Hounded to Death (27 page)

“Charles aggravated a lot of people with that speech,” Bertie pointed out. “Including the one person you haven't mentioned yet.”

“Who's that?”

“Margo Deline. She was really angry at Charles for turning her symposium into a platform for his own, unpopular views. Margo put a lot of work into this event and its success means a great deal to her. She was livid after Charles gave his speech. The very subject made a mockery of everything she was trying to accomplish here. If she'd had a gun in her purse when he stepped down from the podium it wouldn't have surprised me to see her use it.”

“Except that she didn't,” I said. “In fact Margo's been one of the people pushing me to solve this thing. We're supposed to get together in a little while so I can tell her what I've found out.”

“That doesn't mean a thing,” said Bertie. “If I was the guilty party, I'd want to keep abreast of new developments too. If you're planning to talk to her, be careful, okay? Don't go off alone or anything.”

Under the circumstances, that advice made sense with regard to just about everyone at the symposium. I had every intention of watching my step.

Bertie lifted her towel and flapped it loosely around her body. “Is it hot in here, or is it just me? Because all of a sudden I'm sweating like a pig.”

Me too, I realized. The room did feel inordinately warm.

“I guess that means we've been in here long enough.”

I stood up and stepped down from the bench. Bertie rose as well.

“I'd give my right arm for something cold to drink. Out by the registration desk, there's a snack bar that sells these to-die-for banana peppermint smoothies. I'll race you there.”

Bertie might be planning to run through the health club clad in only a towel, but I was definitely going to stop in the locker room and get dressed first.

“Order two,” I said with a grin. “I'll be right behind you.”

She strode to the door and gave it a shove.

When it didn't move, Bertie walked right into it.

“Ow!”

I stepped up behind her. “What happened?”

She rubbed her shoulder. “I don't know. The door seems to be stuck.”

I placed my hand against the solid panel and pushed hard. Nothing happened.

This was
not
good.

Next we both tried together. Still nothing.

I cleaned the steam off the little window and looked out. The locker room was empty.

Standing on my toes and peering downward, I could see the legs of a chair. It had been tipped back and wedged beneath the door handle.

“What?” said Bertie.

She pushed me aside and had a look too.

“Damn,” she said under her breath.

This was no accident. Somebody had locked us in.

“I
think we're in trouble,” said Bertie.

I tried giving the door a series of hard, abrupt shoves, hoping that might jiggle the chair free. It didn't.

All I succeeded in doing was making myself hotter. Hair hung down in a damp clump over my forehead. I reached up and raked it back.

Over here by the door, the temperature felt a little cooler. But behind us, steam continued to billow from the jets.

“Really? What clued you in?”

“This is no time to be rude,” said Bertie. “We need a plan.”

“I don't suppose you have a cell phone on you?”

I know. That sounded stupid. All she was wearing was a towel. But even so, I had to ask.

“Outside in my locker.”

“Mine too.” I sighed.

Bertie peered through the small window.

“If we yell, do you think anyone would hear us?”

“I doubt it. I don't think there's anyone around. Plus, these walls look like they'd be soundproof.”

“If we had a piece of paper,” said Bertie, “we could slip a message under the door.”

Oh yeah. That would help.

“Nobody would see it,” I said, starting to giggle. “It would be hidden beneath the chair.”

I had no idea why I found that so funny. Maybe this was what budding hysteria felt like.

“They ought to have a phone in here.” Bertie turned away and began to look around. “You know, like they do in elevators for when people get stuck?”

“Except I'll bet that nobody ever gets stuck in here.”

While Bertie poked around, I stayed by the door. Steam was hissing through the vents with increasing force now. It hadn't been our imaginations; the room was definitely heating up.

“Want to hear the rest of the bad news?” I asked.

“Lay it on me.”

“I think whoever jammed the door also turned up the temperature gauge.”

Bertie was no more than ten feet away from me, but I could barely see her through the undulating wall of vapor. When she spoke, her voice seemed to come out of nowhere.

“I guess that explains why I'm beginning to wilt like a piece of broccoli. I'll never be able to steam clams again.”

I heard her padding toward me across the floor. When she emerged from the billowing cloud, she was only a few feet away.

“Not that I'm ready to panic or anything, but I think we really need to get the heck out of Dodge. Come up with any big ideas yet?”

“I was wondering if we could break that window,” I said.

The single pane appeared to be pretty solid, but it was all I'd come up with so far.

Bertie came closer and had a look. “It'd be easier if we had a hammer,” she said.

“Good thinking. I don't suppose you found one tucked away under one of the benches?”

“Just for future reference, adversity doesn't bring out your better qualities.”

“I deal better when I'm not pregnant.”

“Oh, crap, I'm sorry. I forgot all about that.”

Bertie gathered me into her arms for a hug. Her skin felt hot and damp against mine and we separated quickly. Still, I appreciated the support.

“Here's the thing,” I said. “I'm thinking this much heat is probably not great for the baby. Plus, I hate to say it, but I really have to pee.”

“Got it. All right, stand back. One broken window, coming up.”

I retreated several feet.

She whipped the towel off her body, wrapped it around her hand, and made a big, padded fist. Then she lifted her arm, took careful aim, and let fly.

Bertie's a bit of an amazon and there was considerable power in her punch. Even so, when hand and window connected, the window won. Not only did the glass not shatter; it didn't even crack.

She swore under her breath.

“How's your hand?”

She jerked the towel tighter. “Could be better. One more try.”

The second attempt did more damage to Bertie's curled fingers than it did to the window. Her eyes welled briefly with tears. She blinked them fiercely away.

“That's enough,” I said.

Bertie was staring at the window in frustration. I pulled her away and made her sit down. Her hand was going to hurt like hell in the morning. I hoped we'd be around to care.

“There has to be something in here that we can break, or jimmy, or undo,” I said thoughtfully. “Too bad the door hinges are on the outside. What about the drain in the floor?”

“I thought of that too. But I can't figure out a way to make use of it. Where's a guy like McGyver when you need him?”

“Who needs McGyver? I'd settle for Gunther. Even Florence could manage to tip that chair back down.”

“Unless she's the one who wedged it up there in the first place.”

Irritating thought. Trapping us in here had been so easy to accomplish that even a child could have done it.

Annoyance got me moving again. I marched back to the door and pounded on it with my fist.

“Hello?” I yelled. “We need help in here!”

My words were swallowed by the steam. Even to my own ears, they didn't sound very loud. Nor did they produce a response.

When I started to pound again, Bertie came over and caught my hand in hers. I was still aggravated; Bertie was beginning to look resigned. I wasn't sure I liked that.

Nevertheless, I pulled my hand away and let it drop to my side.

“I know we ought to be conserving our energy,” I said. “But I hate just sitting here doing nothing. There must be something else we can try.”

“If there is, I can't think of it.” Her voice sounded very small. “Sooner or later they'll come around and shut things down for the day, don't you think?”

“I hope so.”

Neither one of us wanted to think about how long it might be before that happened. Or what kind of shape we might be in when it did.

Beside me, Bertie slipped down and sat on the floor.

“Heat rises,” she said. “Even though there are jets down here, this is still probably the coolest part of the room.”

She didn't have to tell me twice. I got down and stretched out on the tiles beside her.

“All this warm air is making me drowsy,” I said. “Either that or I've gotten used to napping in the afternoons.”

“Don't you dare fall asleep!”

“I'll try not to.”

“Keep talking.”

Usually not a problem for me. But along with filling the room, the mass of swirling steam seemed to be clouding my brain.

“Did you hear what I said?” Bertie reached over and gave me a poke with her finger. “Keep talking to me.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be stupid. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Look around,” I said with a small, mirthless laugh. “I'm the one who got you into this mess. Somebody locked us in here on purpose.”

“So your snooping around is making someone uncomfortable,” said Bertie. “Let's try and figure out who. Who have you talked to today?”

“All sorts of people.” I worked my way back through the day's events, ticking off the list of names on my fingers. “Marshall, Richard, Margo, Tubby, Rosalyn, Caroline, and then Alana first thing this morning. You were with me for that.”

“Good grief. You have been busy.”

Tell me about it.

Bertie lifted a hand and pushed her limp hair up off her face. “Okay, that gives us a list to start with. I'm thinking we ought to concentrate on the women.”

“How come?”

“Because this steam room opens off the women's locker room. It would have been harder for a man to slip in unnoticed.”

“Not today,” I said. “This whole building is just about deserted. We saw that for ourselves when we were walking around. Big Bird probably could have slipped in here without being noticed.”

“Okay then, you come up with somebody.”

Bertie's breathing had grown shallower, as had my own. It was increasingly hard to draw the hot, heavy air into my lungs. Pretty soon the two of us would be panting like a pair of dogs.

“All right,” I said. “Here's something I've been thinking about. When the symposium began, Margo was worried about two things that might interfere with her event. The first was Charles's keynote address and the second was the judging scandal.”

“Tubby's transgression.”

“Right. But here's the thing: while the first one became a really big deal, the second hasn't even caused a ripple. Mostly it's been a nonissue.”

Bertie rolled over languidly on the clammy tiles. “And we care about this,
why
?”

“Because what if Charles's problems and Tubby's problems were related somehow? I'm pretty sure that Tubby was about to get into serious trouble. The kind of trouble that would make the A.K.C. consider rescinding his judge's license. And then, poof! Somehow the whole thing just disappeared.”

“I bet you have a theory about that,” said Bertie.

She didn't sound particularly curious to hear it. But then again, at the moment, I was having a hard time working up much energy about anything myself. Conversation seemed preferable to silence, however, so I pressed on.

“According to a couple of people I've spoken to, the whole reason Derek Ryan signed up for this symposium was to met with Charles Evans. Derek had a problem that the two of them had discussed earlier. The plan was that Charles was supposed to help him fix it.”

“That's the thing about problems,” Bertie said dreamily. “Everybody seems to have them.”

Sad, but true. And unfortunately not helpful. I kept talking.

“Derek's friend Marshall said that the problem had to do with a dog being beaten when it should have won.”

“Big deal,” said Bertie. She flapped a hand in the air. “That kind of thing happens all the time. Every exhibitor always thinks that their dog should have won. Otherwise why would they bother showing in the first place?”

“I know, and under other circumstances I wouldn't have given this another thought. But Derek Ryan shows Beagles and Tubby, who's supposedly about to be implicated in some sort of scandal, judges hounds.”

“Lots of people judge hounds,” Bertie pointed out.

“You are
so
not helping with this.”

“That's not my fault. I'm trying to be the voice of reason.”

Maybe I didn't want her to be the voice of reason. Maybe I just wanted someone to agree with me.

“There's more,” I said. “Derek meant to get together with Charles, but he never got the chance. But then it turned out that it didn't matter, because Tubby solved the problem for him.”

“You see?” Bertie murmured vaguely. “Everything worked out and you don't have to worry about them anymore.”

“Yes, I do,” I insisted. “Because it occurred to me that I had been thinking about these things in a linear way. You know, like going from point A to point B? But maybe they're not a straight line. What if they're meant to form a circle instead?”

“Oh God, don't start with geometry now. You know I was never any good at math—”

Abruptly she stopped speaking and lifted her head. “Do you hear something?”

I didn't, but I scrambled to my feet anyway.

As soon as I stood up, I felt light-headed. My limbs were limp as spaghetti. Stars swam before my eyes.

As I put a hand on the wall to steady myself, Bertie slipped past me. While I was trying to find my balance, she began to bang on the door with both fists.

“Help!” she yelled. “We're in here!”

All at once the door flew open. Weight angled forward, Bertie went tumbling out.

A draft of cool air came rushing into the room. It felt like heaven on my heated skin.

“Oh my word!” I heard Aunt Peg say.

Margo was standing right behind her. Peg caught Bertie and lowered her gently onto a bench.

“Where's Melanie?” Margo asked anxiously. “She's missing too. Is she with you?”

“I'm here,” I said. The words were scarcely louder than a whisper.

I stumbled through the doorway and right into Aunt Peg's arms. The embrace was everything I needed. For the moment all I could do was stand there and let her strength support me.

I burrowed my head beneath her chin like a child. Aunt Peg pulled her arms tighter and held me close.

“I told you so,” she said to Margo.