Bell, Book, and Scandal jj-14

by Jill Churchill

  would like the proposal and pass it on to her boss, who had a very good reputation, according to Felicity. It might work out if the boss liked it and wanted to handle Jane herself.

  She didn't really hold out a serious hope of this happening. This baby agent would probably go on maternity leave within the next month, and the proposal would linger at the bottom of a closet or under six other manuscripts on a shelf until it yellowed at the edges.

  She went to find where the last seminars of the day were being held, and as she was looking down at the map as she walked through the lobby, she literally stumbled into Mel VanDyne.

  "Mel, why didn't you tell me you were a speaker?"

  He grinned. "Hi, Janey. I wanted to surprise you. I'm doing a presentation on forensics, plus I've been commandeered to take over for Detective Jess Jones. He was supposed to do one of these talks tomorrow, but he's having his appendix out today."

  "It's so nice to have you here," Jane said, putting her arm around his waist and giving him a kiss on the cheek. "The last seminar of the day is going on, and a friend I've made is speaking on the panel, unwillingly. Would you like to come along with me?"

  "Why not? Are you having a good time?" he asked her as they strolled along. "You look good in that outfit. It's new, isn't it?"

  "Thanks. It is new. I'm having a wonderful time. I had two appointments with agents and one with an editor. The first agent brushed me off. The second agent was a pregnant teenaged marshmallow. The editor seemed genuinely interested in the book," she said, suppressing the urge to giggle madly. "I've met a lot of interesting people. I'm glad you're here. I'll tell you all about it when it's over. How about dinner Monday night? Prepare yourself to say nothing but 'Oh dear' and 'That's great.' "

  "I should be free," Mel said with a grin. "Let's go out somewhere nice where there's a comfortable booth so I can nap for a while."

  They joined Shelley in the back of the seminar room, and within seconds Mel's cell phone buzzed quietly. He walked out of the room and didn't return.

  "This is a bit of a bore," Shelley said in a near whisper. "Felicity was the best speaker. The rest are unbelievably pompous. How did your interview go?"

  A woman sitting two rows ahead of them turned and glared at them. "I'm trying to hear the speakers," she snapped.

  They glared back and moved across the aisle where no one was close enough to hear them.

  "I don't suppose Miss Mystery is on the panel?" Jane said. "She'd blow her cover."

  "Everybody's trying to figure out which attendee she is. So far as I know, nobody has a firm

  idea," Shelley said. "Apparently she's good at fading into the background and keeping her ear to the ground. I admit I've noticed a middle-aged woman who hangs out in the lobby pretending to read a book. Always sitting close to authors who are having private talks. She's my best guess. I'll show her to you the next time I spot her."

  An idiotic question was being addressed to Felicity, so Jane and Shelley stopped chatting to listen politely to how she responded. Felicity spoke gracefully, then sat back to endure the rest of the hour.

  So did Jane and Shelley.

  When it was over at last, they drifted out the door and discussed what they'd do that evening. Dinner, according to the schedule, was "on your own." They presumed this was because the editors and agents would be taking their clients out to nice dinners. There were no specific plans for the rest of the attendees, except that two conference rooms had been made available for people to sit and chat about whatever they liked. This seemed deadly to both Jane and Shelley.

  "Want to cab down to that seafood restaurant we went to near the Merchandise Mart, the one you liked so much?" Shelley asked.

  "It's Friday night. Wouldn't it be too late to make a reservation?" Jane asked.

  "We could try. Do you want to take Mel along? My treat."

  "If I can find him. I wonder what that call was about."

  "Ring him up on his cell phone and see."

  Jane did so. He didn't answer, so she left a message. He rang back a few minutes later when they'd gone up to the suite.

  "Somebody found a man bashed in the head in the parking lot behind the hotel," he said. "I think he's part of this conference. A weird-looking guy with striped hair."

  "Zac Zebra!" Jane exclaimed.

  "That's not what it says on his driver's license and car registration."

  "Zac Zebra is a pseudonym. Is he in bad shape?"

  "Out like a light. The medics say his pulse is good, his breathing is normal, and his pupils are fine, but he's out cold. They're loading him into the ambulance now."

  "I don't suppose you're free to go to a nice dinner with us?"

  "I probably will be. This isn't my case. I was just the closest detective to the site when the emergency call came in. They've assigned it to someone else."

  "We'll try to make a reservation for three for seven o'clock. We're close enough to the restaurant so we don't have to leave until quarter of seven. Let us know. Let's take a cab, though. I don't want to drive in the dark yet in my new car, and your MG is too small for three of us."

  "What's this about Zac?" Shelley said when Jane had hung up.

  "He was knocked out in the parking lot behind the hotel," Jane said. "It's not Mel's case, so he can probably come with us. He said the medical people don't think Zac's in big trouble."

  "Let's book the reservation, if we can, and go back down to the lobby to see if anyone knows more about this. Better yet, we can ask the concierge to make the reservation for us. They always have more clout."

  Twelve

  Mel was able to join them for dinner. "Nice place," he said when the waiter had shown him to their table.

  "The last time I was here, I was lame, tired, and frustrated," Jane said. "The dinner really perked me up. What have you learned about Zac? And what is his real name?"

  "Harold Spotswood. He was still unconscious last time I checked. But the doctors don't seem terribly alarmed. They've put him through all their machines. There's a hairline fracture, they said, but no pooling of blood or clotting in his brain. He appears to have just needed a good long nap, as I understand it."

  Shelley studied her menu, not liking this sort of talk when she was about to eat. "Anything else you know about him?" she asked, hoping to escape from more medical talk.

  "Just one weird thing. He was clutching a page from what appeared to be a very old paperback book," Mel said. "An old page with slightly yel-

  low edges. What was his connection with this conference?"

  "He's a book reviewer," Jane said. "Not at all a well-respected one. And a macho pig who only likes extremely hard-boiled books written by men."

  "If he sticks with that, who's to care?" Mel asked.

  "It's just that he also claims to read dozens of books a day," Jane said. "Our friend Felicity was telling us about him. He obviously doesn't read past the first few pages and makes enormous mistakes. He also takes potshots at women mystery writers. Felicity said he calls any mystery written by a woman a 'powder puff' book."

  "I noticed when I went through the lobby that most of the people wearing those badges you had on were women," Mel said. "So why was he even invited to the conference?"

  "Felicity says he goes to lots of mystery conferences blowing his own horn. It may be that some authors like him, even if he gets his facts wrong," Shelley explained. "After all, most people in the arts think any publicity is good publicity. Felicity also suggested that the planners thought a little conflict might be a good thing. I think I'll have the crab Louis salad."

  She looked up and said, "Jane, you haven't even looked at your menu."

  "I was thinking about that page from a book. Was he found in his car, Mel?"

  "It looked as if he'd parked his van, turned off the ignition, and released his seat belt, and someone jerked open the door, bopped him on the back of the head, and threw him to the ground. The driver's-side door was standing open. We might be wrong about this though. It's
just an initial impression. Why do you ask?"

  "So it's possible he was reading some page of the book before coming back into the hotel? He might have clutched the page and accidentally ripped it out, right?"

  "Possibly. Why does this interest you?"

  "Yesterday he slipped up next to this very important editor and gave her a paperback book and whispered something to her. The editor looked startled. But she just handed it off to her assistant and dismissed Zac with a curt nod."

  Shelley said, "Jane, I think he was probably just trying to put one of his old books into her hands to see if she'd republish it. Felicity told us he used to be a novel writer," she explained to Mel.

  "What did he write?" Mel asked.

  Both women shrugged. Jane said, "We don't know. We don't even know what name he used or what kind of novels they were. Felicity might know."

  "Hmm," Mel said. Putting down the menu, he added, "I think I'll have the same thing Shelley's having. All I had at lunch was a greasy grilled cheese sandwich and a can of warm Dr Pepper. Crab Louis would erase the memory."

  "Don't you want to talk to Felicity about Zac?" Jane asked.

  "I may. But it's not my case. Give me her name when we return to the hotel and I'll pass it along to the guy in charge of it."

  Shelley asked, "Was Zac robbed?"

  "Apparently not," Mel said. "That's how we knew his name. He still had his wallet with lots of cash in it. Nobody even snatched the gold chains off his neck."

  "Was the rest of the book in the van?" Jane said.

  "I didn't look. Someone else might know."

  The waiter was hovering impatiently. Mel and Shelley ordered their salads and Jane ordered grilled red snapper. Over dinner Jane gave Mel a short overview of people she'd met, the interviews, and which classes were interesting.

  "Tomorrow the direction shifts," Shelley said. "Today was all writers, editors, and agents giving opinions. Tomorrow it's special presentations. Some touchy-feely stuff about getting in touch with your muse," she said with a disgusted shudder. "Also something called 'The Scene of the Crime'—that's probably what you're taking over, right?"

  "Yup. I'm doing that and then later the forensic talk," Mel said. "What else goes on tomorrow?"

  "Some off-the-premises trips," Jane said. "Volunteers are taking some people to the Field Museum, of course. Others are taking attendees to a botanical garden that has an expert on poisonousplants. There's also a class somewhere else about guns. What kinds, how to shoot with them."

  Mel smiled at the image of all those women, most of them middle-aged, being carted off to learn how to kill people in their books.

  "Why are you smirking?" Jane asked.

  "No reason. I was just thinking of a joke someone made at the office this morning," he lied. "Not appropriate for delicate ears."

  When they returned to the hotel, Jane had a message from Melody Johnson, the editor who had been encouraging.

  "I've looked over your sample chapters and outline and would like to meet with you tomorrow. How does nine-thirty in the morning sound? Give me a call at room 602 to confirm."

  Jane looked at her watch. It was nine thirty-seven. Probably that wasn't too late to call. Melody was presumably still out to dinner with her authors. Jane left a message confirming the time and asked where they should meet.

  Mel had come up to see the suite and Shelley was showing him around while Jane was listening to and returning the phone message.

  She found the two of them in Shelley's bathroom, Mel with his shoes off, testing the heated floor.

  "Neat news," Jane said. "The editor wants to meet with me in the morning. I must make some notes about what I'd like to change about the plot

  to make it more of a mystery and about how I'd like to tone down some of the description of the house. What time are you speaking, Mel?"

  "One o'clock," he said, putting his shoes back on.

  "We'll be there to hear you," Jane said.

  "There's no need," Mel said. "I don't want to interfere with your plans."

  "But we want to hear you," Shelley said. "We'll be there."

  "Janey," Mel said. "Get on with your preparations for the appointment. I'm going down to the bar and stay out of your way."

  "I'll come with you, if you don't mind," Shelley said. "Jane needs to be left alone for a while."

  Jane sat on her bed with the notebook that was one of the freebies included in the conference book bags. She wrote down everything that had been simmering in the back of her mind since the interview with Melody Johnson and the subsequent panels of speakers. It didn't take her long, so she called Mel's cell phone. "Would you like to come up here?" she asked.

  He said, "Might as well. Shelley's found someone else to talk to."

  She greeted him at the door. He threw his jacket on a chair and followed her to her room. She'd already gathered up her papers and disappeared into the bathroom. When she came out, naked, she said, "The floor is heating up. I've set all the shower jets at a nice warm level. Let's play in there."

  Shelley came back at eleven, saw Mel's jacket on the chair, and quietly went to her own room without disturbing Jane.

  Mel left at one in the morning, in spite of Jane's objections. "I'm supposed to be in my room. And you need to be up early for your meeting."

  Shelley and Jane were both wide-awake at seven. Melody Johnson called Jane back shortly after eight, saying she hoped she wasn't calling too early and suggesting that they meet in her hotel room, where they could speak privately. Jane agreed and quickly hopped into the shower. When she came back out, room service had brought up the simple breakfast Shelley had ordered for the two of them.

  "Are you ready for your interview?" Shelley asked.

  "Yes. I've made quite a lot of notes. I won't bother her with all of them unless she asks to hear them. I've put the most important changes up front in my notes."

  "I'm so excited for you," Shelley said, spreading raspberry jam onto a hot Wolferman's muffin.

  "Don't become too excited. It's not a slam dunk," Jane said.

  "I know that. But I have a good feeling about it. Shall we go to the first presentation this morning? It's at eight-thirty"

  "I might as well sit in for a few minutes, since we've paid for it," Jane said.

  Thirteen

  Jane had awakened that morning excited about the

  meeting with the editor. She was well prepared. She knew now that she'd finished the book as a mystery. She hadn't started it, though, with anything mysterious. It was a matter of making clear there was something that was troubling Priscilla from the first chapter, and at intervals along the way. She'd even marked on her outline where these intervals were.

  But in the back of her mind, rattling around, was the vague thought that she should have asked Mel something else about Zac. She closed her eyes, remembering what he'd said at dinner, but it was no help. It was a query that had flitted across her mind and vaporized instantly while he was describing the scene of the crime.

  From experience she knew, or at least hoped, it would come to her when she least expected it. Halfway through a ham sandwich. Or when she was brushing her teeth or peeling potatoes. She'd

  often had lost memories pop up at that kind of boring time.

  Once, when someone had asked her who was the artist who did the sculptures and pictures of horses, Jane had had the name on the tip of her tongue for days. When she was loading the dishwasher, thinking about what she'd have for lunch, she had found herself shouting "Frederic Remington" out of the blue.

  That time she'd nearly dropped the glass she was putting on the top shelf. And she'd scared Max and Meow half to death as they were weaving around her feet in hopes of her dropping food.

  She wouldn't try to force whatever was puzzling her about Zac right now.

  "Are you ready?" Shelley called out from the enormous parlor.

  "I am. What are the choices at the eighty-thirty session?"

  "I don't remember," Shelley said as
she was making sure the door to the suite had caught and locked. "Do you have that booklet they gave us with the schedule?"

  Jane looked in her book bag. "Nope. I must have left it on the bedside table."

  "Then we'll do our sit-where-we-can-escape deal."

  The eight-thirty session turned out to be a combination of two things — neither one to their taste.

  The first was the speech that the allegedly boring speaker was supposed to give the day before except that Sophie Smith had usurped all his time. The other was another hit at grammar.

  Jane and Shelley slipped out.

  They went to the restaurant in the hotel and had coffee and luscious croissants with real butter and raspberry jam. "I'm glad I brought along my water pick," Jane said. "I don't want to go to this interview with seeds stuck in my teeth."

  Shelley glanced at her watch. "Only forty-five minutes from now. You're ready, of course."

  Jane just rolled her eyes and took another croissant and slathered it generously with butter and raspberry jam.

  When she went to Melody Johnson's room, she discovered that it was a small suite. Melody had Jane's outline spread out on the dining table. Jane pulled her copy of the outline out of her book bag and they sat down, Melody sitting at the side of the table and Jane at the head. It turned out, fortunately, that much of what they had each marked on the outline tallied almost exactly. They were both pleased.

  "Phew," Melody said. "I was afraid you were unaware that the mystery didn't really start until three-quarters through the book. We've both moved pretty much the same bits of the plot further forward in the manuscript. I gave you my

  card earlier, didn't I? Please send this to me as soon as you finish the revisions."

  "I'm glad you didn't see the whole thing. I forgot bathrooms in the description of the house and then researched it to death and put in far too many details about bathrooms at the time the book is set," Jane said. "That's one of the most valuable bits of advice I've learned here. To do a lot of research and then use only the unusual parts that most people wouldn't know about. All I'm keeping is the part about the cisterns on the roofs that were used to collect the water for flushing."