Shot Through the Hearth

by Kate Carlisle

“I realize I need no introduction,” he continued, “but let me take a few seconds to tell you who these other people are.”

  “Quite the ego,” I whispered.

  Mac’s lips were twisted into a scowl. “It’s only the beginning.”

  After the introductions, Sketch got right into it. “So let’s start by talking about money. I think the public has a right to know how much we make on our books.” He glanced at his fellow panel members. “What do you guys think?”

  Basil the poet looked appalled. “I don’t believe anyone should discuss—”

  The audience began to boo and Sketch held up his hand. “Guys, guys, don’t blame Basil. Not everybody wants to talk about money when they’re on a panel with a bestselling millionaire author.”

  He continued to talk about money for a few more minutes, then thankfully allowed the other two panelists to talk about their latest book. Naturally, Sketch interrupted them at every opportunity. It was nerve-wracking.

  Twenty minutes later, Basil the poet was halfway through his answer to a question from the audience when Sketch stopped him.

  “Sorry to interrupt, Basil,” he said, grinning at the crowd, “but I just have to tell you guys about this amazing plot twist I’m working on in my new manuscript.”

  The audience hooted and cheered. To our horror, we were surrounded by Sketch Horn fans.

  “I’m featuring an absolutely awesome invention that, well . . .” He gave a manly chuckle. “Frankly, I invented it. It’s a method for clearing up ocean garbage in a matter of months.”

  I glanced at Mac. “Is he an inventor?”

  “Yeah, he invents lies.”

  “Okay,” Sketch continued, “so the bad guys have set up camp on top of the garbage heap in the middle of the ocean. It’s so thick with junk that you can literally walk across it without falling through and drowning. It’s creepy.”

  There were boos and groans from the environmentally conscious crowd.

  “So Blake, my hero—”

  Now Sketch couldn’t speak because of the screams and applause for his hero.

  I looked at Mac. He rolled his eyes.

  “Are you ready to go?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “I just want to hear the magic of his latest plot twist.”

  Sketch continued. “So my guy Blake has invented this contraption he calls the Scoop-Monster.”

  Again he had to wait for the cheers to subside.

  “He stole that idea,” I muttered.

  “Of course he did.”

  “No, he really did. I know the guy who invented it.” Had Sketch overheard Wesley talking about it?

  When the cheers died down, Sketch continued. “This crazy thing will scoop up all the garbage on the ocean floor in record time. So, spoiler alert! Blake steers the ship out to the garbage heap, activates the Scoop-Monster, and destroys the bad guys’ garbage lair!”

  And the crowd went wild.

  “What do you guys think?” Sketch shouted. “Too goofy? Or totally Blake?”

  “Blake! Blake!” the audience began to chant.

  “Yeah!” Sketch bellowed. “And that’s only one action-packed scene out of dozens you’ll find in my latest book. Out next year in bookstores everywhere.”

  The audience screamed in approval.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Mac grumbled.

  I checked my watch. We had managed to make it halfway through the panel before we had to escape.

  “He’s astonishingly vain,” I said, feeling shell-shocked. “He hogged the microphone and didn’t stop talking.”

  “You don’t have to tell me,” Mac said, gazing up at the sky like a prisoner finally set free. “I was there. I saw it happening in real time. Now you get why I didn’t want to be on a panel with him.”

  I frowned. “Do you ever mention how much money you made on your latest contract? I mean, in a public forum like he just did?”

  “Never. And neither has any other writer I’ve ever met.”

  “Okay, good.” I shook my head, still in shock. “The weirdest part was that the one time someone asked about the actual writing process, he didn’t seem to know what he was talking about. Not that it kept him from blathering on and on anyway.”

  “I told you he doesn’t write the books.” Mac chuckled. “It was kind of interesting to watch the other panelists just staring at him.”

  “He never let them talk.”

  “That’s his style. He can’t take the chance that someone will call him out.”

  “There’s one major thing that bothers me,” I said.

  “Only one?”

  I chuckled. “It’s what I told you in there. About that Scoop-Monster he was talking about?”

  “Yeah.” He smirked. “It sounded ridiculous.”

  “It is ridiculous. But I first heard about it from Wesley Mycroft. It’s his idea. He dubbed it the Scoop-Monster, which is a silly name, but now Sketch is using the name and he’s putting it in a book. He totally stole the idea from Wesley.”

  “That’s not good,” Mac mused.

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Maybe Wesley stole it from Sketch,” Mac said, then quickly shook his head. “No, sorry. I misspoke. Sketch has never had an original thought in his life. He would’ve been the one to steal it from someone else.”

  Mac grabbed my hand and we started to walk away from the air dome.

  “Everything you said about him is true,” I said, still a little dazed. “You were so right.”

  He slid his arm around my shoulder and squeezed. “Hearing you say that? It never gets old.”

  I laughed. “Very funny.”

  He squeezed a little tighter. “It wasn’t a joke.”

  “Hey, you two.”

  We turned and watched Rafe approaching quickly.

  “I just ran into Eric Jensen,” Rafe began, then glanced around and shook his head. “I can’t talk here. Let’s take a walk.”

  “Okay,” Mac said, shooting me a curious glance.

  We walked past the second air dome and out into the wide field beyond. Finally Rafe stopped and checked again to make sure he could speak freely.

  “There’s nobody out here,” I assured him. There was only a light breeze and blue skies studded with puffs of white clouds for company. And it was quiet. Peaceful. So different from the hubbub going on a hundred yards away.

  Rafe fisted his hands on his hips in frustration. “There’s something going on around here, something bad. And I don’t know what to do about it.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “A lot of odd occurrences along with a few truly tragic incidents.”

  Mac frowned. “And there’s no way they can all be a coincidence.”

  I was well aware of Mac’s longstanding belief that there was no such thing as coincidence.

  “The thing is,” Rafe said, “Eric doesn’t have the time or the manpower to assign a bunch of cops to patrol the entire conference.”

  “So what do you want us to do?” Mac asked.

  He gazed at Mac evenly. “You’ve worked plenty of covert ops in the past.”

  “Sure.”

  He glanced over at me. “And Marigold tells me that you’ve solved your share of murders around town.”

  “Uh, yeah. But that was just good luck.” I frowned, remembering a few close calls. “Or bad luck, to be honest.”

  “Whatever it is, I need your help,” Rafe said. “Ask yourself, how in the world did hundreds of people get food poisoning last night? It’s crazy. And I really don’t want to have someone taking another pot shot at Marigold. Or me.”

  “Don’t forget the mice,” I said with an involuntary shudder. “They’re still running around loose.”

  “Not to mention, a killer or two,” Mac added dryly.

  “Oh, yeah. Tha
t.” I felt a little foolish mentioning the mice before recalling that two people were dead. But hey, those missing mice were a sure sign of sabotage.

  Mac folded his arms across his chest, all business. “You want us to do some looking around, maybe ask some questions?”

  “I don’t want to put you in danger,” Rafe insisted. “But yeah, if you’re willing to do it, find some answers, I’d be grateful.”

  I gave him an assuring pat on the shoulder. “We won’t be in danger if we’re just looking around, talking to people. I mean, that’s what everyone’s doing here. Meeting people, talking about stuff, checking out all the cool displays and events. We can do that.”

  “Sure can,” Mac agreed.

  “All right. Fantastic. Thanks.” Rafe shoved his hands into his pants pockets. “So what do you need from me?”

  Mac shrugged. “Depending on where we are and what we’re doing, we might want to drop your name here and there.”

  “Do it.” Frustrated, Rafe scraped his fingers through his dark hair. “Carte blanche. Whatever it takes. Seriously, I’m at my wit’s end.”

  Now I gave him a hug. “Try not to worry, Rafe.” It was easy for me to say. Nobody had aimed a rifle at me lately.

  “Too late for that,” he muttered.

  “I hear you,” Mac said. “We’ll do what we can to find you some answers.”

  I stepped back and frowned. “Just don’t expect too much, okay? Because if someone is deliberately trying to sabotage your conference, they’re not going to come right out and confess. But we’ll do what we can.”

  “That’s all I can ask,” Rafe said. “And don’t forget, you’re both on the foundation’s board, so you can play that card if you think it’ll help.”

  “We will.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “And if you need to know about any of the attendees or where they’re staying or what time some speaker is presenting their work, give my assistant a call.”

  He handed me the business card and I stared at it. “Hallie? Really?”

  “Hallie?” Mac said, taken aback. He gave Rafe a sharp look. “Are you absolutely convinced that she had nothing to do with Dillon’s death?”

  Rafe’s eyes went wide and then he started laughing. “Are you kidding?”

  “No,” Mac said slowly.

  Rafe quickly sobered up. “Okay, I’ll take that as a good sign that you’re suspicious of everyone. But look, Hallie is one hundred percent loyal to me. But I appreciate you being cautious.”

  “That’s how we roll,” Mac said.

  I chewed my lip nervously. “In the interests of caution, I just want to mention the possibility that being one hundred percent loyal to you could be a reason why Hallie might’ve killed Dillon.”

  Rafe stopped, thought about it, and waved it away. “Seriously, she’s not involved in any of this.”

  I hesitated for a brief second, then nodded firmly. “Then that’s the end of it.” But it wasn’t, of course. I would still be keeping my eye on Hallie along with everyone else on my suspect list.

  “I’ll text Hallie,” Rafe said. “Let her know you might be calling her for some info.”

  “Good,” I said, tucking the business card into my pocket. “That should help.”

  Rafe took another deep breath in and blew it out. “You can’t know how much I appreciate this. And call me if you get any kind of a bad vibe from anyone. Or call Eric.”

  Mac gave him a salute. “You got it.”

  Rafe answered with another firm nod. “Thanks again. I owe you both.”

  We watched him turn and jog back to the conference area, then looked at each other.

  “Any ideas on where to start?” Mac asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I want to find out how those mice escaped.”

  He bit back a grin. “It’s good that you have your priorities in order.”

  “Hey, they may be smart but those mice didn’t escape all on their own. And I also want to know how a world-famous vegetarian chef managed to feed some five hundred people a batch of poisoned mushrooms.”

  “Good question. Personally, I want to check out Sketch Horn and Midge Andersen.”

  “Really?” I said. “Do you think one of them could be the killer?”

  “No.” He had the good grace to look slightly abashed. “I just want to find out what she sees in him.”

  “Talk about priorities.” I shook my head, chuckling. “After we check them out, I want to see if we can get into Dillon Charles’s hotel room.”

  “Not a bad idea.”

  “And I should introduce you to Wesley.”

  * * *

  * * *

  We devised a plan of attack, but before leaving the conference center, Mac and I stopped off to check on my guys at the barn raising. I was pleased with the progress they’d made, and after a quick talk with Sean and Wade, I congratulated them and calculated our timing over the next few days. “Looks like we’ll have the framing done by the end of the day, and then have all day tomorrow to get the sheathing laid down.”

  “I’m sure we’ll make it,” Wade said. “We plan to start on the underlayment by the end of tomorrow.”

  The sheathing was a layer of material that went on top of the frame, and the underlayment was a protective covering that went over the sheathing. Basically, it would keep out the rain and snow and any other weather that threatened to invade the barn. After the underlayment, we would add the shingles.

  “That’s great news,” I said. “We really made up for all the time we lost. I’m so proud of you guys.”

  Sean bowed. “We live to serve.”

  Wade grinned. “Yeah, right. And there’s that little bonus that Rafe promised.”

  I smiled. “I figured that was the real enticement.”

  Rafe had added on the ten-thousand-dollar bonus after Dillon’s body was found. Not only were we afraid that the murder would scare off some of our day workers, but it also had delayed our work, causing some of my guys to worry that we wouldn’t be able to finish before the end of the conference. Nothing like a little extra cash to incentivize hard work.

  It was four thirty by the time Mac and I left the conference center and drove into town. The mice would have to wait until tomorrow, I thought, as we headed for the Inn on Main Street. As the largest hotel in town, the Inn was where many of the board members and most of the conference speakers were staying. There were dozens of smaller hotels and motels around town to accommodate the rest of the conference attendees, not to mention some beautiful B and Bs, such as Jane’s Hennessey Inn.

  Since it was getting close to happy hour time, I hoped Midge Andersen would be easy enough to track down in the bar. And with any luck, Sketch Horn would be right there, too, as long as he had wrapped up his one-man workshop and chatted with his legions of fans.

  “I have no idea where to find Wesley,” I said. “Especially now that Sherman is gone.”

  “Give Hallie a call,” Mac suggested.

  I frowned as I pulled out my phone. “I’m not as convinced as Rafe is that she’ll be helpful. But I guess it can’t hurt to try.”

  Hallie answered on the first ring. “Hello?”

  “Hallie, hi. It’s Shannon Hammer.”

  “Hi, Shannon,” she said, sounding so young and perky.

  “Did Rafe tell you I might call?”

  “He sure did, Shannon. How can I help you?”

  I flashed Mac a look of encouragement. “Can you tell me where Wesley Mycroft is staying?”

  “Wesley Mycroft,” she repeated. “Just a second.” It took her about ten seconds and she was back on the line. “He’s staying at the Inn on Main Street, Room 230.”

  “That’s really helpful, Hallie. Thanks.”

  “Anytime,” she said.

  “Oh, wait. Do yo
u happen to know where Wesley works? You know, his day job?”

  She hesitated, then said, “He doesn’t have a job, as far as I know. I think he might be independently wealthy. I overheard Dillon talking to Rafe about Wesley sometime last year. He said that the guy was a trust fund baby and didn’t need the money.”

  “So they know him pretty well?” I asked.

  “I think they got to know him when he came in looking for advice on how to patent his inventions.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Oh, and one more thing,” I said. “Which room was Dillon staying in?”

  There was silence on the line, then she whispered, “Oh God.”

  “Hallie? Are you okay?”

  “I forgot I was supposed to clean out his room,” she admitted. “The police chief told me that Dillon left a bunch of company documents lying around.”

  “Would you like us to collect everything and bring them to you?”

  She let out a huge sigh of relief. “Would you mind?”

  “Not at all.” She gave us Dillon’s room number and we ended the call just as Mac pulled into the parking lot behind the hotel.

  “I wonder if Julian is staying here,” I said.

  “We can find out.”

  Mac parked. We got out of the car and headed for the hotel, holding hands.

  “Prepare yourself,” I said. “I want to try and find Wesley first.”

  “What should I be prepared for?”

  “Well, for one thing, he’s amazingly self-centered.”

  “We should introduce him to Sketch.”

  “Good idea,” I said brightly. “Anyway, Wesley is also a very odd bird. He seemed to be good friends with Sherman, so I want to ask him about that. He introduced Sherman to me as his colleague, but Sherman came across more like a servant. Fetching his drinks, doing his bidding. You know?”

  “Maybe the guy really was his servant.”

  “I don’t think so. But then, I barely know either of them so I really shouldn’t jump to conclusions. But I did get the feeling that they worked together somehow.” I frowned and added, “Even though Hallie thinks that Wesley is independently wealthy and doesn’t work.”

  “Maybe Wesley hired Sherman simply to take care of things for him at the conference.”