Chapter Thirteen #2
The remainder of the category grew more difficult, with questions involving hurricanes, tornadoes, and tsunamis. I was glad to see Seth writing answers on his sheet, too, because there was one about unusual lightning formations that I was clueless about.
The second category was a Knight to Remember and involved various literary and historic knights, armor, and codes of chivalry. I wrote down a few tentative answers, instead focusing on jotting down the questions, counting on Seth and Mort, our history buffs, who were both writing intently.
The last category was He Married Her? and the rest of us sat quietly staring at each other while Maureen scribbled down answer after answer about celebrity couples, then smiled proudly at the end when she finally set down her pen.
Bobby Brandon announced a commercial break, then the bright lights dimmed while they relocated the cameras. I caught Julie Clifford turning to look over at the console, but when I followed her gaze, Sandi Flores’s chair was vacant.
Lieutenant Caceras no longer stood in the spot he’d taken up at the beginning of the day’s taping. Only Marty Wardell remained glued to that location, his arms crossed in front of him and a smirk on his face.
I squinted at Mort, who flashed an expression I’d long been able to interpret as I told you so. And then the bright lights flipped on and the deliberation session began.
With only three teams, a dedicated camera was focused on us at all times. The weather category inspired little debate.
Seth supplied the answer to the question about the red jellyfish-like bursts of lightning. “I believe they’re called sprites,” he said. “Very rare.”
That seemed right to me, or at least I didn’t have any other suggestions.
I recorded the answers as Seth and Mort argued and bickered through the whole category on knights. I suspected my friends were going to share a lot of screen time together.
We accepted Maureen’s answers to all of the final category without any discussion, only a healthy dose of grateful praise, which made Maureen blush profusely.
When we’d finished, I hazarded a fleeting look at the other teams. The Sages were in complete disarray.
The other contestants on Julie Clifford’s team, who had looked bored during deliberations early in the week while they passively yielded to their scribe, were now sitting on the edges of their seats in active debate.
I was reminded that Julie was a former Jeopardy!
champion, so she must be pretty sharp with a formidable knowledge base, and she had an experienced team with her.
Their odds of winning must have been as good as any of ours.
What happened that made her think she needed to cheat?
After Jenny collected our answer sheets, I led my team quickly to the greenroom, wanting to see what, if anything, would happen with the sweater.
I asked Maureen if I could borrow her study cards, not that I wanted them to study.
Instead, I could sit in my locker appearing engrossed in them while keeping that incriminating sweater in my peripheral vision.
It was still hanging in the locker. When Julie came in, she eyed it. She tentatively reached out a hand before changing her mind and walking past it.
“Not taking the bait,” Mort whispered in my ear.
“She had to know something was up,” I said, “when the questions were not what she had expected.”
“I noticed Sandi was gone,” Mort said.
“And Caceras too.” I motioned Howard over. “Did you see what happened to Sandi Flores?” I asked him.
He nodded. “Oh boy, did I! When the first question was read, she started looking around. When the second question came up, she was out of her chair and heading toward the exit, with Caceras following her.”
“Good.” Maureen crossed her arms. “I don’t think Julie Clifford will try to take the sweater if she suspects the police are on to her.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “She might not suspect. All she really knows is that the answers she got yesterday weren’t right.
She could think it was a simple mistake or that maybe Sandi Flores betrayed her.
” I forced my gaze away from the sweater again and back onto Maureen.
“Even without the answers, they could still win. They have an experienced team.”
“But at least we have an honest shot,” Maureen said.
“Don’t look now, folks,” Mort said, “but I think she’s going for it.”
I kept my gaze on Maureen, while out of the corner of my eye, I saw Julie head back to the locker, lift the sweater off the hook, and slip it on.
“Where’s Caceras?” Maureen said. “Shouldn’t he be arresting her?”
“Come to think of it,” Mort said, looking around, “I don’t see any of the uniformed officers or detectives. I wonder if I should make a citizen’s arre—”
Before he could finish, the new craft services attendant had pulled a set of handcuffs out of her apron. She deftly snapped them onto Julie Clifford and led her away.
At this point, it was impossible not to stare. The whole room had seen the proceedings and soon erupted in speculation.
“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” Maureen said, having difficulty hiding her delight.
A few minutes later, Jenny came in. “Sagebrush Sages!” she called over the general hubbub. As the room began to quiet, she added, “Sages, can you follow me? And your alternate.”
“What’s going on?” Bert or Curt called out. I couldn’t see his name tag to identify which one.
“All in good time,” Jenny said. She herded the Sages out of the room.
“Does that mean they’re out of the competition?” Maureen asked.
“I don’t know,” I answered. “I suppose both Sandi and Julie are being questioned by the police. It depends on whether law enforcement or the game show executives think that the rest of the team was involved.”
“How could they not be?” Maureen said. “You saw how they just rolled over and let her answer all the questions.”
“Yeah,” Mort said, “but was it because they knew she was cheating, or because she always seemed to have the right answer?”
I kept looking toward the hall, thinking that surely Jenny or Marty Wardell would come and address the contestants, but nobody ever did.
When Jenny finally called us back to the stage, the remaining Sages were already seated at their table, with their designated alternate now occupying Julie’s spot.
At the console area, Sandi Flores’s empty chair was already filled by another crew member dressed in the ubiquitous black.
Lieutenant Caceras was nowhere to be seen, and I suspected he was still tied up interviewing Sandi and Julie, and I found myself far more concerned with whatever answers he might be getting than those our team had submitted for this morning’s quiz.
Jenny put our completed answer sheet on the table without comment, but Mort stood up.
“Are you going to tell us what is going on?” he asked.
“When someone tells me,” she said. “Unless you heard anything from your friend, the detective.” Then she walked away.
Mort pretended to shiver and regained his seat, and soon we began the routine to prepare for the live show.
After today, only one day remained in the competition, and unless Lieutenant Caceras was back at the police station recording a surprise confession, my teammates and I might be going back to Cabot Cove before any resolution to Ray’s death.
Soon the big screen lit up with a countdown, and the taped portions of the program began with Bobby Brandon’s introduction, the repeated reminder to download the app and play along, and then this morning’s questions.
I found my mind wandering even while my eyes remained focused on the screen. Could this be the end of the investigation? Could Ray have somehow overheard their plot to cheat, and then one or both of these women conspired to kill him?
This supposition didn’t sit right with me. Despite the societal notion of poison being a woman’s weapon—and as a mystery writer, I suppose I need to acknowledge my genre’s role in spreading this misapprehension—the vast majority of convicted poisoners are men.
But even if Sandi or Julie, or both of them together, were brought to such a state of panic over the possibility of their cheating scheme being exposed, where did they get the poison?
When people are motivated to kill suddenly, to commit those crimes of passion that homicide detectives prefer because they’re generally much easier to solve—but mystery writers hate because they tend to make for boring novels—they use something on hand: the gun they have in their desk drawer, a knife from the kitchen, the fireplace pokers and candlesticks and vases and awards, those blunt objects that could be found anywhere.
But poison takes research and planning, especially for a toxin that’s not pharmaceutical, like the ADHD drug that someone laced the coffee with.
It has to be obtained while taking care to avoid a paper trail, then brought onto the premises, then the right amount secretly dispensed in a busy studio without being observed.
The other thing that bothered me is that if Sandi or Julie were the killer, this solution didn’t answer any of the other questions. Who put the drug in the coffee grounds? And who had been threatening Bobby Brandon? Were these events unrelated to the murder?
Before I knew it, the question portion was finished, and the screen went black except for the countdown until the end of the commercial. When the picture returned, the show moved on to the team deliberation segment, which I watched with renewed interest.
Whoever edited this portion deliberately focused on the Bakersfield Brainiacs and our team, barely including the Sagebrush Sages, who, from what I recalled, had generated more discussion and conflict today than they had all week.
Maybe an attempt for the show to save face amid a potential public scandal?