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- Herausgeber: Next Chapter
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Sprache: Englisch
Vivian’s a 20-something bookworm who loves reading mysteries and dreams of being a detective. She gets a chance to play one in real life when bestselling author Joanna Rorke turns up dead.
After the police find Vivian’s prints and DNA in the author’s hotel room, she becomes the prime suspect. To prove her innocence, Vivian teams up with the rumpled, middle-aged crime reporter Freddie Fraser, who helps her follow the clues. Soon, secrets about Rorke's writing begin to surface.
The closer Vivian and Freddie get to the truth, the closer they are to the killer's crosshairs. But who pulled the trigger, and can the unlikely duo find him before another life is lost?
This book contains adult content and is not recommended for readers under the age of 18.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022
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MURDER GOES ON TOUR
ROBERT BATY
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
About the Author
Copyright (C) 2021 Robert Baty
Layout design and Copyright (C) 2022 by Next Chapter
Published 2022 by Next Chapter
Edited by Sarah Newton-John
Cover art by CoverMint
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.
For Gail
We had a wonderful time on the tour. Who knew that murder could be so much fun?
PETE AND SALLY WILKERSON, DALLAS, TX
ONE
Vivian turned away from the woman beside her and slipped out of bed. It was 6am in the city of San Francisco, and she had just spent the night with the famous Joanna Rorke. A whirlwind of drinks, desire and two women naked in each other’s arms in a penthouse suite on the top floor of the Hyatt Regency.
Well, that was different, Vivian thought, the taste of Joanna still on her tongue. So different from being with a man. She glanced at Joanna, who was still asleep. The comforter had fallen away from her breasts, which glowed in the morning light filtering through the blinds. It occurred to Vivian that it might be fun to do it all again sometime. She fumbled in the dark for her clothes and cosmetics, which were in a pile on the floor along with Joanna’s things, then went into the bathroom to get dressed. She was an inked brunette in her late 20s, with an oval face, smoky green eyes and a lizard tattoo that snaked down her thigh.
Vivian glanced at herself naked in the mirror, and a sinful smile spread across her face. She’d had her share of hookups with men she hardly knew, but this was the first time she’d ever done it with a woman. And not just any woman, but a woman who was 20 years older and a bestselling author.
Vivian thought authors rocked. She followed her favorites like groupies trailed pop stars. It wasn’t enough for her to read an author’s books – those were just words on a page. She wanted the thrill that came from seeing them live and hearing their voices. She lived for the moment when they locked eyes as the author signed an autograph that began “To Vivian…,” as if the book had been written just for her.
But she’d never wound up in bed with an author, even though she’d fantasized about it if the author happened to be a hunk. She had also wondered from time to time what it would be like to touch a woman’s body, to feel a woman touching her. And then, when it finally happened, Vivian was surprised to discover that she could just as easily lose herself with a woman as with a man. She finished dressing and turned off the light, then walked barefoot to the door with her shoes in her hand.
“Leaving so soon, Vivian?”
Vivian looked at Joanna. She had turned back the comforter, revealing her naked body. She was in her late 40s or early 50s, Vivian guessed, with full breasts, dark eyes and glossy black hair that tumbled to her shoulders and was streaked with gray. She was smiling seductively at Vivian, reminding her of a nude she’d seen once painted by some Spanish artist whose name she couldn't remember. Vivian felt something stir, but knew she had to go.
“I didn’t want to wake you,” Vivian said. “I have to go to work.”
“That’s no fun,” Joanna said. “Wouldn't you rather stay and play with me?”
Vivian smiled. “Yeah, totally. It was hot.”
“Your first time?”
Vivian blushed. “Yeah, it was. Why, did it show?”
“Not at all. I never would’ve known. You sure you have to go?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“A kiss goodbye, then?”
Vivian walked over to where Joanna lay. She sat up and pulled Vivian into her arms and gave her a deep, lingering kiss. Vivian let her hand wander across Joanna’s breasts and then down between her thighs. She was wet and suddenly Vivian wanted to taste her again. But there was no time – not if she wanted to keep her job.
“You like that?” Joanna asked.
“Yeah, I do.”
“So stay.”
“I wish I could.”
“I’m going to be in town for a few more days…”
“Yeah, I know. You’re reading at another stop on the murder tour.”
“Perhaps we can get together again before I leave?”
“Yeah, sure,” Vivian said. “That would be excellent. You want my number?”
Joanna smiled. “Of course I do.”
Vivian jotted down her number on the notepad on the nightstand.
“Until next time then,” Joanna said smiling, pulling the comforter up around her.
Vivian smiled. “Can’t wait.”
Vivian was still buzzing from the heat of the night as she waited for the cable car that would take her up California Street to her apartment atop Nob Hill. A cellphone text alert beeped from inside her purse. The sound puzzled her, as she had her cellphone in her hand. Vivian reached into her purse and was surprised to discover another cellphone buried underneath her cosmetics. She pulled it out and, in the moment before the screen went dark, she read a text from a woman named Laura Neville: “See you soon, my famous friend. Breakfast is on me.”
Suddenly, Vivian realized that in her rush to get dressed she had inadvertently taken Joanna’s cellphone. She flushed with embarrassment. What a dumb move. She decided to return it immediately with her apologies. She wondered if Joanna would be amused – perhaps even think that Vivian had done it on purpose, just so she could see her again. The thought brought a smile to her face as she walked across the street to the Hyatt Regency and went up to Joanna’s room. She knocked on the door and, as she did so, the door swung open.
“Joanna…?” Vivian said, stepping into the room.
Then she saw her.
Joanna was still in bed, but half her face was gone and she was swimming in a sea of blood. Blood spatter smeared the walls and windows. The TV was on, tuned to a morning talk show, but the faces on the screen were speckled with blood.
Vivian froze in horror, unable to look away. She wanted to run but could not move. Her stomach turned and she vomited on the carpet.
Then she heard a knock on the door.
“Señora…” a woman said.
Vivian turned and saw a Latina maid in the doorway. Just as the maid saw the blood. Saw Joanna. And screamed.
TWO
“You want a glass of water?”
Vivian shook her head. She felt as if she couldn’t stop shaking. Her mouth tasted like vomit. This isn't happening, she told herself. It can’t be. Images of Joanna kept flashing before her eyes as she sat at a table in a windowless police interrogation room. The two homicide detectives who had detained Vivian at the scene of the crime were in the room with her. Detective Harry Chen, a stocky Asian in a mud-colored suit, and Detective Latoya Bassett, a thin black woman with a tight afro and glasses. Chen sat across from her while Bassett stood by the door.
“Okay, let’s cut to the chase,” Chen said. “How did you know Joanna Rorke?”
Vivian flinched as Joanna’s name slammed into her.
“I didn’t really know her, I just went to her reading.” Her voice seemed hollow, disconnected, as if someone else was speaking.
“Don’t jerk us around, little girl,” Bassett said. “You did a lot more than that. We have a maid who placed you at the scene and witnesses who saw you together in the hotel bar after the reading. We figure when the prints and DNA from her room come back from the lab they’re gonna have your name all over ‘em.”
“Do you own a gun?” Chen asked.
Vivian shook her head.
“Okay,” Chen said, “let’s take it from the top. You spent the night with her, right?”
Vivian nodded, mortified that it was public knowledge. She wanted nothing more than to disappear and never be seen again.
“Did you have sexual relations with the deceased?” Bassett said.
Vivian looked up at her. She felt her stomach turn. Bassett made it sound as if she’d had sex with a corpse. She lowered her eyes and said, “Yes.”
“Had you ever had sex with her before?” Chen said.
Vivian shook her head.
“Had you ever met her before?”
“No.”
“So what was it, some kind of casual encounter?” Bassett said.
“I told you before. I went to her reading,” Vivian said.
“Lots of people went to her reading,” Chen said. “How come she ended up in bed with you?”
“I don’t know, it just happened,” Vivian said, feeling the heat rush into her face.
“Did you like it?” Bassett said.
“Excuse me?” Vivian said. “What’s that got to do with it?”
“You tell me,” Bassett said. “But here's the thing, Ms. Voss. We ask the questions and you answer them.”
Vivian lowered her eyes. “Okay, I liked it.”
Chen and Bassett exchanged sideways smirks.
“You got a boyfriend?” Chen said.
Vivian shook her head. “We broke up a couple of weeks ago.”
“Why? You decide you like girls better?” Bassett said.
“He was cheating on me.”
“Did anyone else join you?” Bassett said.
Vivian looked at her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean a threesome. You and Joanna and somebody else.”
Vivian shook her head. “No, nobody else.”
“You see anybody when you were leaving?”
Vivian shook her head.
“So you left, realized you took her phone by mistake and went back to return it. Is that right?” Chen said.
Vivian nodded.
“So you just missed him,” Bassett said. “Or her.”
Vivian looked up at her.
“The killer.”
Vivian shuddered.
“Got any idea why somebody wanted her dead?” Chen said.
“How would I know? I didn’t even know her.” She shook her head. “I just can’t believe she’s dead…”
“You knew her well enough to jump into bed with her,” Bassett said.
Vivian whipped around to Bassett. “How well do you know everybody you have sex with, detective?”
Bassett’s face tightened. She glared at Vivian. “Excuse me?”
“Okay, that’s enough,” Chen said. “Rorke mention anybody who might have had a grudge against her? Any enemies, somebody she was worried about?”
Vivian shook her head. “We had sex, that was it. But there was this woman at the reading… she asked this weird question…it seemed to bother Joanna.”
Bassett and Chen exchanged glances.
“What woman?” Bassett said.
“I don’t know, some woman.”
“What kind of weird question?”
“She asked Joanna if she’d ever read a certain book. She mentioned the title, I think it was called Tourist Trap, something like that. Joanna told her she’d never read it, and the woman said, no, you wouldn't have, it was never published. I asked her about it when we were having a drink and she just brushed it off like it was nothing.”
Bassett and Chen exchanged glances.
“Did you see this woman again?”
Vivian nodded. “She was in the bar when we were there. She ordered a drink, then came over to the table and threw it in Joanna’s face.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“What’d she look like?”
“She was blonde, a little overweight, late 30s. I remember she had a southern accent.”
“They knew each other?”
“Joanna said she was just some jealous writer, but it was like they knew each other. I mean you don’t throw a drink in somebody’s face for no reason, right?”
Vivian wondered if the woman’s obvious anger at Joanna had gone from throwing a drink in her face to putting a bullet in her head.
“She mention her name?”
Vivian shook her head.
“Then what happened?”
“The bartender threw her out.”
“What’s Rorke’s book about?” Bassett said.
“It's called The Murder Tour,” Vivian said. “It’s about a serial killer who’s murdering tourists who go on murder tours. Joanna told me she was going to promote the book by reading at some of the stops on a tour.”
“Murder tours,” Chen said in disgust. “It’s not enough that people suffer and die, somebody’s gotta make a buck off it.”
“You ever go on a murder tour?” Bassett asked.
Vivian shook her head. She looked up at the detectives. “I didn’t even know what a murder tour was until I read her book.”
Bassett and Chen exchanged glances, but said nothing.
“You got family here?” Chen said.
“My sister Hannah. She lives in Oakland.”
“You want us to call her, have her come get you?” Bassett said.
Vivian shook her head.
“We’ll need her address and phone number,” Chen said, pushing a pen and notepad across the table.
Vivian’s eyes filled with alarm. “Wait a minute…you’re not gonna talk to her about this, are you?”
“It’s routine,” Bassett said.
“But she had nothing to do with it. Why do you have to talk to her?”
“This is a homicide investigation, Ms. Voss,” Chen said. “We’re gonna talk to anybody who might have useful information.”
“She doesn’t have any useful information. The only information she’s gonna have is what you tell her.”
Chen nodded at the notepad. “Her name, address and phone number, please.”
Vivian threw Chen a defiant look. “What if I don't give it to you?”
“You want to be charged with obstruction of justice?” Bassett said.
“You’ll go to jail,” Chen said. “You sure you want to do that?”
Vivian smiled bitterly. “You guys always win, don’t you, no matter how much you wreck people’s lives.” She jotted down the information, then pushed the notepad back across the table. “Can I go now, or do I need a lawyer?”
“You’re free to go,” Bassett said, “but we may need to talk to you again.” She handed Vivian a business card. “Give us a call if you think of anything that might help.”
“You gonna be okay?” Chen asked.
Vivian looked up at him. Her face was pale. “I saw it, okay? So no, I’m not gonna be okay.”
Vivian paused on the sidewalk in front of the police station, as if unsure of her next move. The world of the living was everywhere around her, but all she saw was Joanna’s bloody corpse playing in her head like a snuff movie she just couldn't turn off.
THREE
The night before.
Vivian looked out the window as the bus pulled into the parking lot. Coit Tower was bathed in light and the lot was filled with folding chairs. A podium had been set up in front of the tower. Joanna had even chartered a tour bus to take attendees to the event. There were banners on both sides of the bus that read:
MURDER TOURS!
Visit San Francisco’s Most Notorious Crime Scenes!
The banners were flanked by police chalk outlines of dead bodies.
Joanna had chosen Coit Tower because it was the site of the first attack by the Zebra Killers, who went on a killing spree in the 1970s, taking fourteen lives. A couple out for a walk one evening near the tower was abducted and the woman was sexually assaulted, then nearly decapitated.
The Murder Tour was a radical departure from the period romance novels that had launched Joanna’s career and brought her critical and commercial success. But while her earlier novels had been best sellers, her later books sold poorly and were panned as tired and formulaic. Some critics had even suggested that Joanna Rorke had lost her touch.
This new book could not have been more different. Vivian thought it was way more exciting than her older novels, which were set in times long past that Joanna thought was boring. Reviewers called it her strongest work in years. Apparently, readers agreed, because the book had already landed on The New York TimesBest Sellers list. Vivian had just finished reading The Murder Tour and she was looking forward to hearing Joanna read and sign her copy of the book.
The driver opened the door and the passengers began disembarking. He was in his late 40s, with a long, hard face and salt-and-pepper stubble. He was wearing a uniform and a cigarette dangled from his lips. Vivian stepped off the bus and took a seat in the front row. She was wearing a white top with Breton stripes, navy pants, a blazer and ankle boots.
By the time Joanna stepped up to the podium and began to read, every seat in the Coit Tower lot was taken. From her spot in the front row, Vivian laid eyes on a curvy woman in her late 40s or early 50s, with dark eyes and glossy black hair streaked with gray that tumbled to her shoulders. She wore a black sheath dress that accentuated her curves, high heels and a string of pearls. And she read in a husky voice that reminded Vivian of a femme fatale in the old mysteries and thrillers she watched on TV late at night. Most of all, Joanna had a presence that Vivian could feel but not describe.
Joanna took a few questions after the reading. There were the usual ones about where she got her ideas, did she write at night or during the day, did she outline her books, etc. Then a man in the third row asked her why, having written a series of period romance novels, she had decided to write about a serial killer on the loose in San Francisco? Joanna told him that she needed a change of pace, and was looking forward to writing more thrillers set in the present instead of in the past.
She was about to start signing books when a woman in the back raised her hand.
I wanted to ask you if you’ve ever read a book entitledTourist Trap?
The woman spoke with a Southern accent. Vivian noticed that the mention of the title seemed to catch Joanna off guard. She gave a tense smile.
No, I’ve never heard of it and haven’t read it.
Of course not. It was never published. I just thought you might have read it in manuscript.
The only manuscripts I read are my own.
That’s probably wise.
The exchange puzzled Vivian. Why would someone ask Joanna if she’d read a book that was never published, and why did it unsettle her? Vivian craned her neck to get a look at the woman, but she was sitting in the last row and she was unable to pick her out in the crowd.
After the reading, Vivian waited in line for Joanna to sign her book. It took only a moment, but when Joanna looked up at Vivian and asked her name, Vivian felt as if they were the only two people there. Was that why she had lingered after most of the attendees had boarded the bus? Pretended to take in the view while Joanna chatted with the host of the event and fans who gathered around to congratulate her?
Later, Vivian would tell herself that Joanna must have sensed that she was waiting for her, because she finally excused herself and walked over to Vivian. Just then the bus driver honked the horn twice, a signal that he was about to leave.
“You’re going to miss your bus,” Joanna said.
“That’s okay. I can get a cab in North Beach.”
“Perhaps you’d rather have a drink with me?” Joanna said.
FOUR
They huddled in a booth in the hotel bar at the Hyatt Regency and when the barmaid came up to the table Joanna ordered two vodka martinis.
Then, after the barmaid moved away, she turned to Vivian and said, “I suppose I should have asked you what you wanted.”
Vivian smiled. “It’s okay, I like vodka martinis.”
“I must have known,” Joanna said, in a low, husky voice that made Vivian feel as if she was being seduced.
“Are you wondering why I asked you out for a drink?”
“Yeah, I guess I am,” Vivian said, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Why me, you know?”
“Does it matter?”
“No, I guess not.”
“I wanted to, that’s all. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, sure. I just wasn’t expecting it.”
“Sometimes it’s best that way,” Joanna said.
Their eyes met. Vivian could feel the heat rush into her face as Joanna held her gaze. Then the barmaid returned with their martinis and set them on the table.
Vivian raised her glass in a toast. “Here’s to your book. I hope it’s a big hit.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Joanna said as they clinked glasses.
“I saw it on TheNew York Times list, so I guess it's already a hit,” Vivian said.
Joanna gave a rueful smile. A shadow crossed her face. “Let’s hope it stays there.” She took another sip and looked at Vivian. “So how’d you like the reading?”
“I thought it was great. I mean, I loved the book…and seeing you read really brought it to life.”
“You like to go to readings?”
“Yeah, I do. Hearing an author read, hearing their voices – hearing your voice tonight – it brings a book to life for me. It’s not just words on a page. I get to see the person who wrote those words…”
But Joanna wasn’t listening. She had turned away from Vivian and was staring at someone. Vivian followed her line of sight and saw a woman sitting at the bar. She was in her late 30s, Vivian guessed, blonde and overweight. She was drinking alone and looking across the room at Joanna. There was a book on the bar in front of her.
“Something wrong?” Vivian said.
But Joanna didn’t answer her. Vivian watched as the woman finished her drink and ordered another round. But instead of taking a sip, she slid off the barstool and brought the drink and the book over to the table. Vivian noticed that she was carrying a copy of The Murder Tour.
“Well, we meet again, Ms. Rorke,” the woman said.
Joanna said nothing. Her face was a mask.
“I didn’t get a chance to have you sign my copy of the book,” she said, thrusting the book toward Joanna. “Would you mind?”
She spoke with a southern accent. Vivian realized she was the woman at the reading who had asked Joanna about the unpublished manuscript.
“Not at all,” Joanna said with a tense smile. She reached in her purse for a pen, then signed the book and handed it back to the woman.
“I sure hope you don’t mind that I asked you about Tourist Trap,” the woman said. “But you know why I did, don’t you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Joanna said.
The woman gave a knowing smile. “Well, I mean it had to be a coincidence, don’t you think? What else could it be if it wasn’t a coincidence?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I think you’d better leave,” Joanna said.
“Yes, I suppose I should,” the woman said. She threw a glance at Vivian. “You two look so cozy together. But before I go I did want to apologize if I caused you any embarrassment at the reading—”
“You didn’t,” Joanna said.
“I also wanted to offer my congratulations on The Murder Tour. You must be very pleased. I’m sure you’ll sell a lot of books.” The woman raised the glass in a toast. So…congratulations.”
She threw the drink in Joanna’s face.
Joanna gasped in shock as the liquor drenched her. Vivian froze, stunned into silence. Others in the bar looked over at Joanna. The bartender rushed over to the table. He grabbed the woman and pushed her toward the exit. “Get out of here! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Leaving,” the woman said as she shook him off, “that’s what I’m doing.”
The barmaid came up to the table with towels and handed them to Joanna, who began drying herself.
“I’m very sorry,” the bartender said, “this is so embarrassing. Do you want me to call the police? We can have security detain her if you like.”
Joanna shook her head. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Can I offer you another round…on the house?”
Joanna glanced at Vivian. “Have it brought up to my suite.”
“Yes, of course,” the bartender said, “right away.”
Joanna towel-dried her hair in the elevator.
“You don’t mind coming up with me, do you? I don’t feel like being alone right now.”
“Sure, no problem,” Vivian said.
The evening had begun with a book reading. Then a woman threw a drink in Joanna’s face. Now they were going up to her suite. Everything kept becoming something else and Vivian had no idea what was going to happen next.
“Who was that woman?” she said.
“I don’t know, some jealous failure who blames me because she couldn’t get published.”
“She was the woman from the reading…”
Joanna nodded.
“She acted like she knew you.”
Joanna shrugged. “I have no idea who she was. But that’s what happens when you get famous. Somebody’s always out to get you. I’m just sorry we were interrupted.”
But it seemed to Vivian as if this was something more than just a random attack by a disgruntled author. It seemed as if the woman knew Joanna. You don’t throw a drink in someone’s face for no reason. But what was the reason? She’ll never tell you, Vivian told herself, so don’t ask. Anyway, it’s none of your business. But the question lingered in Vivian’s mind as the elevator doors opened on the top floor and they walked down the hall to Joanna’s suite.
The door opened and Vivian walked into a luxury suite that was more than twice the size of her studio apartment. Joanna kicked off her heels and tossed the towel on a chair. Vivian walked over to the window and looked out at the lights of the city. The view took her breath away. It was as if all of San Francisco lay before her.
Joanna came up behind her. “You like the view?” Joanna said.
Vivian nodded. “I love it. I’ve never seen the city like this.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Joanna said. Then she pushed her hair up above the nape of her neck and said, “Unzip me, will you? I’m soaking wet.”
FIVE
I know what you want, Floyd Ritter thinks as he sits behind the wheel and watches the tourists board the Murder Tours bus. You want to go on the tour. He notices that some of the tourists are clutching copies of Joanna Rorke’s new best seller, The Murder Tour. Pity what happened to her. Almost more exciting than the book itself, isn’t it? But that’s why you’re here. You want the real thing. Look at you, all lined up, waiting to get on the bus. Just like the tourists who wait to board the cable cars at Powell and Market. You just can’t wait to look out the window, can you?
But you don’t want to see Coit Tower or the Golden Gate Bridge or Fisherman’s Wharf. You want to see the murder sites. There are tours for everything – why not a tour of San Francisco’s most gruesome crime scenes? A tour that takes you to the places where the victims were shot or stabbed or strangled or thrown out of a window.
Look, that was where the Zodiac Killer began his killing spree. Oh, and there’s the office building where Gian Luigi Ferri killed eight people for no apparent reason. Here we are in Chinatown, the site of the Golden Dragon Massacre that took the lives of five innocent bystanders. Ever heard of The Doodler? He liked to sketch his victims before he stabbed 14 of them to death. Don’t miss City Hall, where Dan White shot and killed Supervisor Harvey Milk and Mayor George Moscone.
There’s more, but you get the idea. You want me to show you the crime scenes that made all the headlines. Murder is thrilling. That’s why you’re here. But what if you were next? Does that ever cross your mind as you look out the window? No, of course not. But it could. So welcome aboard.
You’re on the murder tour.
SIX
“You are so busted,” Kelli said as Vivian walked into Dumbarton & Dumbarton, the downtown ad agency where she worked as a copywriter. Kelli rocked reception in short skirts, cleavage and a toothy Britney Spears smile. She was the office gossip and lived for dish like it was oxygen. “Where have you been? It’s like lunchtime.”
Vivian ignored the question. Kelli picked up the phone and tapped a number. “She just got here.” She listened for a moment, then put the phone down and looked up at Vivian. “In Donny’s office, like now.”
Donny Dumbarton was sitting back in his Aeron chair with his hands behind his head and his Nikes up on his desk when Vivian into his office. The walls were decorated with posters of all the ad campaigns he had taken credit for. There was a golf bag filled with clubs by the door. It was branded with a logo that showed a fat white cloud with a yellow thunderbolt and the words Cloud Cover wrapped around it.
Donny looked up at Vivian with a pained expression that was supposed to suggest how much it hurt him to push her around. He was stocky, in his 40s, with a goatee and a man bun, and he was the creative director at Dumbarton & Dumbarton. There was only one Dumbarton, but Donny thought repeating the name made the agency sound bigger and more important. But everybody knew it was all about making Donny sound bigger and more important, and referred to the agency as Dumb and Dumber behind his back.
“Where the hell have you been?” Donny said.
“I’m sorry, something came up,” Vivian said quietly.
Donny gave her a searching look. “You okay? You don’t look too good.”
“I think I’m coming down with something,” Vivian said.
“Well, don’t spread it around here,” Donny said. “But whatever you got, get over it, because I need you focused on the Cloud Cover business, okay? One hundred and ten percent. Take the afternoon off and be ready tomorrow to come up with some results.”
“Got it. Thanks.”
“Good. That’s what I like to hear.”
“You got a tagline yet?”
Vivian shook her head. “I’m working on it.”
“Work harder. The client’s not gonna wait around forever.”
Vivian nodded.
“Okay, that’s it, get out of here. Go be creative.”
Vivian walked out of Donny’s office in a daze. She’d barely heard a word he said. How could he expect her to care about a tagline when she’d walked in on a murder?
