Murder Packs a Suitcase (6 page)

She clutched a clipboard in one hand, and with the other nervously pushed her overly long bangs out of her eyes. Mallory noted that she didn't look much older than their waitress. And thanks to her straight platinum blond hair, courtesy of Clairol, and her bright emerald-green eyes, courtesy of Bausch & Lomb, she looked more like Barbie's little sister than someone in a position of authority.

“Sorry I'm late,” Courtney continued. “Things got a little crazy at the office this morning. But I want to start out by telling you how thrilled we are to have all of you here.”

“Y'know, there's such a thing as being too damned jolly,” Annabelle muttered. “Especially before lunch, when everyone's blood sugar is low.”

“Now, now,” Frieda returned. “She's just cheerful. There's no law against being cheerful.”

“Before I start boring you with details,” Courtney said, “there's someone I'd like to introduce. Mr. Farnaby,” she called across the room, “could you please come over here? If you have a moment, I'd like you to meet our distinguished group of writers.”

Mallory glanced around the table, blinking.
Distinguished?

Mr. Farnaby was all smiles as he scurried over to the table. “Well, of
course
I want to meet my honored guests!” he gushed.

“Everyone, this is Desmond Farnaby, general manager of the Polynesian Princess Hotel.” Courtney introduced him with the same drama one would expect for the presentation of the Queen of England.

The writers mumbled a greeting. All except Phil.

“I believe you already know Phil Diamond,” Courtney said.

The two men glowered at each other.

“This is Annabelle Gatch,” Courtney said quickly. “She writes for
Travel on a Shoestring.
”

“Is that Miss or Mrs. Gatch?” Desmond asked.

“Miz-z-z-z,” Annabelle hissed.

“Ms. Gatch, then,” Desmond said graciously, shaking her hand. “I think you'll find the Polynesian Princess offers its guests excellent value.”

“Hmph,” Annabelle replied. “The complimentary shampoo is microscopic. And there's no sewing kit, no shoe shine kit, no nail care kit—”

“I'll look into all of it,” the hotel manager said diplomatically. Turning to Frieda, he asked, “And you are…?”

“Frieda Stein,
Go Seniors!
magazine.”

She stuck out her hand, as if to shake. Instead, Desmond grasped her fingers and brought them to his lips.

“Enchanté,”
he murmured.

Frieda giggled. “My goodness! What a charmer you are, Mr. Farnaby!”

“Thank you, my dear. And I hope you're equally charmed by our lovely hotel.”

“This is Mallory Marlowe,” Courtney said, stepping behind her chair and placing her hands on her shoulders. “Mallory writes for
The Good Life.”

“Ah. A fine magazine. It's a real pleasure to have you as our guest, Ms. Marlowe.”

When Desmond shook her hand instead of kissing it, Mallory didn't know whether or not to be insulted. In the end, she decided it was better to be treated like a professional than a femme fatale.

“And last but certainly not least, this is Wade McKay, the publisher of
Living Well.
It's a Canadian magazine that's based in Toronto.”

“Wade.”

“Desmond.”

The two men shook hands. Phil looked on, scowling.

“I hope you all make yourselves at home,” Desmond said, spreading his arms in a welcoming gesture. “If there's anything I can do to make your stay more enjoyable, please don't hesitate to ask.”

“How about that nail care kit?” Annabelle muttered.

“Thank you, Mr. Farnaby.” Beaming, Courtney added, “We'll be seeing more of Mr. Farnaby later on, at the reception this evening. If you have any questions about the hotel, he'll be happy to answer them then.

“As for the other aspects of your visit,” she continued, focusing on the group once Desmond had left, “I want you to feel you can come to me for anything you want. You're our guests. So I encourage you to think of me as much more than just your tour guide and point of contact here in Orlando. Think of me as your family. Your sister or your daughter—”

“Too bad incest has such a bad name,” Phil wise-cracked. “I can't remember the last time I was on a press trip with such a hottie.”

Courtney froze. Mallory winced as she watched the young woman's face turn as red as the anthuriums that decorated the table.

“Hey, part of your job is to make sure all of us have a good time, right?” Phil went on, smirking. “I've already got a few ideas. And the fact that we're in a hotel makes them a lot easier to put into practice, if you catch my drift.”

Mallory glanced around the table. All the writers had the same stricken looks on their faces.

“The people who read my website are always looking for new and unusual things to do,” he continued. “So I hope you're open to trying new things. It just so happens I packed a copy of the Kama Sutra in my suitcase.”

“I—I wasn't going to admit this,” the young tour guide stammered, “but this is the first time I've run a press trip all by myself.” She was addressing all of them, but her eyes were fixed on Phil. “My
husband
told me not to let on. But I'm hoping that by being straight with you, maybe you'll be willing to cut me some slack.”

“First time, huh?” Phil guffawed. “So I guess that makes you a virgin. Hey, I noticed that there's a volcano in the ballroom. That looks like a great place to sacrifice virgins, so you'd better watch out! Of course, you'd probably need to be a virgin in every sense of the word, but if they need somebody to check you out, I'm their man!”

Courtney remained silent, twisting her mouth and wrinkling her forehead in a way that made her look like a rubber-faced elf—an elf who was about to burst into tears. She reminded Mallory of Amanda when she was four years old. And Phil's bullying suddenly brought back the year Jordan was constantly tormented by a schoolyard toughie.

Before she'd even had a chance to think about what she was doing, she stood up and turned to Phil.

“Look, we're all here because we're professional writers,” she said, her voice controlled but her feelings clear. “That means that even though this hotel looks like it was designed by somebody on LSD, as far as our little group goes, it's a workplace. Which means everyone here is expected to act in a professional manner. That translates to no sexism, no tasteless jokes, and if it's at all possible, no stupidity. From this point on, we're all going to show our host the respect she deserves. Got it?”

Her blood still boiling, she turned to Courtney and said, “Now, if you'll be kind enough to continue, Courtney, I'm sure we're all interested in what you have to say.”

After she plopped back down in her seat, everyone at the table remained silent for what seemed like a very long time. And then Wade started to applaud.

“Here, here,” he said. “I think Mallory speaks for all of us.”

Mallory glanced over at Frieda and saw that she was nodding. Annabelle had pink patches on her cheeks, but the fact that she was staring at the table, avoiding making eye contact with Phil, implied that she, too, agreed with Mallory.

Courtney cleared her throat, then pushed her hair back again. “Okay, then. Let's, uh, continue. This press trip is going to be a particular challenge, since you all have such a different focus. Annabelle, you write for
Shoestring,
so you'll be looking for low-cost activities, special deals, that kind of thing.” With a little smile, she added, “And your editor e-mailed me that your birthday is on Tuesday, so we'll have to be sure to schedule in a little party. I understand it's a big one, too.”

“Uh, yes.” Annabelle lowered her head and muttered, “The big four-oh.”

“Wow!” Courtney exclaimed. “That definitely calls for a birthday cake!” She made a note on her clipboard. “Frieda, you'll be focusing on activities that are of interest to seniors, including those who are traveling by themselves—that is, without their grandchildren. And, uh, Phil, since you're writing for the seasoned traveler, you'll be looking for anything that's new or off the beaten track. I can help you with that.”

Mallory cast him a meaningful look, just in case he hadn't quite gotten the point and decided to toss out a few more unwelcome witticisms. Instead, he stared right back. And then, smiling crookedly, he held up his hands and shrugged.

“Wade writes for a Canadian audience,” Courtney continued. She flashed him a shy smile, then added, “So part of my job will be convincing you that our neighbors to the north are more than welcome to visit us here in the good old U.S. of A.”

She turned to Mallory. “And last, but certainly not least, Mallory, I understand this is your very first press trip, too.”

“That's right.” Mallory smiled self-consciously. “But I think I'm already getting the hang of it.”

She was grateful when Frieda and Wade laughed.

“
The Good Life
is a terrific publication,” Courtney went on, “and we're thrilled to be getting coverage in it.”

“It has great circulation,” Frieda commented, beaming. Impishly she added, “Unlike so many of my peers.”

Mallory was beaming, too. She was convinced she'd done all of them a favor by taking Phil to task, not only Courtney. Here she'd felt as if she was just getting to know all the other kids on her first day at a new school, and with more guts than she would have thought she possessed, she'd handled the fact that some of them hadn't learned all they needed to know in kindergarten.

“You should all be settled into your rooms by now,” Courtney went on. “Please let me know if there's anything at all I can help you with.”

“Aside from the substandard amenities, my room is much too cold,” Annabelle complained. “I think the air-conditioning is broken.”

“The bathtub in mine doesn't have handrails!” Frieda piped up. “That's important for us senior travelers.”

“My room overlooks the parking lot,” Phil complained. “But I guess I'm not about to get it changed.”

For a moment, Mallory felt as if she'd gone back in time and was traveling with Amanda and Jordan again, back before iPods and video games were enough to silence them for hours at a time. She could hardly believe that not long before, she'd been worried about being less sophisticated and worldly-wise than her fellow travel writers.

“I'll ask Mr. Farnaby to look into all those things,” Courtney replied, jotting notes on her clipboard. Mallory was relieved that Courtney's sparkle was back, and that neither Phil's boorishness nor her attempt to keep it in check had thrown her. “And you're welcome to mention them to him at the reception we're throwing tonight. It's at seven o'clock in the Bali Ballroom, right here at the hotel. Dinner follows right afterward. The hotel's executive chef is preparing a special tasting menu for the occasion, and it's guaranteed to be absolutely fabulous.

“Now, let me hand out these press kits. Inside, you should find all the vouchers you'll need during your stay, plus a whole bunch of booklets that I think you'll find useful, a photo CD, and an official Orlando key chain and nail file.”

When lunch was over, Annabelle stood up and announced, “Bye, everyone. I'm off to Epcot. I've got ten bucks in my pocket, and my goal is to spend the entire afternoon there and still come home with change.” She reached into her clunky black purse and pulled out a Ziploc bag containing cubes of cheese and half a dozen broken Stoned Wheat Thins. “This is my afternoon snack. I'm going to have to sneak it past Security.” Frowning, she mused, “The Diet Coke is going to be much trickier because of the metal can.”

There's
something to remember, Mallory thought wryly. Skinflint Hint #382: Feel free to break the rules by sneaking your own food into places in which it's not permitted. She was glad she worked for a magazine whose readers could actually afford the vacations they took.

“I'm going to the Magic Kingdom this afternoon,” Frieda said as she rose from the table and pushed in her chair.

“What happened to the bungee jumping?” Annabelle asked with a smirk.

“Even our most adventurous readers are young at heart,” Frieda replied defensively. “They enjoy a ride in the teacups as much as the next person. Even if the next person
does
happen to be five years old.”

Phil didn't bother to share his plans for the afternoon. Mallory wondered if they consisted of doing research at the hotel bar.

“I'm off to tour some of Orlando's luxury hotels,” Wade said. “The ones that are targeted at grown-ups, with great spas, saunas, and four-star chefs.” Smiling at Mallory, he asked, “What about you?”

“I'm spending the afternoon at an attraction called Titanic: The Experience,” she replied.

Unfortunately, Phil overheard. “My heart will go on-n-n and on-n-n…” he crooned in an irritatingly shrill falsetto. “Hey, make sure you wear a life vest. Better yet, bring along a couple of lifeboats.” He burst into raw laughter over what he clearly believed to be his remarkable cleverness.

Mallory forced a polite smile. She may have tamed the beast, at least temporarily, but she certainly hadn't silenced him.

“If you don't mind,” Courtney piped up, “I think I'll join you. Believe it or not, I've never been to the Titanic.” She giggled. “Oops, I mean the attraction, not the ship. Of course, I haven't been to the ship, either.”

“I'd enjoy the company,” Mallory said, even though inwardly she was groaning. She didn't know if she could handle an entire afternoon of Courtney's perkiness. I guess there's no such thing as a free lunch, she thought grimly. Or a free trip.

After she and Courtney agreed to meet at the base of the volcano in fifteen minutes, Mallory stood up to leave. “Have fun, everyone,” she said. “I'll see you tonight at the reception.”