Brooks-Lotello Collection

by Ronald S. Barak

  “Was that Cyrus Brooks, by chance?”

  “How did you know that?” Lonergan asked, looking surprised.

  “We’re acquainted,” Connor said. “I saw you talking to him after your presentation. Just put two and two together. I’d like to know more about the services you and your partners offer. You might be able to help me out. And I might also be able to make some introductions for you.”

  “That would be nice.”

  They sampled their coffee in silence, each seemingly lost in their own thoughts. The waiter returned and asked if they wanted to order anything else.

  Connor saw Lonergan glance at her watch. He took the hint. “Not for me, thanks,” Connor said. Lonergan added, “And I have an appointment in the spa in a few minutes.”

  “I won’t keep you,” Connor responded. “If you’re going to be at the cocktail party this evening, perhaps we can visit for a few minutes, and you can tell me a little more about the services your company offers.”

  “I’d like that.”

  The waiter approached with a check. Connor reached over and took it. “Thanks very much, for the lifeguarding and the coffee,” Lonergan said. “See you tonight.”

  BROOKS HAD ALSO NOTICED Connor and Lonergan enter the coffee shop. He turned to Lotello. “You see Connor over there, with the woman. That’s Eileen Lonergan. I went to her presentation this morning. She builds websites for authors. Her clients include Mr. Enright, or used to. I spent a few minutes with her to see whether she might start me off with a website, and what she might be willing to tell me about Enright. Another coincidence involving our Mr. Connor. You can count on one hand the number of people I know here at Thriller Jubilee. And here we all but bump into two of them visiting with one another, and very chummy like, no less.”

  Lotello didn’t answer.

  HOW ABOUT THEM APPLES. Brooksie is just too damn nosy for his own good. And a little too close for comfort. I tried to take him down, but he didn’t bite. And now he’s got security all over him. And his wife. And that partner of his, Lotello. And Lotello’s wife. First, he started getting friendly with Enright. Put a stop to that. Killed two birds with one stone, you might say. Now he’s homing in on Lonergan. If Brooks has too much of a wall around him, I may need to add Lonergan to the equation. See if that sends Brooksie a clue. Or eliminates one. Haha.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Day Three, 4:00 p.m.

  LOTELLO WAS ABOUT TO knock on the hotel room of Martin Trent, the next name on his list of five “suspects.” He hoped things would play out a little smoother with Trent than they did with Rochelle Jackson.

  “Can I help you?” said a voice from behind him.

  Lotello turned around and saw a man ambling toward him, seemingly relaxed, around five feet eight inches with a receding hairline, what was left of it fairly gray. He was casually dressed in Bermuda shorts and a Thriller Jubilee T-shirt that barely covered his paunch.

  “I’m looking for Martin Trent,” Lotello said.

  “Well, you’re in luck then,” the man said. “You’ve found him. Who are you?”

  “My name is Frank Lotello. A friend of mine is attending Thriller Jubilee. I had some time on my hands, came along for the ride, and offered to be one of the many volunteers that Thriller Jubilee needs for the conference. I’ve been asked to survey a list of Thriller Jubilee participants. You’re on my list. Mind if I ask you a few questions?

  “Seems like every business has a survey these days,” Trent said. “But sure, c’mon in. I have a few minutes before a class I’m planning to sit in on at five o’clock.”

  “Much appreciated. Not everyone is that hospitable. I’ll try to be quick and make it relatively painless.” Lotello stood aside while Trent opened his door and motioned for Lotello to follow him.

  “The bar refrigerator comes pretty well stocked. Can I offer you something to drink?”

  “A bottled water would be nice. Thanks.”

  “Here you go.” Trent handed him a bottle and grabbed a water for himself as well.

  “So, what would you like to ask me?”

  “I have a few questions that have been given to me to ask. For starters, is this your first Thriller Jubilee?” Lotello asked.

  “I attended my first a year ago. This is my second.”

  “What were you hoping to get out of the conference?”

  “I’m a writer, of sorts,” Trent answered. “At least I’m trying to be. I retired a couple of years ago from my day job. I was hoping to find something to do in my free time.”

  “How’s it going?” Lotello inquired.

  “Mixed bag. I like writing. Feel like I have a knack for it. However, it’s awfully tough to break in. I’ve been working on a novel but can’t seem to get anywhere with it.”

  “Do you have an agent?”

  “I don’t. But it isn’t for lack of trying. I’ve approached around thirty agents. No luck so far.”

  “One of the questions I’m supposed to ask is whether you’ve attended Pitch Gala, and how that’s gone for you, if you did?”

  “Twice. I went to Pitch Gala last year and again earlier this afternoon. I guess I’m not very good at it. Not much in the way of any nibbles. Not last year and not this afternoon.”

  “How many agents have you tried to connect with?”

  Trent shrugged. “Last year, I was very enthusiastic. I lined up and spoke with about twelve, but I only received one invite to submit a sample. My first ten pages. This afternoon, I struck out with five more. I can only handle so much rejection. I decided to call it a day. I was on the way back to my room when I saw you. You’re the only one who’s shown any interest in me.”

  “Sorry it’s not going any better for you,” Lotello said sincerely. “Would you mind telling me what agents you’ve pitched? We’re trying to get a sense of which ones are asking for samples and which ones are not.”

  Trent grabbed a note pad he had tossed on his bed when they entered his room and read off the names of the five agents he had met today. With one exception, he couldn’t remember the names of those he had met last year. “One of the agents I pitched last year was Genevieve Lasko. I gave her a try because I had heard she’s really a big deal.”

  “How’d that go?”

  “She’s actually the one who invited me to send her a ten-page sample. Which, of course, I did. She sent me a form rejection in fairly short order. Said I wasn’t quite there yet, that she wasn’t passionate about my writing. But she encouraged me to keep trying.”

  “Did you rewrite the manuscript?”

  “I did. A couple of times. I was getting ready to send her another submission when I saw she was scheduled to teach a day-long class here this year. I signed up for her class because I figured that might be a smarter way to go about it. Paid $500 to spend a day with her, but she was a no-show. The substitute, a guy named Remington, was good, but he’s an author not an agent. I wouldn’t have paid $500 to hear him tell me how to write, as opposed to how to land an agent.”

  Trent looked at his watch and said he only had a few more minutes before he had to leave for his class.

  “You’ve been very generous with your time. I won’t hold you up any further. Let me just ask you if you have any other general observations you might be willing to share with me about Thriller Jubilee?”

  “There is one thought that’s on my mind. I came here hoping to meet with three people in particular: Lasko, the agent I mentioned to you; James Llewellyn, a publisher; and Arianna Simpson, a publicist. After Thriller Jubilee last year, I also had reached out to Llewellyn and Simpson. They both have stellar reputations. As in the case of Lasko, I was hoping that Llewellyn or Simpson might be able to help me. So I sent letters to both of them.”

  “How did that go?” Lotello asked.

  “I struck out with both. They didn’t want to work with me unless I already had an agent. I came to Thriller Jubilee this year because I saw they were all going to be teaching here. Again, I was hoping that if I c
ould meet with them in person, I might be able to persuade them to help jump-start my writing career.”

  “Makes sense,” Lotello responded to try and keep Trent talking.

  “Would you believe that all three of them were no-shows?” Trent continued. “Part of me wants to ask for my money back; I wouldn’t have come here this year but for the fact that they were listed as being on the faculty. On the other hand, I have picked up some good information from some of the other classes I’ve taken. I’ll probably go home after the conference and make one last run at things.”

  “As much as I’d like to know what other speakers you’ve enjoyed, I don’t want to overstay my welcome,” Lotello said, standing and moving toward the door. “I’ll get out of your hair and let you make your class. Maybe we can follow up for a few more minutes before the conference concludes on Saturday.”

  Trent said that would be fine, but Lotello could tell he was just being polite. “Thanks for your time and the water,” Lotello said. “Enjoy the rest of your week.”

  DOES LOTELLO THINK AN older, slightly overweight, geeky looking guy like Trent couldn’t get tired of being ignored? And push back? What makes these fools think I’m the only one?

  BROOKS, HART, AND LEWIS were closeted in Hart’s suite at Brooks’s “urgent” request. Brooks had sought to meet one-on-one solely with the TITO president, but Hart felt they should also include Lewis, Remington, and Connor. When Brooks suggested a smaller audience might be best, Hart pointed out that Lewis was generally involved in all discussions concerning TJ. Brooks acquiesced because Connor was the only person he really needed to exclude.

  “This is awkward,” Hart said to Brooks. “Connor and I were supposed to be meeting now to prep for his interview of me at the Ballroom luncheon tomorrow. This was the only open time we both had in common on our schedules. I had to tell him I was feeling ill. I don’t like lying.”

  Given the serial lies being told to explain the absence of Lasko, Llewellyn, and Simpson to the TJ registrants, and the board’s decision the night before not to reveal the true facts other than to TITO’s insiders, Brooks was amused by Hart’s professed unease at lying.

  “I’ll try to be brief. I have three items to report,” he began. “Most seriously, we now have a fourth missing person—”

  “What do you mean, ‘a fourth missing person’?” Hart all but shouted, belying his customary calm exterior. “Who else has now gone missing?” he demanded. “Is it another TITO insider? Worse still, I hate to say, is it an outsider, someone who was unaware of what has been going on?”

  “An outsider,” Brooks responded. “A Thriller Jubilee attendee I happened to meet the other day. His name’s George Enright. He’s a modestly published author, here in the hopes of growing his standing.”

  Brooks explained the basis of his belief that Enright has also disappeared. “You will also both recall that Mr. Enright is one of the five TJ registrants on our short list of individuals previously spurned by Lasko, Llewellyn, and Simpson. Detective Lotello and I had agreed that I would attempt to question Enright, not only because he was on our short list, but because, coincidentally, I had met him here and had some concerns about his behavior. I have no idea whether his disappearance is because I was en route to question him, because he was on our short list, because he had been rejected by Lasko, Llewellyn, and Simpson, or because of something altogether different. If he’s truly missing, then my concerns about him were obviously mistaken.”

  Hart was visibly shaken. “Look, we know—or at least we think we know—why Lasko, Llewellyn, and Simpson may be dead—and I hasten to add may—but why would anyone want to kill a garden variety TJ participant? Even worse, what consequence might this envisage for our board’s decision last night to remain silent about what we know? Would Enright perhaps still be alive had we come clean to all of our registrants last night or this morning about what we know?”

  “All good questions, Mr. Hart,” Brooks responded. “However, with your and Ms. Lewis’s permission, I would like to defer my speculations in these respects until after I finish my report.”

  “You have more to tell us?” Hart asked.

  “I do. As I mentioned, Lotello is in the process of investigating the other four suspects on our list. Randomly, his first investigation was of a Ms. Rochelle Jackson. Do either of you happen to know Ms. Jackson?”

  Hart said he didn’t know her. Lewis said the only thing she knew about Jackson was that she had previously been turned down by Lasko, Llewellyn, and Simpson and was on the short list of suspects.

  Brooks walked Hart and Lewis through Lotello’s encounter with Jackson, blow by blow. He didn’t hold anything back.

  Hart winced. “So, first, Jackson has a perfect alibi; she didn’t arrive on the island until after Lasko went missing. At least our list of suspects is shrinking. But, second, Jackson may now assert a claim against TITO for invasion of privacy and maybe slander as well. Is that what you’re telling us?”

  “Yes,” Brooks said. “And she is also questioning why TITO hasn’t come forward with the possibility that there’s a killer running loose among us. TITO originally could have responded that it thought only its insiders were at risk, but that won’t hold up very well if TITO continues to sit on things after learning of the disappearance of Enright, even if one tries to argue that Enright is different than the TJ participants at large due to his prior rejection by our three TITO insiders.”

  Hart said, to no one in particular, “My God, how did I ever allow myself to take on the presidency of TITO? I certainly didn’t sign up for all of this madness.”

  “I think I recall you saying that you had three matters to report to us,” Lewis said. “What’s your third point?”

  Brooks then told Hart and Lewis about Connor’s relationships with Lasko, Llewellyn, and Simpson, which meant that he, too, should be added to the list of possible suspects. “Jackson would appear to be off the list, but Connor’s now on it; at best a zero sum game. And the conflict arising out of Connor being a member of TITO’s board and inside circle makes matters much more complicated than they were. This is why I requested that this meeting not include TITO’s other board members. I felt obliged to report initially to the two of you so as to exclude Connor without drawing any obvious attention to him.”

  Hart spoke up again. “Is now a good time for you to provide us with your insight as to why Enright may have been killed? Although I’m frankly not sure I can stomach any more bad news.”

  “As good a time as any,” Brooks answered. “At first, our assumption was that the apparent murders of Lasko, Llewellyn, and Simpson were motivated by some form of resentment or animus directed at those three individuals. From the outset, however, it has always been possible that there is another motive.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Day Three, 4:20 p.m.

  LOTELLO HAD COVERED TWO of the more likely remaining three suspects, now including Connor on top of the original five. Time was growing short. Using their alias cell phones, Lotello had promised to keep Brooks informed by text, in spite of the fact that it did not allow for as much detail as face to face exchanges.

  “Two down, one to go. Can rule out Wynonna Grey. Knocked on her door, played my TJ survey card when she answered ‘Yes?’ Door opened. ‘I’m Wynonna,’ woman said, looking up at me from a wheelchair. Guess I was staring. She said, demurely, ‘Having MS doesn’t stop me from writing, although it does make traveling to far off places a bit more challenging.’” He hit send.

  DING. BROOKS HEARD THE alert on his alias phone telling him that he had received a text message. He immediately composed a text response to Lotello. “TJ survey is cover. How know same not true for wheelchair?” Brooks hit send.

  LOTELLO’S ALIAS PHONE ALERT dinged. “Can’t prove she’s wheelchair bound but verified MS. Said she was having problems, spent most of day at hospital, starting before your midday Enright conversation. Hotel security verified this.” Lotello hit send again.

  No
thing from Brooks. Lotello sent Brooks a follow-on text. “Next turned to last of original five, Robin Donnelly. ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on door. Will return later. Went on to Connor. He didn’t answer. Used passkey. Large suite. Sweet. LOL. Found several syringes and unlabeled vials containing clear fluid in bar refrigerator behind hotel goodies. Obviously have to confront him.” Send.

  DING. BROOKS RESPONDED. “How explain knowledge?”

  DING. “Thought about taking one vial to be tested but Connor would likely notice. Solution: housekeeper trained to alert security about suspicious room contents.” Send.

  DING. “Clever! Next?” Send.

  DING. “On way back to Donnelly.” Send.

  LONERGAN WAS ENJOYING HER mani-pedi, dreaming mindlessly about the possibility of spending more time with Connor at the cocktail party that evening. He seemed a little … off, but he is very successful. Besides, there’ll be plenty of people around. What could possibly go wrong?

  LOTELLO APPROACHED DONNELLY’S HOTEL room again. The “Do Not Disturb” sign was still prominently affixed to the front door handle. He was wondering what excuse he might take for knocking on the door in spite of the sign when the blow caught him behind his right ear. The roar in his head was deafening. And then it was silent. He collapsed to the floor.

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Day Three, 4:40 p.m.

  BROOKS WATCHED THE DOCTOR in the hotel infirmary finish examining the back of Lotello’s head. “He has a hard head. No internal bleeding, not even much swelling. Some Tylenol and ice and he should hopefully be good as new by tomorrow.”

  Brooks glanced again at the back of Lotello’s head momentarily, as if to reassure himself, but then turned his most menacing glare on Ramirez.