Nice Weekend for a Murder by Max Allan Collins Page A

the phone, moments before. He just didn’t have time to get outside, even if he climbed out a window. Besides, the ‘killer’ was a short, stocky person; and of course Curt’s lanky and tall.”
    “You’re telling us,” she said, surprised, “that this isn’t part of the mystery.”
    “That’s right,” I said. “When somebody brought it up during the interrogation, I tried to deflect it, but I only helped things to get more out of hand.”
    “So we know something the other teams don’t,” she said, with a smug, squeezed smile.
    “Yes,” I said. “Though I wouldn’t mind it spreading to the other teams.”
    “No way,” she said, with a wave of finality. “Let ’em do their own investigating.”
    Brother.
    “I’d like to ask a favor of you,” I said.
    She shrugged. “Sure. As long as it doesn’t help out some other team.”
    “Well, it does involve the other teams: do you know if any of them have theatrical pros on them?”
    “A few that I know of do,” Jenny nodded. “I could ask around a bit. See if anybody wants to pool props and makeup. You’d like to know if any of the other teams staged that ‘murder,’ I take it?”
    “That’s right,” I said.
    “What’s in it for us?” she said, with an evil little smile. “Will you tell us whether or not you’re the killer?”
    “No,” I said. “But I will do this for you: I won’t tell any other game-players that the prank isn’t a part of Curt’s mystery. That’ll give your team one up on everybody else.”
    “Deal,” she said, and we shook hands.
    They got up and wandered off, Jenny glancing back and reminding me that if I didn’t keep my end of the bargain, I’d have to talk to her lawyer; and Jill sat down.
    “Who was the dish you were talking to?” she said.
    “Don’t pinch me again, please, I think I’d cry.”
    “I meant the guy,” she said.
    I smiled and shook my head and filled her in. “How were the other interrogation sessions?”
    “Interesting,” she said, her tan face impassive. “I don’t have any insights into your fellow suspects, though, I’m afraid. Nobody seemed particularly nervous, including Janis Flint. But one funny thing... did you know that what happened outside our window last night is getting itself worked into the weekend mystery?”
    “Tell me about it,” I sighed. “I tried to do some fancy footwork around that and fell all over my feet. How’d the other suspects do, fielding it?”
    She lifted one eyebrow for a moment. “A couple of them, it really threw. Specifically, Tom and Pete. Tom actually brokecharacter for a moment and said he didn’t know anything about that.”
    “Hmmm. How about the questioners?”
    “I’ve got the names of a few intense types written down in my little notebook.”
    “Good. Let’s go back to the room; I want to try to call Rath again.”
    “Okay. Then some lunch, and then you have to give a little talk, right?”
    “Right.”
    “And then maybe we can bust out of this joint.”
    “I don’t think so. I’m supposed to be on a panel after that, filling in for the missing Mr. Rath.”
    “No you aren’t,” she said, with a certain glee. “Tom told me to tell you his private-eye panel won’t be till tomorrow afternoon; Curt’s own talk has been moved up in its place. So it’s official. We’re going over the wall, pal.”
    I sat up; sought to be a man despite my nebbish exterior. “Oh yeah? You’re not going to drag me along on some damn
nature
hike, are you?”
    “I most certainly am.”
    “Jill, you disappoint me. What was the first thing the pioneers did when they got to the wilderness?”
    “I know, I know. They built a cabin and went inside. You’ve told me a million times. But I’m not standing for being cooped up all afternoon with these mystery maniacs and puzzle paranoids—not when there’s a big beautiful outdoors waiting for us out there!”
    “Okay. But you owe me one.”
    She looped her arm in mine and batted her