Death at the Trade Show: Target Practice Mysteries 3 (6 page)

“In general, the hunting shows get a media pass and use the OIT Show to try and get sponsors, which isn’t technically allowed. It is hard to police, because sponsors like to bring the hunting personalities to the show so pro-shop buyers can meet them and get influenced by their favorite TV hunter into buying the sponsors’ products. It is a bit of a Catch-22; they’re not supposed to solicit sponsors at the OIT Show, only support their existing sponsors, but the best place to get sponsors is at the OIT Show. We double-check that everyone buying a media badge does have a website, TV show, or something then send out information to all the attendants telling them not to try to sell products unless they have a booth.”

What a strange industry. I leaned in to ask a question. “Why do they need sponsors? Don’t the networks give them a budget when they pick up the show? Is it just for additional money?”

Sarah turned to face me and shook her head. “Hunting networks are totally different than the rest of the TV industry. They sell their timeslots to hunting shows. Hunting shows pay for the timeslot using money from their sponsors or, if they don’t have enough sponsors, they pay for it themselves.”

“So anyone can have a show?”

Sarah laughed. “Maybe. I’m not sure on all the details. They pitch the show to the network, and if the network likes the show, then they might give them a couple of timeslots and prices. Each network is a bit different. I have no idea what they are looking for. We have a couple of networks here; they have booths on the south side of the secondary pavilion.” She raised her eyebrows at me then turned to look at Mary. “I could set things up for you to get some interviews. It sure would be a great article to talk about how hunting shows are set up.”

Mary laughed. “Oh, I like that idea. We’ll see what we can do.”

Sarah stood up. “I really wish I could stay longer and chat, but I better go. Get ahold of me anytime if you can do the article.”

We waved good-bye. Mary pulled out her notebook and scratched a few notes. “Timeslots, sponsors, networks, rivals.”

“What does that mean?” I leaned over to scratch Moo’s shoulder; he flopped onto his back, exposing his pink tummy.

“Motives, suspects, things to investigate.” She gave a wave of her hand. “I need to see what network his show was on and what timeslot. What if he bumped another show? What if he stole someone’s sponsor?”

“You’re really excited about this.”

“I am. There is so much to learn and so many options. It’s different than what we’ve done before.”

A man’s voice from the bar behind us called out. “Hey, Princess Di. Hey, Bloody Mary.”

With a groan at the nickname I hated, I turned around to see Loggin walking over to us. He towered over head and had the muscle to make him an impressive sight. I couldn’t help but smile at his boy-next-door good looks. “Hey, Loggin.”

He had three drinks held between his two hands. “The greeting is from Minx.” He put the three glasses down on a tiny table. “Come here; this is from me.”

He gave us each a hug, lifting me off my feet easily. When he hugged Mary, who was shorter than me, she looked like a doll flopping in his arms, and he spun her around once.

“I brought you both a drink.” He grabbed one of the pint glasses and sat down. He took a long draw of the amber liquid. “I hope you like it. I asked the bartender for something that two classy ladies would enjoy. It’s a hard cider.” He gave us a wink and a smile. On someone else, that might be sleazy, but he had an innocence that made me laugh instead.

Mary and I picked up our drinks and lifted them. “Cheers.” The liquid had a bite of tart apples but was smooth going down. The muscles in my neck, which I hadn’t realized were tight, loosened. Maybe it was the act of having a casual drink with friends, but already I felt more relaxed, holding the glass in my hands as we sat in silence. It felt companionable rather than awkward.

Loggin had an Andersson Archery shirt on. Last time I had seen him was at the Westmound Center, trying to track down some money. “New sponsor?” I pointed at his shirt.

“Yes, and better—new job. I’m the pro-staff coordinator at Andersson. I’ve been there three days.” He beamed.

“What a first week.” I laughed.

He took another sip of his cider. “Tell me about it. This job is the bomb.”

Mary took a sip of her drink and wriggled her nose. “Tangy, but I think I like it. Thank you, Loggin. What are you doing at the trade show? Signing new athletes?”

“No, most of the pro-staff contracts for the season have been signed for a while. I spent the first half of the week sending out the new season’s equipment to some shooters. In fact, I sent a few packages to both of you. At the show, I’m here as an extra body to show the product line to buyers.”

“Will you handle the hunting pro staff, too? And sending their equipment?” Mary took another drink from her rapidly disappearing cider.

“Yes, I will get them equipment, but no, I don’t do the money part—that’s the marketing peeps. But hopefully this spring I’ll be able to start making some decisions.”

I extended a leg and rotated my foot. I hadn’t realized how stiff I was from sitting in a folding chair all day. “What happens this spring?”

He drained the rest of his drink then set the glass on the table. “I’ll be hitting not only the 3-D circuit but the target tournaments as well. In fact, now that I live in Salt Lake, it’s a quick drive over to the center to train with you guys. You’ll teach me everything I need to know to shoot targets, right?”

I was ready to tease him a little. “If you ask Minx—” But I was cut off mid-sentence by a man calling out Loggin’s name.

Turning, I saw Cold, an archery video journalist I had met last month and instantly disliked. He was as tall as ever but more gaunt. His cheeks clung tightly to his bones, and his sleeves no longer strained around his biceps.

He looked at Loggin and didn’t acknowledge or even look at Mary and me. “Loggin, come back in here. I’m going to introduce you to Moose; he’s a very important dude in the industry. Someone you really need to know.”

Loggin hesitated then smiled broadly. “Have you met Mary and Di? They work at—”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ve met. Hey. Loggin, let’s go.” It appeared his “Hey” was directed at us as he raised a hand in our general direction, though he didn’t bother to make eye contact.

Loggin looked at us then back at Cold with a smile. “Uh, sure. I’ll be there in a second.”

Cold disappeared back into the bar, and Loggin turned to us. “What was that about?”

Mary’s lips were pursed, and she crossed her arms. “Such a jerk.”

I chuckled. I neither liked nor trusted Cold. “He doesn’t like us, which is fair, ’cause we aren’t his biggest fans either.” Though it was an accurate statement, it didn’t fully sum up the feeling of unease I felt around him. “Be careful around him. He’s…” He set off my internal alarms. There was a harshness to him that scared me. But that was nothing I could prove.

Inside the bar, laughter erupted. Cold stood inside, beaming, while men around him guffawed and slapped him on the back. Everyone else seemed to love the guy. I finished off my cider and looked back at Loggin. “Be careful, that’s all.”

“Got it.” He reached out a hand for my empty glass and took Mary’s as well. “If you get a chance, stop by the Andersson booth; I’ll give you the official tour of the product line.”

He went into the bar and dropped the glasses on a tray then joined Cold, another tall man, and a group of shorter guys. They probably weren’t that short, but they were all at least a head shorter than Loggin. Handshakes were passed around, and eager voices carried out of the bar. It was an all-boys club.

If Liam were here, it wouldn’t matter. He never acted like there were more important people to rush off to. As I looked toward the lobby, the front door pushed open, and Jack came in carrying several bags.

“Food’s here!” Moo leaped to his feet as I stood and raced over. My stomach growled as I approached Jack and thanked him.

Mary caught up to me and grabbed a bag of food from Jack. “You’re the best. I’m starving.”

***

Sitting on the couch of our suite, I could barely move. Empty containers of Indian food were scattered on the coffee table. I grabbed the last corner of naan, swiped it through the sauce, and savored it. “I can’t eat another bite.”

Mary left the couch for the table and set up her computer and notebook. “I’m gonna take some notes on Cash’s show—networks, sponsors, et cetera. Somewhere in there’s the reason for his murder.”

“Why are you so sure it’s related to the show?”

Mary flipped through her notebook. “Because he was killed here. It’s unlikely that he had a beef with a neighbor and the neighbor traveled all the way to the OIT Show to kill him.”

“True, but wasn’t his wife with him? The little blonde?”

“Hannah.”

“Yeah, Hannah. Maybe she killed him here specifically so there would be so many other suspects.”

Mary pointed at her notebook. “Don’t worry. I have her at the top of the list. We need to find out everything we can about their marriage.”

“And the actual murder. Do they know what floor he fell from? The railing is pretty high; was he lifted over? Could he have been pushed? Was he alive when he fell? Unconscious? Did he scream? Did the newspaper say anything?”

Mary shook her head through my questions. “The newspaper just said that the police were investigating it as a homicide.” She turned back to her computer and wrote in her notebook.

I debated another piece of the soft and chewy naan but decided that I wanted my pants to fit tomorrow. Rolling things over in my mind, I couldn’t imagine how Cash could have fallen over the railing. Could he have been standing on a chair when someone hit him in the head? But why would he stand on a chair? Maybe he jumped up onto the railing to look at the floor and slipped. But then why didn’t he scream? If someone was huge like Loggin, or even two smaller people working together, they could have lifted him up and over. That seemed like the most likely option so far.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was getting late, but I had two messages. One was from Jess, back at the center. “Still sick. Slept all day.” Poor Jess. She had been so excited to come with her husband, Robbie, for their anniversary.

The second message was from Liam. “Hope you’re having a good evening in. Game’s almost over. We’ll be leaving an hour later tomorrow. If you want to go to bed and leave your breakfast order for room service out, we’ll place the order when we get back.”

I grabbed the menu and jotted down my breakfast order. “What do you want for breakfast? Liam said he would order for us if we wrote it down.” I extended the room service menu to her.

“What did you order?” She continued to write in her notebook.

“The healthy carnivore: two scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, and a side bowl of fruit.”

“Perfect. Order me one, too.”

I lowered the menu I still had awkwardly extended to her. She was fully engrossed in her project. Next to me on the couch, Moo groaned and rolled on his back, his large jowls flipping upside down to expose large white teeth. He deeply inhaled and sneezed all across my arm. He flopped back onto his side, his paws dangling off the couch.

I got up to waste some time while Mary worked and Moo slept. The bathroom had a spacious countertop, where I spread out my makeup then rinsed the dog slobber off my arms. With a stretch and large yawn, I had reached the limit of what I could do in a hotel room. “Hey, I think I’m going to get ready for bed.”

“Wait.” Mary stood up. “I’m done, but I had a thought. You know who might have information? Becky.”

“Becky?”

“The front desk gal. Perky blonde? She was on duty when we checked in. I bet she is working right now. She might have some intel for us.” Mary got up.

“I don’t know. I’m already tired and…” She was so excited, and it wouldn’t take too long. “And we could take Moo out one last time then go straight to bed?”

“Great idea.”

I clipped the leash on Moo and carefully shut the suite door. I had a pet peeve about people letting their hotel doors slam shut. Especially after last night when I had repeatedly been woken up right as I fell asleep.

As we rode down in the elevator, I questioned Mary about the plan. “How are we going to investigate if we are stuck behind a table all week?”

“We can talk to people that come to our table or maybe stop at a booth when we take Moo out for his walks. Or in the evenings. I’m hoping to figure out who else was there when we discovered Cash’s body. If I see them, I’m sure I would recognize them.” The door opened, and Mary continued as we walked to the front desk. “Our goal is to figure out what Becky knows, got it?”

“Sure thing, Sherlock.”

Becky was at the front desk as Mary predicted, but she was not as perky as described. She had circles under her eyes. Her hair was a bit greasy and haphazardly pulled back into a ponytail. Not in a messy ponytail that magazines explain how to do in twenty-five easy steps, but the kind of ponytail where the top layer of hair split and the hair beneath stuck out, half the pony tail twisted left, and her side bangs had a wicked case of cowlick.

“This is the front desk, how can I—Moo!” The weariness dropped off her face the second she looked up to see us. “Can I give him a treat again? Can I come around and pet him?”