As LaLane opened the small case containing the records of her reading, Jane realized how truly obsessive the woman was.
"I think I read this when I'd broken my right wrist and couldn't write very well." She picked up the relevant notebook and started flipping pages. "Yes, here we are. I can hardly read my own handwriting. It was titled something like Martin's or Marvin's Quest. By James Cuttler, I think. I gave it an F minus."
"Do you know who James Cuttler is?"
"I could make a guess, I suppose. It must have been one of about six or seven who kept changing names. There were a lot of hack writers back then turning books out under a great many pseudonyms."
"Could it have been Zac Zebra?" Jane asked.
"Without the copyright page, I wouldn't know. But I know he once wrote under a number of names. Only three books, as I recall. Each of them more dreadful than the last and with a different publisher. Now it's time for you to explain why you're asking."
"Fair enough. I guess you know Zac was attacked yesterday."
"I heard that, but it must not have been all that violent. I understand he's already back here somewhere."
"When he was found in the parking lot, this page was in his hand."
"How strange," LaLane Jones said. "I wonder why that was."
"I have a theory. It's from a very old book and the glue must have been fragile. Maybe he was going through the book after the page fell out to put it back where it belonged."
"Possibly. I can't imagine anyone but the author himself being interested in reading this. What an interesting mystery this has turned out to be. Why don't you ask Zac yourself? And be sure to let me know what he says."
"That's the very next thing I'd planned to do. I'll report back to you, I promise."
Jane went back up to the suite. Shelley was reading the copy of the page. "I have an idea," she said. She'd underlined one sentence.
"What is it?"
Shelley still wouldn't say. "I may be wrong, and if so, I won't ever tell you what it was. Let's have a good dinner and not talk about this anymore tonight."
They took their programs down to the restaurant to study them and plan the next day. "I don't see much of anything that hasn't already been covered," Jane said. "Someone might have another view of some topic that we've already heard though. Frankly, I think this conference is at least one day too long. I'd like to go home."
"No, you won't. We've paid for the whole thing and we're going to stick it out," Shelley insisted. "We want to squeeze out our money's worth."
After dinner they went back to the suite and both sat around reading some of the books that they hadn't already taken to their cars. Jane went to bed early and had the weirdest dream. It was so vivid that she woke up in the middle of night sweating.
It was a version of a jungle movie she'd once watched partway through. It was a violent and awful movie, but there was a special effect that really impressed her. The bad guy, who was some sort of monster, wasn't pictured in the normal
way. He was made of panes of clear glass. When he stood still, you couldn't even see him. But when he moved around, the glass panes showed his shape and movement as the panes moved. In her dream, it wasn't a jungle. It was set in this hotel. She watched helplessly as the glass monster followed Corwin into Sophie's suite. And came out a few minutes later holding a book in its see-through hand.
Then the scene shifted to the parking lot, where the monster stood absolutely still and invisible against the far wall, until Zac pulled in and parked. The monster waited until no one else was present, then waveringly moved to the van, jerked open the door, and threw Zac to the ground. It then crawled into the van. That's when Jane woke up. Her heart was thumping, her face felt hot and sweaty. She staggered to the bathroom and washed her face in cold water. It took her a full hour to go back to sleep. She wished she'd never seen that movie.
Eighteen
jane dutifully went to the first session Sunday morning, hoping to learn another aspect of viewpoint. The panelists were different writers this time. Both men. And they said almost exactly what the earlier speakers had said before. Shelley hadn't wanted to come along, so afterward Jane went by herself to a bagel place at the food court in the shopping area, bought a bagel and a glass of green iced tea, and sat there reading a book until ten. Then she went to the house phone. "Could you put me in touch with guest Zac Zebra?"
After a long pause the clerk said, "We don't have anyone registered under that name."
"Oh, I failed to call him by his real name. Harold Spotswood."
"I'll connect you."
In that instant Jane realized she should have rehearsed what to say. She'd have to wing it tactfully. Naturally, he didn't know who in the world she was and probably didn't care. When a man answered, she asked if he was Zac Zebra.
"Yes. Who is this?" He sounded surly. No wonder. He probably still had a headache.
Jane used her nicest voice. "I'm Jane Jeffry I'm attending this conference and a friend of mine was the first police officer on the scene of your accident."
"Yeah? I'm supposed to thank him?"
"No." Stay sweet, she reminded herself. "He told me that you had a page of a book in your hand. I'm concerned that you and Ms. Sophie Smith might still be in danger. Would you have a moment to speak to me privately and see if you can tell me who wrote the page you were holding?"
"I have no idea what the hell you're talking about."
"I think you might when you see it. It might be important to you."
"I don't recognize your name. You aren't a mystery writer, are you? I don't remember reviewing books by a Jane Jeffry."
"I hope you will, when and if I become published," she said to placate him. He could vent his spleen on her much later perhaps. "Please just give me five minutes of your valuable time. I know you probably don't feel well. Could we meet by the elevator lobby on your floor?" Jane felt strongly that she didn't want to go into this man's room on her own. Neither did she wish to drag him clear down to the ground floor.
"Oh, okay, okay," he groaned. "It's the top floor."
"I'll be up in a moment."
Zac wasn't himself. He looked more like she imagined Harold Spotswood would. He wasn't in one of his black-and-white outfits. He wore faded, baggy jeans and an old faded yellow sweatshirt, and was leaning against the far wall, with his hand over his eyes. When he glanced up, his face was so pale she was afraid he was about to faint.
"Please sit down before you fall down," she said, taking his arm to help lower him onto a little bench.
"No. There's a bar at the far end of this hall," he said. "Help me down there. I'm badly in need of a drink."
Jane didn't think this was a good idea, but who was she to argue with her quarry? Oddly enough, it was the same floor she and Shelley were on, and she hadn't known what was at the other end of the floor. She gingerly put one arm around his waist to hold him up. He leaned heavily against her as she led him carefully toward the bar.
The bar was private to the suites. They had to show their room keys. There were only two other customers and they were together at the bar. She hoisted Zac into a very comfortable chair near a
good light and said, "Just relax. What do you want to drink?"
"Scotch on the rocks." -
She bought his drink, tipped the bartender well, grabbed a bowl of pretzels, then set the drink and pretzels down in front of Zac. She waited patiently until he'd knocked back the first few gulps, then she pulled a copy of the two pages out of her purse.
"Do you recognize these pages?"
"I can hardly see them," he said. "What's this all about, lady?"
Jane stood up and tilted the light to better illuminate the pages. He leaned over and read for a minute or two. "I wrote this. Where the hell did you find it?"
"You had it in your hand when a passerby found you in the parking lot."
He suddenly looked more alert.
"How did you come by it?"
"I'll tell you all abou
t it when you're feeling better. Eat some of these pretzels with your drink."
He slowly read through the pages, then passed the pages back and did as she said. Again, he put his hand over his eyes. But not from pain, she thought. He was remembering something. At least she hoped he was.
"It's coming back," he said. Then he didn't speak for another few minutes. "I gave a copy to Sophie, and Corwin told me she lost it." Hepaused to munch a couple of pretzels, then said, "It was a book I wrote long ago and I was bringing her another. It was the last one I'd kept. What became of the rest of the book? Do you have any idea what it means to a writer to not have a single copy of the book he worked so hard on? To have it simply not exist anymore?"
"I understand it a little. I once completely lost chapter three of the book I'm working on. I hadn't printed it out and somehow I erased it. I spent a whole day trying to find it. They say nothing is ever completely gone from a computer, but I never found it."
"What did you do?"
"I rewrote it. And it was much better than before. As for your book, it's probably still in your van. The police have the original page. If you want me to call them and tell them to save it, I will."
"Please do. Take my car keys and see if the rest of the book is still in the van, would you?"
"Of course. But only if you eat the whole bowl of pretzels while I'm gone. Where is your van parked?"
"On the north side of the hotel. It's dark blue."
She rose quickly, meaning to take Shelley along. But she was afraid getting Shelley would take too much time. She didn't want Zac to disappear or become thoroughly drunk.
The moment she was out of the elevator, she called Mel and said, "Would you please save that page you faxed me?"
"Janey! What is this obsession?"
"I don't have time to explain. Please just take my word that it's important."
There was a long silence before he said, "You're meddling in something that's none of your business and probably dangerous, aren't you?"
"Not in the least. I must go. I'll get back to you later to explain."
She'd been making this promise to too many people in the last few minutes.
The parking lot was deserted and she harked back to Mel's accusation. She hurried to the van, unlocked it, hopped in, and relocked the doors while she hunted. She was still haunted by the dream she'd had last night. She could imagine the glass monster suddenly appearing in the window.
Finally she found the book half under the passenger seat. At least she assumed it was the right book. It had fallen to pieces. She stacked them up the best she could and dumped some newer books out of a plastic bag and put the old book in it.
Looking carefully to see who might be around, and finding the small lot behind the hotel still deserted, and no monster in view, she climbed out of the van, locked it back up, bolted for the front of the hotel, and took the elevator back to the top floor.
Zac was still where she'd left him. His normal color had returned. The bowl of pretzels was empty. He looked more alert and hadn't even finished the drink.
Jane put the plastic bag down on the table, and he all but fell on it. "Where did you find it?" "Under the front passenger seat."
"Why would I have put it there?" Zac asked himself. "I don't suppose I'll ever remember the reason."
"You don't have to," Jane assured him. "Better that than reliving the whole incident."
"How can I ever thank you enough?"
"Give me a good review without the words 'powder puff' in it, if I ever get published," Jane said with a smile. "Now tell me why putting this book in Sophie's hands was so important."
He did so.
After listening to his explanation, Jane said, "That was first on my list of suspicions. I think you, I, and my friend Shelley should make a point of finding Sophie Smith as quickly as we can. Are you feeling well enough to do that yet?"
Nineteen
"Stay right where you are, Zac," Jane said. "use my cell phone to call Sophie Smith while I find my friend Shelley."
When she completed the long gallop to the far end of the hall at practically the speed of light, she burst into the room and told Shelley what Zac had told her.
"I know all about it. I've been on the computer. I found Vernetta's e-pubbed book and did a search for an unusual phrase on your copy of the pages. I didn't know the work was Zac's though. She's plagiarized his book and probably plagiarized someone else's as well. I read part of the woman character's scenes and they're an entirely different style. Is Zac with you?"
"No. He's at the other end of the hall."
"Then I can be honest. The other person's work is good. Lots better than Zac's writing. Just as boring a concept, however. How did you figure out it was Zac's work?" Shelley asked.
"I don't have time to explain. I'll tell you all
about it later," Jane replied. "This is the third time I've said that to someone. Zac has my cell phone and is trying to reach Sophie Smith. He's in the bar at the far end of this hallway."
"There's a bar on this floor? I wish I'd known," Shelley said distractedly. She gathered up the pages she'd printed out on the little printer connected to her laptop.
They hurried down the hall. Jane introduced Shelley to Zac and asked him if he'd been able to reach Sophie.
"She's waiting for me. She doesn't know the two of you are coming along too."
"Are you feeling well enough to make it to her room? What's the number?" Shelley asked.
"It's on this floor," Zac said. "And I'm mad enough to run down there."
Corwin, Sophie's toadie, opened the door. "Hello, Zac. And who are you two?" he asked.
"Friends of Zac," Jane said, herding Zac and Shelley into the suite.
"Sophie, your visitors are here," Corwin called to her room.
Sophie emerged, dressed up to the hilt in a cobalt blue dress and matching heels. "What is this all about, Zac? And who are these two women you have with you?"
Zac looked at Jane, going somewhat pale again.
"Ms. Smith, I'm Jane Jeffry. This is my friend
Shelley Nowack. We're attending this conference.
My friend Mel VanDyne was the police officer
who was first on the scene of Zac's attack, and he told me Zac had been found with a page of a book in his hand. I asked for a copy of the page and showed it to Zac. It's from the book he gave you at the front desk when you arrived. A book he wrote under a pseudonym."
"Sit down," Sophie said, pointing to the dining room table. When they were all seated, she looked at Zac fiercely and asked, "Were you the one who stole it back?"
"No. Why would I? Someone else did and we think we know who it was. This is my very last copy and I want it returned before you leave," Zac said, pulling the cover and pages from the bag.
Jane looked at Shelley as Shelley handed over the printout.
"This is the same page, Ms. Smith. I found it on the Internet in Vemetta Strausmann's e-pubbed book. Read both copies."
"What in hell is this about? Why are you three taking up my valuable time?" Sophie nearly shouted.
"Read both my page and the printouts and you'll know," Zac said.
Sophie put the pages side by side, running a finger down each line in turn. She stared at the pages for a long time before looking up. "Who put this on the Internet?"
"Your Golden Pig," Zac said. "Vernetta Straus-mann."
Sophie Smith's face was contorted with rage.
"That arrogant woman. That utterly arrogant woman! She plagiarized. Probably the whole thing. Thank God we haven't paid her much yet. After all the publicity, how are we going to bury this, Corwin?"
"Don't tell anyone about this yet. None of you," Corwin said. "Somehow we'll find a way out of it."
"You joke? Why should I keep quiet?" Zac asked. "You can try whatever you want to keep your dirty little secret. I'm not obligated to. And neither are these two good women. I'll bet it's no time at all before they figure out whose book she stole for the woman
character's point of view."
Shelley and Jane exchanged a meaningful glance and tried not to smile.
"Corwin, call that horrible fat pig of a woman and tell her to bring herself up here right now," Sophie said.
He did as he was told. "Ms. Smith wants to talk to you immediately. Come back up to the suite now. You remember where it is, don't you?"
When he'd hung up, Sophie said, "All of you stay exactly where you are and keep your traps shut until I've spoken to her."
Vernetta and Gaylord took their time to change their clothes. They were back in the country-western outfits they'd been wearing when they'd arrived at the conference.
Vernetta came into the room with a deafeningyodel and said, "Nice to see ya again, Sophie. What's up?"
She sat down at the end of the table and spotted Jane and Shelley and glared. "What are those two doing here?" she shouted angrily. "I know who they are. The women that slut Felicity says are her friends. And what's Zac doing here?"
Sophie sat and stared at her. "You can't figure it out, can you? Ha! Do you expect we're all too stupid to know what you've done?"
"What I've done? What do you mean?" Vernetta asked, her eyes going little, mean, and piggy.
"You plagiarized Zac's book and someone else's," Sophie barked. "You've been found out." "Plagrized?" What does that mean?"
"It means stealing someone else's work — their intellectual property, a phrase you obviously don't understand," Sophie said at top volume.
"It's copyright infringement," she went on. "It's illegal. You'll be sued in court and return the money we've given you and not receive any of the rest," Sophie said in a now frigid voice.
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