Bell, Book, and Scandal

Jane said. “She’d blow her cover.“
    “Everybody’s trying to figure out which attendee she is. So far as I know, nobody has a firm idea,“ Shelley said. “Apparently she’s good at fading into the background and keeping her ear to the ground. I admit I’ve noticed a middle-aged woman who hangs out in the lobby pretending to read a book. Always sitting close to authors who are having private talks. She’s my best guess. I’ll show her to you the next time I spot her.“
    An idiotic question was being addressed to Felicity, so Jane and Shelley stopped chatting to listen politely to how she responded. Felicity spoke gracefully, then sat back to endure the rest of the hour.
    So did Jane and Shelley.
    When it was over at last, they drifted out the door and discussed what they’d do that evening. Dinner, according to the schedule, was “on your own.“ They presumed this was because the editors and agents would be taking their clients out to nice dinners. There were no specific plans for the rest of the attendees, except that two conference rooms had been made available for people to sit and chat about whatever they liked. This seemed deadly to both Jane and Shelley.
    “Want to cab down to that seafood restaurant we went to near the Merchandise Mart, the one you liked so much?“ Shelley asked.
    “It’s Friday night. Wouldn’t it be too late to make a reservation?“ Jane asked.
    “We could try. Do you want to take Mel along? My treat.“
    “If I can find him. I wonder what that call was about.“
    “Ring him up on his cell phone and see.“
    Jane did so. He didn’t answer, so she left a message. He rang back a few minutes later when they’d gone up to the suite.
    “Somebody found a man bashed in the head in the parking lot behind the hotel,“ he said. “I think he’s part of this conference. A weird-looking guy with striped hair.“
    “Zac Zebra!“ Jane exclaimed.
    “That’s not what it says on his driver’s license and car registration.“
    “Zac Zebra is a pseudonym. Is he in bad shape?“
    “Out like a light. The medics say his pulse is good, his breathing is normal, and his pupils are fine, but he’s out cold. They’re loading him into the ambulance now.“
    “I don’t suppose you’re free to go to a nice dinner with us?“
    “I probably will be. This isn’t my case. I was just the closest detective to the site when the emergency call came in. They’ve assigned it to someone else.“
    “We’ll try to make a reservation for three for seven o’clock. We’re close enough to the restaurant so we don’t have to leave until quarter of seven. Let us know. Let’s take a cab, though. I don’t want to drive in the dark yet in my new car, and your MG is too small for three of us.“
    “What’s this about Zac?“ Shelley said when Jane had hung up.
    “He was knocked out in the parking lot behind the hotel,“ Jane said. “It’s not Mel’s case, so he can probably come with us. He said the medical people don’t think Zac’s in big trouble.“
    “Let’s book the reservation, if we can, and go back down to the lobby to see if anyone knows more about this. Better yet, we can ask the concierge to make the reservation for us. They always have more clout.“
     

Twelve
     
    Mel was able to join them for dinner. “Nice place,“ he said when the waiter had shown him to their table.
    “The last time I was here, I was lame, tired, and frustrated,“ Jane said. “The dinner really perked me up. What have you learned about Zac? And what is his real name?“
    “Harold Spotswood. He was still unconscious last time I checked. But the doctors don’t seem terribly alarmed. They’ve put him through all their machines. There’s a hairline fracture, they said, but no pooling of blood or clotting in his brain. He appears to have just needed a good long nap, as I understand it.“
    Shelley studied her menu, not liking this sort of talk when she was about to eat. “Anything else you know about him?“ she asked, hoping to escape from more medical talk.
    “Just one weird thing. He was clutching a page from what appeared to be a very old paperback book,“ Mel said. “An old page with slightly yellow edges. What was his connection with this conference?“
    “He’s a book reviewer,“ Jane said. “Not at all a well-respected one. And a macho pig who only likes extremely hard-boiled books written by men.“
    “If he sticks with that, who’s to care?“ Mel asked.
    “It’s just