She hands it to Rideout, who removes it from the bag and tosses it on the table.
And while Daniel looks completely puzzled, I recognize it.
And it cinches the case for me too. Daniel has to be the Golden Arrow, because only the Golden Arrow would have this in his possession.
It’s the piece of missing evidence we’ve been looking for.
The journal.
CHAPTER 25
“Well, what do you think?” L has been quiet the entire drive back to my house, allowing me to pore over the copy of the journal pages Matteo gave me, using the map light in his car. It’s the real deal. This is definitely the missing half of the journal from Casey Senior’s painting that we lost track of at San Diego Comic-Con.
Lawrence pulls up to my curb and puts the car in park, letting it idle. Usually I’d chide him for destroying the environment, but I feel like right now he and I need some time to decompress, and the safe little cocoon of his car seems the perfect place.
“It’s definitely your journal.” I hand him the sheets, and he riffles through them, nodding. I note the two pages that we already had copies of from last week. It’s definitely the same journal.
“Do you think I’ll get it back? The whole thing?”
I sigh. “Probably not until after the trial. We’re lucky they gave us copies. Matteo made me swear I’d basically lock them up at night.”
Lawrence frowns, leafing through the pages again. “So, you think that this is all true? Enough to go to trial?”
“How can it not be?” I start to gather up my bag and glance at my phone. Ten o’clock, and I’m beat. I hope Ryan is home and has let Trog out—there’s a light on in the living room, so I’m confident that’s the case. “You saw the cape and the mask. I mean, who else would have this?”
Lawrence props his arm against his window and rubs his eyes. “I mean, I guess it makes sense. He certainly is physically capable.”
I nod. “He’s adequately nerdy, and he’s always interested in the case, which I took to be natural interest, but . . .”
“He might have been keeping tabs on what we knew?”
“Exactly.”
“I feel kinda used, and not in a good and fun way,” Lawrence says.
I laugh feebly. “Well, the only good thing to come of this is that if Daniel is the Golden Arrow, you’re in the clear. He has no ties to Muñez, and you don’t think he’s the same guy you met in the club, right?”
Real worry creases Lawrence’s brow. “I’ve been trying to sort that out as we drive. I guess it’s just a coincidence that I recognize the voice? Or he was pretending to be the Golden Arrow for the reward money. Either way, the journal kind of ties it up, doesn’t it? Only the true GA would have it.”
While he talks, he leafs through the copies, pausing several times to inspect the sketches.
“Hmm,” he says, turning back to a page several times.
“‘Hmm,’ like you see something?”
“‘Hmm,’ like this sketch looks familiar; I’ve seen something like it recently, but I can’t think of where.” He points to an axonometric sketch that looks unlike the other superhero or series-related sketches.
Unease uncoils in my stomach. “Something related to the case? The Golden Arrow?”
L shrugs, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t know. I’m pretty tired. I’ll have to think about it. I think DeWayne drew it, but I don’t know why I’d have seen it recently. Maybe I’m just making stuff up now.”
I nod but can’t help continuing my processing of the evening. “I still have a hard time picturing Daniel doing it, but maybe that’s the whole idea. Be the Peter Parker so no one suspects the Spider-Man. Now we just have to get him to tell us what he knows about the Queen of Hearts.” I start to open my door, then stop. “Actually, it’s funny . . . for a few days I really thought you might be the Golden Arrow. You seem so much more the type.”
Lawrence pauses. “Greedy for a reward and crazy enough to be a vigilante?”
“No, I don’t know. Like you had a stake in the game. You loved Casey Senior. You knew the players. You had access to the journal, access to the case . . . it’s stupid, but I saw your gym shoes, and they matched the description given by one of the two suspects tied up earlier this month. That’s it. It’s not like you have a cape and a mask and a dark personal secret to make reparations for.” I relate briefly what the two boys had told us about the Golden Arrow.
“My shoes.” Lawrence looks either amused or pissed. I’m not sure which.
“I didn’t go through your bag or anything. Okay, yes, I did. I opened it to make sure you didn’t have a costume—a Golden Arrow costume—in there, which you didn’t. It didn’t make any sense anyhow, given you helped chase the Golden Arrow. It was a really weird thought; I’m just glad it turned out to be wrong.”
Lawrence makes some sort of humpf noise and hardly says anything as I get out of the car. He’s staring through my open door, at my porch.
I lean back down. “Are you okay?”
Lawrence jumps like I’ve stuck him. “Yeah, of course. It’s just been a long day.”
I hear that, a yawn appearing unbidden on my lips. “Okay, so tomorrow I guess I’m going to be combing through these journal pages, and then, want to pick me up Monday after my half day in the office? We can look at the pages together and then maybe hang out so I don’t realize how utterly alone I am right now?” I offer puppy dog eyes as extra incentive.
L shakes himself, like he’d drifted off while I was talking, and his eyes snap to mine as if he’s just now realizing I’m still here. “Oh. Yeah. Monday works. I have some hair and makeup tutorials I’d like to try out for Halloween, if you want to come hang. And now that . . . well. Now that my business coach is in custody, I’ll probably need some help with the Halloween project. We can talk about that.”
“Perfect. Love you, L. And please be careful. If Daniel is the Golden Arrow, it means that guy may still be out there, trying to hurt you.”
“I will.” And he means it, I can tell.
He waves as he pulls off. It’s normal enough, but there’s still something off about his behavior. Maybe the thought of a Golden Arrow and a Golden Arrow imposter unsettles him again. Who wouldn’t be off after a day like today? This is certainly a twist I didn’t see coming.
My house is warm and cozy when I enter, and thankfully has the aura of someone else being home. I don’t want to be alone right now for several reasons. I shut the door against the developing chill of the night . . . it’s not hard to believe that fall has finally arrived in California.
“Hello!” I call out, pleased to hear the familiar click of Trog’s little trot as he comes across the kitchen to greet me at the foot of the stairs.
“Hey,” comes Ryan’s voice from the living room. “You’re home late. Anything interesting?” There’s a lack of gaming noise, which is unusual.
Trog graces my face with dozens of corgi kisses before I set him back down and make my way into the living room. Ryan is sitting reading a book. An actual book, not even on his iPad. I eye the curiously silent TV screen and game console. For other folks this would be a cozy homecoming; for me it’s on the verge of The Twilight Zone. “What’cha up to?”
Ryan holds up the book like I’m daft. “I asked you first.”
I sit on the edge of the couch, and Trog dutifully hops up, settling himself in some sort of starfish corgi sprawl on my lap for a belly rub. It’s adorably indecent. Trog has no modesty. I indulge him, and he wiggles and sneezes appreciatively.
“Interesting doesn’t begin to cover my day.” I’m not one hundred percent that I’m allowed to divulge the identity of the suspect in custody so I say cryptically, “There was a pretty big break on the case. They think they have the Golden Arrow in custody.”
Ryan sits up comically fast, like he’s in some sort of play. “What!”
“Yeah, I know. It’s pretty crazy.”
After a beat of silence, Ryan waves his hand in a
forward motion. “Aaaand?”
Trog hops down and heads to the water dish, his back having transferred a sufficient amount of rust and white hair to my clothing. It gives me a moment to consider how to tell Ryan without telling Ryan. “Well, obviously they’re still investigating, but they found some items. Some missing items and a cape and everything at this person’s house. It looks pretty legit.”
A flash of triumph crosses Ryan’s face, replaced immediately by almost comic-level interest. “Really.” He draws out the word.
“Really.” Ryan was there the day we chased Agent Sosa through SDCC; he’s nearly as invested in this case as I am. I share some of his triumph in finally having some answers. Some. We have an identity, but we’re a long way from understanding what the Golden Arrow knows or how it could wrap up this case.
“So, is this the guy from the party? The one Lawrence thought he knew?”
“No, they brought L back to see if he could positively ID the guy, but he said it’s not the same person.”
“But I guess now that they have someone in custody, L can quit searching, right?” He says it like it’s a foregone conclusion, one he’s relieved about.
I shrug, again hedging around what I know about the case. “I guess. L thinks the guy from the party may be trying to get the reward or . . .”
Ryan frowns. “Or . . . .”
“Or I’m worried that it’s someone who used to work for Muñez, pretending to be the Golden Arrow. The current suspect has no ties to Muñez or Sosa at all. No ties to anyone that we can tell. If we have the Golden Arrow in custody, it means that this other person is a player on the chessboard somehow. If it’s someone who wants to hurt L, it could be that they’re using the Golden Arrow costume as a cover to meddle with the case or to hurt the people that could identify them.”
Ryan’s frown deepens. “That’s a pretty brilliant theory. Batshit, but brilliant.” He doesn’t look impressed, though; he looks disappointed.
I guess I feel the same. Feeling like L might still be in danger doesn’t sit well with me either. “Well, we’ll hope that it’s just someone out for the reward money. I wonder if Casey Junior will come to see our suspect and offer him the reward for his story.”
Ryan is silent, which I take to mean he’s not all that interested in what Casey will do with the reward money, so I turn my attention to his book. I raise my eyebrow at him. “The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood?” The white of a library barcode flashes at me—I wasn’t even aware Ryan knew where the library was. Teaches me to pigeonhole my friends.
Ryan glances down at the book. “Research for a new game idea I have.”
I perk up. “Is Genius doing a Robin Hood reboot?”
“No, I pitched another Hooded Falcon project to them; should hear back this week. Which will be good to pay the bills, y’know. But the Robin Hood project is personal.”
“Well, I admire your . . . dedication.” I try to make “dedication” sound like a good thing, and not the “you couldn’t make me read that old book if you tried” I felt.
A ghost of an odd smile flashes across his face before his features return to neutral. Almost carefully neutral. I haven’t checked in with Ryan in a while, and it’s been on my mind. Maybe his projects aren’t going well, or maybe he’s really concerned about finances and he doesn’t want to freak me out.
“Are you doing okay? You seem . . . off.”
Ryan looks at me a moment too long before offering a relaxed smile and leaning back against the couch, opening the book. “I promise, I’m totally fine. Everything is normal and fine.”
I squint at him, and beside me Trog gives a sneeze that I take as equally suspicious. “Okay, well, I’ll leave you to it.”
“Lelani and I were working on my new project tonight,” Ryan calls out as I turn for my room.
I turn back. “Oh?”
“Yeah. I’ll have to show you my sketches for it sometime; I think you’ll like it.” He doesn’t make a move to go get said sketches, so we stare at each other for a beat before he picks his book back up. “Anyhow, you asked where I was earlier, and that’s where I was.”
I’ve been dismissed, and awkwardly at that. What is with my life right now? I decide to lean in instead of flounce, because sometimes we need our friends to see through the fine. “Are you sure you’re okay? Everything okay with you and Lelani?”
“Totally fine. Normal.” Impassive. Rehearsed. Total crock of corgi poop, in my estimation. Anyone who feels the need to add “normal” into the description of their relationship isn’t doing fine. I’m about to press him on it when he turns the tables. “And you? How’s love in the LAPD?”
The silence stretches a moment. A silence that in my head is filled with so much. Daniel. Matteo. Our fight, my feelings, my changing picture of my life . . . that I just can’t seem to encompass them in words. Not long ago, I would have flopped on the couch and divulged my every thought. But tonight, I feel stranded. Alone on an island of my own making. Stuck between who I’m trying to be, who I want to be, who I am, and how isolated I’ve become. Or maybe I’m just too tired. Or my brain doesn’t have enough room, or enough capability, to go through everything again tonight. Whatever the reason, I meet his eyes and parrot back with spot-on mimicry. “Totally fine. Normal.”
It’s on my way to my room, Trog in tow, that I have my pang of sadness over my response. “Hey, Ry?” I don’t even get back to the living room; I just call around the corner.
“Yeah.” It’s not a question; it’s a statement. And he sounds way more exhausted than he had moments ago.
“Let’s pick a time to hang out soon, okay? Just the two of us—we could look at sketches or watch a movie, whatever you want. I miss you.”
It’s quiet so long I don’t think he’s going to answer. But just as I’m going to poke my head around the corner to see if he’s fallen asleep or something, he does. He sounds a million years old, and I get the sense that there’s just as much behind his “fine” as mine.
“Yeah, that sounds good. I miss you too.”
CHAPTER 26
“These are good. Really good.” The Hooded Falcon panels keep me entranced several moments longer, though finally I tear my eyes away and meet the artist’s cool gaze.
“Don’t act so surprised. I told you I could do my job.” There’s the hint of a smile playing about Paige’s mouth, but I admire her ability to deadpan.
The sheets are crisp and fresh, so I lay them carefully back in the folder before turning to lean against the half wall of her workspace. “It’s more than just drawing. You really get the writing. Usually it takes me a few months to get to that point with an artist.”
“Aw shucks, girl power, yay, rah,” Paige says drily, though I note the slight quirky smile still in her expression.
“More like mind meld. I don’t think this has to do with girl power so much as shared vision for the comic world.”
I resist the urge to open the folder back up. The panels were almost exactly what I would have done. And I appreciate that Paige has a slightly edgy freshness about her pen strokes. They breathe new life into the story, where maybe Kyle, Simon, and I have gotten a little stale. Paige’s work is the right mix of edgy and nostalgic. Her hatching, use of the frame . . . something about it reminds me of the original Falcon. It may sound silly to anyone other than another comic writer, but it gives me goose bumps. These little details—things you can’t train into an artist—these pieces of organic vision reignite my love for this comic all over again.
“Um, are you crying?” Paige asks, all sense of quirky smile gone. In its place is true horror.
“No, definitely not,” I say, resisting the urge to dab at my moist eyes and give myself fully away. What is wrong with me? Getting nostalgic and teary at work over a comic that I already work on. “I’m just . . . well, I wanted to say that I love your work, and I can see why you were the best candidate for the job, hands down.”
Paige still seems wary, but a small smile make
s its way onto her lips. “You’re just saying that because you like that I stuck to your script.”
Man, is this girl sharp, and a real ballbuster. I freaking love it. A great big burst of laughter launches itself from my belly—something also uncharacteristic of me. I’m just not used to someone calling me on my stuff, or being right about it. “Fair,” I manage around the fit of coughing I use to cover up my laughter.
A quick check of the room confirms that Kyle, Simon, and Andy all are staring, and all have looks of incredulity on their faces. Given that I’m usually cranky, all business, or, in the past few months, harried . . . I can see where their confusion stems from. Stuck in my ways, pah. Look at me, MG: crying and laughing at work. Nary a prickle in sight. I’m turning over all sorts of new leaves. I’m a whole new tree, practically. But it doesn’t bother me the way I thought it would. My coworkers, other than thinking it’s odd behavior for me, don’t seem to be treating me any differently these days. I still feel like I’m useful and an expert in my field. Really, aside from Casey Junior, no one seems to even note the change. I’ll blame it on Matteo and his tea-drinking, Prius-driving, flower-planting ways. That thought sobers me.
“Okay, well, carry on; thanks for letting me peek at the pages.” I affect an air of breeziness and do my best to walk to my desk like this is completely normal.
Out of habit, I check my phone as I sit down at my desk. I may be a new tree, but I’m still the intermittent master of procrastination. No one has ever asked about it, but I always figure I’d tell them that Reddit and Twitter offer daily fodder for ideas for ridiculous banter between characters and inspiration for story lines, and I’m checking on our presence online. Mostly I just troll for fan-related drama and fan art, but no one has to be the wiser.
As I’m scrolling, a text comes through.
Hate to bail, but my homeless network netted me some info. Going to meet him right now. Might not be back, depending on traffic. Rain check for Tuesday?
The Queen Con (The Golden Arrow Mysteries Book 2) Page 26