"You must have mentioned it. Maybe Geri said some thing, or Kyle heard it from this investment corporation and passed it along."

"I wasn't added by the corporation, Arly. Kyle Simmons's father arranged to have me included as a contestant. I suggested that he put my name in with the other two replacements, and he did it right before he left for a vacation." The edge became sharper than anything advertised on late-night cable. "But I didn't mention Drakestone to anyone because I didn't want any snoopy sorts to attempt to verify my credentials. There's only one way you could have come up with the name of the college."

"Okay," I said, leaning against the wall.

"Which means you must have noticed the weapon in the drawer. I wish you hadn't searched my room, Arly. I guess your cop instincts got the better of you, but it's unfortunate and will cause complications I'd hoped to avoid."

I regarded him, uncertain what I ought to admit and how much mendacity he might buy. "I'm sorry if it was inconvenient," I said at last, opting to be obtuse, "but possessing a concealed weapon has that risk. So you're not a professor, and the president of Krazy KoKo-Nut was so enamored of your recipe that he arranged for you to participate in the contest. What was his approach-physical violence or cruise tickets?"

Durmond winced. "The tickets, please. Mr. Simmons is not the sort of CEO to resort to severing fingers or breaking bones."

"That's good to know. But why did he do you such an inestimable favor?"

He picked up my scratch pad and shook his head as he looked at it. "Why do you think?"

I was almost positive that Rick and Cambria were members of an organization that preferred the physical violence approach, and over several generations had perfected it. But I couldn't quite envision Durmond in the role-maybe because I didn't want it to be true. "Beats the hell out of me," I said as I went into his room, fixed myself a drink, and came back to the doorway with a glass and a guess. "Unless you're a cop?"

"A cop of sorts," he said wryly. "More of a federal agent, to be precise. I retired from the DEA fifteen years ago, but a couple of the guys dropped by while I was spending my days out in the boat, and their invitation had more appeal than returning to my classroom at Drakestone. My wife taught there, too. We used to eat lunch in her office every day and complain about campus politics, the escalating ineptness of the students, disappointing movies, and the weather." I watched the ice cubes melt while I considered him in this new role. It eventually began to make sense, along with dealing with some of the bugaboos mentioned earlier. "How about the overly friendly psychotic in the khaki jacket? Is he a fed, too?"

"Sonny's been trying to keep track of the contestants when they leave the hotel. He thought his cover would make him invisible, but he didn't count on the Arkansas contingency. They scared the shit out of him in the subway."

"And you're here because this whole thing is a sham to cover drug distribution," I said as I sank down on the end of the bed and took the pad from him. "Interspace Investments, Inc. is a mob organization. They bought the Krazy KoKo-Nut company in order to launder money and insisted the contest be held in this"-I gazed at the room-"dump in order to divert attention from the dealers going in and out with their tool kits and boxes. No wonder the plumber didn't know his spigots from a hole in the ground."

"Plumber?" he said, justifiably puzzled.

"Ruby Bee and Estelle recognized him at the reception, although initially they assumed a family resemblance was responsible. Being the meddlesome broads that they are, they trotted up to the third floor this afternoon and chatted about plumberly subjects. He failed the test, although who knows what the two concluded about his lack of expertise." I paused to scan my notes. "The lobby was used before the contest. They then moved to the third floor and continued the remodeling ruse to cover the comings and goings."

"That's our theory," Durmond said, although it seemed to me he ought to show a little more appreciation for my display of deductive prowess. "The big shipment came in the Krazy KoKo-Nut cartons, of course. Geri screwed up the plans when she insisted the cartons be secured in the kitchen, as did whoever shot Jerome Appleton at the same site. The last thing Rick and Cambria wanted was to draw attention to the shipment and provoke undue interest in it."

"So they moved the body out to the dumpster!" I said, getting into the rhythm of it. "They cleaned up the blood and borrowed the cartons long enough to exchange the drugs for innocent packages. But why would they kill Jerome there to begin with? It would make a helluva lot more sense to escort him out to New Jersey or sink him in the river or whatever is the current vogue these days."

"Drive-by shootings outside of restaurants are gaining in popularity," Durmond murmured, clearly impressed with my enthusiasm if not my logic.

I stood up and began to pace as best I could, rubbing my hands together and gnawing on my knuckles as I careened around the tiny room. Pacing in Maggody's a lot easier; I've been known to resolve sticky problems out in the pasture behind the Flamingo Motel, despite the prevalence of cow patties. "The corpse in the kitchen was a problem for them, to put it mildly. And why kill Jerome in the first place? That's what destroyed their scheme. They must have been alarmed when Geri snagged some of the dealers and insisted they were magazine reporters, but they managed to get things under control again." I reeled around, tripping over my carryon bag. "After Geri's boss called her and ordered her to continue, that is. Kyle had called his father and was shaking in his boots after the conversation. All these executives know darn well what's going on in the hotel this week. Why didn't someone call the police?"

Durmond tapped his chest. "The department approached the senior Mr. Simmons, after which he agreed to put my name down as a contestant in exchange for immunity. He then felt the need for a long vacation, as did Geri's boss. Sure, they both know who owns Interspace Investments, but coupled with fear was a significant amount of greed. They're also keenly aware of the wisdom of distancing themselves from anything that might lead to indictments."

"So they threw a couple of kids into the pit to save their hides? That's not exactly sporting." I resumed my flight pattern, although I did keep an eye on the carry-on bag. "Rick's a kid, too, which is why Cambria rushed here from Florida after the incident in the stairwell and agreed to take the role of doorman. Neither of them wanted an outside security man to monitor the arrivals."

"You're not bad at this business," he said (and high time). "But we don't have any proof that the Krazy KoKo-Nut cartons contained cocaine, and you've produced a very good reason why Rick and Cambria didn't shoot Jerome. Then, of course, we still have a problem with the murder at the Xanadu and the subsequent disappearance of the recently bereaved widow."

"I can't handle every last detail," I said gracelessly. "After all, it's what you get paid for, isn't it? I'm just a hick from Arkansas. You're the big-time fed. You can have a long talk with Lieutenant Henbit about this while I pack my bags, gather up the overgrown girl detectives, and find out about the next flight out of this absurd city. I didn't want to come in the first place, and I don't want to hang around a hotel owned by mobsters." I snatched up the carry-on bag and opened it with enough vigor to rip the teeth out of the zipper. It was merely a gesture, in that none of us would be allowed out the hotel door, but as gestures go, it had a certain style.

"Well, then," he said, moving his hands aimlessly as if he were a confused conductor, "I suppose I'll call Henbit from my room. He already knows who I am and why I'm here, naturally, but he might have further information that Sonny and I can use. I'll…talk to you later, if you're in the mood."