Wickedness in Wichita, page 26
Wickedness in Wichita
Douglas J. McLeod
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual personals, living or dead, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Copyright © Douglas J. McLeod, 2018
McLeod, Douglas J. 1971 –
Wickedness in Wichita
Mystery – Fiction. 2. Wichita (Kansas) – Fiction.
This story is set in Calibri.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
To Catherine – | Forever the “Maggie” to my “Phil”
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
To Catherine –
Forever the “Maggie” to my “Phil”
CHAPTER ONE
It was a clear Thursday in September. My flight from Toronto had landed in the American Midwest city of Wichita, Kansas. I was visiting the largest city in The Sunflower State to take part in a multi-genre author signing I had learned about through social media. Although I was excited to be partaking in the event, the ghost of one of my former girlfriends, as well as the specter of my best friend’s fiancée, was giving me grief for traveling a great distance to attend.
"I can't see why you couldn't have found a signing closer to home," Amber criticized.
“I agree,” Karen added. “I don’t mind flying over a thousand miles for work purposes, but for something akin to a hobby for you is rather unnecessary.”
"I've already explained this to both of you," I stated. "Most of the signing events I’ve seen in Canada are in the romance genre. If I wanted to appear at a signing that caters to a diverse range of authors, I would’ve had to travel to participate in one."
Amber continued to protest. "But still, why did it have to be in the middle of the United States? Couldn't it have been closer to the border?"
I replied, “I could have gone to one in Seattle, but again, it’s the same problem as the ones back home: more for romance readers than one for other genres.”
Karen commented, “There ought to be more signings that cater to the kind of books you write, then. I mean, there are other genres than ‘borderline smut.’”
“It’s a good thing you’re a ghost, Karen. If my fellow authors at this signing heard you say that, I’d be blacklisted from any future signings.”
My best friend’s fiancée rolled her eyes. “And the last thing we would want to do is to ruin the writing career of the great Phil Bennett,” she snarked. “A mystery writer who has self-published... what? Two novels?”
Realizing I was getting funny looks from other travelers in the baggage claim area for having a conversation to no one else physically present, I attempted to whisper my response. "Can we have this discussion somewhere more private? I'm already getting people staring at me. If I keep this up, I might get tazed by a TSA agent."
"It's a shame Maggie couldn't come with you," Amber bemoaned, while changing the subject.
I continued to whisper, "First of all, she doesn't like flying, so she would've been a nervous wreck on the plane. Second, the Fall semester just started at the university in Peterborough, and she's busy with processing student forms for those who plan on graduating in December. She couldn't get the time off from work to accompany me even if she wanted to."
"I just think it would've been more fun if she tagged along," Amber persisted.
Karen concurred. "She’s right. By coming here alone, you won't know anyone here. You'll probably just keep to yourself, and not socialize whatsoever, which – and, correct me if I’m wrong here – is supposed to be the purpose of these events, right?"
"I'm not here alone," I complained. "I have two ghostly spirits who I'm sure will be offering their two cents every chance they get. I swear, you two have been hanging around each other too much."
The specters began to protest in unison. "Now, see here, Phil Bennett..."
I attempted to ignore the chastising Amber and Karen were giving me by gathering my luggage from the conveyor belt. I made my way outside to catch the airport shuttle bus to the hotel while the two spirits continued to give me an earful about how this was a crazy idea to make a sojourn halfway across the continent to attend the event. However, I did my best to pay no mind to the two of them. I was a stranger to this region of the United States, and I was concerned someone might have reported me to the authorities. Normally, I would not have minded, but considering the American political climate at the time, I didn't want to take any chances.
~ * * * ~
I arrived at the hotel forty-five minutes later, and checked in at the front desk. I remembered the organizers had put a limit on room occupancy to two people per room unless they had children; however, since I was traveling alone – at least, as 'alone' as someone who was visited by two nagging ghosts could have been – I didn't have to be concerned about the room restrictions.
I asked the concierge, "Did my books arrive alright?"
The girl behind the desk reported, "Yes, Mr. Bennett. They've been put in your room already."
"Thank you kindly," I replied, as I accepted my room keycard.
I picked up the luggage I had temporarily set down while checking-in and proceeded to the elevator to head up to my room. As the doors closed on the lift, I was joined once again by my two familiar ghostly figures.
"That seems odd,” Amber queried. “Your books are already in your room?"
"Not odd at all, really," I explained. "Most of the attendees are coming in from out of town, so it makes sense they would ship their inventory direct to the hotel. Sure, it's a little added charge to the room bill, but it causes less of a hassle in the long run."
"I guess it's cheaper than packing them in a checked bag," Karen mused.
"Plus," I added, "it's less of a headache in the event the airline loses the bag. There would be nothing worse than showing up to a signing and realize you didn't have any wares to sell."
Karen nodded. "That would totally suck for not only the author, but the readers who show up to the event, as well."
"The problem is trying to adequately gauge the demand for one's books,” I noted. “A popular author would need a huge supply of books. If you're one who is 'new to the audience', then you don't need as many books."
Amber inquired, "And how many books did you end up ordering for the event?"
"Considering I fall into the latter category," I answered, "I only brought about ten books each for both of my titles."
"I'm still surprised you were able to get that second book finished and out already," my former girlfriend remarked.
"That's the funny thing about my muse, Amber," I noted. "When it wants to cooperate, I can write like the wind. Other times, it can be a struggle to get the words down on the page."
"Still though,” Karen observed, “with your job keeping you busy as of late, we’re still in awe over the fact you were able to find the time to write."
I didn't want to boast, but the specters were correct. Over the past few months, I've been busy at my 'day job' as a courier who made his deliveries via Toronto's public transit system. It was a position I had obtained at Maggie's urging because she believed my original means of earning an income – collecting social assistance from the provincial government – wasn't enough to sustain a healthy life. Upon getting hired, I meshed easily with my superiors and colleagues within the company. Everyone was so appreciative of my work ethic, they asked if I was interested in taking on the additional responsibility of cleaning the facilities two nights a week whenever any of the two regular custodians didn't check in for their shift. Things appeared to go quite well within the organization until I stumbled into a situation a few weeks into my duties.
One of my former colleagues was responsible for a string of petty thefts within the business; stealing payments brought in by fellow couriers from customers who paid for their deliveries in cash. Behind the scenes, I assisted the Accounting Manager in discovering the culprit. It was discovered to be one of the dispatchers who would direct the couriers where to pick up and deliver the envelopes and packages we transported on a regular basis. As a token of thanks for my detective work, I was given a bonus by the company which I turned into a special gift for Maggie. Amber was not too pleased with what I had bought for my cutie in the Kawarthas, but I suspect it was more out of jealousy that I had purchased such a trinket for my current belle instead of one for her when she used to be alive.
I entered my room, and noticed the boxes containing my books were in one of the corners of my residence for the weekend. After checking to make sure all my inventory was there, I unpacked my luggage, and settled in for what I hoped would be an exciting few days ahead. Only I did not expect to get involved in some of the shenanigans that were about to befall me.
CHAPTER TWO
I turned on my room’s television, in hopes of finding some form of sports broadcast, preferably a baseball game from the pro team that called Kansas City their home, or a local minor-league team. Unfortunately, I was unsuccessful, so I decided to try to watch some of the local programming instead.
I had been invited up to his alternate abode for the holiday season because he felt sorry for me, much to the chagrin of his partner in the Toronto PD and his girlfriend, Detective Jessica Amerson. I had normally gone to my relatives’ in nearby Peterborough to spend the few days around Christmas. Alas, due to my aunt falling ill a week before, she had cancelled my original plans to come up. Spending time with my roommate, Jim Marsden, wasn’t in the cards either, as he was visiting his family out in British Columbia for the holidays. Worried I’d be spending the holidays alone, my best friend invited me to his place on the shores of Rice Lake, in Ontario’s Kawartha Region, to spend the festive week with him, Jessica, and his pet husky. I felt like a third wheel around the two of them, but by happenstance, by coming up there, I was able to meet Maggie. I only wished it was under better circumstances.
When we arrived at his cottage, we stumbled upon a crime scene. Maggie had been a victim of a break & enter, one of a string of robberies in the area. Thanks to a collaborative effort on all four of our parts, with some guidance of the spirit of Gary’s ex-fiancée, Karen – whom I ended up coming face-to-face with for the first time during some uncertainty I had over Maggie – we were able to apprehend the culprit and return Christmas to many families who originally had it stolen from them.
After my bit of nostalgia, I left my hotel room, and decided to grab a drink from the bar in the hotel lobby.
~ * * * ~
I walked into the establishment and took a seat on one of the stools at the bar. Remembering how watered down American beer was in comparison to Canadian brews, I opted for something a little stronger: a shot of Canadian whiskey added to a glass of ginger ale. After taking a sip, I settled in for what I believed to be a quiet evening until a woman came in and took a seat beside me.
"Can I get a Bloody Caesar, please?" she requested, as she set her purse down on the bar.
The bartender was puzzled. "A Bloody what?!?" he asked.
I explained to him, "It's like a Bloody Mary, but you use tomato-clam cocktail instead of basic tomato juice."
"Sorry," he apologized, "we don't have any tomato-clam cocktail in stock."
The woman sighed. "Alright, I'll have a rum and cola instead."
"Coming right up," the bartender announced.
The woman turned to me. "I'm surprised you know what a Bloody Caesar was," she remarked.
"Not many Americans know of the beverage," I stated. "Only Canadians might be aware of what it contains, or even the fact it was originally created at a bar in Alberta." The bartender handed the woman beside me her drink, and I took another sip of mine. "Judging by your knowledge of the cocktail's existence, I presume you're from north of the 49th, as well?"
The woman nodded. "I don't know if you know of the town called Orillia, north of Toronto?"
"I've heard of it," I confirmed. "It's about a ninety-minute drive north of the city, on the shores of Lake Couchiching."
"I'm impressed," she commented. "Are you from central Ontario, too?"
"Southern Ontario, actually. Scarborough, to be precise." I extended my hand. "I'm Phil Bennett."
The woman shook my hand. "Yolanda Patterson, but I’m appearing under my pen name, Darlene Timmins. Are you here for the book signing event this weekend?"
"I am, and I'm guessing you are, too?"
Yolanda nodded again. "I've never seen you on the circuit before. Is this your first signing?"
"It is," I confessed. "Most of the signings I've seen advertised on social media have been for romance authors. This was the first one I've seen that's open for all genres. It just sucks that I had to travel halfway across the continent to get to it."
"Don’t be discouraged, Phil. I admit, I'm a romance writer, myself. But these events are great for exposure, and to network with other authors."
I sighed and took a third sip of my beverage. "I hope I don't end up sticking out like a sore thumb because almost everyone writes romance, and here I am, a lone mystery writer."
"You'll do fine," Yolanda assured. "It's natural to have some first-time jitters. I remember the first signing I did down in Detroit a couple years ago, I was nervous as hell. But once the readers came into the ballroom, I became calm as ever because I realized they came to see all of the authors in attendance, including me. And we’re not all romance writers here. There are some people who will be signing that write books for children."
"That's a relief. I feel like a big fish in a small pond here, but knowing I won't be the only Canadian at this signing will help alleviate those concerns."
My drinking companion smiled, and offered a toast. "To Canadian authors."
I clinked my glass with hers. "To Canadian authors."
Yolanda and I spent what ended up being a couple of hours chatting about our lives. I learned she had attended numerous signings all around the Great Lakes region of the continent. I also found out Yolanda was planning on embarking on a signing overseas next year. Needless to say, I was impressed with her global reach, but I understood as someone who was new to the signing world, I had to start small, and develop a following before I go on any cross-ocean travel for an event. While I was taking a risk in coming to Wichita for this particular event, in the future, I should attempt to look into any events closer to home, like Amber had wished I had done in the first place. Yolanda told me about an annual event in London, Ontario I should try to look into, as it was welcoming to authors of all genres; although, it did have a predominant romance author attendance. I took her advice, and said I would see if I could sign up for the event being held there next year.
~ * * * ~
After our chat, Yolanda and I agreed to retire to our respective rooms, as we were still feeling the effects of jet lag. We agreed to catch up with each other the next day for an event where some of the fellow authors were stuffing gift bags for the readers who had previously purchased VIP tickets to the event. Upon arriving back at my room, I expected to get an earful from the specters, and true to my suspicion, they did not disappoint.
"Where the hell have you been?" Karen scolded.
"I was down at the hotel bar, and I ran into one of the other authors who's appearing this weekend," I explained.
"For two hours?" Amber posed.
I told the spirits about Yolanda, how she hailed from Orillia, and her experience with other events. The two ghosts listened attentively, but still had their reservations.
"I hope you don't get too involved with this Yolanda," Karen cautioned. "While she might have given you some good advice about the signing event experience, remember you are still involved with Maggie."
I rolled my eyes. "Oh God, not this again."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Amber accused.
"Come on, ladies, Amber was like this when I started at the courier company when one of my coworkers started making eyes at me."
"That was a legit concern, Phil," Amber defended. "Lori did try to put the moves on you."
"Yes," I mentioned, "but if you recall, I snuffed that out when I got too uncomfortable with her advances towards me. Yolanda is different. She is just a fellow author who is helping a newbie out."
"Nevertheless,” Karen cautioned, “you need to be aware of those around you. This Yolanda woman might be nice at first, but the second you let your guard down, she might try to coerce you into her room, or her into yours."
I sighed in frustration. "The two of you are being paranoid. Yes, I know I'm in 'strange waters', but you have to learn to trust me from time to time."
