Mystery Writer's Mysteries Box Set 1-3 Page 34

  All these disjointed facts—if they even were facts—swirled around my head while I shuffled around the table stuffing swag into bags.

  At some point Orville began helping me, but I didn’t notice until I ran into him when we both dropped our filled bags into the corner. I looked around the workroom and saw that Clementine had set up an ironing board and was attaching conference logo patches to T-shirts. Lily was working on her laptop and quietly singing off-key with the iPod playing on the table next to her.

  Before I placed another load of empty bags on the table, I took a moment to stretch. I raised my arms straight above my head and did a swan dive to touch my toes. I held the pose until the tightness in my back and legs disappeared. When I straightened, I checked the time. “Ohmygosh. It’s almost two.”

  “I’m starving,” Orville said, abandoning the bag in his arm.

  Lily’s eyes got wide and she pointed at her iPod while singing along to the lyrics, which coincidentally involved cheeseburgers and paradise. She stopped the music but her eyes remained surprised.

  Jimmy Buffett’s song wormed its way through my brain and I wiggled my hips. “I could eat.”

  “You know how Viv does all that volunteer work?” Clementine said without looking up from her ironing board. “You might not know it, but she’s as generous with her money as she is with her time. If she were here, she’d probably require us to stop for lunch.” She turned her head and looked at me.

  I couldn’t tell if a smile danced around her eyes. Probably not.

  Was she trying to guilt me into buying them lunch?

  I didn’t take the bait. “Hey, yeah. Want me to go get Jerry’s samples? I think there were plenty left.” I pretended to leave the workroom.

  “No, that’s okay,” Lily piped up. “We’ll order something.”

  “Don’t tell the wife.” Orville plopped into a nearby chair and pulled the Velcro from his shoe. Riiiiiip.

  “I know just the place.” Clementine pulled out her phone. As she scrolled for a number, she said, “Watanabe’s.”

  “Ooh, I love that place!” Lily clapped her fingertips together.

  “So. Not cheeseburgers.” I reset my taste buds. “Fine.”

  Twenty minutes later, a grim-faced Jack ushered a tough-looking twenty-something guy into the workroom carrying a large open box filled with brown bags, tops folded over and stapled. Biceps bulged. He announced, “Delivery. Watanabe Yatai.”

  Jack crossed his arms and waited near the door.

  Lily and I hurried over to help collect the food. We placed the box on a table while the man handed the bill to Clementine. She placed the credit card slip on the nearest table and I saw she signed her name “Clement!ne Sm!th.”

  How adorkably hipster. It hadn’t been Lily’s overly enthusiastic notation after all.

  The delivery guy lifted each bag from the box, announcing the items as he did so. “Okonomiyaki, sometimes called As-You-Like-It-Pancake. But it’s more like pizza to me. This one’s shrimp, this one’s pork. Takoyaki, like doughnut holes, but with octopus, ginger, and scallions. Yakisoba, which is noodles, pork, and vegetables. Fish cakes. And last but not least, two large ramens.”

  He ran a hand through the hair that had flopped down on his forehead. I suddenly recognized him. He was the guy I’d watched from my balcony having a fight with his girlfriend.

  He collected the credit card slip, removed a handful of paper-wrapped chopsticks still in the delivery box, and then left with the empty box.

  Jack turned to follow him out, but he stopped when Lily whispered, “Sweet potato pancakes, he’s cute.”

  Clementine nodded. “Michael Watanabe is as important to his parents’ restaurant as the food is.”

  Jack shook his head. “Watch out for him. Even though he claims he doesn’t use anymore, we call him Michael-What-A-Druggie. He’s bad news.”

  I opened up the bag with the shrimp okonomiyaki and inhaled deeply. “Someone who makes food this delicious simply can’t be bad news.”

  “He’s a small-time hoodlum drug dealer when he’s not delivering food. He gets kids hooked. One of them was my best friend from high school. Made her do awful things.” Jack’s voice cracked.

  “He must be small-time if he’s still driving around delivery orders.” Clementine handed out the sets of chopsticks.

  “Just watch out for him. Oh, and I’m supposed to tell you that you’re not allowed to have outside food sent here. We have a restaurant, you know.”

  “Yes, we know,” I said. “Want some?” I held out the container of octopus doughnut holes.

  Jack reached in and pulled one out. “Yes, please. Just one, though.” He took a bite and turned for the door before spinning back for another. “Okay. Maybe two.”

  After we ate our fill and ponied up cash to reimburse Clementine, I excused myself, telling everyone I’d be back in a little bit.

  “Good idea! Why use a public restroom when you can use the one up in your suite?” Lily clapped her fingers together again.

  “Sheesh, Lily. Can’t a girl tinkle in secret?” I had my hand on the doorknob when I heard Clementine clear her throat in the way people clear their throats when they really just want to get your attention without saying anything. I glanced back at her.

  She jerked her head toward the pile of T-shirts and iron-on patches. “You could take these with you now, so you don’t forget.”

  I almost said, “But I want to forget.” Instead I said, “I’ll get them later.”

  Clementine’s eyes were hot enough to brand me.

  As I crossed the lobby I saw Jack and a young woman, who still wore a maid’s uniform of dark blue scrubs with her exotic headwrap, deep in what seemed to be a serious conversation. They were in a quiet corner of the restaurant. I wondered if it was the same girl I overheard talking with him yesterday. It certainly was the same girl I saw arguing with Michael Watanabe from my balcony. I veered away from my path toward the elevator and made a beeline for a stack of free newspapers on the counter outside the restaurant. I picked one up and pretended to be fascinated by an article on page three. They were too far away for me to hear their conversation clearly. Maybe she was the friend from high school Jack had mentioned.

  Hugging the edge of a long, built-in planter overflowing with ivy, I inched closer and closer with my back toward them until I could make out a few words here and there. Their conversation seemed unimportant and a tad ridiculous until I heard Hanna’s name again. That couldn’t be a coincidence. Not twice, anyway. I still didn’t know why Jack had lied about knowing Hanna, but it was time to find out. Keeping my back to them, I folded the newspaper and tucked it under my arm so I could pull my phone from my bag easier. I walked back into the lobby, but turned around as soon as I was out of sight. I returned to the restaurant, put the newspaper to the top of the stack, and headed straight for them with my phone at my ear.

  “Oh, there you are!” I said to Jack as I faked hanging up. “Viv asked me to ask you to call Hanna. She’s having car trouble and needs help.”

  Without thinking, Jack pulled his phone from his pocket saying, “I wish she’d get a better car. That one is always breaking down.”

  “Aha!” I pointed my finger at him. “That was a trick! You said you didn’t know Hanna.” I stared down at them.

  Jack and the girl exchanged a quick look, but neither said anything. Silence wasn’t really an option for me. Not part of my plan, such as it was.

  Jack held his phone in midair. “So she’s not having car trouble?”

  “No.”

  He pocketed his phone and glared at me. After a bit his face softened. “Fine. Yes, I know her. Hanna and I have been friends since eighth grade. Viv got me this job.”

  “Why did you tell me you didn’t know her?”

  “I don’t know you, and I didn’t know why you wanted to know.” Jack cocked his head. “Still don’t.”

  This put me in a bit of a bind. I wanted to know everything he could tell me about
Hanna, but I couldn’t let on she was missing. If Hanna really had been kidnapped, Jack would worry and might do something rash. If Hanna wasn’t kidnapped, and this was some weird scam by Viv, Jack shouldn’t know that either. And if Jack was somehow involved, I didn’t want him to think I suspected anything. I had to come up with an acceptable fib.

  “I was just making small talk. I heard you say her name, so I was curious. I’m a writer, remember? I’m curious about everything.” I glanced at the girl’s headwrap. “Actually, now that I think about it, it was you who said Hanna’s name, not Jack. Do you know her too?”

  The girl cut her eyes at Jack and didn’t answer, instead attaching a name tag to her navy blue scrubs. Nervous? Buying time to consider her answer? She adjusted her name tag one last time, then lowered her hands and looked at Jack.

  I leaned a bit closer to read her name. “Sarah, yesterday didn’t I hear you say that Hanna isn’t getting her way about something this time?”

  She looked at me but didn’t respond. I suddenly felt conspicuous standing there at their table.

  “It’s pronounced saRAH,” Jack said.

  “What?”

  “You put the emPHAsis on the wrong sylLABle,” Jack explained.

  Portland really is weird, I thought. But I said, “Am I being punked?”

  Instead of answering, Jack said, “Why do you want to know about Hanna?”

  I contemplated my response. “Viv hasn’t heard from her in a few days and she’s worried. When was the last time you heard from Hanna?”

  Another look passed between Jack and saRAH, and they had an entire conversation with their eyebrows.

  Finally Jack said, “The last time I talked to her—must have been Monday or Tuesday—we got into a huge argument.”

  “About what?”

  In a quiet voice, saRAH finally spoke. “About me.”

  “Like I said, Hanna and I have been friends since eighth grade.” At my raised eyebrows, Jack added, “Nothing like that. Just friends. But she’s very protective of me and didn’t want me to date saRAH. She thinks she’ll break my heart.” Jack took saRAH’s hand. “We’re in love, so we’re keeping our relationship a secret from her. Just for a little while—”

  If Jack and saRAH were in love, how did Michael Watanabe fit in? Were secrets being kept from Hanna and from Watanabe? Interesting.

  “But Hanna must have heard rumors or something,” saRAH said.

  “We needed to work up the courage to tell her.”

  “Why are you both so afraid to tell her you’re dating? Maybe if she met Sarah, I mean saRAH—”

  saRAH gave a tiny snort. “Hanna and I are best friends.”

  “Then wouldn’t she be happy for you?”

  “Hanna has a temper,” Jack said.

  “And she always gets her way,” saRAH added.

  Just like Viv. Mother and daughter must butt heads a lot. Maybe that was the difficult part of their relationship Viv mentioned.

  “Hanna sabotaged the last three girls Jack dated,” saRAH finished.

  “So,” I said to her, “you and Hanna are more like frenemies now?”

  She shrugged.

  I thought for a moment, then asked Jack, “Was it Hanna you were talking about when you said Michael Watanabe got your friend hooked on drugs?”

  Jack nodded. saRAH dropped his hand and studied her shoes. Jack reached for her hand. He squeezed it gently and then rubbed his thumb on the back of it.

  After a moment, she raised her eyes to mine. “I introduced Hanna to Michael. But I didn’t know he was a drug dealer.”

  Jack stared at his thumb rubbing the back of her hand. “Hanna checked herself into rehab twice.”

  “Where?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Nice place, somewhere on the coast.”

  “Could she have gone back?”

  “I think she was clean,” Jack said.

  “She was,” saRAH said. “The place was called ReTurn A New Leaf. There’s no way she went back.”

  “No way.” Jack shook his head.

  “Then why haven’t you heard from her?”

  “I told you, I talked to her Monday or Tuesday.”

  “And you?” I asked saRAH.

  “Me what?”

  “When did you last talk to Hanna?”

  saRAH shrugged. “I don’t know. Before that.” She looked up at me. “How often do you talk to your friends?”

  Hmm. Trick question. I thought about AmyJo back in Denver. Even though we were in a critique group together, we also had a long-lasting friendship. We went to movies. Out for coffee. On stake-outs. Well, just the once, but still. I racked my brain. When was the last time I’d talked to AmyJo outside of our critique group? I couldn’t quite put my finger on anything specific. But that’s to be expected, right? I was thirty, after all, with a real job—assuming you could call writing a real job—and, of course, I spent much of my time with Ozzi. But this wasn’t about me.

  I remained unconvinced that they were telling me everything. I had so many questions. Had Hanna racked up some debt because of her drug use? Owed the wrong guys? Would saRAH do something to Hanna to keep her from meddling in her relationship with Jack? Was Jack lying about something else? Why did he lie to me about knowing Hanna, really? The two of them didn’t seem worried that they hadn’t spoken to her recently. And what had saRAH been arguing with Michael Watanabe about?

  Jack straightened saRAH’s name tag and I remembered that they weren’t that much younger than me, after all. They had real jobs and a significant other too.

  They weren’t acting like anything was amiss with Hanna, but I’d just met them. How would I know if they were telling me the truth? That’s why I never played poker with strangers. Not since that scary night on the book tour with Viv, anyway. You didn’t know their “tells.” The way they scratch their cheek when holding only a pair of deuces. Or the way a waitress averts her eyes when she swears the salmon was flown in fresh this morning. Or the way your mom smiles when she tells you everything will be okay, then chases an Ambien with a glass of pinot noir.

  I heard voices from the kitchen right behind me. Turning to see if I needed to move out of the way, I was surprised to see Viv walking backward into the dining room as she finished a conversation with someone in the kitchen. She pivoted and saw me.

  “Charlee, hi … I was hammering out the menu details with what’s-his-name. Justin?”

  “Jerry,” I said automatically. “Viv? What are you doing here? I was just talking to Jack and saRAH—” I wanted to warn her that I hadn’t said anything specific to them about Hanna and motioned behind me.

  But they’d disappeared.

  Nine

  I was trying to keep my surprise in check at seeing Viv in the hotel. “What are you doing here?” I repeated in a whisper, following her across the restaurant.

  “Why are you whispering?”

  “Because you’re here working on the conference instead of trying to find your kidnapped daughter.”

  Viv stopped walking and stared at me. Her eyes were red and ringed with dark circles. “I’m still freaked out about Hanna and I haven’t heard anything more—from anyone, about anything—so I thought checking on conference details would keep my mind occupied.”

  “Have you gone to the police yet?”

  “No. And I’m not going to. I told you that already.” She grabbed my hand. “Have you? I told you not to—”

  “No. Of course not. You told me not to. Besides, what would I tell them?” The Portland police would probably be even less helpful than Lance.

  She covered my hand with both of hers and held me tight for a moment before starting across the restaurant again. I followed on her heels, all the way to the Clackamas Room.

  She threw open the door and called a cheery, “Hello, everyone!”

  Lily, Orville, Clementine, and two middle-aged women I hadn’t seen before greeted her, everyone chattering at once.

  One of the women said, “How are you
? I’ve heard food poisoning can make you want to shoot yourself.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about me.” Viv pulled out a chair next to where Orville had Lily’s laptop open. It didn’t escape my notice that Viv had neither confirmed nor denied that she’d had food poisoning.

  “Hey, Viv,” Lily said. “When is Garth getting here?”

  All the women spoke at once, acting like preteens backstage with a boy band. Viv rolled her eyes and held up one hand, traffic-cop style. “Late tonight, I think. But that won’t matter if we’re not ready for the conference by then. Clem—can I call you Clem?” Viv reached into her purse.

  “No.”

  Viv pulled out some papers stapled at the corner. “Um … Clementine, I heard there’s some problem with the bookstore. These are the books we absolutely must have by tomorrow afternoon.” She handed the pages to her. “Can you make sure they have these? And tell them if they don’t, they better get them in stock if they want to run the conference bookstore next year.”

  “Pretty sure I won’t tell them that. But I will check with them.” Clementine folded the papers in half lengthwise and tucked them into her left Hello Kitty rainboot.

  “Thank you.” Viv grasped both of Clementine’s hands in hers, just like she’d done with me earlier.

  Clementine pulled away, acting like Viv had foisted a dirty diaper on her. She left the workroom with a shudder.

  Viv didn’t notice because she’d already turned to Lily and the two new volunteers. “Are all the signs made?”

  “No,” Lily said. “We only got halfway through. Then the printer jammed or ran out of ink or something.”

  Viv turned to Orville. “Can you go see what you can do about the printer?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  “Or maybe Lily can do that.” I waved at Lily. I had serious doubts that Orville could extricate a sheet of paper from the jaws of the printer, given that it wasn’t made of Velcro. But he probably could create a spreadsheet in no time at all showing the myriad ways paper could jam.

  “Absolutely I can!”