"Why not? Are you having a good time?" he asked her as they strolled along. "You look good in that outfit. It's new, isn't it?"
"Thanks. It is new. I'm having a wonderful time. I had two appointments with agents and one with an editor. The first agent brushed me off. The second agent was a pregnant teenaged marshmallow. The editor seemed genuinely interested in the book," she said, suppressing the urge to giggle madly. "I've met a lot of interesting people. I'm glad you're here. I'll tell you all about it when it's over. How about dinner Monday night? Prepare yourself to say nothing but 'Oh dear' and 'That's great.' "
"I should be free," Mel said with a grin. "Let's go out somewhere nice where there's a comfortable booth so I can nap for a while."
They joined Shelley in the back of the seminar room, and within seconds Mel's cell phone buzzed quietly. He walked out of the room and didn't return.
"This is a bit of a bore," Shelley said in a near whisper. "Felicity was the best speaker. The rest are unbelievably pompous. How did your interview go?"
A woman sitting two rows ahead of them turned and glared at them. "I'm trying to hear the speakers," she snapped.
They glared back and moved across the aisle where no one was close enough to hear them.
"I don't suppose Miss Mystery is on the panel?" Jane said. "She'd blow her cover."
"Everybody's trying to figure out which attendee she is. So far as I know, nobody has a firm
idea," Shelley said. "Apparently she's good at fading into the background and keeping her ear to the ground. I admit I've noticed a middle-aged woman who hangs out in the lobby pretending to read a book. Always sitting close to authors who are having private talks. She's my best guess. I'll show her to you the next time I spot her."
An idiotic question was being addressed to Felicity, so Jane and Shelley stopped chatting to listen politely to how she responded. Felicity spoke gracefully, then sat back to endure the rest of the hour.
So did Jane and Shelley.
When it was over at last, they drifted out the door and discussed what they'd do that evening. Dinner, according to the schedule, was "on your own." They presumed this was because the editors and agents would be taking their clients out to nice dinners. There were no specific plans for the rest of the attendees, except that two conference rooms had been made available for people to sit and chat about whatever they liked. This seemed deadly to both Jane and Shelley.
"Want to cab down to that seafood restaurant we went to near the Merchandise Mart, the one you liked so much?" Shelley asked.
"It's Friday night. Wouldn't it be too late to make a reservation?" Jane asked.
"We could try. Do you want to take Mel along? My treat."
"If I can find him. I wonder what that call was about."
"Ring him up on his cell phone and see."
Jane did so. He didn't answer, so she left a message. He rang back a few minutes later when they'd gone up to the suite.
"Somebody found a man bashed in the head in the parking lot behind the hotel," he said. "I think he's part of this conference. A weird-looking guy with striped hair."
"Zac Zebra!" Jane exclaimed.
"That's not what it says on his driver's license and car registration."
"Zac Zebra is a pseudonym. Is he in bad shape?"
"Out like a light. The medics say his pulse is good, his breathing is normal, and his pupils are fine, but he's out cold. They're loading him into the ambulance now."
"I don't suppose you're free to go to a nice dinner with us?"
"I probably will be. This isn't my case. I was just the closest detective to the site when the emergency call came in. They've assigned it to someone else."
"We'll try to make a reservation for three for seven o'clock. We're close enough to the restaurant so we don't have to leave until quarter of seven. Let us know. Let's take a cab, though. I don't want to drive in the dark yet in my new car, and your MG is too small for three of us."
"What's this about Zac?" Shelley said when Jane had hung up.
"He was knocked out in the parking lot behind the hotel," Jane said. "It's not Mel's case, so he can probably come with us. He said the medical people don't think Zac's in big trouble."
"Let's book the reservation, if we can, and go back down to the lobby to see if anyone knows more about this. Better yet, we can ask the concierge to make the reservation for us. They always have more clout."
Twelve
Mel was able to join them for dinner. "Nice place," he said when the waiter had shown him to their table.
"The last time I was here, I was lame, tired, and frustrated," Jane said. "The dinner really perked me up. What have you learned about Zac? And what is his real name?"
"Harold Spotswood. He was still unconscious last time I checked. But the doctors don't seem terribly alarmed. They've put him through all their machines. There's a hairline fracture, they said, but no pooling of blood or clotting in his brain. He appears to have just needed a good long nap, as I understand it."
Shelley studied her menu, not liking this sort of talk when she was about to eat. "Anything else you know about him?" she asked, hoping to escape from more medical talk.
"Just one weird thing. He was clutching a page from what appeared to be a very old paperback book," Mel said. "An old page with slightly yel-
low edges. What was his connection with this conference?"
"He's a book reviewer," Jane said. "Not at all a well-respected one. And a macho pig who only likes extremely hard-boiled books written by men."
"If he sticks with that, who's to care?" Mel asked.
"It's just that he also claims to read dozens of books a day," Jane said. "Our friend Felicity was telling us about him. He obviously doesn't read past the first few pages and makes enormous mistakes. He also takes potshots at women mystery writers. Felicity said he calls any mystery written by a woman a 'powder puff' book."
"I noticed when I went through the lobby that most of the people wearing those badges you had on were women," Mel said. "So why was he even invited to the conference?"
"Felicity says he goes to lots of mystery conferences blowing his own horn. It may be that some authors like him, even if he gets his facts wrong," Shelley explained. "After all, most people in the arts think any publicity is good publicity. Felicity also suggested that the planners thought a little conflict might be a good thing. I think I'll have the crab Louis salad."
She looked up and said, "Jane, you haven't even looked at your menu."
"I was thinking about that page from a book. Was he found in his car, Mel?"
"It looked as if he'd parked his van, turned off the ignition, and released his seat belt, and someone jerked open the door, bopped him on the back of the head, and threw him to the ground. The driver's-side door was standing open. We might be wrong about this though. It's just an initial impression. Why do you ask?"
"So it's possible he was reading some page of the book before coming back into the hotel? He might have clutched the page and accidentally ripped it out, right?"
"Possibly. Why does this interest you?"
"Yesterday he slipped up next to this very important editor and gave her a paperback book and whispered something to her. The editor looked startled. But she just handed it off to her assistant and dismissed Zac with a curt nod."
Shelley said, "Jane, I think he was probably just trying to put one of his old books into her hands to see if she'd republish it. Felicity told us he used to be a novel writer," she explained to Mel.