Brooks-Lotello Collection

by Ronald S. Barak

  BROOKS WAS A FEW minutes early to the eleven o’clock panel presentation “Consulting Services Cocktail For The Self-Published and Indie Published Author.” He studied the title for the presentation. Self-Published was hyphenated. Indie Published was not. Was the distinction simply a typographical error or was there a different explanation. He could think of distinctions, but he wasn’t sure. Why do I worry about such things or even notice them? Well, if I can’t make it as a writer, maybe I can get a job as a proofreader. But then, of course, I’d have to figure out the answer. I think I’ll stick to trying my hand at writing novels.

  He was sitting in the twelfth row. Still close enough to hear three panelists—Petra Pappas, Allison Rutledge, and Eileen Lonergan—principals in The First Ever Saucy Ladies Literary Services Agency, but far enough back in the medium-sized conference room to keep an eye out for anything—or anyone—out of character. Surprised this topic didn’t command a larger venue. These are subjects the uninitiated like me need to assimilate. Hmm, if memory serves, these are the same three women Lotello overheard a couple of nights ago whispering not that quietly about the disappearance of Lasko.

  Suddenly, Brooks had an eerie feeling that someone was hovering immediately behind him. He felt a hand on his left shoulder. Here, out in the open!? He quickly spun around. It was George Enright, one of his three new Philadelphia acquaintances with whom he had lunched after one of the earlier sessions. “Good morning, Mr. Enright. Nice to see you again. Are you attending this presentation?”

  “Didn’t mean to startle you, Judge. Good morning to you too. Yes. I’m anxious to improve my indie publishing know-how skills. I’m a client of Eileen Lonergan. She developed an outstanding website for me. I wanted to support her presentation today.”

  “How nice. I’m sitting in on this one because I’ve been thinking about someone building a website for me. But after your impending participation in Pitch Gala this afternoon in search of a literary agent, I expect you’ll be moving up to the big leagues, on your way to a big-five publishing house that will handle all of these details for you.”

  “First of all, the big-five houses only handle all of these details for the few branded top dog authors. The rest have to fend for themselves just as much as the indie and self-published authors. Second, the odds of my scoring at Pitch Gala this afternoon are worse than slim. I’m gonna try, but I don’t really envision any literary agents for me in the near term. And thus I’m not apt to land a big-five publisher anytime soon either given that they generally won’t consider an author not represented by a literary agent. And a top-drawer agent they trust at that. Maybe folks in high places with significant contacts get special attention, but that’s not me. I’m so frustrated I could spit. If not kill. Aargh.”

  Brooks wondered why Enright had sat down behind him when he’d obviously spotted him. And also given the empty seat right next to him. Odd. Did he mean to startle me like that? Did he think that was funny? And “spit”? That’s one thing. But “kill”?

  Someone on Lewis’s staff introduced the panel. No doubt Ms. Lewis is preoccupied at the moment putting those rejection lists together for us. Brooks listened eagerly to the panel’s presentation. He was fascinated with the consulting services each of the speakers offered to authors, especially Lonergan, the website developer. Whether or not I become an author, perhaps I could use some help putting together a website. More importantly, I’m also curious to know what Ms. Lonergan might have to say about my friend Mr. Enright.

  When the presentation concluded, Enright asked Brooks if he was free for lunch.

  Brooks declined. “A raincheck, please. I have some calls back home I need to return. No rest for the weary, I’m afraid.”

  “I thought it was ‘no rest for the wicked’,” Enright replied.

  FIRST BROOKS STUMBLES ACROSS Enright, and now Lonergan too. Just a coincidence? Blind, dumb luck? Or …? Brooks sure is becoming a pest. Having to spend more and more time listening in on more and more conversations. Instead of …

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Day Three, 12:00 p.m.

  BACK AT THEIR SEVENTH floor suite, Brooks found his three roommates out on the balcony. Eloise and Leah were reclining on chaise lounges protected from the sun under wraps and hats. He wondered why people bother to seek out the sunshine if they then cover up. Must be a fresh air kind of thing.

  Leah had a number of magazines in front of her and was flipping the pages of one of them while Eloise worked one of her crossword puzzles. Lotello was sitting at an adjacent table, umbrella open overhead, studying some paperwork spread out in front of him. Sensitive to Eloise’s resistance whenever he strayed into turbulent waters, Brooks moved from the balcony back inside the suite and motioned Lotello to join him.

  Facing the floor to ceiling stone fireplace opposite the overstuffed sitting arrangement, Brooks asked Lotello where things stood.

  Lotello filled Brooks in on all that Lewis and her staff had accomplished overnight. “The good news,” Lotello reported, “is that we have generated a first priority list of five registrants here at Thriller Jubilee each previously rejected by Lasko, Llewellyn, and Simpson. We also have longer lists of registrants rejected by one or two but not all of them.

  “The bad news is there’s no way to know where each of them is at any moment. I don’t recognize any of the names and have no idea what they look like. I Googled each of them, but they don’t seem to be all that newsworthy. Nothing pops up under any of their names. Excluding the useless drivel offering to provide their contact information—for a price. None of that would help us find them here on Punta Maya anyway.”

  “You’re right. Nevertheless a very good start, Detective. Of necessity, we have no choice but to make lots of assumptions. There is no assurance that any of these five is guilty of anything. Other than probably not being fond of any of our three missing victims. However, five names does at least seem like a practicable number to pursue.”

  “The credit and thanks belong solely to an overworked Lewis and staff. So far, I’ve been nothing more than a backseat driver.”

  Brooks nodded. “Okay. Time to move, then, from the back seat to the front seat, wouldn’t you say? For starters, might I take a gander at the five names on your short list?”

  Lotello handed over the list. Brooks observed that the names were in descending alphabetical order, last name first. He hadn’t expected to recognize any of the five names.

  He was wrong.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Day Three, 12:15 p.m.

  THE SECOND NAME ON the list was none other than George Enright. Brooks explained to Lotello that Enright was one of his new Thriller Jubilee acquaintances, whom he’d recently observed to be a bit … strange. Brooks suggested to Lotello that they divide up the list to make their work go more quickly. “We’ll need to ask the hotel security to get us the room numbers of each of the five. I’ll take Enright. You take the other four.”

  “That’s your definition of ‘dividing up’?” Lotello asked. “Not even two and three?”

  “Well, I’m here in Punta Maya working,” Brooks replied. “You’re just lollygagging. You have nothing but time on your hands.”

  “Working?”

  “Precisely. Developing my new calling as a novelist.”

  Lotello grinned. “I see.” His grin quickly evaporated. “More seriously, Judge, how does your suggestion that we split up the names on our list square with our recently agreed upon buddy system? What happens if one of us, without backup, comes face to face with our unidentified killer?”

  Brooks acknowledged Lotello’s point. They explored but vetoed the idea that they could try approaching each of the five suspects together. “Too inefficient,” Brooks pointed out. “We don’t have the time.”

  “Also likely to scare off our possible killer,” Lotello added.

  They next discussed dividing up the list as Brooks had suggested, but each with an assigned member of hotel security in immediate proximity, out of
sight but monitoring by a smartphone AV app, who could come running at the first sign of trouble. “Not perfect, but probably the best we can do under the circumstances,” Lotello conceded. He stood and stretched. “I’ll pay a quick visit to hotel security to enlist their backup and get the room numbers of each of the five registrants on the list. We’ll pay them a visit as quickly this afternoon as possible.”

  “Well and good, Detective. But I have a couple of questions first. Won’t our possible suspects likely be out attending various retreat activities this afternoon when we try calling on them?”

  “Exactly. Before we engage with them in person, I’d first like to privately search their rooms to see if we find anything incriminating.”

  “Which leads me to my second question. Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  “And that would be?” Lotello asked.

  Brooks wrinkled his brow. “It does not become you to be coy with me. Surely you have not forgotten the principle of due process.”

  “I haven’t at all. I also haven’t forgotten that we’re not in the United States, that I’m not an officer of the law here on Punta Maya, and, forgive me, that I’m more worried about the possibility of further victims than I am about any notions of Punta Maya due process.”

  “Rather convenient,” Brooks acknowledged. “Not without some trepidation, I guess I’m inclined to agree with you. I do have one further preliminary point to raise. Enright is mine, as we’ve agreed. That said, I’m a lot better at weighing evidence than I am at finding it. Since I’ve already met Enright here at Thriller Jubilee, I would like to be the one to initially question him. And assess his demeanor. However, I think you should be the one who actually searches his room if that becomes advisable.”

  Lotello smiled. “I was hoping you’d come to that conclusion rather than forcing me to suggest that to you.” He paused. “No offense intended.”

  “None taken,” Brooks responded.

  “So, why not just let me handle Enright overall as with the other four targets on our short list?”

  “Well, since I already know the man, at least somewhat, I may have a slight edge over you in questioning him.”

  Lotello’s smile turned to a full on grin. “Is that right?”

  “Well, that, and I’m just also plain curious about the man,” Brooks admitted.

  “Whatever. You question him. I’ll follow up with a search of his room if you conclude it’s indicated. Now that we have all this sorted out, it’s time for me to pay my little visit to hotel security. And hopefully get them on board.”

  “While you’re doing that, I want to do a little preparation for my ultimate visit with Mr. Enright.” After logging on to Google to find Eileen Lonergan’s website and contact information, he put a call into her. On his hotel-supplied new alias cell phone. After he first made sure he was out of reach of any of their original cell phones.

  “Eileen Lonergan. Hello?” she answered.

  “Hello, Ms. Lonergan. My name is Cyrus Brooks. I’m calling in the hopes of discussing the possibility of hiring you to build a website for me.”

  “Oh, how nice, thank you for reaching out to me, Mr. Brooks. I’m presently out of the country. Could we set a time to speak next week when I’ll be back home?”

  “It’s Judge Brooks, Ms. Lonergan. And, yes, I know you’re out of the country. I’m here on Punta Maya at the Hotel Marisol as well. That’s why I’m calling. I just sat in on your presentation this morning. I was wondering if I might buy you a cup of coffee. Or a bottled water if you prefer. Actually, I’m not much of a coffee drinker myself.”

  “Well, I have to sign copies of my website development book in the bookstore at 1:15, but I could join you for a few minutes now in the lobby bar if that would work for you.”

  “That would be perfect. I’ll walk over there right now. I won’t be wearing a fedora or a pink carnation, but I should be able to recognize you from your just concluded appearance.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Day Three, 12:30 p.m.

  BROOKS SELECTED CLUB SODA, on the rocks with lime. Lonergan chose tea with honey and lemon.

  “Thanks for meeting with me on such short notice, Ms. Lonergan. Very kind of you.”

  “My pleasure. Please call me Eileen.”

  “I’m Cyrus. Most people call me ‘Judge’ or ‘Your Honor,’ but if I’m going to become a novelist, I guess I need to get used to ‘Cyrus’ or ‘Mr. Brooks.’” I guess I’ll have to get used to “Cyrus” or “Mr. Brooks.” Cyrus maybe, but Mister?

  “May I ask you a couple of questions, Cyrus?”

  “Certainly, Ms. Lonergan, uh, Eileen.”

  “Why did your cell phone identify you as David Jones? And why does a judge need a website?”

  “Both excellent questions. As to your first, I misplaced my cell phone and the hotel was kind enough to provide me with a loaner phone. David Jones must be someone associated with the hotel. Beggars can’t be choosers. I didn’t think to ask why Mr. Jones’s phone happened to be available.

  “As to your second question, I don’t know of any reason why a sitting judge would have any need for a website. I’m actually retired from the bench. I do still occasionally practice a little law these days. But not enough to need a website like all the law firms have these days. I’m not out to promote my infrequent services as a lawyer. People who ask for my help already seem to know how to find me.

  “The answer to your second question, then, and also why I’m here at Thriller Jubilee, is that I’m exploring the possibility of becoming a novelist. I gather that any professional writer worth his salt these days has to have a website. Frankly, I find that a little commercial for my own tastes, but when in Rome …”

  Brooks asked Lonergan for an overview of how she worked with her clients to know what kind of a website to develop. She gave him the short answer to his question.

  “That sounds fascinating. Can you provide me with citations to some of the websites you have …?”

  “Built? Yes, certainly. I can provide you with links to some of the websites I’ve done. When we get back home, I would also be happy to provide you with some client references.”

  “That would be great. I gather you are in Boston. I’m in D.C. Do you come to me or do I come to you?”

  “You’re always welcome to come to my office, but it’s not necessary. We can get it all done by videoconferencing.”

  “Oh, that would be very convenient. Speaking of references, do I understand that George Enright is one of your clients?”

  Lonergan paused. “Are you a friend of George?”

  “Not really. I’ve only met Mr. Enright here at Thriller Jubilee. He mentioned to me that he’s a client of yours. He spoke very highly of you. I was wondering if you built a website for him. And if you work with him on an ongoing basis.”

  After another pause, Lonergan explained that Enright was not a typical client. “I did put together a website for him, but he doesn’t continue to use my services on an ongoing basis. Most of my other author clients do retain my website management services on an ongoing basis, but George is actually quite tech savvy and manages the website I built for him on his own. Frankly, I think he came to me more in the hopes that I could help him with his networking by putting him together with various other people in the writing community for whom I consult. When he learned I’m not really into that, he kind of migrated away. He brings me occasional website questions that he gets stuck with from time to time, maybe once or twice a year.”

  “Very interesting.” Brooks looked at his watch. “It’s almost time for you to be off to sign your books. I don’t want to make you late. You’ve been very kind. I shouldn’t monopolize any more of your time right now. I’ll look forward to receiving those links and references after you return home.”

  “For sure. Nice meeting you.” Lonergan excused herself and headed off to the TJ bookstore temporarily stationed off the hotel lobby.

  LOTELLO FOUND HIS WAY to the door marked
Oficina de Seguridad. He knocked.

  “Pásale por favor.”

  Lotello entered. Diego Ramirez, head of hotel security, was sitting behind his desk. Lotello and Ramirez had already established a bond over the past few days. Ramirez’s English was excellent, but Lotello made the effort nonetheless to show his respect. “Buenas tardes, Diego,” Lotello said. “Como estas?”

  “Hola amigo!” Ramirez responded. “Estoy bien. Y tu?”

  “Bien. Más o menos.” Lotello answered.

  “Bien. Bien. Qué pasa? Como puedo ayudarte, amigo?” Ramirez elaborated.

  Lotello had pretty much exhausted his command of Spanish. But it was fun giving it a try, and he thought it showed Ramirez some respect, attempting to use some of his native language.

  “Hmm, perhaps my Spanish is not so good,” Ramirez laughed. “Let’s try some English, no? How can I help you, my friend?”

  “I take it you have nothing new on our three missing TITO executives?”

  “Nada. Not a thing, I’m sorry to report. I trust, however, that there have been no further attempts on Judge or Mrs. Brooks since this morning? And that no one has bothered you or your wife?”

  “None,” Lotello answered. “Thanks again for arranging our new joint room and fake identities and adding live security on the password protected concierge floor. I’m confident we’ll be fine.”

  “Bien. El gusto es mio. I’m happy to hear that, the pleasure is mine.”

  “I’m calling on you now in the hopes that you’ll provide us with some additional help,” Lotello clarified.

  “Por supuesto. Yes, of course.”