Lonergan was a skilled and established website developer. She knew her way around every nook and cranny on the internet. Every author needed help designing, developing, and maintaining a website. Not to mention building their email lists and email-blasting out their periodic blogs and newsletters. Many authors had discovered Lonergan and were already using her services. She rented a modest office, mostly for when she met with her clients in person, but when her calendar permitted, she, too, worked out of her home as a matter of convenience.
Because they enjoyed each other’s company, and because it made good economic sense, Pappas, Rutledge, and Lonergan decided to join forces, pool their resources and their respective client lists and offer a “virtual” combine of one-stop shopping for writers. Because each of them would continue operating from their home offices scattered around the eastern seaboard, the rent would be cheap, more precisely zero, which would allow them to share their “economies of scale” savings with their clients in the form of below-market fees for their services.
Could self-published and indie published authors handle all these tasks offered by the group on their own for even lower costs? Absolutely. If they put their minds—and their time—to it. Could they do it as well? Not if they wanted enough time to write their novels.
The first thing they did was to pick a name for their new enterprise: The First Ever Saucy Ladies Literary Services Agency. The name was not exactly concise, but they thought it had a nice ring to it and would be easily remembered. Besides, their nickname had become Three Saucy Ladies, or just TSL. Even if not as saucy as Brandy!
Thanks to the close relationship Pappas had built with TJ program director Lisa Lewis over the course of volunteering the past two years at TJ, the Three Saucy Ladies had scored a highly visible “collateral services” panel assignment for their big coming-out party at TJ. Pappas had also managed to be assigned to the Virtuoso mentor of her choice. Learning what Lasko knew about the craft of writing would be great, but the potential of developing an agency relationship with her would be even greater.
Pappas glanced once more at the clock on her laptop. Seven minutes after eight. Still no sign of Lasko. She looked around the room. She could see she was no longer the only student wondering what the hell was going on, or partaking mindlessly of the munchies scattered around the conference table.
LEWIS HAD POSITIONED HERSELF by the tenth floor elevator bank to greet each of the mentors as they arrived for the morning Virtuoso sessions. She, too, had noticed Lasko’s tardiness. Shit! Tell me she didn’t oversleep. Really? She called Lasko’s cell phone. Nothing. It rolled over to voicemail. She texted her. No response. She called the hotel manager and asked him to check her suite post haste.
Five minutes later, the hotel manager called back. “She’s not in her room, Ms. Lewis. Her bed was slept in. Her bathroom towels were used. Her smartphone’s sitting right there on her desk. The rear porch door of her casita was unlocked. There were footprints in the sand leading from the porch down to the water.” The manager paused, sounding to Lewis like he was afraid to complete his remarks. “But there are no returning footprints. I have as many security personnel as I can spare fanning out across the hotel grounds looking for her.”
“Oh my God,” Lewis whispered, afraid that someone else might overhear the conversation.
“Don’t worry, Ms. Lewis, I’m sure she just took a walk and got lost. It wouldn’t be the first time something like this has happened. Our grounds are extensive. She’ll turn up. I’m sure we’ll find her.”
Lewis hung up and punched in the number of New York Times bestselling author Leonard Remington, another one of TITO’s founders.
“Remington.”
Lewis exhaled. Thank God I caught his sorry ass. “Len. It’s Lisa. Lasko didn’t show up for her Virtuoso class this morning. We can’t find her, and we sure as hell can’t leave her students in the lurch. It’s already fifteen minutes past when the class was due to start. I need you to come up to the tenth floor and take her class.”
“How? I haven’t seen any of her student samples.”
No time to be a damn wuss here, Len. “I’d do it myself, but I’m already spread as thin as I can possibly be. And now, on top of everything else, I have a search to oversee, for God’s sake. You know the drill. All the samples were distributed in advance to each of the students. All you have to do is be a facilitator. Facilitate! Get them critiquing one another. Jump in wherever you can. On the fly. Just fake it! You’ve been teaching college classes for years. You can do it, Len. I know you can. I’ll run in and tell them Lasko had an emergency, let them know you’re going to take over for her. That you’ll be there in ten minutes. Just do the best you can, Len. Please!” Geez, I have to be a cheerleader too? Where are my fucking pompoms?
“Okay, Lisa, I guess. What choice do we have? I’m on the way.”
Lewis all but sprinted down the hallway to Lasko’s Virtuoso room. She paused, took a couple of deep breaths, gathered herself, and walked in. “Morning, folks. Sorry for the delay. We ran into a bit of a problem. Genevieve’s had an unavoidable emergency. We’re hoping she’ll be able to return after lunch. In the meanwhile, we’ve arranged for veteran TITO founder Leonard Remington to take over. You’re in for a special treat. There’s no one like Len. No one. He’s the best. He’ll be here in five minutes. In the meanwhile, have something to eat and drink. Hang tight. Again, our apologies. Sometimes these things just happen.”
FIVE MINUTES LATER, REMINGTON, on the verge of hyperventilating, blew out a mouthful of air and entered the Virtuoso conference room, looking calm and pristine in his signature black blazer and crisp blue jeans, as fresh and stylish as always. The same went for his manicured black mustache. “Hi everyone. I’m Len Remington and I’ll be your substitute Virtuoso mentor this morning.” Well at least that got a few smiles and a little bit of laughter. Hopefully, I’ll get through this. More than Lasko will when I get my hands on her. She’s gonna owe me big time. Where in the hell can she be? What would possibly possess her to pull a stunt like this?
CHAPTER SEVEN
One Day Before, 8:30 a.m.
ELOISE’S MIND DRIFTED BACK to the night, now some two months ago, that she and the Lotellos roped Brooks into making the Thriller Jubilee trip. It hadn’t been easy. Or was it? She knew Cyrus was seldom made to do anything he didn’t want. No matter really, Eloise concluded; here the four of them were, comparing notes on how each was adjusting to the change in time and the bit of jet lag each was experiencing, enjoying each other’s company, and about to have breakfast together in one of the hotel’s outdoor beachside breakfast spots, Café Ibiza.
Having each examined the lavish menu and placed their orders, Frank turned to Cyrus. “When’s your first class, Judge?”
“Harrumph,” Brooks answered. “I’d describe it more as a superficial overview of the landscape of writing,” whatever that meant. “A dalliance at best. Nevertheless, it all starts tomorrow morning. And I must confess that some of the classes do look interesting, especially the one on courtroom procedure. Imagine that. Given my rotund, apple silhouette, out of shape frame, however, I was hoping we could get in a power walk around the grounds a little later this morning, you know, to work off this sumptuous meal we’re about to consume. I also understand there’s a boat tour this afternoon that explores the island. I think that could be informative.”
Brooks had ruled. No one objected, other than Eloise, who reprimanded Cyrus for being so critical of his round figure. Besides, why would anyone object to Brooks’s proposal for how to spend this first day of Eloise’s dream week. “Dare I say,” Eloise emphasized to the four of them, “one whole week of no trouble for you to get into, Cyrus.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
One Day Before, 12:10 p.m.
“HOW DID THE MORNING session go?” Lewis asked Remington. She watched him fuss with his mustache, something he always did when he was anxious.
“Let’s just say I got through it. It coulda been worse
. But never mind the class. What’s up with Lasko? Have you found her? Will she take over her program this afternoon?”
“Not a sign of her anywhere. Security tells me they have combed the entire island. Not just the hotel grounds. Nothing. They can’t find her anywhere. They’re assuming she went for a swim this morning. And drowned. There was no tide to speak of. She must have had a heart attack. They expect her body will wash up sooner or later. I’m counting on you to finish out Lasko’s Virtuoso class this afternoon.”
“My God,” Remington said, tugging on his mustache. “Who else knows about this?”
“You and me, the hotel manager, and the hotel’s security personnel. Security reported her missing to the local police, which consists of one inspector and one secretary. The inspector and his wife are away from the island on holiday both this week and next. There’s no backup in place because they don’t have any crime to speak of on Punta Maya. We’re on our own beyond the hotel security. The students of what is now your Virtuoso class—thank goodness for you—know Lasko was a no-show, but we’ve only told them she had a personal emergency.”
“What about our directors?”
“I haven’t had time to discuss this with them. They’re scattered all over the place. Most of us not involved in Virtuoso don’t even arrive until tomorrow. I’ll tell those who are already here tonight and the others tomorrow night at our scheduled annual business dinner meeting. After that, if not sooner, Lasko’s disappearance could well become the talk of the conference. Hopefully, we can keep everyone focused on our retreat rather than Lasko. Thanks again so much for pitching in today.”
WRONG! I KNOW ABOUT it too! They’d be surprised what I know. What people are saying. Where they’re going. As long as they’re carrying a smartphone. With the built-in spyware that all the manufacturers illicitly install on their smartphones to collect this kind of information for their own purposes, including selling it to various third parties. Big brother at its worst, or best, depending on your perspective. Anyone like me who knows how can access and use that same information. And will I ever!
Finding what room everyone is staying in is even easier. All I have to do is hack into the hotel’s unsophisticated computer system. Not only can I get their room number, I can also get their passport number and all of their home contact information.
And little do they know that Lasko won’t be washing ashore anytime soon.
Lasko had every chance to do right by me. But she blew it. Her loss. In more ways than one. But now she’ll get to make it up to me. In spades.
It’s only right. Better late than never.
WHEN LEWIS MANAGED TO extricate herself from Remington, she spotted Petra Pappas crossing the lobby, her turquoise toenails leading the way. “Hey, girl, how did Remington do this morning? Love your painted toenails by the way.”
“Oh, thanks. Remington was fantastic. Jumping in like that. Of course, I wouldn’t have expected any less from him. But what’s the skinny? How could Lasko be a no-show like that? Even if she had some kind of emergency. I was really looking forward to getting to know her.”
Lewis had known Pappas for years. She figured there was no harm in telling her what was up. “The so-called emergency was just a cover. Lasko’s completely gone AWOL. All her stuff’s still in her room, but she’s completely vanished. Hotel security can’t find her anywhere. They think she may have gone for a swim and drowned. Not a word to anyone.”
“Geez! How horrible. Maybe she’ll turn up yet. Somehow just a mistake. In the meanwhile, no worries. You can trust me. Not a word to anyone.”
CHAPTER NINE
One Day Before, 5:15 p.m.
PAPPAS, RUTLEDGE, AND LONERGAN had assembled in the lobby bar following Pappas’s Virtuoso class. Sipping on piña coladas, the local specialty, they were supposed to be planning The First Ever Saucy Ladies Literary Services Agency networking activities for the evening.
“How was your class? Were you able to build a rapport with Lasko?” Lonergan asked.
“No. But not for the reason you might think. Lasko was a no-show. She’s missing. Security thinks she went for a swim adjacent to her beachfront villa and somehow drowned. Can you believe that?”
Rutledge, never one for subtlety, did a double take. “Huh? Holy shit! You’re kidding. Right?” The words barely managed to escape from her puffed up, surgically enhanced lips.
“Wish I were,” Pappas said.
Lonergan didn’t say anything.
None of them remarked about the person sitting alone at the next table, who seemed strangely engrossed in their conversation.
CHAPTER TEN
Day One, 8:05 a.m.
BROOKS REGISTERED OUTSIDE THE program bookstore and picked up his registration bag. It was heavy, full of who knew what. He carried it back to his room because he didn’t want to lug it around with him. He found a note from Eloise saying she was out exploring the island. He checked the contents of the bag: a welcome page; an event schedule for the week, hour by hour; several alternative seminars every hour on the hour; a shiny Thriller Jubilee program, with a full-page ad on the back cover promoting a new thriller novel soon to be released; giveaway copies of novels by various authors, none by branded authors whose names he recognized; advertising brochures for various service providers; more book page markers than he would ever need; and an ID badge to be worn around his neck, at all times according to the welcoming page.
He donned the ID badge, placed the schedule in his leather portfolio next to his mini-tablet and smartphone, and headed off to the 8:30 a.m. welcome session. He was curious to know if the ID badge was really necessary, but he didn’t want to make any waves, possibly embarrass himself.
He timidly entered the large ballroom. He observed at least twenty rows in the room, with tables of ice water and drinking glasses in the rear. He chose a seat three rows back from the raised dais at the front of the room. The consummate enthusiast, he didn’t want to miss a thing. But he also didn’t want to be too conspicuous by taking a seat in the first row.
In his penchant for detail, Brooks did the math. Twenty-three rows deep. Twenty seats across each row, with a long aisle down the center, cutting each row in half. Seating for 460 attendees, authors and non-authors alike. Plus additional standing room in the rear and along the sides. Fifteen minutes before the opening session was scheduled to start, fifty percent of the seats were already occupied, laptops, electronic tablets, smartphones, pens, and paper notebooks at the ready. The crowd seemed eager. Some were quiet and reflective, like Brooks. Others were already talking with those on either side of them, some renewing old friendships and others introducing themselves for the first time.
At 8:25, Brooks had just finished answering his emails when he saw two cheerful individuals bounce up onto the dais in the front of the ballroom. He liked that the apparent speakers were punctual. According to the schedule he was now again examining, they were L.C. Lewis, program director, and Sean Lyons, who as far as he could tell was not adorned with a title. Each took in hand one of the portable microphones lying on the dais and engaged in private banter between themselves, initially ignoring the sea of bodies in front of them.
At 8:30 sharp, Lewis began speaking. “Good morning, everyone. My name’s Lisa Lewis. I’m the program director of Thriller Jubilee. With me is Sean Lyons. Sean is our resident cheerleader. You’ll see why soon enough. Sean is going to spend the next fifteen or twenty minutes outlining what you should each expect to gain out of your participation here this week at TJ. We’ll adjourn a few minutes before nine so everyone can freshen up and find their way to their nine o’clock session of choice. I’ll be wandering the halls all week long. Don’t hesitate to come up to me and introduce yourselves, ask any questions you have, share any comments, or just say hello.” With that, Lewis stepped down from the platform, disappeared through one of the side doors of the ballroom, and was gone in a flash.
Brooks watched Lewis vanish. So much, I guess, if I wanted to “just say hello”
to her now.
Without skipping a beat, Lyons commandeered the room. Microphone in hand, he hopped off the stage and never stopped pacing for the next fifteen minutes. He moved sideways in either direction between the first row and the stage. When he tired of that, he traversed the center aisle, back and forth. Brooks thought Lyons would not need to spend any time in the hotel fitness center. Nor, Brooks observed, did Lyons have any need for the microphone in his hand.
It was abundantly clear why Lewis had referred to Lyons as the retreat’s cheerleader. That was an understatement. Lyons loved the TJ event and its host, TITO, The International Thrillers Organization. He also loved his role at TJ, which according to the schedule would recur one way or another every day. Lyons was mesmerizing. He told everyone what to expect for the rest of the week, writers and book lovers alike. “If you’re a writer, don’t hesitate to reach out to all of the experts we’ve assembled. They’re here to help you become the next New York Times number-one bestseller. And you can do it. Don’t ever forget that. Okay, a five-minute break and off to the nine o’clock working session you’ve targeted.”
Brooks had made only one entry in his mini-tablet file: “Sean Lyons, TITO optimist. Possibly a great resource if and when I ever seriously begin writing. Wonder how I can contact him after we all return home? No contact information in the TJ Program. Just short bios. Maybe he has a website.” He headed off to his nine o’clock seminar. He would have to hurry to be there on time and find a seat. Hopefully, in the third or fourth row.
SAME OL’ DOG-AND-PONY WELCOME show Lewis and Lyons put on together every year. I could present it just as well. If someone ever asked me to.
Brooks-Lotello Collection Page 75
