Bell, Book, and Scandal (11 page)

At first it was easy. He'd recite a short paragraph from a mystery novel. The first person to raise his or her hand would be allowed to answer. The contest was on the honor system.

The first two questions contained the name of the sleuth. You received one point for identifying the author right. If you knew the title of the book, you earned an extra ten points. If you also knew the first date of publication, you'd tally up another twenty points. Almost all of the participants knew who the author was on the first question. It was Ngaio Marsh because Griffith chose a paragraph that mentioned Roderick Alleyn. Even Jane knew that one. Another half dozen, including Jane, knew which book it was from,
"Black as He's Painted."

Only one participant guessed the right publishing year, and she was an attractive, though somewhat overweight, young woman at the very back of the room. Several guessed the decade. Jane failed utterly on this part, though she thought itwas probably in the fifties because it involved a black African friend Alleyn had been in school with and was surprisingly politically correct for the time it was written.

The next question was easy as well. Miss Marple was named in the paragraph, and Jane knew it was the first Agatha Christie book to feature Miss Marple but couldn't remember the title, though she remembered quite a bit of the plot.

Again, the young woman at the back of the room had the name of the author, the name of the book, and only missed the publication date by one year. Many of the participants also remembered the title.

The third quote was a little bit harder. It didn't mention the sleuth's name, but gave his sidekick's name instead. Many of them knew the author immediately. Even Jane, and only because she'd dipped into one of the Dorothy Simpson books she'd purchased the day before. The sidekick was Mike Lineman, Luke Thanet's assistant.

Nobody except the young woman at the back of the room knew which title it was, and even she didn't come up with a date of publication.

The quotes became progressively harder and harder to identify. Every now and then one happened to come from one of the participants' very favorite mystery, and a few of them gained on the young woman's score.

Jane eventually gave up trying to guess when it came down to mention of minor continuing characters, like the usual pathologist in the series. She was awfully glad that Shelley had taken a pass on coming to this event. Shelley would have been completely at sea and mad as the dickens about it.

By the end of the forty-five-minute session, the quotes were so obscure that practically nobody had any answers. Even the young woman who'd started out so brilliantly was stymied by a few of the last questions. But she did win the contest. Chester Griffith presented her with a rare mystery of Wilkie Collins's and asked her to introduce herself. Jane vaguely recognized the book, which had been in a glass cabinet in the booksellers' room and labeled for sale for over a hundred dollars.

"I'm LaLane Jones. I teach a writing class in a college here in town on the history of the mystery genre and the science fiction genre."

There were groans from the rest of the audience and a few good-natured remarks about this not being fair. LaLane Jones admitted it with a laugh.

Jane thought about her as she went back to the suite. As much as Jane herself enjoyed mysteries, she had no desire to be an expert on them the way Ms. Jones did. She wondered if Ms. Jones, as young and attractive as she was, had a real life. She hoped so.

But doubted it.

This made Jane a bit sad, and she tried to cheerherself back up by thinking how nice it had been that neither the dreadful Vernetta nor Gaylord had bothered to attend.

That, at least, was a valuable perk. Maybe they'd even gone home.

Mel's second speech was
even
better than the first because he'd had plenty of time to prepare it. After it was done, his cell phone rang again and he took the call, then told Jane that he was leaving the hotel without staying the second night.

"That call didn't have something to do with Zac, did it?" Jane asked.

"No. It's a simple shoplifting a few doors down from here. I'm back on duty."

On the one hand, Jane hated to see him go. On the other hand, she was hoping that there would still be something interesting to learn if she stuck out the rest of the conference.

Unfortunately, the Strausmanns hadn't gone home. At the snack supper Vernetta was dressed as Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz and Gaylord was adorned with sheets of aluminum foil, pasted together with duct tape, being the Tin Man.

"They should be locked up in some institution," Shelley said. "At least Vernetta should. Gaylord

made the mistake of sitting down and has already split the back of his pants and looks deeply embarrassed. Poor man. Those are some flashy undies he's wearing."

"Rich man, you mean," Jane said. "He's going to live in his wife's mansion and drive a Mercedes. He might even buy a flock of them in every color. Letting himself be made a fool in public isn't such a high price to pay."

"I'll bet he becomes fed up with it soon," Shelley predicted. "I'd bet good money that he runs off with a shy, blonde, seventeen-year-old anorexic bimbo within a year. Maybe two years. He'll probably be allowed to keep ownership of half the house and all of the cars."

"Do you really think so?"

"I can but hope," Shelley said. "Let's go to a real dinner. I can't bear to be in the same room with these people."

"Okay by me," Jane said. As they were heading for the nicest of the hotel restaurants, she said, "I don't understand it. Vernetta doesn't even know how to speak English. And I'd guess she has no idea how to spell anything over four letters long. She's so utterly ignorant about human nature. Except her own, of course. How could she possibly write a good novel? It seems to me that making up characters that seem real, especially if they're nothing like the writer who creates them, is the essence of fiction."

"That's exactly what I've been wondering. Iwonder if it simply has a lot of really good sex scenes."

"Shelley!" Jane exclaimed. "Do you really suppose so?"

Shelley shrugged. "Who could guess? Maybe we should look it up if it's still somewhere on the Internet."

"I don't think I could stand to read it," Jane said. "Good sex scenes or not. Come to think of it, we don't even know where to look. I've never heard what it's titled. I wonder if Felicity knows. She hasn't read it but she said some of her friends had attempted to wade through it. Anyway, since it's been sold to a real publisher, it's probably been removed from the site, wouldn't you imagine?"

"Maybe so. I think this obsession with costumes means something," Shelley speculated. "Like what?"

"Maybe she has a fabulous imagination hidden under her horrible public personality?"

"She's simply an obsessive show-off. Her imagination only runs to crummy costumes," Jane claimed.

As they entered the dining room, Jane spotted someone way back in the corner waving to them. "There's Felicity. She seems to be inviting us to join her."

They told the waiter to take them to her table. "What's up?" Jane asked, afraid it was just a friendly wave, not an actual invitation, when she

noticed that Felicity had an old book open on the table.

"Nothing much. It's just too dark in here to read this tiny print, and I'd rather visit with you two. I haven't even ordered anything but a drink yet. You were just in time."

"We didn't see you at the snack party," Jane said. "I figured Vernetta might turn up."

They regaled Felicity with the Dorothy and Tin Man description. "He'd already burst out of his costume and was wearing really fancy underwear," Jane said.

"No!" Felicity said with a vulgar laugh. She closed her book — an ancient Mary Stewart paperback — and set it beside her at the edge of the table, and it promptly fell to the floor.

"Let me pick it up for you," Jane said.

"No, I can grab it," Felicity said. She leaned over, still laughing, and remained unseen for an unusually long time. She finally came back upright with the book in one hand and several loose pages of it in the other.

"Glue's gone. I'll put the pages in order later." "That's it!" Jane exclaimed so loudly that several people looked around at her.

"What is?" Shelley asked.

"Old paperbacks often have pages that come loose," Jane said, lowering her voice. "That's why Zac was holding one when he was attacked. That's what I've been meaning to ask Mel about all this time.""Why?" Shelley inquired.

"Because it might mean something."

"Like what?"

"Your handsome detective is in charge of this case but he still gave his talks?" Felicity wasn't quite grasping what this was about. It was certainly more interesting than Gaylord's underwear.

"No," Jane said, surprising Shelley that she'd paid attention in spite of her deer-in-theheadlights look. "He was just called first because he was the closest. It's some other detective's case."

"Okay. I grasp that now," Felicity said. "But what does this have to do with the pages of old paperbacks falling out?"

"Mel mentioned in passing that Zac was found on the ground just outside his van. He had an old yellowed book page in his hand. That's what I was trying so hard to remember."

Shelley said, "Why is this so important to you, Jane, that you've fretted so much about recalling it?"

Jane shrugged. "I don't know exactly. I just have a strong feeling that it might be significant."

"Nonsense," Shelley said briskly. "He was probably waiting for someone and reading while he waited. Maybe he dropped it like Felicity did and was trying to find where to put it back in when he was attacked."

"I know that makes sense," Jane admitted. "It's

probably true, too. Somehow I had an idea it might have more of a meaning."

Both the other women were trying hard not to roll their eyes in disbelief at this bizarre remark.

"Where was the rest of the book?" Jane said. "Mel didn't mention a book being in the van."

"Why would he mention it anyway?" Shelley asked. "Probably half of the people attending this conference have books in their cars if they drove here. You yourself have already stashed some of your own in your new Jeep so you don't have to carry them all out at once, and I've loaded about half mine into the minivan."

Felicity said, "I've already shipped some of mine home through the hotel's office center."

"You're both right again," Jane said. "But still… would you order the shrimp pasta and iced tea for me while I go in the lobby and call Mel? I hate to see people making their phone calls from restaurant tables."

As Jane left, Felicity said, "If she feels so strongly about this, she could be right."

Shelley replied, "It's just writer's imagination." She added with a kind smile, "You have it, too."

Mel was even more skeptical than Shelley. "A page from a book? Yeah, I think I noticed that. I'd forgotten about it. Why are you asking?"

"It could be important. Were there other books in the vehicle?"

"I have no idea. Why do you think it's important?"

"I'm not certain. I simply think it could be significant. Would you ask the detective in charge if he could fax the page to the hotel? I have the number here."

"Jane, get a grip. Why would anyone have bothered keeping the page he had in his hand?"

"You don't mean when a person is attacked all the relevant bits and pieces aren't kept? That doesn't sound like what you said in the 'Scene of the Crime' talk you gave."

"But he wasn't murdered. Just roughed up. Nothing was even stolen," Mel objected. "And in case you want to know, the hospital already released him this afternoon."

"Please, Mel. See if someone has the page. It would mean a lot to me."

Mel sighed deeply. "Jane, I must have some halfway decent reason for asking for this stupid page. I can't just say 'a friend of mine would like to see it.' "

"Why not? If it's still around and nobody thinks it means anything, why wouldn't they let someone see it?"

"Jane, you're the most meddling woman in the world."

"I know that," she said, smiling. He'd caved.

She came back to the table and didn't mention anything else about the page or her conversation

with Mel. And neither of the other women brought it up. They just chatted about the conference and complained once again, halfheartedly, about Vernetta and Gaylord.

"Have you discovered any additional information about who Miss Mystery is?" Jane asked Felicity.

"Not for sure. I hive a theory though. I think it's that woman who eavesdrops everywhere she goes. In fact, she's sitting over there." Felicity pointed with her hand close to the table. "The plump one at the third table to the right with the upswept gray hair and the purple suit. Keep an eye on her. She's sitting next to a bunch of authors and making notes behind her menu so they don't see her doing it."

Shelley said excitedly, "It's the same woman I was guessing. Remember when I pointed her out to you earlier, Jane? Great minds think alike."

As
Jane, Shelley, and
Felicity left the restaurant,
Jane
remembered to ask Felicity about Vernetta's epubbed book. "Is it still up on the Internet somewhere?"

"I have no idea. Interesting question though. She probably didn't even know to copyright it, much less remove it from wherever it is."

"Do you know the title of it?" Shelley asked. "Jane says she never wants to read it, but I'm curious."