Nice Weekend for a Murder by Max Allan Collins Page B

“You didn’t see what
I
saw,” I reminded her.
    “She didn’t?” Curt said.
    “No. She was in the shower.”
    “Cleanliness is next to godliness,” Curt shrugged.
    “Why are you trivializing this?”
    He put a fatherly hand on my shoulder. “I don’t mean to. I just know the foolishness that goes on here. Jill is right about the award for most creative presentation. Toward that end, many of the players bring along theatrical gear—makeup, fake blood, the works. A number of them are theater professionals. If they noticed somebody here who resembled Rath, and could convince him to play along, with a little expert makeup, they could, at a distance,
fool
somebody... like you. Not me. Because I’m a veteran of this cheerful nonsense.”
    Cheerful nonsense.
    “So,” I said, “I’m the butt of a fraternity initiation sort of joke, then?”
    He waved that off. “Not you specifically. It could have just as easily been me that witnessed this ‘murder.’ The guests know that the authors are all grouped together in this wing of the hotel. Do you think it’s an accident that this event was stagedoutside all our windows? You just happened to be the one of us who caught the show.”
    “And the hook,” I said.
    “And the hook,” he said, nodding. He slid an arm around my shoulder and walked me away from the window. Jill followed. “Mal, I’m convinced you’ve witnessed a prank, nothing more—a grisly piece of impromptu theater by some Mystery Weekenders unknown.”
    “
I’m
not convinced,” I said.
    He walked out into the hall and I followed him. So did Jill.
    “Well,” he said, “we can go down to the front desk and report it. Right now. New Paltz is nearby; the police could come right up.”
    “Let’s do that.”
    “I wish you wouldn’t. Let me tell you why.”
    “Please do.”
    He gestured with an open palm, in a reasoning manner. “If the police come up here, you’re going to get some of the hotel’s guests in trouble, and some very bad publicity could be stirred up. You might put a damper on the whole weekend; Kirk Rath’s little temper tantrum would be nothing compared to this. I don’t think that would be a useful thing, do you?”
    “I... suppose not.”
    “Besides which, everybody here saw Rath leave in a huff. In a minute and a huff. How could he be who you saw out your window? He
left
.” Curt hunched his shoulders and gestured with both hands in mock seriousness; very melodramatic, he intoned, “Or did he come back? If so, why? In which case, what was he
doing
here, then?”
    “I don’t know,” I admitted, ignoring his kidding manner. “But those strike me as legitimate questions.”
    “You strike me as somebody who’s had a long day and ought to catch some z’s.”
    “I’m tired, but I’m not seeing things.”
    “I know you aren’t,” he said, unconvincingly. “Hey. Why don’t you go have a look around outside? If you find anything, see anything, come knock on my door. I’ll be up for another hour—I’m working on some last-minute materials for tomorrow’s fun and games. We have to kill Rath again tomorrow morning, you know—
in absentia
. Anyway, if after that you still want to go down to the desk, I’ll accompany you.”
    “All right,” I said.
    He smiled and patted my shoulder again. “But if you don’t find anything, then go get some sleep. These game-players are crafty and they’re cute—don’t let ’em get to you. You’ll need to be fresh in the morning. You have to play one of my suspects, remember.”
    Then he shut himself back in his room.
    I looked at Jill.
    “Could he be right about this?” she said.
    “Yeah,” I said.
    “But do you think he’s right?”
    “No. But
he
thinks he’s right. And I can see how this looks to him.”
    “Yes.”
    “Only he didn’t see what I saw out that window, did he?”
    “No.”
    “Let’s get our coats.”
    “Let’s,” she said.
    I stopped at the front desk and asked if I could borrow a