Excerpt from Unleashed for Murder:

Chapter 1

Tuesday

Settling disputes in the exhibit hall didn’t appear anywhere in my formal job description as Assistant to the Director of the D.C. Market and Commerce Center, but I spent a lot of time doing it anyway. Janelle Addison, the Director and my boss, claimed she sent me into the breach so often because I was good at finding solutions and soothing ruffled feathers. So here I am: Heather McNeil, commercial events peace broker and diplomat.

On that Tuesday morning, I wasn’t being good at it. I was barely listening to the gripes being voiced. Fortunately, the complaint revolved around the booth next door, leased by the Pet Palace Company. The fact that the unfinished structure was also the cause of my distraction saved me from looking like a complete idiot.

“Miss McNeil?” Tom Pegram, president of Birds ‘n’ Buddies Company, according to his badge, shouted to get my attention again over the racket going on around us. Setup day for a trade show meant constantly squealing drills, pounding hammers, squeaks of carts and dollies, and the whine and beeping of forklifts. “We don’t mind that the bottoms of the pillars overlap our space,” he said. “We can work around that. But those overhangs are interfering with where we can put our display cases.”

“I see what you mean,” I murmured. And I did, even if that awareness was overshadowed by the splendor of the parts of the display already completed. I was gaping.

Large, complex, creative, and elaborate booths weren’t unusual at some of the bigger trade show events held here in the Market Center. I’d even seen a couple of other displays that emulated castles. But I wasn’t expecting it at a pet products trade show.

Although the booth was still being put together, the general outline and pieces already in place offered a pretty good idea of the final display. The area comprised eight standard ten-by-ten-foot spaces at the back of the aisle.

Faux brick columns, probably eight feet tall, gaudily decorated with red and gold swirls, stood at the four corners with two more in between on each side. The back wall, which separated the booth from the long rear aisle, was surfaced with faux stone, leaving openings for display screens or banners yet to be installed. Tapestries threaded in red and gold hung between some of the columns, showing representations of throne-shaped pet beds, feeding stations that looked like miniature banquet tables, and carriers fit for a king—or a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel.

The company logo blessed the top of each column, showing a stylized dog, cat, and guinea pig in a group, each wearing a crown.

The source of Pegram’s complaint was a series of oriel-type windows projecting off between the columns that would likely hold product displays once completed. On this side, those protrusions would hang over into the booths beside them.

The answer should be simple. Remove the protruding windows or invert them into niches for display. Convincing the booth’s owner to make that change might not be so straightforward.

“Miss McNeil?” Pegram’s voice brought my attention back to him again and the problem at hand.

“Heather, please,” I said, turning away from the glories of the Pet Palace with an effort.

“Heather,” he repeated. “I was hoping we could resolve this now, before their booth is finished.” Behind him, a man pushed a cart loaded with stacked cages into their area and another finished setting up a backdrop with a logo for the Birds ‘n’ Buddies Company.

I nodded. “Good idea to handle the problem now. Do you know who’s in charge?” I waited for a loud round of drilling to finish before I continued, still at something of a yell. “Is he or she there now?”

Pegram rubbed a spot above his right eyebrow. I wondered if the noise was giving him as much of a headache as I was developing. “That’s a bit of a problem,” he said, the last word rising over the beeping of a forklift backing up. “The owners.”

“They’re not there now?”

“No. I’m told they’re a pair of retired NFL players who—” He broke off, looking up the aisle. “Wait. Good! I think this is them coming now.”

I looked in the direction he indicated and blinked. I expected a couple of people but what I saw was almost a parade.

Marching up the aisle toward us, or more accurately, toward the Pet Palace, the group of men looked like they’d fit better at a big-time sporting event. I counted six, and three of them were among the largest human beings I’ve ever seen. Four of the group were obviously bodyguards. In fact, they were so…bodyguard-ish, it was almost comical. Like wannabe Secret Service agents with their dark suits, sunglasses (in here!), and earphones. I checked their waists. They didn’t appear to be carrying weapons, in keeping with Center policy prohibiting firearms. Given the size of some of their hands, their fists could be just as intimidating.

Enclosed in the box formed by the bodyguards were the two ex-NFL football players, or so I presumed. The Black man was tall enough to tower over even the large bodyguards, maybe six foot six. He was slimmer than the others but still solidly built, with broad shoulders. If I stood next to him, I’d probably be staring at his belt buckle. The White man with him was a few inches shorter and at least sixty pounds heavier, but none of it was fat. From the very wide shoulders down to legs like tree trunks, he was solidly, almost massively, built. Both were good looking in the way of strong, fit, successful men who could afford superior grooming and tailoring.

Everyone around paused to gawk as they passed. Meanwhile, the two men stared at their phones, apparently oblivious to the audience. I supposed they were used to crowds going quiet when they approached. Focusing on their screens might be a calculated move to discourage unwanted approaches.

People flowing up and down the aisle on their own business stepped aside to give them room. Dollies and carts were pulled out of the way. One man almost bumped into me as he dodged, but his attention was glued to the passing celebrities.

The group marched by us and into the Pet Palace booth, where they huddled in a corner for a moment while the bodyguards spread out, each taking a position on a side. A third, suited man arrived from the opposite direction, alone, and joined the two players. The group consulted with one of the workmen putting the display together, and I watched them pointing at various features of the columns and walls.

The man who’d almost knocked into me let out an awestruck breath. “That was Norm Charlton. He still holds the Dallas team record for sacks in a season by a linebacker.”

“Which one was that?” I asked. I wanted to start putting names with faces since I’d likely be dealing with them in the near future. I had no idea what the rest of his statement meant.

“The shorter, White dude,” the star-struck man answered. “The other is Ray Becker. Wide Receiver. He’d’ve set the record for catches his last year if he hadn’t messed up a knee.” Star-struck stared at the booth where the two men now appeared displeased with a banner. “I hope they’ll have an autograph session at some point. I’ll be there. Anyway, I’d better get back to work.”

“Autograph session,” I muttered. “Right.”

“It actually would be a good idea,” Pegram said. “Though it might mean lines in front of our booth. We can hand out our sales sheets to people while they’re waiting.”

“Maybe.”

We both watched as a very young man, maybe still a teenager, in a work jumpsuit approached the booth. One of the bodyguards stepped into his path and said, “Sorry. No one on the premises except staff today.”

“But I’d hoped—”

“No.” The guard’s word and glare held so much menace the young man dropped back and turned quickly away.

I watched and sighed silently. They wouldn’t be turning me away that easily, but I wasn’t looking forward to the confrontation. “I’ll have a talk with them and see what I can do,” I told Pegram.

He wished me luck. I braced myself as I walked the few steps to the next booth.

As expected, the minute I set foot on the Pet Palace carpet, one of the hulking security guards stepped in front of me. “No one is allowed to enter now.” A hint of menace laced through the authoritative tone.

I held up my badge. “Heather McNeil, assistant to the director of the Market Center. I need to talk to the people in charge of this booth right away.”

The guard’s eyes narrowed, but he hesitated.

“I’m Market Center staff and I need to talk to the person in charge.” I put more volume and authority into it this time. A momentary lull in the background noise made the words ring surprisingly loud in the relative quiet.

All three of the men consulting in the corner turned toward me. The one I’d been told was Norm Charlton said, “Let her by.”

The guard’s lip curled before he nodded curtly and stepped aside. I approached the group of three men and introduced myself again. Norm Charlton—a glance at his badge confirmed the name—identified himself and waved to the other two men. “Ray Becker,” he said, indicating the very tall Black man, “and this is our company president, Sam Vinson.” Vinson, also Black, though his skin was lighter, was shorter than the other two and less bulky. All three men held out their hands to shake.

Vinson’s handshake was quick and business-like; Becker’s felt strong but controlled; Charlton held on tightly and a little too long. His stare lingered a few seconds on my chest, but he wasn’t looking at my badge. “What can we do for you?” Vinson asked.

“Your guards aren’t going to be good for business, if they turn away everyone who tries to enter the booth,” I remarked.

“Those orders are for today.” Charlton sounded aggravated but I wasn’t sure if my comment or the guards themselves had sparked his irritation.

Vinson threw Charlton a glance that seemed to both warn and commiserate at the same time. “It’s for everyone’s safety while the booth is being constructed, and the show is getting underway. They’ll just be keeping watch tomorrow,” he promised.

“Okay. But that’s not why I’m here.” I explained the problem of the overhangs. The three men accompanied me to the side as I showed them how their booth would interfere with the neighbors’ displays, then suggested the fix I’d come up with.

Vinson’s face tightened in obvious annoyance. “Someone’s complaining?” He stared at the people in the Birds ‘n’ Buddies booth.

“They’re doing you a favor by pointing out the problem now.” I doubted it would mollify him, but I try to keep the peace. He turned the hard glare back to me as I continued. “You are over your allotted area, and we take the boundaries seriously. It should be easier to fix now, before everything is finished, and you have to take things apart again.”

“She’s got a point, Sam,” Charlton said.

Vinson sighed, shook his head, and called over one of the men who’d been working on the booth. “Bring the booth plans,” he added.

The man retrieved the layouts from a table at the side and spread them on a tall box near us.

“How hard would it be to turn those shelves around?” Vinson pointed to the protruding windows and looked at the plans, trying to match the place.

“Probably not too hard,” the builder answered. “Let me look at the brackets.” He departed, leaving an uneasy silence behind. We watched him climb a bit of scaffolding and poke around at one of the faux windows in question.

While we waited, Charlton turned to me with a grin that lit his hazel eyes and showed charming dimples. “Have you worked here long?” he asked.

I hadn’t forgotten the way he’d ogled my chest earlier, but he was being helpful so I could go along with the friendliness now. “Six years,” I answered. “Started as a clerk, doing mostly data entry, then was promoted to assistant to the director.”

“Isn’t that usually more of a clerical job?” Charlton asked. He looked me in the eye, giving the impression of genuine interest.

I wasn’t sure if the display of charm was personal or a general reflex. “Usually, I guess. But the director’s biggest need turned out to be someone to handle all the minor complaints and problems she gets bombarded with, and it seems I’m pretty good at that.”

“Do you ever—?” Charlton’s question was cut off by the return of the builder.

“Not as easy as I hoped,” he reported, “but not as hard as it could be. Good thing you brought it up now, though. Be easier to do it before we put on the caps and hang the rest of the banners.”

“Can you get it done today and still finish the rest?” Ray Becker spoke up for the first time. Despite a distinct Southern drawl, his voice was deep and resonant, adding dramatic weight to the simple request.

The builder scrunched his nose and looked around. “Yeah, I think so. Maybe add half an hour to the work. Let me get one of my guys on it.”

“Thank you,” Charlton said to him, then turned to me. “And thank you, too, for bringing this to our attention.”

I didn’t expect to be thanked; just the opposite, in fact, so I was startled by it. I was also fairly sure the charm was a reflex directed, most likely, at any reasonably attractive woman in the area. Still, I responded to it with a smile of my own. “You’re welcome. Thank you for making my job a little easier.”

Vinson shook his head and said to Charlton, “We need to get the coverage schedule finalized and plan for Friday’s party.” Becker nodded toward the back corner where a small table held a clutter of papers, pens, and two half-empty water bottles. He stared at Charlton until the latter turned to join them at the table. I had an odd impression that they were deliberately steering Charlton away from me.

I gave the Pet Palace a last look as I headed away. I suspected there would be additional problems, and I’d be back before the show was over.

I had no idea then how bad it was going to get.

**************

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Murder crashes the pet products trade show…

The Pet Palace booth is the undisputed crown jewel of the pet products trade show, and its owners, two retired pro football players, bring their own brand of star power to the sale of high-end, luxury gear. When one of them dies at the show, however, he leaves behind jealous competitors, angry suppliers, a line of women he pumped and dumped, and a fiancée he may not even have known about.

Heather McNeil’s job as assistant to the director of the D.C. Market and Commerce Center is mostly about keeping events running smoothly, dealing with disputes, accidents, and conflict. She never signed on for solving murders, but sometimes it’s part of the job, too.

Amid the plethora of cozy canine couture, upscale pet feeding stations, slick kitty litter boxes, and unmentionable lizard foods, Heather has to sort through the human emotions at play and follow the clues to a killer, all while dealing with her own personal heartbreak.

Pre-order ebook here: 

Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FVG552CL
Nook: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/unleashed-for-murder-karen-mccullough/1148502547
Other formats: https://books2read.com/u/bMvkV5