Writers think.
That’s how they come up
with things to write, and they can think anywhere, one of the perks of having a
portable brain that goes where your body goes. There I was, with Marilyn (my
wife) at her Fresno High class reunion…thinking.
On Friday night, about 300 grads and
significant others gathered in the open-air courtyard of the Piccadilly Inn
(where out-of-towners were staying) in Fresno for a happy-hour
meet-and-greet. Tall and short, heavy and thin, and the only people I knew
were…my wife, and local TV personality Kopi Sotiropolous. What was I going to
do with my time? Think.
I noticed a swimming pool at the side of
the courtyard, and I thought, What a great place to dump a body! I
went over to investigate while Marilyn talked to new old friends (and old new
friends), following the iron fence to the gate, which was locked. The latch had
a key-card-reader installed, so it could only be opened by hotel guests and
staff.
Looking at the key-reader put a question in my mind. What does a writer
do with questions? Answer them!
I presented myself at the hotel front desk
and explained, “I need your help in planning a murder…mystery story. Since the
pool gate requires a key card to open it, does it store the numbers so you
could check which cards were used?”
The two desk clerks looked at each other
in confusion, and the blonde one answered, “No.”
I thanked them and started for the door,
but I paused and said, “That was probably the strangest question you’ve had all
day, wasn’t it?”
“It sure was,” the brunette said.
Okay, so I’d ruled out one way to limit
the suspects. I returned to Marilyn and her conversations, and started talking
to another alumnus-spouse. This kind gentleman from South Carolina had met a
pretty young Fresno High grad at the old Castle Air Base during his Air Force
days and married her. I mentioned that I was spending my evening planning how
to kill someone for a story, and pointed out that the lock on the gate required
a room card.
He said, “Well, that gate was open when we
came by at five.”
AHA! Of course! People don’t always follow
the rules. Someone could leave that gate wide open, just waiting for a killer
carting a carcass!
Saturday morning, we did not join the tour
of Fresno High, because Marilyn and I were at Sisters in Crime. Listening to
our guest speaker, Michele Drier, one of her guides to crafting dialogue stood
out—eavesdropping. Listen to conversations and get ideas. I could use that at
the reunion dinner.
At Pardini’s for the banquet attended
by700 or so, I found the snag in that advice—my hearing loss. Even with my
hearing aids, it’s hard to eavesdrop when you can’t hear anything clearly.
Michele had suggested reading relationships by watching body language, but the
lighting was on the “intimate dining” level, and I couldn’t see that well. What
was a writer to do? Think.
AHA! I’ll make up relationships.
This couple got divorced, and she married
her husband’s best friend. That couple got divorced, and he married…another
man. The young guy at that table, heavyish with over-the-shoulder hair, looks
like the singer Meat Loaf; he seems suspicious. There
is a trophy wife being dragged around, and there’s a….. It was fun.
To get a
younger sleuth, I imagined a graduate who brought his little sister as his
plus-one to his 50-year reunion (which is what Marilyn’s brother did; she
enjoyed their “date”). Better yet, the sleuth is the daughter of someone at the
reunion, back in town to help him for a while.
This was the first reunion Marilyn went to,
because she didn’t think she was well known, but she reconnected with people
she didn’t know were still alive. A month ago, at the Greek Food Festival, Kopi
told her, “Come to the reunion. They’re a lot nicer, now,” and talked her into
going. Now, she says everybody should go to reunions. She had a great time.
I really enjoyed that FHS reunion, too…and
I got the bones of a story out of it. What shall I call it...? A
Reunion for Killers.
