Third Place Winner:

Whacked at the Conference

by Robert S. Ruehrdanz

Chapter One

Chicago , Illinois

The Day Before The Conference

"Just tell me where you'll be and I'll fly there," Phil Baxter said loudly to Doris Shelford, his editor.

Phil Baxter had spent twenty minutes on the phone trying to convince her to review a new chapter for his book. He'd spent a lot of time and energy on this project and he wasn't about to quit until he had an agreement from her.

She responded calmly, "No need to shout. I have to fly down to LA this morning and I haven't even packed."

"I'll give you time to pack if you give me twenty minutes in LA. Where are you staying?"

Doris growled, "I didn't say, because I want peace and quiet. Quiet, as in rest and relaxation, so don't call me on my cell phone, I won't answer.”
Phil persisted, "Well at least tell me when you'll be back."

"A week from Friday, for one day and then I'm off to New York for a conference and I won't be back at work for another week."

"All right Doris , you win. I'll have the new chapter on your desk a week from Friday if you promise to look at it before you leave, deal?"

"Okay, now leave me alone. Remember, I love you. Bye," and hung up.

Phil laughed to himself, sat back and put his feet up on his desk. Doris was a tough lady. Her growling voice over the phone has put the fear of God in some people, but in person, she was five feet tall and looked as if a breeze could blow her over. Phil loved and respected her. She'd been his editor for seven years.

Without breaking for lunch, he busied himself sifting through the mess that covered his desk. Six hours later, when darkness and hunger made his stomach growl loudly, he closed his laptop and stopped work. He stood, stretched his back and rubbed his bleary eyes, mumbling, "Okay, okay, we'll add food to the program."

He went into the kitchen and opened the fridge and pulled out a frozen pizza, turned on the oven and set the timer. He had time to take a shower before the pizza would be ready.

Still dripping from his shower, he finished shaving and splashed water to rinse the shaving cream off his face. Then he squinted at the cabinet mirror for any cuts he may have made in his rush. Stepping back, he examined the reflection of his trim body and patted his abs.

In the kitchen, he pulled out a can of beer while he waited for the timer to go off. He picked up the itinerary and tickets his travel agent had sent him for his trip west. “Fly to San Francisco , meet the Resort bus and ride three hours north to Mendocino on the Pacific Coast ." He found two brochures, temperature ranges, plus places to see and shop in Mendocino , California .

The timer buzzed and Phil turned off the oven, took the pizza out and let it cool while he dashed to his closet to find suitable clothes for Northern California . He laid out two sweaters, three pairs of khaki pants, Nikes, loafers, socks, underwear, belts, an assortment of T-shirts, zoris and a swimsuit. After dressing for his flight, he stuffed the collection into a duffel bag along with his laptop and copies of his new chapter. Ran into the kitchen, gobbled two slices of the pizza, put the remaining pieces in a plastic Zip-Loc and shoved them in his carry-on bag.

He checked the oven, turned off the lights, picked up his cell phone and locked the door. Outside, he hailed a cab to take him to a location where he could catch the Airporter Bus.

Chapter Two

Mendocino , California

Morning - Day One of the Writer's Conference

"Checking in for the writer's conference?" Phil asked an attractive redhead wearing a light dress with a white sweater.

She turned her head and said, "Yes, why?”

He handed her a small shopping bag, as they made their way through the main entrance of the River Road Resort and Hotel. "Here, you left this package on the bus.”

"Oh, thank you,” as her eyes swept over his face. “It was a long beautiful ride, wasn't it?”

“I've never been this far north in California . I agree the scenery was magnificent.” He turned to her and said, "My name is Phil; I'm a third year writer at this conference."

She blushed slightly and answered him, "Call me Karen, I'm new to the idea of a writing conference. By the way, where was it held last year?”

"In Montreal. Ever been there?”

“No I haven't.”

What beautiful smile, “What do you like to write?”

“I always wanted to be a writer, but I hope being around a lot of writers, some of it will rub off on me. I'm a quick study.”

While they waited in line for the next receptionist, Phil looked around for any familiar faces. A receptionist called “Next, please.”

He stepped up to the counter and registered for the three-night stay. The efficient clerk assigned him a room on the eighth floor of the tower facing the ocean. He picked up his suitcase and saw Karen about four places down at the same counter. Walking toward her, he saw that she had tears in her eyes. He stopped alongside to her and asked, "Are you okay?"

She looked up, wiped her nose with a tissue, and said, “The clerk said they don't have my reservation. I know I sent them a check.”

“Hang on a moment.” Turning to the clerk, Phil said, “Would you mind calling the manager for us.”

The clerk nodded and picked up the phone.

Phil said, “I'll meet you by that table,” as he pointed,” And pick up a brochure or two about the conference, okay?”

She walked to the display booth.

The manager arrived and began discussing Karen's reservation concern with Phil.

“Mr. Baxter, my name is Crandall Simpson,” said the smiling portly man in his early fifties. “It is a pleasure to have you with us. How may I assist you?”

“Mr. Simpson, I assume the clerk filled you in about Miss Young's reservation?”

“Oh yes, and we're sorry, but there isn't any record of her making a reservation.”

“Are you completely booked?”

“No, we have a number of rooms left, but they aren't available at the conference rates.”

“Here's what I propose Mr. Simpson. Assign Miss Young one of your spare rooms. If her check doesn't appear in your system by tomorrow, you can charge me for the difference in room rates, okay?” Phil slid his business card over to the manager.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Baxter, I'll arrange a room for her right away. Again, it's wonderful to have you with us.”

Karen arrived with a handful of brochures as the clerk called her, “Miss Young, please step over here and I will assign you a room.”

As she bent over the registration form, she glanced at Phil out of the corner of her eye.

Phil thought she wanted more privacy so he stepped aside and looked around the lobby.

Karen completed her form, walked over to Phil, and asked him, “I guess we should register for the conference.” She led Phil down a long corridor to the registration booth next to the conference hall. “Now you can tell me. How did you find a room for me? I can't imagine what you said, because I know that clerk looked through the reservations and couldn't find mine.”

He observed her actions; she seemed a happy person as she cheerfully carried on a conversation without much input from Phil. As they neared the conference registration section, Phil said, “I have the same last name as the owner of the hotel, although I'm not a relative.”

“Oh, my God, what if they check, will you be in trouble?”

“I'd better not, because I trust you sent in your check in . . . didn't you?”

She giggled, “You, Mr. Baxter, are a trusting person,” as she picked up a special folder containing all her conference materials, “and thanks for saving me.”

Picking up his folder, he smiled at her and said, “Okay, we have our registration materials and a schedule of events, along with workshop assignments for the next three days.”

She glanced at the groups wandering about the hotel, and asked, “Who are most of these people attending the conference?”

“Most of the attendees were writers, poets, and students who hope to gain additional knowledge about their craft.” Phil noticed her engaging look as she listened to him. “Just like us for the most part. Individuals who want to mingle with others and exchange ideas and thoughts.”

Karen stopped and asked, “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

“You may,” as they walked towards a coffee shop off the lobby.

“Tell me, what is it that you want to gain from this conference?”

Phil thought a moment and said, “What I really want is a long shower; I took the red-eye out of Chicago and jumped on the Resort bus just in time.” He asked, “What about you, did you fly in today?”

“No, I arrived in San Francisco last night, from Orlando .” In the coffee shop, they selected a table for two and sat. “I stayed over in a noisy motel by the airport. It was ghastly.”

“Oh, when are we supposed to be in the conference hall for the keynote speaker's address?”

Karen rifled through her portfolio, found the conference agenda and ran her well-manicured finger down the timetable. “Ah, here, at four-thirty and it's almost quarter after now.”

He paid for their coffees and they headed into the huge conference hall across the corridor that seated about two-hundred. No one was present, and Karen said, “I, ah, forgot to set my watch to Pacific Daylight Time.”

“Now we can both accomplish our chores. Thanks Karen, I'll see you before the gathering. How about there?” Pointing, he said, “at that lounge across from the conference hall. At three-thirty Pacific Daylight Time?”

“My watch is set, I hope yours is,” She called and chuckled, “See you later.”

Afternoon - Day One of the Writer's Conference

Checking his watch after a shower, he arrived at the lounge and saw Karen at a table by herself. “Hey, you beat me. What are you having?”

“Vodka tonic,” as her green eyes flashed. “But I don't want another before the conference starts, or I'll be snoring.”

“What keeps you in Orlando ?”

“I am a third grade teacher and I love working with children. And you, what is your profession?”

“I'm a writer with one book to my credit.”

She brightened and asked, “What's the name of it? I want to buy it.”

“When it's printed, I'll be happy to provide you with a signed copy.” Karen stood suddenly, waved and called out, “Shirley!”

Phil watched as a blond, matronly woman of generous proportions, wave to Karen and head towards them. Shirley was dressed in a colorful blouse that blended well with her pantsuit.

As Shirley got closer to Karen, she said, “Give me a hug,” and they air-kissed. “I had a devil of a time getting from Toronto to San Francisco , storms and delays at customs. You'll love this, I've a book idea I want to discuss with you.” Shirley busied herself digging in an enormous purse for a slip of paper that she handed to Karen. Karen turned and introduced Phil to her, “Phil this is Shirley, a friend of my mom's.”

Phil and Shirley nodded to each other. Karen smiled and patted Shirley's hand and said, “Phil saved me at registration desk today.”

Shirley and Karen chatted for a while until Phil said, “If you ladies will excuse me, I have to see an old business friend.” He turned and cut across the corridor into the conference hall to where Victor Klein was standing.

Victor was in his late sixties, gray hair and a ladies man. Phil called to him, “Victor, great to see you here.”

He noticed Victor's hand reach up to his ear and adjust the volume on his hearing aid.

“Have you written countless books since I saw you last year?”

Loudly, Victor replied. “Well, hello Phil.” Then softer, “Have you gotten married yet?”

Phil and Victor had become friends at the last year in Montreal . According to Victor, he was in remarkable condition. Phil laughed and said, “Haven't found a woman who'll put up with me; how about you?”

Victor said, “I have to keep beating them away. What are your plans . . .” he had to stop as the conference leader was banging a gavel to bring order to the first meeting.

Forty-five minutes and three speakers later, the meeting adjourned with last minute instructions for each attendee to present themselves at their assigned classroom on the second floor before the evening meal.

Ignoring the crush of people chatting and calling to friends, Phil pulled out his schedule and studied his classroom numbers. He followed a group up the stairway to the second floor and turned into the first classroom. Upon entering, he noticed that Shirley and Victor were in the same class, along with seven other attendees. Their chairs were set in a half-circle with the instructor in the center of the room facing them.

Victor and Shirley sat next to each other. To Phil it seemed as if they hadn't met, so he sat alongside them with Shirley in the middle. Before Phil could ask if they knew each other, he saw Victor give Shirley the once over.

Then in a loud voice, Victor said, “I've seen you before, but I didn't have the nerve to ask you out.”

Shirley's laughter was genuine and came back with, “Victor, you made the same remark last year, and my answer is still the same. Try again next year.” The three of them laughed together.

The class started and the instructor called the roll and immersed them in a series of questions to solve by the next morning. “Here are the details of your assignment,” as she handed out papers to study. At dismissal, everyone started talking at once and gravitated to their rooms to clean up before dinner.

Victor invited Shirley to the lounge located by the foot of the stairs on the first floor. It was one of three watering holes around the massive complex. As the trio walked into the lounge, Phil saw Karen sitting in a booth with a young woman whom she introduced as Ann Wong, who had long black hair, trim body and little makeup.

“Come on,” said Karen, waving to Phil, Victor, and Shirley, “we can squeeze in.”

A waitress took their drink orders as they chatted about the keynote speaker and the classes they had returned from the second floor.

Sitting at the end position, Shirley said, “All they did in our class was familiarize us with the instructor for tomorrow's first class.” Shirley stood and said, “Oh, shoot. Excuse me for a minute, I forgot my homework assignment upstairs, I'll be right back.”

Victor asked, “Ann, were you in Karen's group?”

Ann replied, “Yes, did you like how the instructor presented the situations and let us figure out a better way to write paragraphs, especially the one about the baseball team. I enjoyed that one. What was your impression, Karen?”

“I agree with your assessment. But who was the jerk that was sitting on the far side of the room making groaning noises?”

The whole group jumped as they heard two loud screams pierced the air followed by shouts, “Get a doctor! . . . Call 911!”

Their booth emptied and they ran with the other guests out into the corridor.

Halfway down the stairs Shirley was sprawled face down, her head lay in an unnatural angle. Without having to check, Phil guessed she was dead. Papers from her folder lay scattered about her body on the carpeted staircase.

Phil looked around at the group standing and gawking at the body. Ann and Karen caught up with him and tugged at his arm when they saw Shirley. Both of them turned their heads away. Phil led them back into the lounge. They had no sooner sat down when Mr. Simpson, the hotel manager, spotted Phil and rushed into the lounge.

“Mr. Baxter, I'm sorry about this incident. I've called the Sheriff and they are on their way. Should I notify anyone else?”

Phil rubbed his temples and thought, as long as he thinks I'm part of the family who owns the hotel I might as well help him . “I would alert your security personnel and block the head of the stairway and the vicinity around the body. If you have and room screens or dividers, I'd put those up and cut off this section of the corridor.” Then he added, “Simpson, you're doing just fine.”

“Thank you, Mr. Baxter,” as he scurried away to complete his duties.

Victor sat with his arm around Karen and asked, “Phil? Is there something you need to tell us? You're sounding more like a detective to me.”

“I think Simpson is getting carried away with the importance of my name. I'd better straighten this out with him before he starts saluting me.”

Chapter Three

Mendocino , California

Evening - Day One of the Conference

A tall uniformed man stepped out of the shadows onstage and walked to the podium in the conference hall. “I'm Sheriff MacKay of Mendocino County ,” he announced. “As you have heard by now, an unfortunate incident occurred this afternoon outside the conference hall.” His six deputies stood around the sides of the main conference hall filled with attendees. “We hope to interview each of you tonight and tomorrow. Right now, I want to speak with just the presenters and classroom leaders. Please be patient, and we'll do our best to be quick. For the rest of you I would like you to remain at the hotel and we will notify you when we would like to speak with you. Thank you and enjoy your evening.” The crowd erupted into a loud murmur of voices

Victor announced, “Dinner's in another hour would anyone like to return to the lounge?”

Phil said, “I'll see you in the lounge about seven for a drink.”

“I'll be back later, too,” said Karen.

Ann nodded and the four of them headed to the elevators that serviced the hotel tower. Entering the elevator, Ann asked, “Floor please?”

Victor said, “Four.”

Karen said, “Eight.”

Ann punched five and turned to Phil. “Floor?”

“You've already pushed eight, thanks.”

They rose in silence as the elevator stopped at each designated floor.

Karen turned to Phil and said, “Since we're neighbors on eight, why don't you clean up and come down to my room, I'd like to talk to you.”

“Sure. Or, do you want to talk now?”

“Maybe that would be better.”

They entered her room and she led him to a table and two chairs that occupied a bay window overlooking the forest and the ocean below.

Standing next to her, Phil said, “What a beautiful scene.”

She turned and looked up at him, “Don't you have the same view?”

“Yes, but yours is angled further toward the ocean than mine.” Feeling he had to make her relax, he sat down and asked, “How are you feeling? Has this been a terrible shock to you?”

Karen paced the room, came back and sat down. “I feel bad about Shirley and I want to call my Mom and tell what happened, but I guess I should wait and see what the Sheriff has to say.”

Phil didn't interrupt her. He wanted her to talk and maybe she would relax.

Karen continued to ramble about how her Mom and Shirley had met. After about ten minutes, she slowed down and let out a long breath, and asked, “I'm having a bottle of water, would you like one?”

“Water will be fine for me too.”

Karen busied herself with getting the chilled bottles out of the fridge.

Phil studied her remarkable long legs as he took a long drink of water.

She frowned and asked, “What?”

Phil wanted to tell her he admired her and liked her presence. Instead, he said, “Tell me about yourself. Have you any written poetry, a book, a memoir or do you keep a journal? Do you have a husband?” He immediately covered his mouth with his hand. “I don't know why I asked that.”

He took pleasure in watching her laugh. With her beautiful features, she looked delicious to him.

“That's direct,” and she laughed at him, “No, husband, no children, no marriages and no flings.” She smiled directly at him and said, “What about you, Mr. Smarty?”

“Oh, let's see, current wives, ah I can't recall any at the moment. But there was one, but we've been divorced for four years. No children, dogs, goldfish or stray cats.”

“Thanks, Phil.”

“For what?”

“For letting me talk. And for cheering me up, although I still can't put that scene out of my mind. Can you?”

He walked over to her and tilted her head up, “No, and look at the time, we have to leave for dinner.” He brushed her cheek lightly with his knuckles and said, “Let's find food,” as he headed for the door.

“I'll be down in a minute,” as she closed her door behind him.

In twenty-minutes, they were working their way through a buffet line. He observed her choices and made mental notes of her likes and dislikes. She didn't know it, but she wrinkled her nose as she passed over certain food items. He followed her to a table set for four and they sat and began eating.

Karen looked up and asked, “Do you think it was an accident?” as she pushed her peas around her plate.

“I think the Sheriff won't decide that until he's had a chance to examine the evidence. But I think it was deliberate.”

Now she put her fork down and looked directly at him. “Why, do you think that?”

“Did you notice the way her head was angled?”

She nodded.

“It was broken. Shirley didn't walk that fast to have gone head-first down the stairway. I think she was pushed.”

“She didn't any enemies that I know of. Who would do such a thing to a nice person like her?”

“I have no idea. Oh, here comes Victor and Ann. Maybe they can shed light on this discussion.”

Victor unloaded his tray and said, “Shed light on what discussion?”

Karen looked up at Victor and said, “Phil was explaining his theory about Shirley's accident. Phil thinks she was pushed.” She put her fork down, “Phil you tell them.”

Victor and Ann waited with expectant faces while Phil finished chewing.

“All I can add is the angle of Shirley's head indicates to me that it was broken. Normally, if you stumbled down a stairwell and fell, wouldn't you reach for the railing?” he studied their faces and said, “In her case, her hands were at her sides. As if, she fallen face first down the stairs. Had I'm guessing, but what are your thoughts?”

Victor rubbed his chin. “In my experience as a crime writer your premise sounds right. After observing Shirley earlier, she was not clumsy. She appeared to me like she was light on her feet, you know, like a dancer would have been.”

Ann said, “I didn't know Shirley, but she sat in our classroom,” as she opened her folder. “Hey, I remember what I said this morning, just before the . . . accident. We were talking about where we were sitting in our classroom and Karen asked who was making the groaning noises in the one side of the room. Who was it, Karen?”

Karen's head shot up, “You caught me off-guard. Let me think a minute. Oh, yes. There was a commotion concerning a man who groaned or moaned a lot. I don't know, but he was sure noisy.”

Phil asked, “Do you know him? I mean, would you recognize him if you saw him again?”

“I guess we have another set of classes again in the morning.

They finished their meal and stood to leave for a walk around the grounds in the fading light.

Karen came over to Phil and asked, “Aren't you coming with us?”

“Huh . . . just a second,” as she watched him write a note.

They hadn't caught up with Victor and Ann as they rounded the far end of the swimming pool and Phil edged her toward the deck chairs.

Karen looked up at Phil, “You're awfully quiet tonight. What's on your mind, or shouldn't I ask?”

Phil took her by the arm and led her over to one of the chairs, “Please hear me out.”

She looked at his face and saw he was serious. “Okay.”

“I want you to help me reconstruct your classroom seating.” He opened his folder, took out a pad of paper and drew a square. “Now, how many in your classroom and what kind of seating arrangement?”

She took his pen and drew ten smaller boxes, “These are the desks,” and put them in a semi-circle, “and the instructor sat facing the class. Like this.”

“Okay, now to the best of your recollection who was sitting where?”

Karen wrote her name and Ann's on the left side of the drawing.

Phil asked, “Where was the groaning guy?”

She thought for a second and then put an “X” in a square on the far side of the room from where she was sitting.

“Hmm, that makes three. Do you recall any of the other participants, their names or what they may have looked like?”

Karen looked at him and then she said, “There was another woman sitting on my left near a window, but I can't describe her.”

“What about the person sitting on Ann's right; male or female?”

“It was a male.”

“Would you recognize him, if you saw him again?”

“Ann would know.”

“Let's walk back to the lounge and see if she and Victor are there.”

They stood and Ann slipped her arm with his and they walked into the lounge. Neither Ann nor Victor was present. Phil said, “Looks like they're still out roaming around.”

“Maybe they're in the dining room. Didn't the schedule say there would be a live band tonight?”

“You're right,” as Phil guided her down the long corridor to the dining room.

Again, they surveyed the room and saw no sign of either Victor or Ann.

Karen was about to leave when he took her arm and said, “May I have this dance, Miss Young?”

In a thick Southern drawl she answered, “You may, sir. But let me check my dance card first.”

She reached up and put her arm on his shoulder and they responded to a slow dance tune. Soon, a number of guests joined them while they moved slowly about the floor to the music.

Her warm breath on his open-collard shirt forced him to hold her closer. She dances well. I hope I don't step on her toes. She seems to anticipate my moves. The band stopped and he held her just a moment longer than necessary.

She gave him a hug, and he reciprocated. They looked at each other and he suggested, “I'm not comfortable down here tonight.”

Without a word, they left the dining room and took the elevator. Once inside, Karen asked, “Is it because of what happened to Shirley.”

“It's a combination of stuff.” He inserted his card in his door, “I'd like you to come in for a while, okay?”

She walked past him and sat down on a sofa under a window overlooking the pool and forest beyond. He started to sit next to her and then said, “How about a drink? I'm having a Scotch.”

“I'd like a vodka tonic, kind sir.”

“Coming up,” as he fixed their drinks and found a bag of nibbles. He set the drinks on the coffee table and sat down. Raising his glass, “Here's to us.” They clinked glasses, sat back, and relaxed.

She turned to him and asked, “Now tell me why you were uncomfortable downstairs?”

Phil looked at her, “Karen, you are a remarkable woman and . . . Holding you when we were dancing . . . was difficult for me,” as he put his arms around her and pulled her close. . .”

There was a knock at the door.

Phil moved toward the door, “I wonder who that could be?”

Karen said, “Maybe its Victor and Ann.”

He pulled the door open.

A huge uniformed deputy with a clipboard confronted him. “Are you Philip Baxter?”

“Yes, and what can I do for you,” as he looked at his name badge, “Sergeant Cummings?”

The sergeant looked around Phil and saw Karen sitting on the sofa, “Ma'am, would you give me your name please?”

Karen came to the door and offered, “Karen Young, what's this about?”

“Would you both come with me downstairs? The Sheriff would like to have a word with both of you.”

Chapter Four

Mendocino , California

Morning - Day Two of the Conference

Phil heard a knock on his door as he was leaving for breakfast. He opened it and found Karen standing outside. She walked in, pulled his head down and kissed him deeply; and when he reached for her, she scooted away and stood by the window with her hands on her hips.

Phil must have looked shocked.

She said, “I just wanted your attention.”

“You sure did that right.” He laughed and teased, “Won't you come in and sit down?” Then, seeing she wasn't thrilled with his humor, he asked, “Are you upset?”

“I am,” she huffed. “After listening to the Sheriff grill us about our whereabouts and whom we sat next to and all that stuff, he excused us. Do you remember?”

“Karen, can I tell . . . “

“I'm not finished.” She kept her hands on her hips. “We came upstairs and you took me in to my door and said, “Good night. What's wrong with that picture?”

All sorts of alarms went off in Phil's head. Whoa, I wasn't wrong about my feelings, she noticed our closeness more than I thought. Here I was playing it cool and trying not to rush her. Now what do I do? “Karen, I apologize. I was wrong to think I knew what you wanted last night. Will you forgive me and let me take you to breakfast?”

“Are you teasing me again?”

“No, I am not,” as he took her into his arms and gave her a playful kiss and whispered in her ear, “I'm truly sorry for last night.”

She smiled and strode toward the door, “We can talk after we eat.”

At a buffet breakfast, Victor and Ann joined Phil and Karen at a table near the windows overlooking the garden court. Conference attendees sat about the dining room in groups discussing the day's agenda.

Ann piped up, “It says here that they are shuffling us into different classrooms.”

Victor put his down, “Rats, I don't have any of you in my classes.

“Well, don't feel bad,” said Karen, “I'm with strangers too.”

Victor inquired, “Isn't anyone taking the course in mystery writing? I don't see your name Phil, what happened?”

Phil answered, “I rescheduled that for another lecture on poetry. Let me know how the mystery writing goes, I may ask you for copies of any handouts.”

Shortly before nine, they left the dining room and reported to their assigned rooms on the second floor over the conference hall.

Phil nudged Victor, “Look, at the end of each corridor there is a deputy stationed at a table, complete with phones and a computer. They must be keeping close tabs on any suspects; in any event, it should provide everyone with a sense of security.”

Phil entered his classroom and took a seat in the middle of the semi-circle. He took note of each attendee and wrote their names down as the instructor read their names off. He asked the rest of their foursome to do the same in their classes. Ann was in his class too, and he'd asked her to write down the names of the attendees, in case he didn't hear one.

At the lunch break, he and Ann went through the buffet line, picking out their lunch and they sat down with Victor and Karen to compare notes.

Victor poured cream into his coffee and asked, “Phil, why don't you and Ann start.”

Phil pulled out his notes and showed them the seating arrangement in his classroom. “Ann and I were in 205 and this is the layout. I wrote each person's name as the instructor called it. Ann was sitting here by the window and I was in the center of the semi-circle, over here.”

Ann said, “The guy sitting next to me was the same guy who was making groaning noises yesterday. I recognized him when he came in and sat down. Oh, he came in late, too.”

Phil asked, “That must be Harold Jackson, right?”

“Right,” answered Ann. “He gave me a ballpoint pen after my pencil broke. But I just don't like him.”

“In what way,” asked Phil.

“I can't explain it, but I'll move the next time he's in my class.”

Phil asked her, “Ann, what about the two over on the right hand side, nearest the door, what were they arguing about?”

Ann answered, “They were still arguing when we left the room and I only caught part of their conversation. The one closest to the door, Davenport , the pretty blond and Sam Turpin were discussing a date issue, nothing serious.”

Phil made notes and asked Karen, “How was your session? Any surprises?”

“None to speak of, Victor and I wrote down everyone's name and where they were sitting, but nothing happened.”

“I thought the class went smoothly,” said Phil as he rechecked his notes.”

Putting his collection of papers in a folder, Phil said, “I'm putting these in the safe in my room and then head off to our afternoon classes. Since we stay in the same rooms, just note any seating changes and or commotions of any kind.”

Victor asked, “Phil, pardon my asking, but what the hell are you doing with this information you're collecting?”

“Karen and I were grilled last night by Sheriff MacKay, and it wasn't too pleasant. They are looking for a person to blame for Shirley's death. So, he asked us to keep an eye out for any strange behavior or actions by anyone. That's why I've been taking notes.”

Ann pushed her dessert away and asked, “Phil, are you a detective or a cop?”

“I'm just a-wanna-be mystery writer.” He picked his things up and asked, “How about a swim and drinks out on the deck by the pool? I'll buy the first round,” as he stood. Everyone in the group nodded and waved as he headed for the elevators.

Phil entered his room and put his papers in the hotel safe, brushed his teeth, changed into his swim trunks and put on a pair of light slacks with a pullover shirt as a cover. He picked up his conference folder and made his way downstairs. He saw Karen at the newsstand off the lobby.

“Looking for a book to read?”

She turned and gave him a smile, “Oh, hi! No, just browsing.”

“Do you have time for a walk?”

“Sure, let me pay for this.” She reached in her purse to pay for her purchase.

“I'll be right over there,” he said pointing to the door to the pool.

She joined him and they walked toward the pool area. Workmen had put up yellow tape indicating a construction zone at one end of the pool.

Pointing to the yellow tape, Phil said, “I guess this puts a crimp in my swimming idea.”

Karen asked one of the workmen, “Excuse me, will the pool be closed for the rest of the afternoon?”

A trim looking young man stood up in the ditch and said, “No, ma'am, we have the leak almost fixed,” as he glanced at his watch, “About another hour.”

“Thank you,” she offered as they continued walking. She stopped and said to Phil, “I've thought about last night. Actually, I'm the one who should be apologizing.” She raised her head and looked at him in the eyes, “You've been a real gentleman to me, especially your kindness and fine manners. God, my mother wouldn't believe it if I brought you home with me.”

“Are you inviting me?” He teased and then thought, easy now, don't go jumping to conclusions .

She smiled brightly, “I'm trying to tell you that my expectations and yours must have collided last night. I guess I felt rejected. I know, this is silly of me, we've only known each other for less than two whole days. But, I would . . .”

In a second, his lips covered hers and she dropped her arms to her side. Then she recovered, and they pulled apart and looked at each other. Then she reached up and pulled his head down to her lips. His arms went around her as their kiss deepened. When they came up for air, they heard a light applause.

Karen seemed flustered and stepped away from Phil, “Oh, my God . . .”

Phil didn't know quite what to do. So, he took a deep bow to their audience, Victor, Ann and another smiling couple who were passing by.

Victor commented, “Well this might explain why you two were always trying to be alone.”

Smiling, Ann said, “Have you known each other before you came here?”

Karen's blushing look said a lot, “I, we, Phil. . .”

Phil smiled and said, “We met yesterday morning and well, things have progressed quite rapidly.”

Chapter Five

Mendocino , California

Evening - Day Two of the Conference

The afternoon sessions went well. No confrontations and no word from the Sheriff.

Phil and Karen walked into Mendocino and stopped by the Sheriff's office and asked, “We were wondering if you had the results from Shirley's autopsy yet.”

The Sheriff looked at the two of them and said, “The autopsy isn't out yet, so I can't comment, officially.”

“Karen and I have notes from their unofficial survey of the conference attendees in each of their classrooms. It will only take a minute for you to review them and see if this seating chart was what you'd like to see from us.”

The Sheriff asked Phil, “Please explain these symbols.”

Phil did and commented about their activities.

“Thank you both. You've been most helpful. Please continue keeping notes on tomorrow's sessions too.” His phone rang and he waved goodbye and went back in his office.

They left the Sheriff's office and strolled around Mendocino. The weather was picture-perfect and for the balance of the afternoon, they looked at the Victorian homes, browsed through the shops and looked in a three galleries. Karen said, “I want everything I see.”

They ended up in a pub having a beer. Karen asked, “We haven't discussed what happened this afternoon by the pool.”

“What is there to discuss. I feel strongly about us. Karen, I want to be with you every moment.” Her eyes never left his face, as he added, “I'd like to quote a poetic verse, but my mind won't come up with the right words except, I want you.”

She was silent for a moment as she studied his face. Then she put her hand on his and squeezed.

Walking back to the hotel holding hands, and walked through the side entrance beneath the hotel tower, they slipped into the first elevator and rode in silence along with another couple. At their floor, Phil pulled his card out and opened his door. Karen slipped into the room and began kissing him as he went about taking off her clothes. She busied herself with unbuckling his pants. She stopped when she encountered his swimsuit instead of underwear. She started giggling.

“Weren't you warm with the swimsuit and your trousers?”

“You can't imagine how hot it's made me.”

She made a throaty laugh, “I won't rush you.”

He pulled her to his chest and buried his face in her neck, “Karen, I want you so . . .

There was a knock at the door. They both froze.

“Yes,” called Phil.

“It's Deputy Cummings; may I have a word with you?”

Karen gathered her clothes strewn about the floor and dashed into the bathroom. Phil watched her until the bathroom door closed.

“Deputy Cummings, can we possibly put this off until after dinner, I'm changing clothes?”

“It'll take only a minute; Sheriff MacKay wants me to give you this envelope.”

“Just a second,” as he hastily pulled his swimming suit back on, opened the door and accepted the envelope from Deputy Cummings. “Thanks, and tell the Sheriff I appreciate his cooperation.”

Deputy Cummings said to Phil, “He'd like to see you in the morning.” Then the Deputy surveyed Phil's attire and said, “I think the waist-tie-thingy goes in front. With a big grin on his face, he added, “See ya,” as he dissappeared down the corridor.

Phil closed the door, remembering the Deputy's remark. He looked down and realized he had put his swimsuit on backwards.

Karen came out of the bathroom, dressed and said, “What did the Deputy say to you about your swimsuit?” She stopped and giggled. “Oh my,” as she looked at him, “You'd better put some clothes on. Do you need help?” she teased as she watched Phil put himself together, she said, “Can I see what the Sheriff sent?”

“Yes,” and he handed her the envelope. “I hope it's a summary of what happened to Shirley.”

She pulled a sheet of paper out and studied it for a moment. “This is a press release. It says here that her neck was broken by a severe trauma causing the vertebrae in the . . .”

“Does it say anything about her by falling down the stairs?”

“Oh, here it is,” as she came over to him. “At the bottom of the page, it says, ‘the summary of evidence suggests a homicide investigation.”

He took the Sheriff's findings from her and glanced at it. “This information will probably have to be processed through the legal system, let me call him right now.” Phil picked up his cell phone and dialed a private number the Sheriff had written in his note. “Sheriff, this is Phil Baxter. I received a copy of your press release. . . Oh, you haven't released it yet?” Within minutes, they concluded their conversation. “Yes, I'll put this in my safe. Okay, bye.”

Karen and Phil went down to the dining room and saw the line waiting for a table. He observed her mannerisms, reached out and placed his hand on hers. “I don't want to share you with anyone this evening.”

“She looked at him in the eyes, “I was thinking along the same line.”

* * *

Across the dining room, a plain looking, heavy-set man sat alone, observing Ann and Victor's movements. Then he switched his gaze to where Phil and Karen were waiting. I know you have been plotting against me. I've seen the Sheriff and the four of you talking together and making notes. You have left me no choice; I will silence you one at a time, just like the blond lady who sat next to me yesterday. All of you have aggravated me, and each will pay for your insulting behavior. He rose and left, unnoticed by the guests around him.

* * *

Victor and Ann came over to where Karen and Phil were and Victor asked, “Heard anything about Shirley?”

Phil answered, “There isn't a lot we can tell until the coroner's report is made official. But, I think our assessments of who was sitting where in what classroom help a lot.”

Victor said, “We have another conference day left, I hope they catch whoever did this to Shirley.”

Ann asked, looking at Karen, “Are you guys dancing tonight?”

Karen answered, “No, but tell me if I'm being nosey, but are you and Victor making music?”

Ann blushed, and said, “Oh, no, he's been so, you know, like a friend.” She saw that Phil and Victor were coming over to them, “See you in class tomorrow.”

After talking to Karen briefly, Ann went over and guided Victor toward the dance floor.

Phil asked Karen, “What did you tell Ann?”

“Nothing about Shirley,” as she looked impatiently at the number of people waiting to be shown to a table, “Did you want to dance tonight?”

“Let's have room service and then I'll show you a new step.” They left the line and he took her arm and led her to the elevators.

Out of the corner of his eye, Phil saw Simpson running towards them yelling, “Mr. Baxter, excuse me, Mr. Baxter?”

Turning, Phil moved Karen away from the open door of the elevator.

Simpson came puffing to a stop in front of them.

Phil asked, “What's up?”

“I believe we've had another accident!”

* * *

The Sheriff and four deputies arrived within minutes. The Sheriff issued orders, “Simpson, I'd like you, Mr. Baxter and Miss Young to meet with me in your office in five minutes.” Then he gave a series of instructions to his deputies to perform. His eyes were puffy and had dark bags beneath them from no sleep for the past two days. His cell phone buzzed, “I'll be back in just a minute.”

Ten minutes passed before the Sheriff slammed shut the door of Simpson's office and walked over to Phil. “You better come clean with me Baxter. I'm in a piss-poor mood.”

“Come clean about what?” said Phil.

“Just who the hell are you? You have Simpson here believing that you are one of the Baxter's who own this hotel and resort. Is that what you told him?”

“No, sir, Mr. Simpson may have assumed that I was a member of that family. I apologize for any confusion or misunderstandings it may have caused.”

“Bull, you had me believing it too. The way you took charge of setting up barricades and roping off the corridor at Shirley Butowski's scene, and you didn't offer any . . .” He suddenly seemed to run out of steam. “Get me some water, please.”

In a flash, Simpson was in and out of the room and handed the Sheriff a bottle of water.

Phil stood up, “If it will help you understand my predicament, I will admit that my mother married into the Baxter family, the one you assumed I was a part of. She divorced the man after two years. So, technically speaking, I was at one time related to the real Baxter family.”

The Sheriff seemed to have regained his composure and said, “I understand what you're saying. But we have a larger state of affairs to contend with tonight.” He pulled papers out of his jacket and said, “We've have reason to believe that another homicide has been committed about a half-hour ago. I know from our discussions that you, Victor and Miss Young, were friends of Ann Wong . . .”

Before the Sheriff could utter another word, Karen jumped to her feet, “Oh, God, not Ann! We just saw them downstairs . . . a half an hour ago.” She sobbed and went limp into Phil's arms. Phil stayed at her side and steadied her until she sank back into the chair.

The Sheriff asked, “Miss Young, who was with her when you saw her?”

Ann sniffed and said, “Victor, Victor Klein. They went dancing. They were best friends.”

“We'll check that out. Now, is there anyone you two might suspect of this incident?

Phil and Karen looked at each other and Phil said, “I have seating charts that we did, up in my room, would you like me to retrieve them?”

Sheriff MacKay's brow furrowed as he studied Phil. “Go with a deputy for your own safety find those records and return to this office. Okay?”

“Yes, sir, I'm ready.”

Sheriff MacKay went to the door and leaned out and asked, Deputy Thompson, escort Mr. Baxter up to his room, so he can remove papers from his safe and bring him right back here?”

Phil stood and went with the deputy up to his room to retrieve his papers.

The Sheriff asked, “Miss Young, I'm sorry for your loss, did you know Miss Wong well?”

“I met her yesterday at the beginning of the conference.” Karen blotted at tears that ran down her face. “She was so sweet and funny.”

“Had she mentioned anyone who annoyed her?”

Karen thought a moment. Yesterday she sat next to a guy she said gave her the creeps, but other than that, nothing.”

* * *

The plain looking, heavy-set man was sitting in the lobby and observing a deputy and Baxter leave Simpson's office and head to the elevators. I have you in my sights now Mr. Baxter. Where's your sweet lady? Is she upstairs waiting for you? Stop worrying about her Harold; you have a score to settle with Baxter. First, I want to see if he went his room alone. The man folded the paper he was reading and took the next elevator up to the eighth floor.

* * *

Deputy Thompson followed Phil out of the elevator and glanced up and down the corridor for any signs of movement. Satisfied, he let Phil open his door and they both went in.

Phil walked to the hotel safe, opened it; grabbed the envelope that the Sheriff wanted him to return. Then he reached in and retrieved his charts with the seating information along with his notes from the last two days. “This is it. Are you ready, Deputy Thompson?

“I am, sir. Let me open the door and check outside.” He stuck his head out and noticed a man near the elevator. Deputy Thompson pulled his head back in and said, “Got a heavyset man waiting for the elevator, hold on a second.”

The two men waited until they heard the elevator doors open and then close.

Deputy Thompson peeked out the door, seemingly satisfied, he waved to Phil and they walked to the elevator and pushed the lobby button. As the elevator arrived at the lobby level, he seemed concerned about something as he scratched his head.

Phil joined him, “Did you get a good look at the man in the corridor upstairs?”

Deputy Thompson stopped, “Yeah, I know I've seen him around the hotel, but I can't ID him.

Phil said, “Please describe him to the Sheriff,” as they walked into Simpson's office.

Phil's main concern was Karen, and he went and sat beside her. “Are you okay?” He put his arm around her trying to offer some comfort.

Deputy Thompson said, “Mr. Baxter retrieved the papers, but on our way back I noticed a heavyset man waiting for the elevator on eight. I know I've seen him around the conference before and Mr. Baxter suggested that I give you his description.”

“Go ahead, and remember to put this in your report.”

“Well, he's in his forties, about 5'9” or 10” and weighs a solid 180-190, muscular, plain features, black curly hair. Oh, and he was humming to himself rather loudly.”

Phil had been looking at his seating arrangements and his notes from the past two days. “Bingo!”

“Let's hear it,” demanded the Sheriff.

“The description you gave fits the one that Ann had written about this morning.”

The Sheriff looked across the room and said, “Maybe Simpson can give us his name and room number.”

Phil interrupted and said, “Sheriff, Ann wrote the name down too. It is Harold Jackson.”

Simpson had been fiddling with his computer and said, “We have an H. Jackson in room 715. He is from New York City , and flew in three days ago.”

Deputy Thompson said, “I'll be curious to find out what he was doing on the eighth floor.”

The Sheriff stood and said, “Listen, I would like Deputy Thompson to escort Mr. Baxter and Miss Young to their rooms. And, don't come out for any reason, unless you hear from me directly. Understood?”

They both answered, “Yes.”

Phil asked, “If it's okay Sheriff, can we both stay in her room?”

“Is that okay Miss Young?”

She answered, “Most definitely.”

* * *

Harold Jackson was seething behind his newspaper, as he sat in the lobby. He watched the Sheriff's Deputy accompany Karen and Baxter into an elevator. Damn them, I know the Deputy saw me waiting for the elevator upstairs. I'll just sit tight and see what happens next. Maybe I'll pay him a visit.

* * *

Riding up in the elevator, Phil said, “Thanks to your sharp eyes, Deputy.”

“Thanks to you two, you helped us narrow down the field of suspects. I want to personally catch that bugger myself,” and with that he smacked his fist into the palm of his left hand loudly enough that Karen jumped.

The doors opened on the eighth floor they stepped out. The Deputy Thompson surveyed the corridor again and waved them to her door.

Karen had her card out and unlocked the door. Deputy Thompson went in first made certain no one was under the bed, in the closets or in the bathroom. Then he went to the door and said, “Good night, and remember, don't come out unless the Sheriff calls, okay?”

Karen saw him out the door, locked it and said, “Phil, I'm shocked with the news about Ann and its left me wrung-out and unsettled, to put it mildly.”

“Doctor Phil recommends a hot shower.” Rubbing his hands together, he added, “And if you'll permit me, I'd like to rub your back and feet with lotion.”

“Do you have any brothers?”

Phil frowned, “No, why?”

“I was thinking . . . I have a sister who'd love to find a person like you.”

“Thanks for the compliment, now into the shower. Do you have any lotion?”

“Every woman I know packs a bottle of lotion.”

Phil fiddled with the TV while Karen took over the bathroom.

* * *

“Phil? Wake up.”

He opened one eye and discovered her next to him wearing a bath towel “Huh, I must have fallen asleep,” as he sat up and wiped his eyes. He looked at her again, his heart did a flip, and he remembered the back and foot rub he'd promised. “Get yourself comfy on the bed.” Then he went to the mini-bar, pulled out a bottle of Scotch, one of vodka, a bottle of tonic and placed the concoctions on the nightstand so it would be in easy reach.

He propped her right foot up with an extra pillow and administered a generous amount of cream. Rubbing gently, he smoothed the lavender scented lotion over the lower part of her smooth leg, paying particular attention to the soles of her feet and toes. He didn't attempt to rub anywhere above her knee, at least not now.

By the time he finished her right leg, she was almost asleep. He had rubbed her left foot for about four minutes when she stirred, looked at him with heavy eyelids and said in a drowsy voice, “I love your touch.”

He observed her as she started to breathe softly. He knew the foot-rub had done its magic. Covering her legs and removing the pillow, he arranged the covers on her side of the bed. Then he showered and prepared for bed wearing a pair of shorts. At a point during the night, he woke, thinking he'd heard noises in the next room. He lay still for a moment and then realized that the noise was coming from his empty room next door. He crept softly out of bed and put his ear to the wall trying to hear who might be in his room. Then there was a loud banging next door and he heard, “Open up, this is the Sheriff!”

Hearing no response, Phil waited.

Then again, through the wall he heard, “This is your last warning. Open up, Jackson , this is the Sheriff!”

Then he heard, “Okay, I'm coming,” he heard the chain-lock slide back and the door was banged open and the men shouting, “Freeze, put your hands on your head and assume the position on the floor.” One final command came from the Sheriff, “Harold Jackson, you're under arrest for the murders of Shirley Butowski and Ann Wong. Deputy, read him his rights.”

Phil started to turn away from the wall when he felt her warm arms encircle his waist. “That was the nicest rude awakening I could ever imagine,” as she snuggled against him.”

He turned, moved his head down to hers and kissed her lightly. She pulled away and said, “Now, can I have my back rub?”

Chapter Six

Mendocino , California

Morning - Day Three of the Conference

The Sheriff had called and invited Karen and Phil down to Simpson's office. “I hope you had an excellent night's rest. I know we made a lot of noise last night.”

Karen smiled at him, “As I told Phil, it was the nicest rude awakening I could ever imagine. Congratulations, Sheriff. And, yes, we slept well.

Phil asked, “Did Jackson confess?”

The Sheriff answered, “He not only confessed he gave us insight as to why he killed both those two. At first, I thought he was pulling my leg. But he repeated the same story and I had to believe him.” He looked at Phil and Karen and said. “His reason for killing Shirley Butowski and Ann Wong was, they had been sitting next to him and taking notes. He said the pencil they were using sounded like scratching fingernails on blackboard, and it drove him wild.”

Phil said, “I'm confused. He killed her because she made scratching sounds with her pencil?”

The Sheriff smiled and said, “Here's another reason, he's almost deaf. He earned his living by selling hearing aids. He bragged that he could sample the latest and best instruments at no cost to him. Only he had to turn the volume up too high, in order to hear the instructor. So anyone around him using a pencil sounded louder than . . . well, that's his story.”

Karen asked, “You mean Shirley and Ann's note taking with a pencil drove him mad?”

The Sheriff said, “Maybe that's why he handed out ballpoint pens as gifts.”