Toured to Death by Hy Conrad Page A

of the necessity of a freelance living, Amy mused, always having to impress clients with your taste and style.
    â€œFollowing the Fidels?” Burt gasped. “Ladies, I’m shocked.”
    The other Bitsys tittered or smiled guiltily. All were either single like Martha or, for some other reason, traveling alone.
    â€œWhat exactly was that first clue?” asked Martha in a stage whisper. “We never did see it.”
    Burt recited the clue verbatim, then took great pleasure in explaining. “It seems that after the crucifixion, Mary Magdalene, her brother Lazarus, and a few assorted others were set adrift in a boat. Somehow they wound up landing in France.”
    â€œIt’s just a legend,” Holly interjected. “It never happened.”
    â€œWho knows about legends! Anyway, after arriving here, the Magdalene went off by herself and set up house in this cave in the mountains. Supposedly, ” Burt added to appease his niece. “For over twelve hundred years French peasants have been making pilgrimages to the cave at Sainte-Baume.”
    â€œWell, it certainly was a beautiful drive,” Martha drawled.
    â€œIf you follow someone else’s car, that’s cheating,” said Holly.
    â€œYes, dear. But you have to realize it was quite in character—following our handsome Fidel, I mean. Oops.” The other Bitsys glared as Martha clamped a hand over her mouth. “I suppose I shouldn’t have said that.”
    â€œWell, well. Our haughty TV star has the hots for Fidel,” the judge deduced with a sly grin. “What else has Bitsy been up to?”
    â€œDon’t listen to her, Uncle Burt. She’s trying to throw us off.”
    Martha slicked a manicured hand back over her hair. “Yes, dear. I’m just trying to throw you off. Pay no attention to anything I say.”
    Martha and the Bitsys, their drinks refreshed, wandered away, probably in search of a less critical audience. Burt and Holly wandered in the opposite direction, replaced at the bar by Georgina and the Dodos. Amy was surprised by how, for the most part, the teams were sticking together. She supposed there was a kind of bonding going on, which she supposed was good.
    If only Otto could be here to see his game in action. Amy considered violating the rules and putting through a call to New York. The peculiar little man had insisted on not being contacted except in a dire emergency. But Amy was sure that any writer would like to hear a flattering report.
    â€œThird place is certainly respectable,” Paul Wickes said hesitantly to his Dodo teammates. The headmaster of a Virginia prep academy, Paul was as prim and contained as Georgina wasn’t. “Besides, it’s not the daily times that decide the winner. It’s solving the mystery.”
    â€œWe may have an advantage there,” Georgina said in an uncharacteristic whisper. She glanced around for possible eavesdroppers but didn’t think to glance up. Taking a few steps out of the traffic pattern now placed her and her cohorts directly under Amy’s balcony. “I think this mystery is based on a real crime.”
    â€œNo!” Paul said, letting his mouth hang open. Two stories up, Amy’s jaw also dropped.
    â€œIt’s much too corny to be actually true,” a third Dodo observed. “What makes you think . . .”
    â€œWell . . .” Georgina cleared her throat. “The real story didn’t take place in the south of France.” She raised a hand to her cheek, as if to ward off a blush. “But there was an heiress involved. And she did have a few divorces behind her—none of them totally her fault, mind you.”
    â€œNo!” Paul repeated. “You’re the real Dodo?”
    â€œI think so, yes.”
    â€œThat’s unbelievable,” said Paul.
    â€œI can hardly believe it myself.”
    â€œThe odds against that must be astronomical,” the third Dodo