Five

I didn’t exactly know how I was going to help Viv find Hanna. And until I figured out how to investigate Jack and the girl, or otherwise brainstorm a plan, I still had to put on this conference.

As I pulled open the door to the Clackamas Room, I saw that Lily and Orville had been joined by another volunteer, who was also doing absolutely nothing. Lily jumped up when I entered and clapped the tips of her fingers together in front of her face. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to her exuberance at seeing me. Even Peter O’Drool was more sedate—sedate like a Maori war dance—and it’s kind of a dog’s job to adore people.

“Charlee! Clementine is here! Clementine, this is Charlemagne Russo. Charlee’s on the faculty, she’s giving the keynote on Saturday, AND she’s taking over for Viv.”

“I’m not actually taking over. I was here anyway, so I’m helping out since so many volunteers got sick. Hi, Clementine.” I smiled at the young woman and dropped my bag on a table still covered with piles, boxes, and bags.

Clementine was sitting on another table with her legs crossed in front of her. She didn’t smile back at me. Just tilted her head to the side as if studying an unusual human specimen.

While Lily chattered on about all the true-crime articles Clementine had written for magazines, Orville readjusted the Velcro on his sneakers by ripping the tabs over and over again until he was satisfied.

“—she interviewed this guy who lived in a tree house who—”

I studied Clementine’s asymmetrical hairdo. Pure Portland hipster. She was outfitted in a large man’s plaid flannel shirt belted over a white schoolgirl blouse with a black bow tie.

Lily prattled on. “And that great story you did about that girl who was killed at the Three Mouse Squeak rave!” She stared into the middle distance with a sudden frown on her face. “I forget how that one ended, though.”

Clementine adjusted her rhinestone-studded cat-eye glasses before removing them altogether. I noticed they had no lenses.

“Oh, yeah! Now I remember! It was the drummer who did it,” Lily said.

Clementine slid her glasses into a soft case made from Hello Kitty fabric. “Yes. He lost all credibility when he refused that Pabst.”

Before I could ask what in the world that meant, Lily squealed with excitement. “And the grandmother who murdered all those door-to-door salesmen! You have to read her article about that!”

“You write true crime, huh?” I said. “That must be interesting.”

Clementine unfurled her long legs and I saw that she also wore leggings with a frog pattern, pink leg warmers, and neon blue pointy-toed stilettos that matched the stripe in her hair. “Cute shoes.” I flashed the grin that girls flash when we compliment one another on our shoes. I expected her to compliment my pink Keds with the rainbow laces, especially since she was mercifully unaware they’d been covered in dog poo until very recently. Plus, they were kinda hip.

But she didn’t. All she said was “yes.”

I didn’t know if she was responding to my comment about her writing or her shoes. She didn’t even flash a courtesy grin. In fact, she hadn’t moved a facial muscle since I’d walked into the room. I vowed then and there to make it my life’s mission to make her smile. Most people can smile, right? Even hipsters?

Lily suddenly shrieked, causing me to jump. “I just had the best idea! Clementine should write about your dad, Charlee!”

Every muscle in my body tensed. I stared at her. What was she insinuating? I balled my fists. I refused to ask what she meant, and I certainly wasn’t going to get into an argument about my dead police officer dad. Besides, Clementine wrote true crime. Not related in any way to my dad. I was just going to pretend that Lily hadn’t spoken.

Zen-like, I willed myself to relax and changed the subject completely by asking Clementine, “Have you volunteered for this conference before?”

“Affirmative.”

“Oh, good. Lily, Orville, and I are all new to this. What needs to be done?”

“No idea.”

“But I thought you said …” I left my question hanging, assuming she’d fill us in. She didn’t. I tried again. “So, you’ve volunteered for Viv before?”

Clementine glanced from Lily to Orville to me before she sighed in an exaggerated manner, like she was on stage and had to play her emotions to the balcony. “I’ve tried to volunteer for years now. Viv is a real control freak. Does most everything herself. And what she doesn’t do, she stage directs and micromanages.”

“Oh. That sounds … unpleasant,” I said.

“Not at all. I waited years before someone stepped aside so I could take their job.” Clementine must have seen the confusion on my face because she sighed again. “It’s a coveted position to be in the inner sanctum of volunteers. Perks without works. Food poisoning seems to be our way in.” She indicated Lily and Orville.

Orville smiled vaguely. I wasn’t sure he knew what was going on, but Lily nodded emphatically. “I’m so proud that Viv called me to help! Aren’t you?” she asked Clementine.

Clementine maintained her mask of ennui, but I could tell she felt the same as Lily. “Meh. I just wish she were here. Viv makes a lot of people mad, but she solves problems. But I guess it probably sucks to have food poisoning.”

I was still processing the statement that Viv made lots of people mad, so didn’t think before I said, “Viv doesn’t have food poisoning.”

Ugh. Now I’d have to come up with some other reason why Viv wasn’t at the conference. She didn’t want me to mention the kidnapping but she didn’t have food poisoning. Wait. Why didn’t Viv have food poisoning if all of her key volunteers got it?

Lily rescued me by telling Clementine that Viv was probably busy with all of her other volunteer activities.

“What else does Viv volunteer for?” I asked, glad for the change of topic.

Lily ticked them off with her fingers. “Reads to the blind. Teaches Sunday school. Tutors at a middle school. And her nonprofit, of course.”

Orville had returned to adjusting the Velcro on his shoes. Riiiiiip. Was this his first experience with the magic that was Velcro? Did he have OCD? Was he bored?

I tried to ignore another irritating riiiip. “Nonprofit?”

“I don’t know much about it—” Lily began.

“It’s called Strength in Numbers,” Clementine said. “It teaches people to write fundraising appeals and how to organize letter-writing campaigns.”

“For what?” I asked.

“All kinds of groups ask for their help. Neighborhood groups. People who don’t want fracking. Parents fighting with the school board.”

Orville piped up from his bent-over position. “Basically Little Guys trying to protect themselves from Big Guys.”

I pulled a small notebook from my bag and jotted “Strength in Numbers” to remind myself to look it up online later. I’d never heard Viv mention it. Circling it with my pen, I noticed the acronym was SIN.

Relieved I hadn’t had to make up a lie about why Viv was going to be absent from her own conference this weekend, I asked Orville how things were coming with the registration problem.

“Still broken.” Riiiiip.

“What did they say about it? Is it a server problem? Software? Hardware? What?”

He sat up straight. “Didn’t say.”

“Wait. They didn’t say or you didn’t ask?”

“Yep.” He motioned to Lily’s closed laptop and she slid it toward him. He opened the lid and slid it back to her. “Where’s that place …?”

I felt my eyes bug. “You mean the website? The registration website?”

“I’ve got it right here.” Lily clicked some keys and slid it back to Orville.

He looked at the screen, turned it so I could see, and then turned it back in front of himself. He hovered a finger over the keyboard and glanced at Lily for confirmation. When she nodded, he pressed a key and peered at the screen.

Lily grinned up at me. “Orville is a genius with computers. Before he retired he was an expert in Excel!”

“So I hear.”

Orville kept his eyes on the laptop but nodded in acknowledgment of his accomplishment.

He clicked a couple more keys. “People have been emailing and saying they’ve been billed twice. And a few people who’ve registered in the last day or so are telling me they’ve been charged $3,999.”

“Four thousand dollars?”

“Glad I got my fees comped,” Clementine said.

“I am almost positive this conference does not cost four grand,” I said.

Lily solemnly agreed.

“Can I see?” I asked Orville.

He slid the laptop toward me and I saw he was in the backroom administration area of the registration website, not the place where people would go to register for the conference. That he’d managed to get there was a good sign, I thought. I went to a different page, which showed the number of people who had registered, along with the money deposited directly into the Stumptown Writers’ Conference online bank account.

I couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing. Every time I looked at the number of registrants, it fluctuated wildly, like there was a chimpanzee spinning a number wheel. “This makes no sense,” I said, scrolling through the pages. “There’s gotta be something wrong on their end.” I slid the computer back to Orville. “You have to call their tech support and figure this out. We need to know how many people are going to show up here on Friday and how much money we have. And if people have been overcharged, where is that money? Is it real money in the account or is it fake numbers on the screen?” I started to hyperventilate a bit. “You have to call them.”

“Can’t,” Clementine said.

“Why no—”

She tapped the oversized pocket watch dangling from her belt. “After six. Closed.”

“Tech support is usually twenty-four hours—”

“Nope.” Orville squinted at the screen. “Eight a.m. until four p.m. Eastern time. I’ll call tomorrow. Figure it out.” He stretched and gathered his things. Lily and Clementine did the same.

I wished I had his confidence. That left one day until the conference began. I looked around the room, knowing there was much to be done, but I didn’t feel comfortable asking them to stay and work. Especially when I really had no idea what specifically needed to be accomplished. I’d been to many writers’ conferences before, but I regretted not asking Viv for a list of the important things that needed to be done. Seemed like a no-brainer. You know. In retrospect.

I waved them out the door and let Lily hug me on her way out. When they were gone, I systematically worked my way around the room looking in each box and bag, finally determining that much of it was the swag that belonged in the tote that each attendee received upon checking in for the conference.

I cleared a table, then set up piles of the swag I’d found in the various boxes and bags—pens with the Stumptown Writers’ Conference logo, small composition books for note-taking in the workshops, individually wrapped assorted hard candies and mints, bookmarks, and the conference brochure listing all the faculty and workshops.

Green reusable totes with the conference logo imprinted in white were stacked high at the end of a table. Placing my left arm through the handles of as many as would fit, I carried them to the table where I’d set out the swag. I shuffled around the table, one bag at a time, grabbing each item of swag and systematically, methodically, hypnotically dropping it in. In the corner of the room nearest the table, I stockpiled the loaded bags as neatly as possible, handles all pointing in one direction to make it easy to carry them out to the registration desk early Friday morning.

Shuffling around the table, I was bent at an angle that would make my chiropractor cringe. I could hear him now. “Charlee, you’re over thirty now. Take care of yourself.” But this job needed to be done. Filling ten bags hurt my back. Twenty more made me dizzy. And by fifty, I was ready to quit. This was going to be a long evening.

Just when I’d talked myself into a visit to the hotel bar, my phone rang.

“Viv! What’s going on? Any news about Hanna?”

“No. But the message you left earlier said you were in? You’re going to help find Hanna?”

Viv sounded exhausted, so instead of telling her about the conversation I’d overheard with Jack and the mystery girl and his denial that he knew Hanna, I simply said, “Yes. Whatever you need me to do.” I’d tell her about Jack when I knew something concrete.

“Thanks, Charlee. I wish I knew what to do.” She took a deep, shuddery breath and I knew she’d been crying. My heart broke for her.

Neither of us spoke for a few moments. Then Viv said wearily, “So, tell me about the conference prep. Everything okay?”

“Um … well, I found all the freebies and I’m putting them in the bags.”

“By yourself ? That’ll take all night!”

“Nah, it’s fine.” I rolled my shoulders and neck. “It was late so I sent the volunteers home. They’ll be here bright and early tomorrow to help fix the—” Oops. I hadn’t intended to tell her about the problems we were having.

“What? Fix the what?”

“Ah, it’s nothing.”

“I don’t believe you. Tell me.” The exhaustion in her voice turned to panic.

“First, you have to promise to stay calm. We have everything under control.”

“If you don’t tell me right now, I’ll—”

“Fine. There was this little problem with double-booking of the conference rooms.”

“Another conference was booked at the same time as ours?”

“Kind of … it’s a dog agility competition.”

“A what?”

“Dog agility. They jump over things and crawl through things—”

“In a hotel?”

“It’s a long story. But the hotel is working on it.” I should have checked on their progress earlier. “I’m sure we’ll be able to cross that off our list tomorrow.”

“Your list? You have a list of problems?”

“Not problems, exactly …” Oh, who was I kidding? We had problems and I decided to come clean with Viv. She couldn’t help, but maybe she had ideas for me. “Okay, yes. We have problems. The dogs, for one. And the chef was fired.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know, but his staff seems … capable. And they’re on it. He left his notes about the conference food.”

“Oh, geez. Is that all?”

“I wish.” I clamped a hand over my mouth.

“Tell me.” Viv’s voice was back to sounding exhausted.

“Computer glitch with the online registration provider. It’s billing people twice when they register. Unless it charges them four grand.”

Viv remained silent, taking in all the bad news, I assumed.

“Viv? You still there?”

“Charlee, I’ve gotta go. Thanks for taking care of everything.”

Taking care of everything? She must have had a different definition than I did.

And she’d hung up before I could ask if she had hired the guy in the white shirt and paisley tie. I sent her a text, then pocketed my phone and moved back to the swag table. At least rote activity wouldn’t tax my brain.

I reached for more tote bags, but a memory stopped me mid-air. When I did a beta read for Viv’s most recent book, she’d told me that she needed my critique in a hurry so she could push the book through production to get the rest of her advance. Something about her screwing up her quarterly taxes and owing the IRS.

Viv had been quick to end our conversation after I told her about the registration money. I boomeranged to an impossible thought that I tried to tamp down, push away, ignore. But I couldn’t.

Was the kidnapping just some elaborate ruse to embezzle money from the conference? Was I being used?