Chapter Eleven
“Let’s wrap it up!” Jenny called out. “Everybody back to the stage.”
My eyes swept over the rest of the contestants, and I watched as Julie Clifford removed her sweater, hung it up, and checked her hair in a small mirror before heading to the soundstage. It took a moment to register why her mundane actions bothered me.
I stopped my teammates and told them I was suspicious.
“So, the woman took off her sweater and hung it up,” Mort said. “What’s so odd about that?”
“Besides the fact that it’s probably going to get all stretched out.” Maureen scrunched her nose. “You really ought to fold sweaters.”
“I don’t think that’s where Jessica was going,” Mort said.
“Right,” I said. “It’s where she hung it up.” I pointed. “There, in a locker right next to all her teammates. But that’s not where it was hanging when she put it on at the beginning of the break. It was over there.” I pointed to the empty locker where I had seen her earlier.
“So the princess used two lockers,” Seth said. “Hardly a crime.”
“It might be, if it wasn’t her sweater,” I said.
Mort huffed a little impatiently. “So in the middle of poisoning, threats, and a big scary reptile, you’re worried about sweater theft?”
I shook my head and walked over to the locker where the sweater hung, my team following me.
“Keep watch for me,” I said.
“Why? What are you going to do?” Mort asked.
But Maureen, whom I could always count on to get involved with enthusiasm, said, “All clear!”
Howard said, “I’ve got this side covered.”
I located one of the pockets and began to put my hand inside.
“What are you doing, Mrs. F.?” Mort grasped my arm. “You can’t go rummaging around in people’s stuff without a warrant.”
“I’m not a cop,” I reminded him. “That doesn’t apply to me.”
“But I am,” Mort said.
“Not here you’re not,” Seth reminded him.
Mort let go of my arm but shot me a warning look.
I shoved my hand into the oversized pocket and pulled out a tissue.
Mort chuckled. “Don’t go blaming me if you catch a cold from this. Serves you right.”
Undaunted, I located the other pocket and pulled out a folded paper. Mort stopped his protests. “What’s that?”
I unfolded it to reveal a numbered list of words, names, and phrases.
“It looks like answers,” I said. “Quiz answers.”
“Not to today’s,” Mort said. “Or we really messed up.”
Jenny’s voice, now more urgent, called us to the stage again.
“Howard”—I pressed the paper into his hands—“find Lieutenant Caceras, give this to him, and tell him where I found it, okay?”
“Right.” He slipped it into his own pocket.
The rest of our team started making our way to the soundstage as Jenny stormed into the greenroom. “Hurry up! What’s taking you so long?”
“Sorry,” I said. “Uh…wardrobe malfunction.” And we hurried to our seats and prepared for the live portion of the show.
I could barely keep my mind on the video as they replayed the questions on the big screen. Bobby Brandon read the questions confidently. The one he corrected was edited so perfectly that no one at home would ever know he’d misspoken.
Was someone trying to stop the show, or just frighten away the host?
Might everything that happened, including Ray’s death, stem from someone simply wanting Bobby’s job?
I recalled someone—was it Howard?—saying that Bobby Brandon had to audition for the role of host. Were others angling for the position?
Or was the reptilian visitor in Bobby’s dressing room even connected to Ray’s death? Could someone have decided to piggyback on the homicide to make their threats inspire more fear?
And what, if anything, did that have to do with someone apparently feeding answers to one of the teams?
The screen went black and counted down the commercial break, then came the deliberation section.
There were no brawls today, a few animated discussions, but nothing more.
As a result, some of our team’s gentle bickering made the cut, including Mort’s crack about breathalyzing me while on bike rides.
I think we both blushed a little to see that on the screen.
Still, the team dynamics of the Sagebrush Sages interested me.
If Julie Clifford had obtained the answers to the questions in advance, assuming it was tomorrow’s answers that we’d found in the sweater she had been wearing, it would go a long way in explaining why she was always so confident in her own responses.
Someone had provided them, and I was fairly certain who. Did her teammates know?
And what would happen when she returned to her locker after the live show and found the paper missing?
The screen went black again and counted down to the live portion.
I sat up a little straighter and positioned our official answer sheet in front of me just as the bright stage lights came on.
I followed along as Bobby read out the answers, dutifully putting a check by each correct one.
Sadly, I had missed one of the mixology questions, and Maureen sent me a reassuring smile.
We nailed the jingle section but also missed one in the final category, which we knew was only a guess.
Would it be enough to advance us to the final two days?
It was quite possible that our participation in this investigation might end abruptly with us being eliminated as the low-scoring team.
Especially since one of our competitors had a ringer with an eidetic memory, and another may have had the answers in advance.
I was genuinely nervous, my hands pressed together in front of my lips, as Bobby began to ask how many questions each team got right. I held my hand up as he began the countdown, knowing our magic number was twenty-eight. If no other team had fewer correct answers, we’d be out.
“Twenty-five.” All the scribes still had their hands raised.
“Twenty-six.” No change. A long pause. I caught myself holding my breath.
“Twenty-seven,” Bobby said finally, and the scribe from the Morrisville Masterminds slowly lowered her hand.
I let out my held breath.
“Aww,” Bobby said, his voice sounding as if he were genuinely devastated for them. “The Morrisville Masterminds, we’ll have to say good-bye and send you back to the Tar Heel State. Twenty-eight.”
Each of the remaining scribes kept their hands up. When he got to twenty-nine, I lowered mine, as did the Brainiacs, leaving the Sages again as today’s winners.
“Congratulations, Sages,” Bobby said, “and also Mainely Brilliant and the Bakersfield Brainiacs, who will be joining them for our two-day final starting tomorrow!”
He went on to remind viewers to download the app so they could play along, and his smile didn’t dim until all the lights went out, after which, without saying anything, he stormed off the stage in the direction of his dressing room.
I spotted Caceras again standing behind the alternates, but his eyes were trained on the Sagebrush Sages.
“Shall we go to the greenroom,” Mort asked, “and see if there’s any fireworks when a certain person finds a certain something missing?”
I nodded, and we casually filed out. Craft services was still set up, so I grabbed a bottled water.
The scribe from the Morrisville Masterminds passed me, and I offered my condolences, if that’s the right word for being eliminated from a competition, and a brief hug, and she went to pack up her belongings.
My eyes were drawn to Julie Clifford as soon as she entered the room, and I resisted the urge to gawk. Instead, I meandered back to my locker and sat where I’d be facing her and could sip my water and watch any reaction without being too obvious.
“Good idea.” Seth sat, too, and untied, then retied his shoes.
Mort was standing, facing us. “Serves me right for wearing loafers. Anything happening yet?”
“She’s reaching for the sweater,” I said quietly. “Putting it on…and reaching into her pocket. Scrunching her nose. She found the tissue…Now reaching into the other pocket…She found something. She’s smiling.”
Mort turned around for a peek.
I spotted Howard entering the locker room and beckoned him over. “Did you give the lieutenant that paper, like I asked?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “He took a look at it, asked me where you found it. I showed him, and he put it back.”
“He put it back?” Seth spluttered.
“Well, that hardly seems fair,” Maureen said.
“Knowing Gabriel Caceras, I’m sure he has something up his sleeve,” I said. “He mentioned earlier that he might come by the house tonight to watch the footage from the first day, so maybe we can find out more then. In the meantime, I guess we just play it cool.”
* * *
As we exited the gate into the parking garage, I turned back to look for the additional security camera that Marty Wardell claimed to have installed, and found it mounted discreetly next to a directional sign, where it would get a clear view of everyone coming out—or going in.
“If you’re as hungry as I am,” Howard said, “I have a great place picked out.”
“Another spot on the magical mystery tour?” Maureen asked.
“Absolutely, and I think Aunt Jess might be a little tickled by the address.”
Not having had our lunch from craft services left us ravenous, and we gladly took Howard up on his offer.
“Nothing fancy.” He opened the limo door. “It’s basically a diner.”
“Sounds good to me,” Mort said.
Once Howard pulled out of the parking garage, Mort drew water bottles from the minifridge and offered them around. “Now that we’re out of earshot of anyone else in the studio, what in the world is going on with that paper with all the answers on it? Where did it come from?”
“Someone is obviously helping the Sagebrush Sages,” Seth said.
“But more importantly,” Maureen said, “why would Lieutenant Caceras put the paper back, and what is he going to do about it?”
“What can he do?” Mort asked.
“Arrest them,” she countered. “Surely it must be illegal to cheat on a game show.”
“First off, who even has jurisdiction over that?” Mort said.
“I think it might be the FCC?” Howard said.
“What?” Mort asked.