“Between jobs.”
“Right. Let’s return to our original question: Why do people go to conventions?”
“To get jobs?”
“About half. Either to get jobs, if they are unemployed, or to get better jobs, if they are employed.”
“Yes.”
“About a third of the people at conventions are looking for people to hire. A convention, dear Mister Fletcher, as you well know, is one great meat market. And, as I don’t need to remind you, I am one great piece of meat.”
“If memory serves, you do help fill up a room.”
“It is not possible to overlook me.”
“What about the other sixteen-point-seven percent?”
“What?”
“You said half the people are here to get jobs and a third are here to give jobs. That leaves sixteen-point- seven percent. Almost. What are they doing here?”
“Oh. Those are the people who will drop anything they are doing, including nothing, at any time, and go anywhere, for any reason, at someone else’s expense, preferably, their company’s.”
“Gotcha.”
“Except for poor little Crystal Faoni, who is here—as I expect you are—by the grace of a rapidly dwindling savings account.”
“Crystal, how did you know I’m unemployed?”
“Because if you were employed you would be working on a story somewhere, and no one could divert you to attend a convention even under threat of execution. About right?”
“Now, Crystal, you know I always do what I’m told.”
“Remember that time they found you asleep under the serving counter in the paper’s cafeteria?”
“I had worked late.”
“But, Fletch, you weren’t alone. One of the all-night telephone operators was with you.”
“So what?”
“At least you had your jeans on, all zipped up nicely. That was all you were wearing.”
“We had fallen asleep.”
“I guess. Jack Saunders was absolutely purple. The cafeteria staff refused to work that day.…”
“People get upset over the most trivial things.”
“My missing lunch, Fletcher, is not a trivial thing. If you had been working for old man March at that point, you would have been fired before you reached for your shirt.”
“You worked on a March newspaper, didn’t you?”
“In Denver. And I was fired from it. On moral grounds.”
“Moral grounds? You?”
“Me.”
“What did you do, overdose on banana splits?”
“You know all about it.”
“I do not.”
“Everyone knows all about it”
“I don’t.”
“No, I suppose you don’t. I don’t suppose anyone would bother to pass on such a juicy piece of moral scandal to you. You’re the source of so many such scandals yourself. You’d just say ‘Ho hum’ and gun your motorcycle.”
“Ho hum,” Fletch said.
“You know, instead of being on the telephone all this time, we could be curled in a dark corner of the bar, tossing down mint juleps or whatever the poison of the house is.”
“Are you going to tell me?”
“I was pregnant.”
“How could anyone tell?”
“Pardon me while I chuckle.”
“Were you married?”
“Of course not.”
“So why was that Walter March’s business?”
“I didn’t act contrite enough. I had told people I intended to have the baby, and keep it. That was back it those days. Remember? We all thought things had changed?”
“Yeah.”
“I had gotten pregnant on purpose, of course. An absolutely great guy. Phil Shapiro. Remember him?”
“No.”
“An absolutely great guy. Good-looking. Brainy. Happily married.”
“So what happened to the kid? The baby?”
“I thought I could handle having a baby without being married. But I sure couldn’t handle having a baby without being either married or employed.”
“Abortion?”
“Yeah.”
“Shit.”
“That’s what happened to my savings account the last time it got over two thousand dollars.”
“Great old Walter March.”
“He fired a great many people on moral grounds.”
“Oddly enough, he never fired me.”
“He never caught you. Or probably he heard so much about you, he never believed any of it. Even I can’t believe everything I’ve heard about you.”
“None of it is true.”
“I was there that morning they found you under the cafeteria counter. And I hadn’t had breakfast.”
“Sorry.”
“So whoever stuck the scissors into noble old Walter March was inspired.”
“Did you?”
“I’d be pleased to be accused.”
“You probably will be. You fit into the category of people who had a motive. He took a child away from you. Were you here this morning?”
“Yes.”
“You had the opportunity to kill him?”
“I suppose so. Lydia said the door to the suite was open when she found him. Anyone could have walked in and scissored him.”
“What else do you know about the murder, Crystal?”
“That it’s going to be the best reported crime in history. There are more star reporters at Hendricks Plantation at this moment than have ever been gathered under one roof before. In fact, I suspect more are showing up unexpectedly, simply because of the murder. Do you realize what it would be worth to a person’s career to scoop the murder of Walter March—with all this competition around?”
“Yeah.”
“It would be worth more than a handful of Pulitzer Prizes.”
“Whose scissors was it? Do you know?”
“Someone took it from the hotel desk. The reception desk.”
“Oh.”
“You thought you had the murder solved already, eh, Fletcher?”
“Well, I was thinking. Not many people carry scissors with them when they travel—at least ones big enough to stab someone—and anyone who would carry scissors that big most likely would be a woman.…”
“Fletcher, you must get rid of this chauvinism of yours. I’ve talked to you before about this.”
