Riptide (Sam McRae Mystery #3)

Chapter 7

I continued my search for the program coordinator. Jamila was scheduled to make her presentation Saturday afternoon. Mulrooney should be able to arrange her release well before then. Even so, I wondered if anyone associated with the conference had read the local papers. Or how they would react to news reports that night.

For a frozen moment, I worried about word getting out through the new social media. Facebook, and now something called Twitter. But who used that stuff? Kids. Ha!

Traditional media and the rumor mill were my bigger concerns. How would it look for Jamila to give a lecture on ethics after being arrested as a murder suspect? Would the program planner want to cancel her session?

In a far corner, I spied Betsy Larkin, the program coordinator, deep in consultation with a red-faced man in a tight-fitting suit. He didn't look happy. I approached with caution, not wanting to interrupt.

"I asked for bottled water," Betsy said. "You know, the cute little bottles? Everyone loves them."

As Betsy made her pitch for cute little bottles of water, I wondered if this was the right time to bring up another possible glitch in the program.

"Also," Betsy said, "I was hoping for a wider variety of fruit juices with the morning pastries and coffee."

While Betsy rambled through her culinary demands, I pondered the notion that it might be unwise to broach the subject of Jamila's problems. After all, I had four days. She might be eliminated as a suspect in that time.

"Have you got that?" Betsy concluded to the flustered-looking man. As he bustled off, Betsy aimed her formidable figure my way.

Standing roughly six feet in low heels with a gray helmet of hair, Betsy gave the distinct aura of one not to be trifled with. She looked down at me, a skulking 5-foot, 8-inch midget, and said, "What can I do for you?"

Don't hit me. I'm ashamed to admit they were the first words that came to mind. "I ... uh, I just wanted to say you've put together a great program. I can't wait for the sessions to start."

Betsy looked thunderstruck. "Why ... why thank you. That's very nice. What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't, but it's Sam McRae."

"Well, Sam, it's really good to meet you." Betsy pumped my hand and nearly wrenched my arm from its socket.

I opted for the time being to keep mum about Jamila.

*****

As I left the convention center, I ran into Kaitlyn Farrell from the State's Attorney's Office.

"What are you doing here so early?" I asked.

"I'm a presenter, remember?" I recalled then that Kait was giving a tutorial on recent criminal law developments. "I had the leave and I needed a break from the grind, so I'm here early to get a little R&R before my big presentation." She said the last two words, using finger quotes. "I figured I'd stop by and check out what's going on." She peered into the nearly empty building, shook her head and turned toward me. "Not much, from the looks of it."

"The place will be more lively later this week," I assured her. "Can't wait to hear you." I tried to recollect when she was scheduled.

"I guess Ray will be basking in it this weekend," Kait said, rolling her eyes. Ray Mardovich was a state's attorney with whom I'd had an adulterous fling almost a year ago. Things had ended on a sour note—especially when I discovered he'd been seeing yet another woman. Now, the once-divorced, soon-to-be-twice-married Ray was to be installed on Saturday as the new bar association president. This amazed me on more levels than I cared to ponder.