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!”

“Okay.” Viv glanced at me, but I shook my head ever so slightly. “Well, can the rest of you start putting up the signs we do have? And are all the workshops for each room, for each day, listed on the sign?”

Lily nodded while she shuffled through some papers. “Here’s the Columbia, Willamette, and Multnomah Rooms.” She handed the signs to Orville.

“And what about the name cards for all the speakers?” Viv asked.

“Done.” One of the women held them up.

“Great,” Viv said. “After you hang the workshop signs, can you three get the name cards into each workshop packet for the moderators?”

The two women looked at each other. “Workshop packets?” one asked.

“Moderators?” the other asked.

“The people who introduce the faculty at their workshops,” Viv said.

Lily said to Viv, “Charlee didn’t tell us to do that yet.”

Viv looked at me. “Why not?”

“Well, two reasons I guess. One, nobody told me to do it. And two, I didn’t know it had to be done. Oh, and three, I didn’t know it had to be done!” My voice screeched a little bit when I repeated myself.

“Calm down. Geez.” Viv turned to Orville and the two women. “Do you know what I’m talking about with the workshop packets? The big envelopes that hold the speaker introductions and the announcements and stuff?”

The women nodded. Orville did not. Perhaps he was wondering if his sneaker suddenly felt inexplicably too loose or too tight.

Viv continued. “Okay, get started on that as soon as Lily gets the printer fixed.” As the group gathered up their things to tackle their respective jobs, she added, “Oh, and Lily? If you can’t get the printer fixed right away, you’ll have to use the one in the business center. It’s on the third floor—”

“I already asked, but they said I can’t.”

“But I’m telling you that you can. And you must. We’re running out of time.” Viv shooed them all away before pulling the laptop in front of her. “If you hurry, maybe you’ll be done before Garth gets here.”

The two women giggled as they followed Lily and Orville out the door. Viv and I were alone in the workroom.

“Who in the world is Garth?”

She typed while she spoke. “A flake I invite to speak every year so I can keep tabs on him.”

“Why do you need to keep tabs on him?”

“Because he’s a small-time criminal.”

I frowned. “Is he talking about crime writing?”

“No. He’s my ex-husband. I like to make sure he’s keeping out of jail.”

In all the time I’d known her, Viv had never mentioned her ex to me before. “Is he Hanna’s father?”

She put her finger to her lips but didn’t look up from the computer screen. “Shh. Don’t tell him. He doesn’t know. And neither does she.”

A million thoughts raced through my brain until I landed on one. “Maybe he does. Could he be involved in the kidnapping?”

Viv stopped typing and looked directly at me. “Of course not. I told you, he’s small-time. Just some disorderly conduct. Snuck into a Trail Blazers game, then made a nuisance out of himself trying to get them to drop the charges. Cops called it harassment.” She stared over my left shoulder, lost in memories. “And then there was that silly misunderstanding when he recorded some movie at a premier. And once he harvested some cedar without keeping a record. I think they impounded his truck for that.”

This conversation confused me. “Cedar?”

She shrugged. “This is lumberjack country. People have a close, personal relationship to their trees.”

It all was beginning to seem less and less like a kidnapping. “Sounds like he’s a grade-A hustler,” I said. “How can you be sure he’s not involved in Hanna’s … disappearance?”

“Because I know him. He’s petty.”

“Maybe so petty he’d try to get back at you for keeping Hanna a secret from him? Surely he’s not so stupid that he couldn’t figure it out. Or maybe Hanna did and tracked him down.”

The two middle-aged volunteers returned to the workroom. Viv gave them a smile and a half-wave, then whispered. “Even if he did figure it out AND wants to get back at me AND was smart enough to plan a kidnapping, I still need to raise the ransom money.”

Viv’s voice had gotten louder, and the women glanced our way. One of them pointed to the leftover takeout food. “Is that for anyone?”

“What?” Viv asked.

“Looks like it’s from Watanabe’s.”

“Fantastic! Yes. I love their food.” Viv jumped up and grabbed a container and a set of chopsticks. She returned to the computer, set the food between us, and logged in to the registration page.

“You got a ransom note?” I whispered.

“Another phone call,” she whispered back.

“How much?”

“$339,000.”

I repeated the amount back, unsure I heard correctly.

Viv took a bite of cold yakisoba and nodded.

“That’s a weird amount. What’s the significance? What does it mean?” My voice had risen, so I pointed at the computer screen to justify my part of the conversation in case the women were watching.

“Shh. No idea.”

My mind whirred. The ransom demand turned this into a kidnapping the police could investigate. I watched with unfocused eyes as Viv typed on the laptop. I tried to formulate an argument compelling enough for her to finally involve the authorities, despite the kidnappers’ death threat against Hanna. Her furious typing captured my attention, though. I watched, alarmed, as the realization of what she was doing finally sunk in.

“Viv, you can’t.”

“Charlee, don’t you understand?” Viv spoke fast and pitched her voice down a notch. “This registration glitch was fate. I can use it to pay the ransom for Hanna.”

“No, you can’t,” I whispered. We kept our voices low and our eyes on the computer screen while we talked.

“I can. I have access to the online bank where the registration money goes.”

“I don’t mean that you don’t know how to. I mean you shouldn’t.” My pulse quickened.

“Charlee—”

“Viv. You can’t. If you take all that money, how will you pay for the hotel and the food and all those honorariums? I’ll donate mine, of course, but—”

“It’s the only way.”

“It can’t be the only way.”

Viv dropped her chopsticks and shoved the carry-out container away. “Do you want to give me $339,000?” She turned toward me, eyes flashing.

“Viv, some of that money isn’t even real. If people are overcharged, they’re going to call their credit card company and dispute the charges. Those numbers will be a computer glitch. Not actual funds. And I think that’s embezzling.”

“It’s my only option.” She turned back to the screen.

“No, it’s not. You could go to the police.”

“I already told you I’m not doing that.”

We were at an impasse.

I tried once more to thrust and parry with my sword of logic. “There’s probably not even enough money in the registration account anyway. You’d be committing however many crimes this is and still not be able to pay the ransom.”

She didn’t look at me. “Charlee, I’ll figure it out. Everyone will get what’s owed them. Just don’t tell anyone.”

Don’t tell anyone? Who would I tell? Who would believe me?

This was the moment Viv made the switch from concerned mother to embezzler. And she was going to do it on Lily’s computer. She was going to take that money. And it was clear she couldn’t pay it back.

I glanced at the two women foraging for Japanese food leftovers. They sensed a rift between us and were surreptitiously straining to hear our conversation.

Viv studied the computer, then again reached for her chopsticks and the takeout container.

I placed my hand on her forearm, lowered my voice, and spoke in code. “I really don’t think you should take that … yakisoba.”

Viv looked at me, then at the takeout. I tipped my head toward the computer, then toward the two volunteers. She nodded.

“I’m just borrowing, er, tasting it.”

One of the women glanced our way.

“But what if something goes wrong?” I asked. “Can you … give it back?”

Viv nodded furiously. “Of course I can … give … it back. Don’t worry. Everything will be … delicious.”

“This is delicious,” the volunteer called. The other one had her mouth full and simply gave a thumbs-up.

“I don’t know, Viv. People have gotten locked up in jai—the hospital for … eating bad things.”

I’d lowered my voice, but apparently not enough. One of the volunteers had a bite of food halfway to her mouth and set it down without eating. She pushed the takeout container away, emitting a small choking noise.

Viv smiled at her. “Don’t mind Charlee. Nobody is going to … the hospital. I promise.” She turned back to me. “Quit worrying, Charlee.”

The ominous tone of her voice silenced me and I thought about the V in ACHIEVE. Voice makes writing memorable. There’s no mistaking Raymond Chandler’s voice for Stephen King’s, or Shakespeare’s for Mark Twain’s. Atticus Finch does not sound like Hercule Poirot.

But at this moment, Viv sounded exactly like Hannibal Lecter. Cold. Calculating. Caustic.

I watched the disconcerted volunteer eat the Japanese food, although with a little less gusto. Viv clicked away on the keyboard. Both made my stomach churn. Viv’s phone rang and she dove for it. She didn’t say hello. Didn’t speak at all. Her eyes widened and she tucked herself into a protective huddle.

I mouthed, “The kidnappers?”

She retreated from the room and motioned me to follow. By the time I reached the hallway and shut the door behind me, Viv had already hung up.

“If the ransom isn’t paid by noon on Saturday, then starting at one o’clock, one conference attendee per hour will be killed until it is paid.”

I glanced at the closed workroom door. “Did you transfer the funds already?”

“They said the ransom had to be paid in full.”

“Viv, you have to cancel this conference.”

“It’s already”—she looked at her phone—“3:40. The conference starts tomorrow. People are already trickling in. It’s too late to cancel. I’d have to return everyone’s fees, maybe even their travel costs, and I’d still be on the hook to pay for the hotel and speakers and food. You know I can’t afford that. We’ve had this argument and I don’t want to keep having it!” She brushed me aside to return to the Clackamas Room.

I stood in the doorway and watched her log out of Lily’s computer and collect her things. As she shoved past me she whispered, “Besides, I’m sure they’re bluffing about killing people. How would the kidnappers know who was a conference attendee and who wasn’t?” She rushed away down the hall.

I stared at her back, stunned. Then I glanced at the table containing the pile of Stumptown Writers’ Conference name tags awaiting lanyards.

How would they know? Because every attendee would be wearing one of those.

Like sitting ducks.

I recovered from my shock when I realized that Viv had never answered my question about whether she’d transferred the funds. I raced down the hall after her but didn’t see her anywhere in the lobby. I rushed out the revolving door, hoping to make her see reason before she drove off. Hurrying through the portico, I skidded to a stop behind a pillar when I saw Viv having words with Roz. They were too far away for me to make out their conversation, but it was clear by their body language and faces that they were arguing. Something behind them caught their attention and they both bolted. Viv to her car, where she roared away, and Roz to behind a pillar that matched mine on the other side of the large circular drive.

I peeked around my pillar to see what had scared them. Jack? He was struggling to place a large, lumpy duffle bag into the back of the hotel van. My imagination fired up. Was there a body in the duffle? Was he strong enough to carry a body like that?

After Jack closed up the van, he went back to the side of the building, where he’d come from. Roz popped out from behind her pillar, looked furtively around, and then hurried toward the van and drove away.

I returned to the lobby, surprised to see Jack already back at his desk. I walked nonchalantly toward him. He flashed me his thousand-watt concierge smile, which I returned. Or tried to. I could only work up to a dim forty.

“That was some big duffle bag. What was in it?”

His wattage flickered like his electric bill hadn’t been paid. “Nothing. Hotel business.”

A guest walked up to Jack before I could find out if he was strong enough to lift a dead body in one hand. I wasn’t sure how to go about that short of loading myself into a bag and asking him to deliver me to my room.

I moved away from the concierge business being conducted. Pushing aside two throw pillows, I plopped myself down in one of the plush loveseats in the lobby. I wanted to make a list of everything, to help clarify my thinking and perhaps see some solutions, but I didn’t have a notepad with me. Instead, I stared into the nothingness across the lobby. Before I could have a good think, though, I heard a voice say, “Do you mind if we use this?”

A border collie with a woman attached stared intently at me. “Do you?” the woman repeated, pointing at a hassock near me.

“No, I don’t mind.”

The dog danced beside her as the woman pushed it across the lobby toward two other hassocks. She maneuvered these three, then a fourth, situating each exactly ten heel-to-toe lengths apart. She called the border collie over, pointed at each of the hassocks, and upon some magic command, the dog took off like he was shot out of a cannon, sailing over each hurdle with precision. When he finished, he circled to the woman’s side and sat gazing up expectantly. She gave a tiny nod and he raced to leap over them again.

I watched them do this eight times in a row. I grew tired of it, but the dog and his handler looked like they could do it until Christmas.

The handler noticed that others were waiting for a turn on the obstacle course. She stepped aside and pointed at her border collie, who sat. Then she walked behind the dog’s back, pulled something from her pocket, and tucked it under a chair. She did it again, this time tucking it inside a couch cushion. She hid treats in four more places, then went back to her dog, who hadn’t moved a muscle. She said “Search!” and the border collie took off, finding and gobbling the treats one after the other.

A man escorted by a weimaraner asked if I was using the pillows I’d pushed aside.

“Take whatever you want.” I stood and waved my arm magnanimously.

I had a plan.