The False-Hearted Teddy by John J. Lamb Page B

out. “Honey, who the heck do you think you’re kidding? Half the time I couldn’t hear the dialogue over your running commentary on the show’s faults.”
    “I may have made an occasional critical observation,”
    I said sheepishly.
    “And conducted the occasional crime reconstruction using the kids and sometimes the dog to illustrate how something couldn’t happen the way Jessica said it did.”
    “I don’t remember that.” My cheeks began to grow warm.
    With a gleeful grin, Ash whipped the wireless phone from the satchel. “How about I call Heather and Chris right now to see if they remember?”
    “All right, I’ll admit it: I was a colossal pain in the butt. I’m sorry. Can we get back to discussing the actual murder?”
    The False-Hearted Teddy
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    “If the present topic is embarrassing, of course, darling.”
    “The bottom line is that there’s no point in speculating until we do two things: We’ve got to learn as much as we can about everyone involved, including Jennifer, and then figure out how the suspect entered their room twice without being noticed.”
    “Todd was Jennifer and Tony’s partner. He might’ve needed access to the room, so couldn’t he have been issued a key?”
    “Considering how jealous Tony is, that’s about as likely as The Beatles getting back together. Still, I’ll have to check that out. Speaking of The Beatles, do you know what John Lennon would say right now if he were alive?”
    “No, what?”
    “Let me out of this coffin!” I half-shouted while frantically shoving my hands upward against an invisible and closed casket lid.
    A trio of women, each carrying teddy bears, paused in front of our table to peer at me in consternation. Then, muttering amongst themselves, they continued down the aisle. Ash gave me an I-can’t-believe-you-said-that-in-front-of-normal-people look and I made a quick mental note to myself to reserve my dead Beatle jokes for venues other than teddy bear shows.
    At last she said, “So, tell me, since we don’t have any access to the police computer system, how are you going to do the background checks?”
    “I’ll start by going up to our room and using the laptop to Google everyone involved. It’s a long shot, but maybe I’ll find something useful. After that, I’ll do some discreet witness canvassing back down here in the hall and hope the cops don’t notice.”
    Ash squeezed my hand and stood up. “Well, I’ll leave you to brainstorm, because I’m going to find the woman that Mulvaney chased off. She liked Brenda Brownie, and 86
    John J. Lamb
    more importantly, we don’t need her wandering the exhibition hall telling everyone that we were arrested. Then, when I get back, you can start investigating.”
    Once Ash was gone, I reached into the satchel, pulled out a steno pad and began making some notes. It was a little difficult to concentrate because the exhibit hall was growing crowded and very noisy. I looked up periodically from my notebook to check out the passing crowds, and saw Sergeant Delcambre approaching our table. I snapped the steno pad shut and slid it into the satchel. The very last thing I wanted to advertise was the fact I was conducting my own investigation.
    Delcambre heaved a sigh that was a mixture of frustration and exhaustion. “Hey, before we go back to headquarters, I want to apologize to you for my boss’s behavior.”
    “It wasn’t your fault, but thanks. It must be difficult working with someone who’s perpetually going off half-cocked.”
    “It’s . . . challenging.”
    “Yeah, I’ll bet. If you don’t mind me asking, just what is her major malfunction?”
    “You ever see the old movie, Sunset Boulevard ?” Delcambre jutted his chin out and did a fairly credible job of mimicking Gloria Swanson’s imperious tone, “I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille.”
    “So, she’s Norma Desmond, huh?”
    “And sometimes I envy Bill Holden at the bottom of the swimming pool.” He glanced down the