Nice Weekend for a Murder by Max Allan Collins

“You know, I have to admit I’ve never read anything of yours, but I plan to remedy that.”
    “That’s nice to hear. And, I must say, you’re a very attractive young woman. I make that observation well realizing that the sturdy young man lurking behind you is very likely your boyfriend.”
    “Husband,” she said, smiling; she motioned for him to step forward, and he did. Like her, he was in his late twenties, blond,handsome in a preppy way, sweater and Calvins; they were as perfect as a couple in a toothpaste ad.
    “I’m Jenny Logan,” she said, offering a hand to shake, which I took. “And this is my husband, Frank.”
    I shook Frank’s hand too; he had a firm grip and a white, if shy, smile.
    “
You
wouldn’t happen to be in showbiz, would you?” I asked them.
    “Frank’s a lawyer,” she said, patting his shoulder fondly. “But he doesn’t do trial work, so I guess you’d have to say he’s not in showbiz. I, however, am.”
    “In New York?”
    “Yes. Mostly commercials.”
    Maybe I
had
seen her in a toothpaste ad.
    “Could I talk to you two, for a moment?” I said, even though I already was. I gestured toward a comfortable-looking velvet couch near a baby grand piano.
    We sat, Jenny in the middle.
    “Have you ever been to Mystery Weekend at Mohonk before?” I asked them.
    Frank nodded, but Jenny lit up, all smiles and enthusiasm.
    “Oh yes, and it’s great!” Jenny said, like the captain of the Mohonk cheerleaders. Then she forced herself to calm down: “At least
I
think it’s great. Frank isn’t a puzzle freak like I am—though he figured last year’s out, darn him.”
    “Your team was one of the winners?”
    “Yes,” she said. “Funny thing is, we were going all out to win ‘most creative,’ and thanks to Frank, here, we won for accuracy!”
    “Attaboy, Frank,” I said. “What are you going after
this
year?”
    “Whatever we can get, Mr. Mallory,” Frank said, smiling, proving he could speak.
    “Make it Mal,” I said. “And I was just wondering if you’d brought any theatrical gear along.”
    She shrugged. “A little. Some makeup and such. It’d be nice to bring more—all sorts of props and stuff. It’d really help score points in the ‘most creative’ category. But it’s hard to know what to bring, since we don’t know what the mystery’s going to be till we get here.”
    “I want to ask you something,” I said. “And I promise if you’ll be truthful, you won’t get into any trouble.”
    Jenny narrowed her eyes, leaned her head forward. “Trouble?”
    “I would greatly appreciate it if you’d put my mind to rest and admit to what you did last night.”
    Frank grinned. “Is that really necessary? We
are
married, you know.”
    “I’m not kidding around,” I said. “Was it you?”
    Jenny was shaking her head. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Mal.”
    “You heard me being questioned about ‘Sloth’ being killed outside my window, last night.”
    “Yes...”
    “Well, something did happen outside my window last night.”
    “We know,” Jenny said, shrugging again.
    “You know?”
    “Everybody’s talking about it,” she said. “It’s part of the weekend, right? Something Curt Clark staged to get things off with a bang?”
    I sighed. “If Curt staged it,” I said, “he’s keeping me in the dark. He says it’s a prank pulled by one of the teams.”
    “Oh!” Jenny said. “I get it. You thought
we
might have been the ones behind it... but we weren’t. I swear.”
    “Don’t kid around with me, please.”
    Frank said, “We’re not. Are you sure this isn’t Clark’s doing? Part of his weekend?”
    “I was very upset last night,” I said, “and we’re good friends, Curt and I. He has a nasty sense of humor, granted. But he would’ve told me.”
    Ever suspicious, like any true Mystery Weekender, Jenny said, “Where was he when the prank was pulled?”
    “He was in his room,” I said. “I’d spoken to him on