Murder Packs a Suitcase by Cynthia Baxter

traveling.”
    â€œI’m starting to do more.” He hesitated before adding, “I recently got divorced, and I suddenly find that my schedule is a whole lot freer.”
    â€œDo you believe this place?” Phil Diamond plopped down at the head of the table and glared at the other four journalists. “How do they expect people to have a good time if they can’t even light up a cigarette? And I’ve already had a hell of a day. Would you believe it started in Milwaukee, where I spent two days researching a piece on some ridiculous ice-sculpting competition? This morning, I flew to JFK at dawn, then got stuck on this ridiculous overbooked flight run by sky Nazis…. It’s enough to make anybody need a cigarette.”
    â€œPerhaps you should consider giving up smoking, Phil, dear,” Frieda suggested. “It’s such a nasty habit. And so bad for you, not to mention everyone around you.”
    â€œSpeaking of things that are bad for you,” Phil grumbled, snapping his fingers at the waitress, “I could definitely use a drink. Anyone care to join me?”
    Once again, his eyes drifted around the table. When they reached Mallory, they suddenly narrowed.
    â€œOh,” he said disgustedly. “It’s
you.”
    â€œI didn’t think you two knew each other,” Frieda commented.
    â€œAre you kidding? We’re old friends,” Phil replied, his voice curdling with sarcasm. “Just this morning, this delightful lady and I had the pleasure of flying into Orlando together.”
    Fortunately, their waitress came trotting over, her pad and pen in hand. “Is there something I can get for you, sir?” she asked Phil.
    â€œCan I get a gee-and-tee, pronto?”
    The waitress, who looked young enough to be en route to Disney World herself instead of working at a restaurant, immediately became flustered. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know what that is.”
    â€œYou don’t know what a gee-and-tee is? It’s a gin and tonic. The recipe’s simple. See, you take gin—a lot of gin—and you add tonic. Voilà!”
    â€œI’m afraid we don’t serve alcohol here.”
    â€œ
What?
How in hell am I supposed to—”
    â€œWell, it looks like you’re all having fun!” chirped a young woman who’d just trotted over to their table. “I’m Courtney Conover, and on behalf of the Florida Tourism Board, I want to welcome each and every one of you!”
    She clutched a clipboard in one hand, and with the other nervously pushed her overly long bangs out of her eyes. Mallory noted that she didn’t look much older than their waitress. And thanks to her straight platinum blond hair, courtesy of Clairol, and her bright emerald-green eyes, courtesy of Bausch & Lomb, she looked more like Barbie’s little sister than someone in a position of authority.
    â€œSorry I’m late,” Courtney continued. “Things got a little crazy at the office this morning. But I want to start out by telling you how thrilled we are to have all of you here.”
    â€œY’know, there’s such a thing as being too damned jolly,” Annabelle muttered. “Especially before lunch, when everyone’s blood sugar is low.”
    â€œNow, now,” Frieda returned. “She’s just cheerful. There’s no law against being cheerful.”
    â€œBefore I start boring you with details,” Courtney said, “there’s someone I’d like to introduce. Mr. Farnaby,” she called across the room, “could you please come over here? If you have a moment, I’d like you to meet our distinguished group of writers.”
    Mallory glanced around the table, blinking.
Distinguished?
    Mr. Farnaby was all smiles as he scurried over to the table. “Well, of
course
I want to meet my honored guests!” he gushed.
    â€œEveryone, this is Desmond Farnaby, general manager of the