An Unconventional Murder (23 page)

"Methinks you doth protest too fervently," Royce commented. "You begin to sound like
your insufferable hero, Frank Diamond."

Upton slammed his fist down on the table. "What the hell does that mean?"

Fontaine pointed toward Rena. "That you are either a liar or an inveterate fool. Surely,
Arthur, you are aware that Ms. Oberhaus has a deep crush on you."

Upton glanced over at Rena, his expression clearly inviting her to deny Fontaine's absurd
accusation. But to Upton's amazement, he found her face frozen in horror--like a burglar caught
unexpectedly in the glare of a policeman's flashlight.

Fontaine made no effort to suppress a satisfied smile.

"Hey, did you hear that?" Brady said, pointing toward the TV.

"Hear what?" Upton said, grateful for an excuse to look away from Rena.

"The Heritage Center. They just announced that they've given up negotiating. They're
going in after him. Full scale assault."

It took Cameron nearly an hour to search the honeymoon suite. What took the longest
was going through the suitcases some of the CFWA board members had brought upstairs when
they gave up their hotel rooms. He hadn't really expected to find anything significant, so he
wasn't disappointed when his efforts came up empty.

Kicking off his shoes, he sighed and dropped wearily onto the couch. But he had no
interest in resting.

The stiletto was still hidden somewhere at the Marquis Hotel. He was sure of that. His
plight reminded him of a video game Brady had played obsessively when he was in his late teens.
As the female heroine searched all over ancient ruins, she would occasionally find a stash of
treasure: a key, a chalice or a cache of weapons.

But this was about more than a missing knife. It was about murder.

Two murders.

Wearily, he considered the CFWA board members: Royce Fontaine, the one who raised
such a ruckus that morning about the door being locked; Randy Callahan, the cowboy romance
writer who openly despised Zachary Tuck; Ashley Wade, the financial planner who had finally
gotten his first break as a writer, only to have his new agent brutally murdered; Rena Oberhaus,
about whom Cameron suddenly realized he knew almost nothing except that she had planned the
CFWA convention. Upton had told him over lunch that she was a former nurse who now worked
in marketing. What sort of books did she write? Was she strong enough--or crazy enough--to
have murdered two men?

Then there was Upton himself, the ex-cop who had practically insisted in participating in
the murder investigation. What was the altercation he' had with Tuck in New York City? And
Thelma Ridgeway, who claimed that one of the CFWA members had stolen the plot to her novel.
At first glance, she had just seemed flabby. But he had noticed her arms and hands. She had
muscles. She was strong enough to have strangled Robert Johnson.

As exhausted as he was, he felt a sense of urgency. It was time to bring this matter to a
conclusion.

Upton was right. One of the people planning to spend the night in the honeymoon suite
was a double murderer. That was a certainty.

Somehow, he had to see his way to a solution.

He thought about Robert Johnson. What must his killer have done to prepare? Cut and
size the boards, of course. Find the wig and fake moustache? No problem. You could buy that
kind of stuff practically anywhere., especially this time of year.

There was something out of kilter about the murder. Cameron surrendered himself to the
feeling, letting it expand as he tried to pinpoint what it was. In his mind's eye, he scanned the
corpse from head to toe, over and over again, as though he might somehow focus on the problem,
like a movie camera zooming in to reveal some critical detail.

He sat up abruptly. There it was, sticking out like a sore thumb.

He took time to consider implications. What he saw certainly wasn't enough to support a
murder conviction. Hell, it wasn't even probable cause. But it was a legitimate suspicion and it
pointed uniquely to one person. He was sure of that.

Now, he just had to figure out what to do about it.

As they headed toward the elevator, Upton made no effort to conceal his seething rage.
How dare Royce embarrass Rena like that? They had their own disagreements, but it was
unspeakable for the old scoundrel to have dragged Rena into the fray.

Upton sneaked a peek at her. She averted her eyes. It seemed to him that it took hours
for the elevator to finally arrive. Once inside, he casually slipped an arm around her waist with
what he intended as nothing more than a gesture of comfort. She looked up sharply, startled, her
eyes searching his. Then she turned so that they were face to face, wrapping her arms around him
and burrowing her face against his chest. He could feel her body tremble--not with excitement,
he was certain, but with what?

As they left the elevator, he realized she had been crying.

They entered the honeymoon suite and found Cameron seated in one of the green
captain's chairs. Nothing looked out of place, but Upton knew the room had been thoroughly
searched.

"Did you find anything?"

Cameron gave no response.

Upton understood. If he were in the same position, he wouldn't answer a question like
that, either. He slipped off his suit coat and draped it across the back of his regular seat. The
others dispersed themselves around the room, taking the same places they had occupied before
Cameron asked them to leave.

"While we were downstairs, we exchanged alibis," Upton volunteered. "Do you want to
know where everyone was--or, at least, claims to have been--when Tuck was killed?"

"Sure. Let's hear it."

Briefly Upton summarized what each person had said about his or her whereabouts,
including his own activities.

Cameron made notes on his legal pad. "So you were with Mr. Oberhaus in her
room?"

"Just long enough to change clothes. And as I've assured Mr. Fontaine--" He took the
time to glare at Royce. "--there was nothing untoward going on."

"I didn't suggest that there was, Arthur," Royce said. "That wasn't my point."

Upton shot him a resentful glance. "I know what your point was. We'll discuss it
later."

"What about Ms. GP?" Cameron said.

"What about me?"

"Where were you when Mr. Tuck was murdered?"

She took her time before answering. "I was all over the hotel. My lunch meeting with the
agent didn't go very well. She let me know she wasn't interested in me, in any way, shape or
form. So I spent the rest of the afternoon chatting people up, trying to get a line on another agent.
I think I've found one. From four to five, I was in session with the Published Writers Guild in the
Birch Room."

"What is the Published Writers Guild?"

"Its members consist of writers who've had something published within the past five
years," Upton explained. "We talk about trends in the business, exchange information about
specific agents and publishers. That sort of thing."

"It keeps out the riff-raff," Ashley Wade commented. "People like me. And Ms.
Ridgeway."

Thelma Ridgeway stirred irritably but said nothing.

Rena protested, "That's not the reason--"

Upton waved it away. "We've got more important things to worry about here." A
disconcerting thought came to him. All of the men except Brady Cameron were wearing suits.
Any of them could have the stiletto concealed on their person.

Though he had searched the room, Cameron hadn't frisked anybody.

Would the killer be foolish enough to carry the knife around?

"I think you should search all of us," Upton said. "And maybe even--"

Randy Callahan stood up. "You know, all that alcohol is starting to do its thing. Excuse
me, I'm going down the hall."

"I was having the same thought," Ashley said, rising to her feet. "But I didn't want to be
the first to leave."

"That makes three of us," Thelma Ridgway joined in. She told Cameron, "If you want to
search the bathroom after I use it, I'll understand."

Randy said, "I don't know about anyone else, but I plan to take a good look around
before I do anything in there." He shrugged unapologetically. "I've already been accused of
enough foul deeds for one day."

They headed for the two bathrooms.

Brady got up and crossed the room. He unlocked the door to the balcony and stuck his
head outside. "It's still snowing." He closed the door and fumbled with the latch, but couldn't get
it to work, "Screw it," he said, and came back into the living room.

Upton lowered his voice, addressing Cameron. "You should probably take scrapings
from under our fingernails or--"

"What about this Published Writers Guild?" Cameron interrupted. "Who are its
members?"

"There are a few dozen of them. I could get you a list--"

"And they met this afternoon?"

"I assume so. I didn't make it. As you know, I had other things to attend to."

"Mr. Wade seems to resent the fact that their meetings are held in private. So do a lot of
other people, I imagine."

"I'm sure that's true," Upton agreed.

"He seems like sort of an odd duck," Cameron observed.

In a hushed voice, Rena said, "We dissolved our critique group and then got back
together a few months later without telling him. I'm afraid he didn't fit in very well."

"How so?"

"For one thing, some of his ideas were really bizarre. And they never held together. He
was always throwing in some weird plot twist, and once you started to ask a few questions the
whole thing fell completely apart. And he'd get really mad at whoever pointed out the
inconsistencies." She frowned suddenly. "You know, if I didn't know better..."

She colored when she realized that Upton and Cameron were both staring at her.

Upton could see where Cameron's questions were leading. "Rena, what are you
suggesting?"

"Nothing! I mean, I certainly wouldn't accuse Ashley of--"

"Of what?" Wade said, as he emerged from the hallway, with Callahan and Thelma
Ridgeway close behind.

"Of--of being a murderer," Rena said, with a nervous laugh. "I was saying that I wouldn't
accuse you of anything like that."

"I sure hope not," he said with a disarming smile.

But Upton had spied a momentary wildness in Ashley's demeanor that alarmed him.

GP set down the cup of coffee she had brought upstairs with her from the hotel
lounge.

Had she seen that flash of rage, too?

"You know, while we're at it, Ash," she said. "There's one thing that's been bothering me
about the Johnson killing. It occurred to me while I was sitting across the table from you at
dinner."

"Oh? What's that?"

"The way that man was dressed. I mean, I can understand how the killer managed to
steal my sunglasses, or Art's ski hat. Or even Royce's muffler. But--"

She hesitated.

Upton felt his own muscles tighten. Where was GP going with her question?

What was significant about the stolen clothing?

In a fraction of a second, it came to him.
That's
what bothered him about the
murder scene that morning. He hadn't been able to put his finger on it, but there was something
vaguely out of place--something his subconscious had identified as definitely wrong. His glanced
at Cameron and their eyes met.

The detective already had the same thought.

Cameron had beaten him to the punch.

In a clear, unwavering tone Suzanne finished her question. "--but how on earth could the
killer have managed to steal your wrist watch without you noticing it?"

Ashley stepped backwards, suddenly looking pale. He worked his jaw, but no words
came. Finally, he stammered, "My watch? He must have...I don't know. It just happened. You've
heard of pickpockets taking someone's watch without the victim feeling it, haven't you? He must
have been--"

"No," said Upton. "That won't cut it, Ash. Either last night when you went to bed or
sometime this morning you would have noticed it was missing. Everyone takes off his watch
when--"

Ashley's expression made any further discussion unnecessary.

"You said it yourself, this afternoon," Upton said, his muscles tensing. "You're the only
board member who hasn't had a book published yet. You--"

"Tuck agreed to be my agent," Ashley retorted. "He was going to get my first book
published. So claiming I killed him is ridiculous. That proves I didn't--"

"No," said Rena, rising. "Because you only found out today--after Johnson was
murdered--that Tuck was willing to be your agent."

GP was now standing, as well. "You set all of this up, just to show us, to show us you
could plot a book as well as anyone else, didn't you?"

"And you had to kill Tuck because he somehow figured out what you had done," Upton
said.

"Good God!" Randy exclaimed, shaking his head. "You were forced to murder the very
man who was going to get your career started." He pursed his lips in a silent whistle.

"You think so?" Ashley demanded. "Then how did I do it? The room was locked,
remember? You can't prove--"

Upton took a step forward. "I know exactly how it happened. Last night, you went
skulking around the hotel, stealing things from the other board members. Then--"

"Then you chatted up this Robert Johnson," Randy cut in, "who just happened to be
stranded at the Marquis by the blizzard--"

Rena added, "And you fast-talked him into thinking this was some sort of Halloween
prank."

"You lured him into the Aspen Room and probably even conned him into helping you
bar the doors with the notched boards you had already hidden there." Upton said.

Ashley looked surprised. "How did you--"

GP added, "Then you got him to dress up in all the stolen clothing. I'm curious, though.
Did you put the watch on him before or after you killed him?"

"That is of no consequence, Suzanne." Royce said. "What matters, Ashley, is that you
managed to ambush him with the garrotte and you throttled him."