Free Ticket to Nowhere: Chapter 4

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Abstract

te what my lawyer, Lawrence Pullman, insists is a perfectly safe practice, I don’t exchange confidences over the telephone. You never know who is listening in! Hence the written missives.</i></p><p id="1e59"><i>I have booked a room for you at the Ramada Hotel and Convention Center in Downtown Topeka and reserved your spot at the upcoming fourth annual Scribblers’ Ball Writing Conference. Your reservation and conference space are listed under a pseudonym, Dusty Hillsboro. You will attend the conference undercover as Dusty, a writer of historical western romances.</i></p><p id="a7cd"><i>While you are there, you must get close to the main suspect, Miss Krystal Kelly. (Krystal! As though she can’t decide between being a stripper or a burger chain!) I have enclosed her photograph so you can easily identify her. Just look for a crowd of bobble-headed men.</i></p><p id="4cdb"><i>I believe she has my book. Krystal pens atrocious “bodice rippers”, nothing like my work in the genre of speculative fiction romantic thrillers. My latest (the missing manuscript) is about a were-rabbit and the sexy female scientist who falls in love with him and searches for a cure. I won’t give away the ending but it is inspired by true events.</i></p><p id="178d"><i>Your conference badge awaits at the hotel, and further instructions will follow. I will join you at the conference, but I hope the enclosed $200 will suffice for now. Please charge your incidentals to the room. Your references assured me you were cheap, I trust you will also turn out to be inexpensive.</i></p><p id="ee72"><i>Thank you</i></p><p id="a2e9"><i>Gwen</i></p><p id="c437">I folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope, then let out a low whistle as I held up the photograph to study it. The dame in the picture had a bosom that could clear an ice-flow. Her hair was like a flame, hiding half her face and trailing over her shoulder to her waist. She held what looked like a stuffed animal, some sort of pink dog. She wore a slinky red dress that clung to her curves, and I was certain that fabric was the only thing between her and the suit God gave her.

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</p><p id="70ee">If my mission was to get close to this chick, I’d be happy to accept it. I didn’t know about the stolen manuscript, one thing for sure — Krystal wasn’t hiding it under her skirt.</p><p id="55ec"><i>Continues in Chapter 5…</i></p><div id="c90f" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/free-ticket-to-nowhere-chapter-5-cea35045a68b"> <div> <div> <h2>Free Ticket to Nowhere: Chapter 5</h2> <div><h3>A Stark Mystery</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*7CGIFZUWo0zlthaa321MZA.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><h2 id="67bc">Previous Chapters:</h2><p id="b922"><a href="https://readmedium.com/free-ticket-to-nowhere-848d71a45c84">Chapter 1</a> • <a href="https://readmedium.com/free-ticket-to-nowhere-chapter-2-d3cdca7f1125">Chapter 2</a> • <a href="https://readmedium.com/free-ticket-to-nowhere-chapter-3-ae48787c6729">Chapter 3</a></p><h2 id="7598">Thanks to Tommy Paley for creating the character of Gwen</h2><p id="3916"><i>And away we go! <a href="undefined">John K Adams</a> you’re up. I’m wondering if <a href="undefined">Joe Garza</a> might want to join, and <a href="undefined">Indira Reddy</a>, <a href="undefined">Nicole Willson</a>? Anyone can volunteer for a chapter and enlist in the fun here:</i></p><div id="ceb8" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/free-ticket-to-nowhere-writer-schedule-2ea32de674a9"> <div> <div> <h2>Free Ticket To Nowhere: Writer Schedule</h2> <div><h3>List of writers and their scheduled chapters.</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*HSLTnZa9-LyjeAd-hIThpw.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

A Stark Mystery

I pulled out my phone as I trudged up the path toward the houses and ordered an Uber. The only driver in Nowhere turned out to be an elderly farmer who picked me up in his rattle-trap green truck.

“Hop in, Sonny. I got ta’ deliver these pizzas while they’re hot.”

The geezer barely slowed down enough for me to jump in the cab, and I had to hold the pizza boxes in my lap while he careened through the village, dropping off the orders. I figured his main gig was the pizza delivery job, and he moonlighted with Uber. I couldn’t imagine there being much call for transportation in Nowhere, Kansas.

I volunteered to carry the last pie up to the customer, and she tipped me a fin. I slipped the five in my pocket and told the old man, “She stiffed you, Pops,” when I got back in the truck. I figured he owed me that much, at least, for the cost of dry cleaning my suit to get rid of the pepperoni smell.

While we bounced along the road to Topeka, I opened the envelope, the one the guy handed me at the airport in Miami. Inside was a handwritten letter, a photograph, and two crisp C-notes. I unfolded the letter and read — “Dear Mr. Stark, my name is Gwen De Toit. You may recognize me from the Society pages of your local newspaper. I am also a famous novelist (with over 2,000 likes on Goodreads!). I have hired you because my latest manuscript, ‘Underneath the Jack Rabbit Moon’ has been stolen. The tome was penned by hand, as all my works are written, and it was my only copy. I don’t trust computers, Mr. Stark, and despite what my lawyer, Lawrence Pullman, insists is a perfectly safe practice, I don’t exchange confidences over the telephone. You never know who is listening in! Hence the written missives.

I have booked a room for you at the Ramada Hotel and Convention Center in Downtown Topeka and reserved your spot at the upcoming fourth annual Scribblers’ Ball Writing Conference. Your reservation and conference space are listed under a pseudonym, Dusty Hillsboro. You will attend the conference undercover as Dusty, a writer of historical western romances.

While you are there, you must get close to the main suspect, Miss Krystal Kelly. (Krystal! As though she can’t decide between being a stripper or a burger chain!) I have enclosed her photograph so you can easily identify her. Just look for a crowd of bobble-headed men.

I believe she has my book. Krystal pens atrocious “bodice rippers”, nothing like my work in the genre of speculative fiction romantic thrillers. My latest (the missing manuscript) is about a were-rabbit and the sexy female scientist who falls in love with him and searches for a cure. I won’t give away the ending but it is inspired by true events.

Your conference badge awaits at the hotel, and further instructions will follow. I will join you at the conference, but I hope the enclosed $200 will suffice for now. Please charge your incidentals to the room. Your references assured me you were cheap, I trust you will also turn out to be inexpensive.

Thank you

Gwen

I folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope, then let out a low whistle as I held up the photograph to study it. The dame in the picture had a bosom that could clear an ice-flow. Her hair was like a flame, hiding half her face and trailing over her shoulder to her waist. She held what looked like a stuffed animal, some sort of pink dog. She wore a slinky red dress that clung to her curves, and I was certain that fabric was the only thing between her and the suit God gave her.

If my mission was to get close to this chick, I’d be happy to accept it. I didn’t know about the stolen manuscript, one thing for sure — Krystal wasn’t hiding it under her skirt.

Continues in Chapter 5…