The twentysomething's key missed the lock on the first two attempts. With his hand shaking, he glanced over his shoulder again at the police scattered around the motel's parking lot and walkways. That he'd been stopped before entering the motel had nearly caused him to freak out. However, he'd been granted permission to head toward his room after explaining that he'd been gone all day and was located on the ground floor, away from the crime scene. Only Deke Deason's nod to the police, stating he was a paying guest, got him through. The young man thanked whatever god for the lucky break, as Mrs. Deason had spotted him talking to Oswald Cozart on several occasions. Finally, he managed to control his hand enough to slide the key into its proper slot.
Dashing inside the room, the young man didn't even turn on the light before rushing over to peer out the window from behind the curtain. Scanning the parking lot near the entrance, he thought he spotted one of the people who'd tailed him back to the motel. Running his hand through his sandy-brown hair, he muttered a panicked curse while wondering what to do aloud.
"Hello, Carter."
"Ahh!" Carter squealed, jumping into the air.
Frightened, his hand slammed through the curtain to hit the window. The move stopped him from falling to the floor, leading him to spin around in a desperate attempt to reach the door again. However, the closet door facing him suddenly burst open, revealing a hulking figure in the lightly shadowed room. The dark mass showed surprisingly swiftness as it blocked his exit.
"No, no, please don't kill me!"
The light switch flicking on momentarily blinded Carter before the blurry brute responded in a shocked voice.
"Whoa! Dude, we aren't going to kill you."
"No, but you won't be going anywhere anytime soon," a second voice declared, causing Carter to turn toward it as his vision cleared.
Sitting on a chair against the far wall with a folder in his hand was a familiar-looking scrawny teen with eyeglasses. With recognition, the sandy-brown-haired man risked a glance back at the brute and saw the other teen who'd complicated their plans greatly of late.
"You two!"
"You see, Jake. We have been noticed," the bespectacled teen announced with a smartass grin. "So tell me, Carter Hawley, is the scam over with Oswald Cozart's death?"
"You killed him?"
"Don't be stupid," Phineas Farris snapped impatiently. "Frankly, we seemed to have just missed the murder. I take it that the--"
"Murder?!" Hawley gasped.
"Yes, clearly you saw them wheel Cozart out of Room 217 in the body bag. Or did you presume that Cozart killed someone else?" Phinn inquired.
"No, no, no, I knew he was dead...but murdered?"
"Well, I'm not CSI, but I think getting roughed up before a bullet creates a hole in your chest is more likely a murder than an accidental shooting," the smart-alec teen responded, causing his partner to shake his head. "Oh, yes, I'm sorry for your loss. Now, I take it that The Factfinders found you at Tarr Manor?"
"Y-You're working together?"
"That's the second moronic assumption. Let's avoid a third, shall we?"
"I have to get out of here!" Hawley announced, rushing over to his dresser and yanking out clothes.
"Nah, you're not leaving until we get some answers," Jacob Magnum stated. He moved to gently stop the packing while he directed Hawley to sit on the bed's edge.
"Not to mention that police might be interested in why a guest wants to leave right this minute. Sure, I bet a few guests are creeped out and would like to check out. However, a few simple questions directed toward the owners might reveal that you registered on the same day as their new corpse. And knowing Anita Deason, I'm confident she's observed the two of you chatting," Phinn guessed correctly.
With defeat setting in, Hawley's shoulders sagged, making it appear like his whole body did on the bed. Staring at the carpeted floor for fifteen long seconds, he finally asked what they wanted to know.
"We've pieced together most of the con or scam, but I'd like to hear a proper explanation," Phinn prodded.
Sighing, Hawley looked up to face Phineas.
"It's not a scam or con--not in the usual sense. Oswald craves fame and fortune. Hey, don't give me that look. Those are his exact words. He told me that within five minutes of our first meeting."
"Who's he ripping off? The city, the Tarrs?" Jake questioned, causing Phinn to motion for him to be quiet.
"No, that's not what he planned," Hawley replied, briefly turning to the stocky detective. "Everything is a guerrilla-style reality show."
"Damn it," Phinn mumbled, learning his least favorite theory to be true.
"No, it's true," Hawley insisted, misunderstanding the curse. "Oswald could never get permission to show a true treasure hunt of this magnitude or pay enough actors. So, he figured he'd get the permissions afterward."
"Th-That's crazy," Jake commented.
"It's not entirely far-fetched," Phinn admitted.
"Yeah, a lot of reality shows are made on spec. Oswald hoped to either sell this show once it was finished or use the footage to land a production deal for a new show," Hawley revealed.
"This is way too elaborate for a chance at a TV show," Jake argued.
"Which is what he wanted. He had a deal last year for an online-based show in Eastern Europe before it was shut down due to several contestants getting severely injured," Hawley recounted. "The injuries didn't seem to bother Oz, only drove him to make another attempt."
"How did they get hurt?" Jake asked.
"I don't know. I only met him after he returned to Jersey. I'm a graduate student in history. Cozart learned about me somehow. It turned out that we shared a mutual interest in old pirate legends. He offered me a chance to make some money and have fun."
"And you took him up on the offer," Phinn stated.
"Hey, school is fucking expensive, kid. I needed a job anyway while I finish my dissertation," Hawley argued.
