“Look, I’m sorry to bother you when you’re getting ready for an event,” I started, but she wasn’t having it.
“What are you doing? What the hell are you up to?”
“Excuse me?”
“Pretty coincidental,” she snapped, “that you keep asking and asking about data breaches.”
I gripped the steering wheel. “What happened? Why is that a coincidence?”
She laughed, though nothing was funny. “Because my laptop was stolen from my hotel room, early this morning. Everything was on that computer, literally everything.”
The traffic suddenly began to move, and the Tercel guy hopped back into his vehicle and squealed away. “Customer info?”
“Yes, everything. My speech for today, all of our financials, all of the company’s data, social media logins. We’ve gotten those under control now but not before they already did some damage.”
I was driving almost thirty miles an hour before the long line of taillights in front of me lit up red along the wide curve around the ghost of the Crew stadium and I had to slam on my own brakes. “What do you mean, damage?”
Her anger no longer seemed directed at me. “They posted something, um, it doesn’t even make any sense. Let me find it.” I heard her tap on her phone’s screen. “There’s this women’s wellness expo at the Ohio State Fair grounds? They posted that I’m going to be there—which isn’t even true. Fuck, this already has a few thousand retweets. You know what, I remember this event. The organizer was really pushy, asking us to sponsor it. What if this is, like, payback? For not sponsoring their stupid event?”
She kept talking, but I was no longer listening, just staring at the cars in front of me.
Zervos had been right about one thing—the Athanaeum was safe, far too safe for Creedle to be able to try anything. Constance herself was likely untouchable. But her enthusiastic supporters weren’t, and they were all about to show up at a small, badly run event that probably had zero security.
“That’s not what this is, Constance,” I said, and I pulled a sharp right and drove over the triangle of grass that separated the freeway from the Hudson exit ramp.
CHAPTER 35
Peter Novotny beat me to the fairgrounds—he lived in Linden, just on the other side of 71, but even so, it had taken him ten minutes to make it a few blocks. “How many cars do you think this can fit?”
We were standing in the long parking lot that stretched behind the Celeste Center, which was almost full already. Ten rows by at least the length of a football field. “A lot. There are a lot of people here. You wait here for Kez. I’m going inside.”
As I jogged toward the building, the entrance of which was on the opposite side of the parking lot and facing the front of a massive brick structure aptly called the Bricker Building, I glanced at Seventeenth Avenue behind me and saw cars backed up all the way to the top of the exit ramp from the freeway.
People were going to keep coming.
The doors to the Celeste Center were festooned with cheery pink and purple balloons and an upbeat ticket taker who informed me that it would cost ten dollars to get into the expo.
“Here, keep the change,” I said as I thrust a twenty at her, craning my neck to get a look at the scene inside.
But the young woman caught my arm. “I need to stamp your hand so you can get back in if you have to go outside.”
I swallowed my irritation and let her ink a purple flower onto the back of my hand and then tried to get past her.
“Your admission gets you this tote bag, which was donated by the Wexner Medical Center.”
I waved her off. “It’s okay, I don’t need it.”
“Oh, but you do! There are so many good freebies here, plus a raffle ticket inside…”
Why was the world like this? I let her finish the spiel while trying to see what was through the double doors behind her. The Celeste Center, which I knew I’d been in lots of times for different events, had a chameleonlike quality. I saw lots of pink and purple and green and heard a meditative tinkling sound from somewhere.
And voices, lots of voices.
After assuring her that I would participate fully in the myriad activities at my disposal, I finally escaped her and made my way into the room.
It was much too crowded. The type of jam-packed space that made you want to stick close to the walls or grab on to the person you were with so you didn’t lose sight of them in the melee. Exhibitor tables formed a giant U-shape that terminated in a small stage, where a woman in a voluminous skirt was leading a group of giggling young women in a dreamy sort of dance. The outer ring of tables appeared to be occupied by legit services—health screenings, therapists, yoga studios, cooking demos—while the middle of the giant room featured people hawking dubious nutritional supplements, seven-day cleanses, silent retreats, copper bracelets to purify the blood, cosmetic surgery.
And everywhere that wasn’t already occupied by those things were attendees with their tote bags and raffle tickets, spirits high because they all thought they were soon going to hear Constance Archer-Nash speak.
The white-painted cinder block walls of the entryway flickered purple from the decorative lights along the floor, and I noticed a sign posted there that said, MAXIMUM OCCUPANCY FOR THIS FACILITY SHALL NOT EXCEED 10,377.
I went back to the woman with the stamp, who was continuing to serve a long line of guests.
“I think you have to stop letting people in,” I said, pointing over her head at the sign FIRE CODE.
“Oh no, we’ve been keeping track,” she said, and offered me a manual counter.
It said 293. “Yeah, I don’t think this is right.”
The woman in front of us, hand outstretched for a stamp, said, “When is Constance going to get here?”
I touched the stamper’s shoulder. “Who is in charge? It’s an emergency.”
* * *
The on-site coordinator for the event was a lady named Mave Darcy and she had the whole look—headset, smart watch, a tablet strapped to one hand and a walkie-talkie clipped to her belt—and the first thing she said to me was that she was calling security. “I know it’s crowded but honestly, you can’t just run around telling people they’re violating the fire code.”
It was a bit of a relief to hear that there was security. “You very well might be.”
“No, with all these tables, we definitely have fewer people than the fire code capacity.”
“How do you know there isn’t a different fire code for events with tables?”
That stumped her for a second, but she regained her composure and spoke into the walkie-talkie. “Bill,” she said, “over.”
Nothing happened.
Mave pressed the button a few more times. “Bill, I need you. Over.” She looked at me. “I don’t know why he isn’t answering. Wait here.”
Someone touched the small of my back and I whirled around, my hand flying to the gun at my hip. But it was just Kez, looking on edge. “There are a fuck-ton of people in here. What are we going to do?”
I shook my head. I truly didn’t know.
“Roxane?”
I heard Shelby’s voice from behind me and the muscles of my core tightened.
She was there with Miriam, not for Constance Archer-Nash, but because Miriam’s roommate was doing manicures in the “spa corner.” She waggled her nails—neon yellow—at me and said, “I’m sure he could hook you up.”
I wanted to tell Shelby to get as far away from this place as she could, but I also knew she wouldn’t do it. And the more eyes we had until the police got here, the better. I said, “I need your help. Both of you.”
* * *
Andrew walked in a few minutes after I sent out my SOS text. “We were at Lowe’s on Hudson,” he said, “so that worked out.”
“We?”
He jerked a thumb behind him at my oldest brother, and I groaned. “Why’d you bring him?”
“We were in his truck. It was either that or not come.”
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Matt glowered at me from within his beard. “Great to see you too, sis.”
I made a quick round of introductions among my motley crew and explained the situation. We divided the room into sections based on the rows that spanned the center. “Since almost everybody here is a woman, if you see any guys, let me know. There’s allegedly a security person or people somewhere here though I have yet to see them. If you find such a person, grab them. Anything that seems weird or suspicious, keep eyes on them and let me know.”
“I have a question,” Shelby said. “It might be a stupid question.”
“There are no stupid questions.”
“Why don’t we just, like, pull the fire alarm? So everyone goes outside?”
Kez cackled. “That is a stupid question.”
“You are such an asshole. Shelby, it’s not a stupid question. But that could actually make things worse in a giant crowd like this.”
“Oh.” She blushed bright red even in the faintly purple light.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” Matt said. “Isn’t this more his territory than a bunch of randos?”
“He’ll be here soon.” As I said it, I hoped it was true.
* * *
We split up, a six-way group audio call set up in FaceTime. Matt didn’t have an iPhone and Novotny didn’t have a phone at all, so I put him with Shelby and gave Matt the task of wandering around looking like he was up to no good in the hope of attracting someone’s notice, whether it was the security team or Creedle himself. The Celeste Center had continued to fill up during our planning session, such as it was, but at some point, the staff came to their senses and stopped letting new people in; as a result, a crowd was forming outside the glass doors on the front of the building. As one person left, one person was allowed in.
So the crowd was never going to get any smaller.
I pushed and shoved through my row of the exhibitors’ tables, scanning faces. Happy faces—the turnout was beyond amazing from their point of view. I pushed up my sleeves as the temperature in the crowded room climbed up and up.
In my ear, Kez said, “Maybe they weren’t here yet, and now they can’t get in. Like maybe the plan was just too good.”
I didn’t respond, just kept walking and watching. The room was noisy with happy voices, the plastic friction of credit cards being stuck into chip readers, the crinkle of paper bags.
Near the end of the row, a girl in a pair of those sweatpants with PINK written across the butt appeared to be arguing with one of the exhibitors. “I’m telling you, it charged me twice, look, right here.”
She waved her phone around. Behind the table was a blond woman in a purple polo shirt. Something about her was vaguely familiar. “I’m so sorry, but could I take down your number and we can discuss it later? There are so many people waiting…”
I kept walking but turned back when I saw the wares that Polo Shirt was peddling: green succulents in little cement planters.
* * *
I tugged some of my hair in front of my face in case Not-Kyla extracted herself from her argument, and I grabbed one of the planters off the table. Sure enough, the modern Bloom logo was printed on a flag that was stuck in the soil.
“Plants,” I said into the phone. “They’re selling succulents.” I turned away from the table so that I could speak more freely. “They have a table—”
“There are succulents everywhere,” Shelby said. “Over in the last row by the food stalls, they have tables set up and they all have centerpieces.”
The six of us on the line all let out a sigh.
Shelby added, “But they’re actually just plants. Not, like, plant-bombs.”
Then Novotny came on the line. “Just plants, dirt, and tiny decorative rocks. I dumped one out in the garbage.”
Not-Kyla was still arguing with Pink over the double charge and hadn’t noticed me. I walked away and pretended to look at the chakra candles for sale at the stand next to the plants. “Purple polo shirts,” I added. “Look for purple polo shirts. I don’t know why they’d wear uniforms to go enact a secret plan, but there she is, so.”
Kez said, “Are these people suicidal?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Then maybe it’s a good sign that they’re in here. Whatever’s going to happen might not be inside the building as long as they’re here.”
That was a chilling thought, especially with the line of people snaking around the building.
Mave was still stomping around with her walkie-talkie, and when she saw me lingering near the chakra candles she stopped with her hands on her hips. “I told you to wait right there.”
“Did you ever find your security people?” I said hopefully.
“Not yet. But what are you doing? I can tell you’re not going to buy a chakra candle.”
The person behind the table had been trying to make eye contact with me while I was standing there but now just gave up. I led Mave away from the table, my eyes still on Not-Kyla. “Who’s behind this event?”
“Well, we have many generous donors—”
“Right, right, but who is in charge in charge? Not that I don’t respect your authority.”
Her eyes narrowed at me. “Well, Ms. Spinnaker is outside with Channel Four right now, if you must know.”
“Of fucking course,” I muttered. I had half wondered if Gail Spinnaker would be here, so it made perfect sense that the whole event was her brainchild. She was a former client of mine, and one of the few I’d ever fired—usually I just let them go ahead and do that to me. But Gail had hired me back in January to find out who was producing counterfeit athletic leggings under her successful brand name. It turned out that no one was, and actually she was simply trying to save face after a bad marketing move.
“Well?” Mave demanded, expectant.
“Well, what?”
“I asked you what the heck you think is going on?”
“Oh, um, how many security people do you have again?”
“We had three, but then Bill called some other guys in. I’m not sure how many.”
“Do they have a break room or something?”
“Bill had everything set up in the office, up in the front. But he’s not in there now.”
“And where did you say Gail was?”
“Outside by the Bricker Building entrance, I think?”
I left her there by the chakra candles before she noticed that while I hadn’t answered any of her questions, she had answered several of mine.
“Kez, you seeing anything where you are?”
“There’s a chick selling concealed-carry purses, you want I should get you one?”
Damsel in Defense was apparently everywhere. “When have you ever seen me carry a purse?”
“Nothing else to see over here.”
“Come over to the northeast corner and take over for me.”
When Kez approached the Bloom table, she nodded at me and resumed watch.
I paused at a booth selling bejeweled earbuds with a built-in mic and bought a pair to free up my hands. I waved off the offer of a gift bag and plugged my new purchase into my phone and stuck the phone in my pocket.
I headed through the dense crowd over toward the main entrance. I could no longer see the woman with the stamp or the admission table with its stacks of tote bags. But I could see potential hazards, everywhere. The drop ceiling with its fiberboard panels, so easily moved out of the way to reveal who knew what. The stairs leading up to the mezzanine and its two-thousand-some permanent seats. As I pushed my way through the throngs of attendees and into the office, my forehead beaded in cold sweat.
The office, through a dingy door to the right of the entrance, was empty.
An elbow-height counter offered a stack of papers—a floor plan of the Celeste Center with the rows of tables sketched in. I flipped through five identical copies. I grabbed a highlighter off the desk and quickly drew a bold circle around the area of the Bloom table on all five and left one on the desk, taking
the others with me just in case.
In my ear, Andrew said, “Two polo shirts with a dolly just came in from the loading dock. It looks like more plants.”
“Going where?”
“Towards the north side of the building.”
That was where the Bloom table was. Kez said, “I see them. They’re redoing the display. They have the same hairdo and everything, Christ.”
“Andrew, where did you see the loading docks?”
“Next to the big stage. Three o’clock.”
The languid dance lesson was still happening up on the stage. I went through the doorway just to the right and down a long cement hallway with a low ceiling and pale yellow light. Noise echoed through the enclosure from all directions—the cacophony behind me, plus more voices from somewhere on the loading dock. I stopped when I reached a cinder block doorway and peered around the corner and saw two men in lime-green EVENT STAFF shirts wringing their hands over a mess of torn cardboard, dirt, and rocks.
I stepped forward out of the doorway. “What happened?”
The taller of the two guys startled and said, “It was an accident. I don’t know what happened.”
“Who are you?” the other guy said.
“I’m the event auditor,” I announced. “Did you see two women in polo shirts back here a minute ago?”
The tall guy nodded. “We were just trying to help them unload. Their van was the wrong height for the ramp, though.”
I nudged the debris with a toe, noticing scraps of green in the rubble. “Where were they unloading from?”
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