“Mystery Merge”: A trail of clues sets the stage for an anthology

This book was a finalist for a 2025 Colorado Authors League award for Anthology.

Murder at the Twelve Mooses Ballroom

“For the ten-thousandth time, I don’t wanna!” Wendalyn Bilbersteen spoke emphatically to Charlotte Webb, the CEO of KIDDO.

Charlotte sighed. “I understand, Wendy. But you’re the obvious choice to emcee this gala honoring his work on behalf of kids. You started out in the news business and came up through the ranks together. I know there’s animosity between you, but I was overruled.” 

If faces could talk, Wendy’s would shout, “Liar!” Luckily faces can’t talk, only mouths. And Wendy’s was full of the gummy worms she kept shoving in there from the baggie she clutched. 

Wendy tried to speak, but Charlotte raised one hand. “It’s too late for you to back out now. It’s two hours until award time and I still have eight million things to do.” She spoke quietly. “After tonight, you’ll never be bothered by Dr Dictionary again.” 

Wendy watched Charlotte hurry away to deal with her eight million things. Charlotte had no idea the can of worms she’d opened when she asked Wendy to emcee this event. If Charlotte knew, she’d never have asked.

But nobody really knew. Back in the 1980s Wendy got her first real job at Channel 8. She had planned to use her grown-up name and was hired as Wendalyn Bilbersteen. She started at the station on the same day as Dr Dictionary, then known as boring old Leo Linder. She was hired as an on-air reporter, with the promise of moving up to the news desk. But when Leo Linder showed up, she was relegated to weather, even though she had better credentials.

When she complained to the news director, he’d shrugged. “Complain to Barbara Walters. Besides, if you’re behind a desk, nobody’ll see those gams of yours. Weather is where you belong, toots.”

“I don’t know anything about forecasting weather.”

“Nobody does. Besides, nobody’ll be listening anyway, just checking out those fabulous gams.”

To make matters worse, the first time Leo Linder introduced her to do the weather, he called her Wendy instead of Wendalyn and it stuck. Every time after that, no matter how often or how loudly she complained, she was always introduced as Wendy the Weather Girl. Gross.

Leo Linder became locally famous for anchoring the news and after a few years went off to become Dr Dictionary, hosting the Knowledge Bowl for many years. Every kid in town was on that show at some point, competing in all kinds of brainy kid-centric contests.

Wendy expected she’d be promoted to the anchor desk, but was told someone named Wendy lacked gravitas. All her rage narrowed to a knifepoint that pointed directly at Dr Dictionary. Not only had he taken Wendalyn away from her, he didn’t appreciate the honor of the job, leaving it to run some stupid kiddie program. 

Of course, that stupid kiddie program was why he was being honored tonight, but still. Wendy had eventually clawed herself up to News Director, but she never forgot how Dr Dictionary made her feel.

Instead of telling Charlotte this, she’d simply said, “Fine,” and shoved three gummy worms in her mouth.

Rounding a corner, she collided with a man wearing an ill-fitting tuxedo. “Goodness!” The man’s eyes were so wide, Wendy wondered if he’d lost the ability to blink. He rushed away from her without a word, swinging a large plastic garbage bag as he ran.

“It’s going to be one of those nights.” Wendy dug for more gummies. 

The sickly smell of Wendy’s gummies followed Charlotte across the Twelve Mooses Ballroom being set for tonight’s event. She felt sympathy for Wendy. It was clear she had baggage with Dr Dictionary too. Whatever it was, though, couldn’t be worse than her own baggage with him. Charlotte fought valiantly for their honoree this year to be renowned children’s singer Big Red Doofus, but the board chose Dr Dictionary instead. She had a long list of reasons why they should honor Big Red Doofus, which she shared passionately and eloquently. She only had one reason against Dr Dictionary—because she hated him like a cat hated baths—which she did not share passionately and eloquently. 

Her love affair with Dr Dictionary was something she’d worked hard to forget. She thought they were soulmates. Her Board of Directors didn’t need to know she had already asked her husband for a divorce before Dr Dictionary broke it off out of the blue one day. Charlotte lost everything—her husband, her home, her pride, her stellar credit score.

Charlotte thought it was behind her until the board meeting where Dr Dictionary’s name came up. She wondered if the board would have considered her position with more deference had she brandished her dainty purse Glock. 

A noise across the ballroom made Charlotte pivot at a run toward hotel employees staring at flowers strewn on the floor. She yelled, “I will shoot you dead if that vase broke!” 

One employee dropped to his knee and triumphantly hoisted the unbroken vase in the air.  

“Lucky you. You can live another day.” Charlotte had more to say but was interrupted by a twenty-something woman wearing a pant suit. The employees scattered.

“I’m looking for Dr Dictionary?”

“Who are you?” Charlotte asked.

“Olivia Twist, his assistant for the event.”

“They gave him an assistant? I’m the one with eight million things to do. I don’t remember anything about an assistant.”

Olivia blushed. “Um … I think I have an email or something ….” 

“Never mind.” There were so many details for this event, Charlotte had probably forgotten more than she’d remembered. Charlotte pointed across the ballroom. “Might be over there.”

Before Olivia could put the plan in action, her phone rang. She debated answering, but knew the calls would keep coming. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hi yourself. You left before we finished our conversation. Dr Dictionary isn’t your dad. Your dad is a deadbeat biker I spent a glorious weekend with and never saw again. I told you I don’t know his last name, but I’m pretty sure his first name began with an S. Steve? Sam? Snake? Can’t remember. But it’s definitely not Dr Dictionary. That I’d remember. Okay?”

“Sure.” Olivia laughed. “It was a pretty far-fetched theory.”

“I’m glad you agree. Where are you anyway?”

“Bowling alley. Don’t wait up, I’ll be late. Hang on a sec.” Olivia covered the phone and counted to twenty. “Abby wants me to spend the night. Is that okay?”

“Sure. See you tomorrow.”

Olivia felt guilty for the exact amount of time it took to slide the phone back into her pocket. 

She looked toward the door where Charlotte had pointed and took a deep breath. “Here goes nothing.” She’d only taken three steps when a long-legged man walked toward her. She stared at him as he passed, eyes wide, turning to continue gaping at him. “You’re Ryan Rizzuto! The RizzBizz!”

The man turned and winked. “I think you have me confused with someone else.”

“No, I’ve seen your videos. They’re so funny. Your pranks are outrageous!”

“Thanks for watching.” He shot her with two finger guns. “But it’s not me.” He winked again.

This time Olivia understood. “Gotcha. You aren’t here.” She used finger guns back at him.

Olivia watched as a middle-aged man spoke to him. Ryan Rizzuto didn’t slow down. Olivia heard him say, “I don’t know, man. Ask her,” as he hooked a thumb in Olivia’s direction.

Seconds later the middle-aged man was in front of her. “Manfred Pasco.”

“Excuse me?”

The man looked confused. “Manfred Pasco? State senator?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know him.”

“Him is me. I’m Senator Pasco.”

Olivia was young, but she knew his type. Full of himself. Thinks he’s a party bag of flamin’ hot BBQ in a world of fat-free salt and vinegar. 

“What should I do with this?” Senator Pasco thrust a large trophy in a plastic bag at her.

“I don’t know.”

“Why not? You’re wearing a suit. Don’t you work here?” He dug a gummy bear from a small bag he pulled from his pocket. He counted the remaining ones, and with a sigh, popped it in his mouth.

“You’re wearing a suit. Do you work here?” Olivia wondered if he was already high on edibles. Pretty nervy, dosing in public. But then she remembered he was a politician. They get away with everything.

“You could have just said no,” he mumbled, hurrying away, clutching the trophy to his chest.

Olivia continued to the door Charlotte had indicated earlier. As she pulled it open, someone pushed it from the other side. She came nose-to-ruffled shirt with a man gripping a large trash bag by its neck. “Oh, excuse me!”

The man scurried away.

“Excuse you,” Olivia said under her breath. Rude and overdressed. 

Several people milled about, all looking like they had important business to attend to. Dr Dictionary wasn’t one of them, however, which was perfectly fine with her. Olivia hadn’t quite decided how she was going to handle him.

She felt foolish in her pantsuit. She’d wanted to look mature and responsible, neither trait she possessed, but now second-guessed her choice. Everyone else really did look mature and responsible. Especially a woman not much older than herself. It was obvious to Olivia that she was a journalist because she was speaking to Senator Pasco and writing in a small notebook. 

He brushed off the reporter’s question, looking a bit angry. The woman watched him stride away. She dropped the notebook into a messenger bag then pulled out a large zip-top baggie that looked to Olivia like it contained brownies. The journalist glanced around before placing it on the table. She patted the brownies gently before walking away.

Olivia watched Ryan Rizzuto spy the brownies on the table. He grinned and pulled one from the bag. 

A brownie would be a welcome treat, but Olivia glanced down at her pale blue suit, knowing the tiniest crumb would stain it. Not today, missy. 

She sighed as she watched Ryan Rizzuto take a massive bite of his brownie.

With each chew of the brownie, Ryan Rizzuto’s eyes widened. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a pot brownie. Who made these? Did they mean to leave them out? Were they strong or was he simply out of practice?

He stopped walking and turned back. Nobody was pointing and laughing so it didn’t seem to be a prank. 

The brownies weren’t in any kind of restricted area. But even if it was restricted, Ryan knew all you had to do to get past any closed door was to walk confidently and look people in the eye. For whatever reason, that rendered you invisible.

And it was precisely what Ryan Rizzuto counted on tonight. 

He broke off another bite of the magic brownie and dropped the remainder in the trash.

Senator Pasco watched Ryan Rizzuto drop half a brownie in the trash. Kids these days. So wasteful.

Almost as wasteful as my donation to KIDDO, he thought. It would be worth it, he supposed, if it washed away the sin of his very public hot mic moment. He only said out loud what other people said to their friends. Hypocrites. The only thing worse than a hypocrite was a hypocrite with a cellphone. That eight-second video ricocheted around the world. He wondered how long the Pasco Fiasco would be the first thing that popped up when people searched his name.

Tonight should change all that.

“Who ate a brownie?” 

Senator Pasco turned toward Lois LaLanne’s voice, shriller than when she’d interviewed him earlier. Nobody paid her the least bit of attention. Print media really might be dead.

Lois LaLanne stared at the brownies. She bent down until her nose was an inch away. One was definitely missing. She cut her eyes left and right a couple of times, but it didn’t seem like anyone was calling the cops. Senator Pasco and that girl wearing the pantsuit stared at her so she tried to act cool.

Last night she couldn’t decide if slipping someone a pot brownie was a good idea or not. On her way to the venue this morning she was certain it was. At this moment, she was equally certain it was not.

Suddenly a man in an ugly tux, complete with ruffled shirt, veered toward the table.

Lois stepped between him and the brownies, jostling his overstuffed bag. “You don’t want one of those. They’re gross. Probably sugar-free.” The man didn’t respond so she threw in another, “Gross,” for emphasis.

She thought about snatching the brownies from the table but tux guy, the girl in the suit, and Senator Pasco would think she had something to do with them. She had, of course, but she preferred to keep that to herself. 

The man clomped away, trash bag bumping against his leg with every step. Lois hurried the opposite direction, crossing her fingers that the right person would find the brownies before they were all gone.

Dr Dictionary checked his watch. While he appreciated the honor soon to be bestowed upon him, he’d rather be at the pub. Tonight was Golden Girls Trivia and he had to miss it, replaced as emcee by a millennial who probably couldn’t tell their Rose from their Blanche if their life depended on it.

Everyone scurried around getting ready for the event. He looked forward to catching up with Wendy Bilbersteen. She’d done impressive things with her career, moving from weather up to News Director. 

He’d been surprised when he got the email from Charlotte Webb advising he’d be the recipient of this years’ award. After their break-up, he knew she wanted to kill him, and in hindsight, maybe he could have handled the situation better. 

He ran into Freddie Pasco. It tickled Dr Dictionary to needle Freddie, so he did it at every opportunity. He teased him about his hot mic moment for fifteen minutes before Freddie stormed off. Dr Dictionary felt a bit guilty, but a thinned-skinned politician should get out of that line of work. 

There’d be time after the gala to apologize to him and chitchat with Wendy and Charlotte. But for now, he’d been asked to stay out of view until someone came to get him. A bunch of brownies had appeared, and he’d helped himself. They had an unusual flavor he couldn’t quite identify. 

Suddenly his ears felt hot and he knew they were fire engine red. He took deep breaths. He identified the mystery flavor, though. Who gave him pot brownies? And why did they make them so delicious? His breathing became rapid. Dr Dictionary put a hand against the wall to steady himself. This had never happened before. His chest heaved. The heat from his ears spread through his body. His pulse pounded. His skin felt clammy.

What a stupid way to die, he thought. 

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