by L C Hayden
He didn’t need to have bothered. Chevy Man looked up and locked eyes with Bronson.
Bronson read Chevy Man’s badge. Now he had a name to attach to the Chevy Man: Tom O’Day.
O’Day nodded a small acknowledgment. “Detective, come join us.”
Aha. Just as Bronson suspected. Tom O’Day, alias Chevy Man, knew him. Interesting.
The members of the group turned to stare at Bronson.
O’Day pointed at Bronson. “Folks, I’d like you to meet Detective Bronson from Dallas.”
“Dallas?” The brunette who had moved to make space for him spoke up first. Her hair was drawn back in a bun that made her face look thin. She had wide brown eyes and a rich, wide smile. Her badge read Gerri Balter. “You’re far away from home. Used to be this group was strictly all Arizona, but now we got people coming from the surrounding areas as well. Welcome to our group, Mr. Bronson.”
Surrounding areas—Dallas? She must live in a world with very unusual maps. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Did Tom say you’re a detective?”
Before Bronson could answer, O’Day stepped forward. “Yes, I did. Allow me to add one more bit of information to the introduction. Detective Harry Bronson is our new consultant.”
“Our consultant?” Gerri arched her eyebrows. “Whatever happened to Max? He’s been our consultant for years.”
The woman next to O’Day—the one Bronson recognized as O’Day’s wife, stepped forward. Up until now, Bronson hadn’t noticed how delicate her features were, like a porcelain doll’s. Her badge identified her as Marie O’Day. “You mean you haven’t heard? He was the victim of a hit-and-run accident.”
Gerri gasped. “How horrible. Is he all right?”
“Hardly. He’s dead,” O’Day said.
The smallest woman in the group stepped around the O’Days and faced Bronson. He wondered why he hadn’t noticed her before. She wore a tight, bright, lime-green short dress and sparkly dinner rings on each finger. Bracelets of various shapes and widths covered almost half of her lower arm. Bronson could see she was a pretty woman, but from his point of view, she wore a bit too much makeup and showed a bit too much skin.
When she spoke, she addressed the group, but stared at Bronson. “Before we go much further, I think we need to put this in perspective. Don’t you agree, Detective Bronson?” She pronounced the word detective as though it had turned to mud in her mouth.
The way that she glared at him, the way she confronted him made Bronson feel as though he’d been caught taking a peek in the ladies’ locker room. He shifted his weight and looked at her badge. “Katherine, ma’am. I’m not exactly sure what I’d be agreeing to.”
Katherine Shephard squinted and frowned.
Tom placed his hand on her shoulder. “Now, Katherine, there’s no need to cause any commotion.” As she pivoted, the glass she held in her hand sloshed liquid onto the floor. She faced Tom. “You don’t think murder is a reason to cause commotion?” Her harsh tone caused others to turn and stare. She placed her free hand on her hip. “Well, I do. Besides, I’m a Texas gal, and I have the right to speak my mind.” She turned once more so that now she faced Bronson. “So tell us, Detective Bronson, how long did you know Max before his tragic accident?”
“Never had the pleasure of meetin’ him, ma’am.”
She finished her drink and set it down. “Oh really?”
Yes, really. “What is it that you’re tryin’ to say?”
Katherine threw her arms up in the air. “I love it. I absolutely love it. That innocent act is so becoming—and so fake.”
Once more Tom placed his arm on Katherine’s shoulder and gently pushed her back. “Now, Katherine, please, don’t do this.”
“Why not? You don’t think these people have a right to know about Max’s murder? By now several people had abandoned their groups and a small circle of speculators had gathered around them.
“Katherine, Tom’s right,” Marie said.
“Fine, but let me just make one point.” Before either of the O’Days could stop her, Katherine plunged on. “Your position as a consultant here is a highly desirable one. There’s a long waiting list of people who would be thrilled to fill in that opening. So how long was your wait, Detective Bronson?” Katherine’s eyes became narrow slits in her face.
“You can drop the title, ma’am. It’s just Bronson. I’m no longer with the police department, and the organization contacted me about the position. So I was never on any waitin’ list.”
“With a waiting list of over thirty people, they call you and offer you the job.” Katherine snapped her fingers. “Just like that.”
“Just like that.” Bronson snapped his fingers.
“Hmm, how fortunate for you.”
“What can I say? It must have been my lucky star.”
“And where was that lucky star when the police department fired you?”
Bronson felt his hands restless and dry. His nerves screamed with tension. She obviously had her own agenda and Bronson aimed to uncover its purpose. He took a step back and glared at Katherine.
Bronson’s gaze went to Gerri. “You were fired?” Gerri asked.
“I retired, ma’am, but let’s just say it wasn’t a completely voluntary retirement.”
“Point made.” Katherine stormed off and several people followed her, apparently eager to get the scoop.
“I must apologize for my cousin,” Marie said. “She’s from the heartland of Texas where people believe in speaking their minds.”
“Even if their minds are wrong?”
“You’re a Texan, Detective Bronson. You should know Texans are never wrong.” Marie smiled and winked, her eyes glowing with an inner light.
“I’ll file that bit of information away. You never know when it’ll be useful.”
Tom smiled. “Allow us to introduce ourselves. We haven’t met formally. I’m Tom O’Day.” He pointed to his right. “And this lovely lady is my wife, Marie. We’re from Scottsdale.” He pointed to the only other person in the group. “And of course, you’ve met Gerri Balter from Tucson.”
Bronson shook hands with each member. “And the little Texas tornado is. . .”
Marie threw her head back and laughed. “A Texas tornado. I like that. That describes her to a T.” She watched her for a few minutes. Katherine, surrounded by people, spoke amiably. “That’s my cousin, Katherine Shephard. She’s got a heart of gold and a very unique point of view. She really didn’t mean anything by what she said.”
“Thing is, I’m not sure what she said. Does she think I killed this Max person in order to be your consultant?”
“She never said that.”
No, she hadn’t, but somehow she had planted that seed and others had been listening and now they talked to Katherine. Bronson switched his attention from Katherine back to Marie. “Do you know any of the details centered around Max’s death?”
“Other than that it’s an unsolved hit and run, no one knows much.” Marie finished her drink and handed the glass to a waiter who gathered the empty glasses. “You forget, Detective Bronson, that this is a group of wanna-be detectives. We’re here to solve a fake murder, but wouldn’t it be much more fun to solve a real one?” Before Bronson could answer, Tom wrapped his arm around his wife and led her away.
Gerri watched them walk away. “Don’t worry, Detective Bronson, no one can possibly believe you had something to do with Max’s death just so that you could land this job. Although it is interesting that you were never on the waiting list.”
Yes, most interesting, Bronson thought and realized he hadn’t asked Tom any of the questions that had been screaming for an answer.
* * * * *
S ordered a rum-and-Coke and inwardly smiled. Word about Bronson’s possible involvement in Max’s death spread through the room faster than an all-consuming fire. This pleased S. The seeds of doubt had been planted among the conference attendees.
Things definitely moved at a faster pace than a
nticipated. Plans might have to be changed, would probably have to be sped up. That was good. Definitely good.
Without leaving the bar, S scanned the room, spotting the people selected to die. That sure was too bad. Most were rather nice. But it was something that needed to be done.
After all, Bronson had to be destroyed.
Chapter Ten
Carol grabbed Bronson’s arm and led him out of the motel room. “Do you think they’ll have steak and eggs on the menu?”
We do in the camper. “Most places usually do. You sure you wouldn’t want to whip some up in the camper? We can run the generator.”
The elevator door opened and they stepped in. “Silly. We’re on vacation. Why would I want to cook?”
“My question precisely.” Bronson’s attitude brightened. They headed toward the restaurant and there, they’d have good coffee.
While they waited for the hostess to seat them, several people glared at Bronson, then quickly looked away. One table filled with conference attendees leaned toward each other and while staring at Bronson, exchanged whispered words.
Amazing what damage gossip could cause. The rumor had spread faster than the Internet. If he could only find a way to market its speed, he would surely become a millionaire. He inwardly shrugged. Gossip had never really bothered him. For all he cared, they could throw him as many dirty looks as they wanted, so long as they didn’t throw him any fingers.
Minutes later, the Bronsons sat down. Immediately Bronson moved his cup so that the waitress could easily fill it. While she poured Bronson his coffee, Carol turned her cup upside-down. “Lowfat milk for me, please.” The waitress nodded and left.
Bronson poured two heaping spoonfuls of sugar and was about to pour the third when he caught Carol’s stern look. He pushed the sugar container away and instead drowned his coffee with milk.
The waitress returned a few minutes later with Carol’s drink. Carol ordered steak and eggs and Bronson requested another cup of coffee, eggs over-easy, bacon well done, and wheat toast.
Throughout the meal, Carol’s constant chatter intrigued Bronson. How could anyone find so much to talk about, he wondered. Ah, that was the charm of this woman.
Bronson stared into her sparkling jewel eyes and felt as though he was the luckiest man alive.
“So what do you think about my day’s plans?” Carol wiped her mouth and pushed her empty plate away. She looked at him, as though expecting an answer. She frowned. “Harry Bronson, you weren’t listening to me.”
Bronson scratched his forehead. He had been listening although his thoughts had strayed for just a second. Just his luck she’d catch him at exactly that second. “I was just thinkin’ how lovely you look
Carol smiled. “Flattery will get you everywhere, so I’ll repeat myself. I said that I was leaving. I’ll be back around five to check about dinner.”
Bronson couldn’t imagine what she’d be doing until five. He was afraid to ask. He should have listened. He smiled and nodded. She stood up and kissed his lips.
“Enjoy the conference.”
Bronson glanced around. Angry, curious eyes stared back. “Oh yeah. It’s goin’ to be a doozie.”
Carol looked at him, squinted as though considering whether she should ask him what he meant. She shrugged and walked away.
Bronson added some sugar to his coffee.
* * * * *
Bronson stood outside of the conference room, listening as the murmur of voices rose with anticipation. The room buzzed with people and almost every seat was occupied.
Bronson swallowed hard, braced himself, and stepped in. A group of women glanced his way then turned their backs on him.
Oh yeah, this promised to be one hum-dinger of a conference.
“Hello, Detective Bronson.”
Bronson turned toward the source of the voice.
Gerri smiled up at him. “I saved you a seat. Come on over and join us.”
“Us?”
“Same group as last night. Me, the O’Days, and Katherine. Also, a couple of others you haven’t met.” Gerri grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the group. “This orientation meeting always begins promptly at nine.” She glanced at her watch. “We better hurry.”
They barely reached their seats when he spotted L’ee—el-ee, Bronson reminded himself although he found it amusing that everyone else pronounced her name the normal way. He watched her waddle toward the stage and noticed that her dress fit her like a tent. When she reached the steps leading to the stage, she leaned on her cane. Her effort to walk toward the stage had taken its toll. She inhaled deeply before ascending each of the four steps.
At the top of the stairs, she gulped in more air. Gradually the room grew silent as she reached for the microphone. “Hi. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m L’ee Chalmers, organizer of the Slayers Mystery Week. Welcome, everyone.”
The audience broke into a thunderous combination of clapping and cheering.
L’ee raised her arms and the group slowly grew silent. “Looking around the room, I see a lot of familiar faces. Most of you have been attending this conference forever.”
Ripples of small laughter broke among the audience. Some pointed to one another. Others patted themselves on the back.
“But I also see some new faces.” She stretched her arms out to show the expanse of the audience. Her arms, Bronson noticed, had the wrinkled softness of partly deflated balloons. “For the benefit of our new attendees, this is the part where we introduce you to our characters. You may or may not take notes. For your convenience, a notebook and a pen have been provided for you in your registration packet.” She paused and smiled, her plumb face causing her eyes to squeeze shut.
“Speaking of new faces, there is one particular person I’d like to introduce.” She stopped, looked down, and bowed her head. When she looked back up, her gray, stone eyes glittered with teardrops. “We all knew. . .and loved. . .Max Iles.” She cleared her throat. “He, huh. . .he’s. . .” She looked away from the audience, up toward the ceiling. “He’s no longer with us. If we could, please, have a moment of silence for our dear Max.”
Bronson didn’t have to look around to know that questioning eyes stared at him. Did these people really think he ran over Max so he could get this job? The idea, so unconceivable to him, made him wonder why these people would even entertain such an idea. Maybe he should address the issue and squelch the gossip before it blossomed into a force capable of destroying him, not that it hadn’t already.
Or maybe he should ignore it.
L’ee’s coarse voice broke the silence. “Even though filling Max’s shoes will be a tremendous responsibility, we are lucky to have a very good replacement. Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to introduce you to our new consultant, Detective Harry Bronson, formerly of the Dallas Police Department. Detective Bronson, please stand up.”
Bronson stood and the silence swallowed him like a large carnivorous monster. Beside him, Gerri clapped and soon others joined in. After a subdued, polite clap, the room returned to its former silent mode. Bronson quickly sat and flashed Gerri a grateful smile.
That went well, he thought.
Up on the stage, a curious frown covered L’ee’s face. She shifted her massive weigh as she shuffled some papers. “Uh. . .let’s. . .uh. . .” She cleared her throat and using a brighter, happier tone she said, “Let’s get the conference rolling.”
A thunderous clap broke out.
Bronson found it hard to believe that this crowd was the same one as that of a moment ago.
“Ladies and gentlemen, our cast of characters.” She swept the air with her arm and waddled off the stage.
Chapter Eleven
A middle-age stately woman stepped onto the stage. “My name is Ann Nare. I have—had—the most beautiful little girl you’ve ever seen.” She took a tissue out and dabbed her eyes. “You would have loved her, my little angel. My Annie. She was gorgeous and smart. Oh, so smart. In fact, she graduated from high school w
hen she was only sixteen.” She paused and wiped more tears away. “Like any mother, I wanted to protect my little girl. So I sent her to private schools from kindergarten all the way through high school. But what good did that do?” Her voice broke and she stopped.
Bronson sat up straighter. His sixth sense—the detective in him—kicked in.
“She went away to college,” Ann continued. “Naturally, I wanted her to stay here in town at least the first year or so, but she always dreamed of going to Dallas. And off she went. She never came back.”
Bronson wet his lips, scooted to the edge of the chair, and listened intently.
Ann stepped to the side and a young man entered the stage. “I’m David Palmers.” He swung his hand in a wide arc, signifying the area around him. “And this is my fraternity.” As he walked around the stage, he held his head high and looked around him. “She died here, you know.” He shook his head, as though remembering. “That Annie Nare. She was a wild one. It was our annual pledge party. By then we had already made up our minds who we would induct, and who we wanted nothing to do with. Annie came to the party with one of the pledges—Henry Allegri.” David smirked. “Good ol’ Henry. He certainly wasn’t pledge material, but he was dating Annie and that earned him a couple of points. He wanted in so badly, he promised he’d pass Annie around to all the guys.”
David walked toward the front of the stage and pointed to the floor. “Right here. That’s where it happened.” He looked at the audience, then continued, “By the time Henry and Annie got here, she was already stoned out of her mind. Drug overdose is what killed her. Hate to say this, but she brought this on herself. She O.D’d. It’s as simple as that.” He shrugged and stepped toward the back of the stage.
Bronson kept his gaze glued on the speaker, wishing he could stop this mockery. Instead he wrote down, Check on fraternity president. Bronson watched as another young man—this one small in size, wearing thick eyeglasses and clothes that probably were one size too big approached the stage. He stopped, not quite in the center of the stage.
