Murder on the Orient Espresso(8)

Uh-oh, I thought. Our favorite little people-pleaser might have to clone herself to keep both her boss and guest of honor happy. But, to my surprise, Zoe relented.

‘Fine. So long as the two of you are on the train and everything is ready when we leave. This event was your idea and I have no intention of saving it by dealing with the train people myself.’

Having won the battle, Missy now seemed appalled at the idea of her boss dealing with the ‘train people.’ Or any people at all, especially ones Zoe might consider underlings. ‘Oh, no, you needn’t talk to anyone at the station. I’ve arranged it all.’

‘I certainly hope so.’

Missy was going through a small stack of cards and pulled one out for Zoe. ‘Here’s your event name badge.’

Zoe looked at it. ‘Why do I need that? We’ll have everyone’s conference tags at registration tomorrow.’

‘Well, yes,’ Missy said, still holding it out tentatively, ‘but these are for tonight’s Murder on the Orient Espresso. See? They have our train-ride roles on them.’

The badge read ‘Zoe’ in big letters and, below it in smaller type, ‘Woman in the Red Kimono.’

Zoe still didn’t take the thing. ‘What – no last name?’

‘Well, no.’ Missy pulled back her hand like she thought Ms Scarlett was going to bite it off. ‘There wasn’t room for that and the roles, if we wanted them to be readable. Besides,’ Missy appealed to Pavlik and me, ‘first names are so much friendlier, don’t you think?’

‘Well, it’s for certain the only thing that I’ll remem—’ I started.

Zoe cut me off. ‘Friendly, schmiendly. Without the full names, how can attendees know who’s important?’

‘You mean for sucking up?’ I asked.

‘Of course. Literary agents, publishing house editors, established authors. How’s one supposed to know?’ Zoe demanded.

‘The name badges for tomorrow will have full names and be color-coded with all that information,’ Missy gamely assured her. ‘But for tonight I thought it would be fun—’

‘Fine, fine.’ Zoe Scarlett turned her eyes to the list she held, her hand trembling in excitement or anxiety, I wasn’t sure which.

Missy Hudson – or ‘Mrs Hubbard,’ I suppose – tried to appear unfazed by the tsunami of criticism, but I could see her fighting the tears in her eyes as she handed Pavlik and me our own badges for the night.

‘“Maggy/Narrator,”’ I read from mine. ‘But will I really be doing any narrating?’

‘Oh, no. Not to worry.’ Missy seemed more apologetic than defensive. ‘I just didn’t have a role for you and didn’t want you to feel left out.’

‘That’s so nice. Thank you.’ I peeled the backing off the badge and stuck it to my dress, then went to help Pavlik, who was having trouble with his.

‘Jacob/Ratchett,’ I said, affixing it to the shoulder of his shirt.

‘I’m so sorry Jacob and Ratchett don’t alliterate,’ Missy said. ‘Zoe decided which roles the sheriff and the guests of honor were playing.’

More special treatment for Pavlik, courtesy of our buxom conference organizer. But, hey, I rationalized, it had scored us a suite so far. As long as the woman kept her hands to herself …

Missy was leafing through the short stack of badges in her hand again. ‘I chose the players and their respective roles so people could put them together easily either through alliteration or word association.’

‘Which is why Zoe Scarlett is the Woman in the Red Kimono? Very clever.’

‘Thank you. And then there’s the fact that Agatha Christie never properly reveals who’s wearing the kimono. Zoe didn’t want to play a role.’

That figured. Nothing could top ‘Countess of the Conference.’

The girl was pulling out another badge. ‘See? I’m Missy/Mrs Hubbard.’

‘Huh,’ I said, looking. ‘Missy, Mrs. And even your last names, when you think of it, alliterate. “Hudson” and “Hubbard,” very neatly done.’

‘Says the woman who attempted to assign seats in her coffeehouse,’ I heard Pavlik say under his breath.

‘They don’t all,’ Missy was saying. ‘The last names, I mean. That’s why,’ she lowered her voice and snuck a glance toward Zoe, ‘I didn’t put them on.’

I knuckle-bumped with her. ‘Good for you.’

Zoe, who’d been running her finger down the clipboard, suddenly looked up. ‘Good for who?’

‘You and Missy,’ I said with a smile. ‘Are we all here?’