled. “No more dead people, right?”
My eyebrows lifted so high, it felt like they took my upper lip with them.
“Oh,” he stumbled, catching my look. “I mean—uh—” he cleared his throat and then changed the subject. “I did see something kind of wonky earlier.”
“Wonky?” Not a word I wanted to hear.
“Yeah. I told the security guy over there about it.” Peter pointed to a guard by the front door.
“What did you see?”
“You know that guy that was here the day of the Comic-Con?”
“Peter, you’re killing me here. There were hundreds of guys here that day. As well as monsters, aliens, and superheroes.”
He wrinkled his nose and shifted uncomfortably. “It was the one you were talking with.”
I nodded slowly, my impatience building. When nothing more was forthcoming, I prodded. “Yes? When exactly.”
Peter sighed and bounced on his feet. “I don’t know. It was out there.” He gestured to the foyer. “At the desk. Anyway, I saw him in here again, today.”
My eyelids fluttered closed. This was some of the most useless, possibly important, information that I could get. “Use some adjectives. Was he young? Old? Did he have horns?”
He opened his mouth to respond when I noticed a faint odor in the air. Acrid, like burning garbage or plastic. Glancing over to the sound booth, I saw smoke beginning to rise from a shiny black computer tower.
No!
No one else seemed to notice. On autopilot, I ran over to one of the emergency extinguishers on the wall and grabbed it. I yanked the pin out of the trigger as I raced back to the sound booth. The smoke had tripled by the time I made it back.
“Fire!” someone yelled out. There was a scream, followed by several more people yelling. People squeezed against me trying to see what was happening.
The sound booth was belching black smoke at this time. A large portion of the crowd bolted to the double doors, while a few were calling for the extinguishers. Someone screamed, “Call 911!”
A handful pulled out their cellphones and were recording the flames. I had to resist spraying them first as I pulled the trigger of the extinguisher.
“Hey, hey!” a man yelled, grabbing my arm.
I jerked away and ignored the protests as I directed the white cloud pouring from the extinguisher at the base of the flames, coating the computers.
Within moments, the flames were out. I dropped the extinguisher by my side, half in shock. Did that just happen?
The wall and computers testified that it did, with black scorch marks, as a heavy scent of burnt plastic and rubber hung in the air.
“What have you done? Do you know how much
that system cost?” A short, slim man in a sports coat ran his hand over his head. He glared at the ruined mess.
“It was on fire!” I stared incredulously at him. “You’re not serious?”
“That's thousands of dollars of machinery, not to mention the game that was on demo!” One hand yanked at his hair, his other skimmed over buttons on his cell phone's screen.
“Listen, I’m not letting the hotel burn down because you didn't want me to put out the fire!” I didn't even know why I argued with him.
Another young man with red hair stared at the mess on the table. He pulled at the bits and pieces of charred remnants. His brow furrowed as he lifted a ball of wires and metal pieces.
“Uh, Mitch,” he addressed the man yelling at me. “What’s this?” He held it up for the man in the sports coat to see.
“What the— Someone did this on purpose!” Mitch clasped the phone to his ear. “Hello? Police? Yeah, I'm at the Oceanside Hotel. Someone’s intentionally set fire to my sound system down here at the Fantasy Convention. No, the fire's out. Ok, thank you.”
“I don't understand …” I mumbled as Gary arrived on the scene. He stood staring at the mess with his mouth hanging open, his face registering the realization that there wasn't much he could fix. Slowly, he shut his mouth and turned to me.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got this.” He patted my arm as he delivered what I suspected were comforting, but fake, platitudes.
The redheaded man spoke up again. “Someone made that with the intention of overheating the system so it would catch on fire. There's a 9-volt battery, exposed wire, and bits of charred paper. Somebody wanted this to burn.” He set the offending ball on the table next to the deceased sound system.
I looked around the room. The guests were staring back at me as if expecting an answer.
“What is going on with this place?” Mitch glared at me.
“Hold on a moment, please.” It was time to call the boss. Again.
Chapter 15
Mr. Phillips answered on the first ring as if anticipating that something was going to be wrong. Good instincts, that man. “Hello?” His voice was tight.
“Good morning, sir.” My voice felt like it matched his. “I’m sorry to bother you.” Just rip off the Band-Aid. “There’s been another incident.”
“Incident?” If anything, the poor man’s voice was higher.
“Yes, sir. A fire.” I could hear him hyperventilating over the phone, not even able to get another word out. I continued quickly. “Don’t worry, sir. The fire is out, and the police are on their way.”
“Police?”
“I am assuming. Possibly the fire trucks as well, for a precaution.”
“Why are the police on their way?”
This one would be a little harder for him to swallow. “It appears to be arson, Mr. Phillips.”
There was no noise for a moment. I glanced at my cell phone to be sure we were still connected. Finally, he gasped, “I’ll be right there.”
He arrived in the same huddle as the police and fire chief. The fire captain inspected the ball of wires that the red-head had found and confirmed it was indeed arson. The police milled around and interviewed the guests in the convention hall.
My headache flared to epic proportions, and the light from the doors was making me squint. Mr. Phillips had just finished talking with a detective and was rapidly approaching me. I made my way around the desk and opened one of the drawers. After rummaging a bit, I came up with a paperclip. It would have to do. I began unbending the curves, even as I stood with my face held as professionally as possible for my boss.
“Ms. Swenson. It seems that I have your quick thinking to thank that there wasn’t more damage.”
I felt my eyebrows flicker. I definitely wasn’t expecting that. Before my brain could process that I wasn’t being fired, he continued.
“I can’t imagine who would do something like this. The police will be reviewing the surveillance tape. I’m taking this personally.” He frowned and rubbed his chin. “Maybe a competitor is trying to run me out of business?”
That was an angle I hadn’t thought of. “I’m terribly sorry, sir. But I know the police will get to the bottom of this.”
He nodded, still rubbing his chin wearily. I completely understood the feeling, since all I wanted to do was go to bed and pull the covers over my head.
“Thank you again,” he mumbled. “I’m going to head out. This place is going to give me a heart attack.” At the revolving door, he gave his parting shot. “Let me know if you hear anything at all.”
I nodded before my attention was caught by another officer. Mr. Phillips was lucky he could leave. I had a feeling my day was just beginning. Plastering a smile on my face, I prepared myself for another interview. The paperclip was already straightened in my hands, now being twirled from one finger to another.
The interviews didn’t take nearly as long as I thought, and within an hour, the police had cleared out, and the convention was humming along nearly as well as it had before the fire. Stan McDaniels, the other maintenance guy, had rigged up another sound system, though not nearly as high quality as the original. But the guests seemed pleased as they sat in the darkened hall and watched a movie.
I glanced at my watch and addressed Clarissa, who’d just returned from a break. “I’m getting out of here for just a little bit.”
“I don’t blame you,” she said sympathetically. “You gave us all breaks before taking one yourself even. Go have some time for yourself.”
She was always so appreciative, and I gave her a quick hug. She was rapidly becoming one of my favorites. “You’re seriously the best.”
The contrast between Sierra and Clarissa was astonishing. What a difference an attitude made.
I headed out to the parking lot with the plan of running to Cafe Blanca to grab a panini. And maybe a sweet tea. I grabbed my keys out from my purse and thought about how my day had been and amended that order. Maybe a Long Island Iced Tea.
As I walked to my car, a flash of movement caught my eye. Slowing, I studied it.
A man wearing a baseball cap was moving between the cars. Normally, that wouldn’t have meant anything to me. But the way he kept his shoulders rounded and his face down struck my interest.
Like he wanted to hide.
A car drove beside me, cutting off my view of the baseball cap man. But I got a good glimpse of the driver.
It was the tennis coach, Mark Everett. The car slowed even more, and the man with the baseball cap looked up before jogging over. He gave me a brief sight of his face before he jumped into the passenger seat.
It was Caleb James.
I watched them drive away with an odd feeling. Why was Caleb here? Was this the man whom Peter had been referring to earlier? The one he’d tried to warn me about?
The car hit its turn signal at the hotel exit, waiting for the road to clear of traffic. I felt the idea building before I even gave it words. What’s the worst that can happen? I jiggled my keys. Yeah, right. The same thing that curiosity did to the cat. I shivered, but still hurried over to my car and climbed in.
As I backed out, Mark’s car had already reached the exit and turned right. The road was clear, and I was able to pull in behind them, trying to keep a good amount of distance between us. Another car turned right, and I allowed him to move into the gap between us. As he did, I breathed easier.
I continued to follow them for about ten minutes until I had a feeling about where we were headed. Moments later, I slowed down and watched him key the code to the Palisades gate. A minute later, I keyed in the code too, still miraculously remembering it from delivering the flowers a week earlier. I crept along the street, not exactly sure what I was going to do.
I was about a block away, when I watched the car pull up to Mr. Olsen’s house. I coasted along slowly and then pulled over at the neighbors’ house next to the curb. It wasn’t a great plan, but what else could I do?
They didn’t seem t
o notice me back there. Caleb jumped out and ran for the steps. As he reached the porch, the front door flew open, and Mrs. Olsen stepped out, wearing a pink sundress and looking as fresh as ever. She reached out and grabbed his arm as he started to pass her, smiling up at him. Then she continued down the walkway to Mark’s car, leaving Caleb to enter the house.
Moments later, she was installed in the passenger seat, and the car drove down the street. I sat there, chills running up and down my arms, wondering what I should do. Should I continue to follow Mark?
Just as I was trying to decide, Caleb returned from the house. I ducked down in the seat and hoped he wouldn’t think it was odd that there was a car parked out in the street. In this neighborhood, I probably stood out like a sore thumb.
Seconds passed and felt like an eternity. Not being able to see what was happening was driving me nuts. In a flash of inspiration, I dug my cell phone out of my purse and pressed, “record” and then lifted it just high enough it cleared the dash. Honestly, I was proud of myself for thinking of it.
I watched the screen. Caleb was a moving blur with something big and black in his hands. He walked to the side of the house and dumped it in the trash can. I swallowed hard as he looked in my direction, but he didn’t seem alarmed. He walked over to a silver sports car parked in front of the garage and jumped in.
I let out the breath that I hadn’t realized I’d been holding as he backed out of the driveway. He shifted his car into gear and raced off with a squeal of the tires.
I dropped the phone into the seat. My hands were shaking. I must really think I’m Nancy Drew. Or some crazy person. What am I even doing here?
I sat up and stretched my neck. I’m someone who’s desperate for my job, that’s who. Seeing that the hotel was attacked again, well, it didn’t seem like the police were getting any closer to cracking the case. And here was the main suspect hanging around at the hotel right when there’s an arson fire.
I distractedly nibbled on my bottom lip as I continued to stare at the house. Cautiously, I looked around—so far there hadn’t been any curious neighbors examining my car—then pulled the key from of the ignition.
