The Frame-Up (The Golden Arrow Mysteries Book 1)

by Meghan Scott Molin

  And now . . . well, I’ve probably tipped my hand to the White Rabbit too. If Matteo tells his team that he thinks I have the journals, the double agent will leak the information. The White Rabbit will then be looking for the journals, and for me, to get rid of us both. I need to get ahead of this thing. “How can I beat the Golden Arrow at this game when I’ve been two steps behind this whole time?”

  Lawrence taps his chin. “If it were me, I’d put the journals in plain sight. Somewhere someone wouldn’t expect. Not in a safe, but inside a boring book or something.”

  Think, think, think, MG. What was in the office? What would Casey Junior miss for thirty years? In the comic book, stuff was hidden behind a painting, in a wall safe. We saw the wall safe. It’s the most obvious place to look. And it was behind a painting. Something shifts in my mind, just like something shifted inside the frame when we moved it. At the time, I thought it was a broken frame, but now I’m wondering if Casey Senior’s spirit is reaching out yet again and delivering the story line.

  Matteo said many of the paintings were being shipped to the charity auction at the San Diego Comic-Con. This is the connection between the two story lines. The printing press. The comic book, the painting, the wall safe. I guarantee the Golden Arrow is going to be at that auction, and so are we. In fact, I’m going to make sure the Golden Arrow is there, and the White Rabbit too. We’re going to catch them and end this thing once and for all.

  “I have a plan.”

  Lawrence nods as if he’s been expecting it. “I’ll call in my crew. You’re not doing this alone.”

  I need to find that painting and whatever Casey Senior hid inside, and lucky for me, I’m already going to compete in the Miss Her Galaxy fashion competition. Perfect alibi.

  CHAPTER 24

  “You’re sure that they’ll find us?” I’m scanning the crowd outside the convention center, barely able to keep my tired eyes open. I’ve been up past midnight the last few nights putting the finishing touches on the six feet of sequined glory I’ve created for Miss Her Galaxy. My Band-Aided fingers tell the cautionary tale of sewing tulle while narcoleptic.

  The crush of zany characters takes my breath away, costumes from every corner of geekdom. In our plain clothes, we’re pretty much mosquitoes among a butterfly gathering: boring and invisible to everyone else.

  “Girl, you worry too much. It’s like gaydar. Queens can find each other anywhere.”

  Once L agreed to my plan, he insisted his drag family were the perfect ones to pull this off. And look fabulous doing it. I glance to the side, where Ryan is still getting a selfie with an amazingly adapted steampunk Legend of Zelda character. We weren’t in line twenty minutes before he put our fangirling to shame. For all that he argued about coming, Ryan has already filled half his phone storage with pictures.

  “Like a kid in a candy shop,” Lawrence confirms, looking over my shoulder. The line shuffles forward, and we dutifully follow. I’m on pins and needles for so many reasons, I kind of feel like throwing up now that I’m forced to be mostly still in line for our badges. Kinda like that time I had three butterbeers, then went on the Flight of the Hippogriff at the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. Barf city.

  “What did you end up telling Ryan? You didn’t tell him . . . all of it, did you?” I eye Lawrence. I also can’t help but go back to my last conversation with Matteo, where he all but told me he suspected Ryan of being the Golden Arrow. I almost convinced him—and myself—that it’s impossible. Yet . . . Ryan and I haven’t talked about our conversation at the gala either. Ryan has basically been MIA since the gala, though I saw him at work a few times. I’ve also been busy: watching the news, preparing for my fashion show, brainstorming with L, and actively avoiding Matteo while I’m meddling in his investigation . . . Well, I didn’t have the time to track Ryan down to talk. In fact, this is already the most I’ve seen of Ryan in a week.

  Lawrence makes a sound of disapproval in the back of his throat. “I said I wouldn’t, didn’t I? I just had him tell his girlfriend that our drag family does a mean after-party show. She pulled a few strings, and now the official Homage to Todrick Hall Disney Queens will be featured at the Genius Comics After-Party. Oh! There they are!” Lawrence raises his arm and waves.

  “I still can’t believe they found you badges. I bought mine in March.”

  “It pays to be me sometimes,” Lawrence answers with a sassy hip toss. Even in his dark denim jeans and Captain America tee—whom L insists is a closet queen because, girl, have you seen his hair?—Lawrence manages to look perfectly put together and ever-so-slightly sultry.

  “Okay, so you remember our main job today is to check out the auction items and get ready for the show.” I’m chewing my nails to the quick now. This all has to go perfectly. Everything I’ve set up. Everything I’ve gambled and guessed on. All of my hopes wrapped up in the fashion design competition that brought me here. Everything.

  “Recon. Check.” Lawrence gives me a salute.

  The line moves forward again, and I hold out my ID to the guy at the gate. No big deal. MG Martin. Undercover vigilante-hero-apprehender and hopeful fashion maven. Lawrence and Ryan follow, and soon we’re standing inside the arched glass–ceilinged lobby of the convention center.

  Lawrence looks around, using his height to his advantage. “Now all we’re missing is my family.”

  “Darling!” Lawrence is swooped up in a hug from behind by a tall black queen whom I instantly peg as Lawrence’s infamous drag mother. She’s tall, thinner than L, and her close-cropped curls are dyed a platinum blonde.

  I catch sight of another figure behind Shwanda before turning my attention to Lawrence. I guess it’s probably one of L’s drag family, though I don’t recognize him.

  L looks positively adoring introducing his Mother. “MG, Ryan, I’d like you to meet Shwanda.”

  “Shwanda Knuts,” she says, extending a regal hand first to Ryan then to me. Rings glitter on every finger, bracelets jangle at her wrists, and a huge gold chain rests against the neck of her black eighties jumpsuit. Shwanda may not be in full costume, makeup, or character, but there’s no missing that this queen is full-time fierce. Man or woman, always Shwanda.

  “I can’t believe we haven’t met yet—either of you—after hearing so much about you, Ms. Knuts,” I gush, trying to take in the spectacularness that is the drag mama.

  “Just Shwanda, if you please. Like Cher. And this is Vince, or Amy Blondonis.” Shwanda motions to an extremely tall and angular white guy, who I’m ashamed to admit I thought was a person waiting for another group. He’s got intensely pale-blue eyes and is tattooed from head to toe. He looks nothing like a queen in a white T-shirt, baggy jeans, and a hat turned backward. Unlike the bubbly Shwanda, Vince is silent. He’s intense. I can see why Lawrence invited him for a crime-solving mission.

  I paste a cheery smile on my face even though I’ve literally never been this nervous in my life. It’s not just the show that might make my new career. It’s Matteo and the message I left him. It’s the fact that I’m banking on Rideout being a leak. It’s that I’ve based all of this on a rattle in a frame in a dead guy’s office. “Okay, so are we ready to look at the exhibition hall?”

  “I was born ready, darling.” Shwanda kisses my cheek before bustling off toward the doors to the trade show.

  “She’s really something,” I say to Lawrence as we trail behind. “But what about Vince?”

  “Oh, that’s just Vince. He’s really quiet as a man, but he has the best singing voice as a queen. He’s our secret weapon for the after-party.”

  As much as I’d like to keep our group together, it proves considerably difficult, bordering on impossible. We’re pushed and pulled apart by the crowd, and two kids dressed as minions literally run between us. Then there’s the draw of the shopping. The second Lawrence sets sights on the clothing alley, he squeals, “Ooo! Vintage bustiers!” and dashes off to the left.

  I turn to Ryan. “Well, so much for—” But Rya
n’s already wandering away toward the large game banners that hang over the middle of the exhibition space. Likewise, Shwanda and Vince have dispersed. And I’m left all alone, swept along by the churning crowd, surrounded by life-size pink Wookiees, enough Star Trek uniforms to fill the Enterprise, hobbits, gremlins, and sexy gaming characters I don’t recognize by name. The sights and sounds bombard my senses, the huge banners flying overhead catnip for every sort of nerd delight. A convincing droid walks behind me, and I hear her say to her companion, “You know, next year I think I’m going to do crossover cosplay. Maybe R2-D2 Wonder Woman.”

  I close my eyes, hold out my hands, take a deep breath, and let it out. For everything else that’s going on . . . these are my people. I feel like I’ve come home.

  I make my way through the clothing vendors to the heart of the exhibition hall, where I can see the Genius banner among some of the largest displayed. The superhero heart of the con beats large and strong this year. I fight the urge to stop and take pictures every four steps; people have taken Genius characters and created costumes that any designer would covet. As much as I’m anxious about the case, habit takes over. Cons for me are about costumes. And fabric. I feel that familiar pull, and I decide that it’s okay to give in for just a little while. The auction isn’t until tomorrow.

  As I approach the sprawling Genius booth itself, a Red Cardinal costume literally stops me in my tracks. The Red Cardinal has her own series, but she’s best known as the on-again–off-again love interest of the Hooded Falcon. This costume is beyond gorgeous—layers of red feathers create a striking one-shoulder gown bodice and gradually give way to pinned and tucked layers of bloodred ruched silk cut through with silvery, gauzy fabric. I might be drooling, and I am definitely stopping traffic.

  “I love your dress,” I can’t help myself saying.

  I’m absolutely mesmerized by the creation she’s wearing, and I’m not the only one. All around her people are taking pictures. She’s essentially holding court.

  “Thank you.” She smiles, and I move my fangirling upward from her gorgeous dress to the intricate way her glossy black hair piles around a jeweled circlet, complete with a bejeweled cardinal. Then I see her face. I take a step back, muffling an oath. Of course it would be perfect Lelani, ex-fiancée of the guy I may or may not be falling in love with.

  “Oh, MG. Good to see you. What are you up to?” Andy appears behind Lelani, dressed in dark jeans and a black T-shirt that says “Genius Comics” across the front. I need to get my head back in the game of solving a thirty-year-old murder case.

  “I was just telling Lelani how wonderful her costume is.” I brush my hands on my dark skinny jeans and face Andy. “I didn’t know you were working the booth this year. I thought it was mostly marketing people.”

  “I volunteered.” It’s Andy’s turn to turn red, accentuated by his light-colored surfer curls. “You know, to help our company since now I’m . . .” His face pinkens as he trails off. Now that he’s an executive. “I wanted to be here in case Lelani had questions or can’t answer a fan since I’ve worked at Genius forever.” Andy tries to act like he hasn’t been staring at her ample cleavage, but hell, who wouldn’t stare at Lelani? She’s like a Pacific Island princess in that dress.

  “I should get going,” I say to them both.

  Lelani waves, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “I’m looking forward to seeing your work in the Her Galaxy show. It’s my favorite event. And you’ll be at the charity auction tomorrow, right?”

  Behind us, someone calls for Lelani from the main Genius booth. I can’t see who through the piles of clothes and toys and stands of comic books spilling into the aisleway.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Lelani says before turning and walking back to the booth in a cloud of red silk and feathers.

  “Wow,” I say, marveling at the train of the dress, which has hand-stitched feathers attached.

  “Yeah,” Andy agrees, his tone dreamy.

  I cut him a glance. “I was talking about the dress.”

  A pause. “Yeah. Me too.”

  I debate about telling Andy that Ryan and Lelani are an item, but I’m not feeling that friendly toward Andy yet. “Come on, let’s go back to the booth. I need information about the auction.” I steer him between Captain Genius T-shirts and a stack of Justice League action figure sets. I need to find out where the auction items are being kept. That is Genius inside information.

  I follow Andy into the main part of the booth where there are other costumed Genius characters posing with fans. Captain Genius is particularly popular this year since a movie just released a few months ago. The line to take pictures with him stretches into the aisle. Beyond that, a few of our popular characters mingle, including the new Hooded Falcon in his garish multicolored armorlike gear. Lelani returns to her line, fans waiting to take pictures with her.

  “Hey, Tej.” I grab a schedule off the back table and scan it until I find the auction set at 6:00 p.m. tomorrow. It’s going to be tight to get there from the fashion show in enough time. A light turns on in my head. That’s the perfect excuse. And the truth. “I want to come to the auction tomorrow. I’m hoping to get something for my personal collection. But I have the fashion show.”

  Tej nods. He’s the only one of four people working the Genius booth whom I recognize. I feel a pang of nostalgia. Even though I worked hard to get to the point where I can enjoy cons instead of work them, I miss the camaraderie. I do not miss the requisite XXL black T-shirt emblazoned with “Genius Comics” they have to wear.

  “I was hoping I could see the stuff that’s getting sold. In case I need to have someone bid for me.”

  “Oh yeah, no problem.” Tej pushes his thick-rimmed glasses up his nose.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, there’s this really handy catalog . . .” His voice is muffled as he digs under the back table. “Ah. Here it is.” He hands me a three-ring binder with pages of pictures and descriptions in it.

  “Oh.” I try to look pleased. “Yay. Perfect. Thanks, Tej.” Inside, my stomach sinks. I really need to inspect the items themselves. I stand at the back table for a stretch thumbing through the binder. First editions, action figures, set pieces from the first TV adaptation—there really are some interesting items being sold, but I’m looking for something specific. The painting with the frame that went clunk. I hand the binder back to Tej.

  “So what ballroom is it in? You know, so I can get there after my show?”

  Tej points toward a far wall. “I think it’s over there. Andy helped them set up yesterday. He would know. Oh hey, that kid is messing with those toys again. Little bastards.” Tej bolts to the front of the booth, where someone is perilously close to toppling a stack of figurine boxes.

  I glance at the schedule and note the ballroom number. Wading across the sea of people, I make my way over to the bank of doors on the other side of the hall. “One-oh-two, one-oh-three . . .” Crap. Standing in front of the door to ballroom 103 is a uniformed security guard. I think he’s meant to look like he’s casually placed there, watching the con, but I know better. And I’m going to need a way to get around him. I head to room 102 and jiggle the handle. Locked.

  “And just what do you think you’re doing?” a voice comes from behind me.

  Busted. I whirl to find a smirking Lawrence.

  I gasp, hand over my heart. “You scared the bejesus out of me.”

  “Well, you’re not going to get anywhere looking as guilty as you do.”

  “Thanks for the pro tip,” I mutter.

  “What did you find out?”

  “The auction goods aren’t at the Genius booth like I hoped. They already set up the auction in ballroom 103, which has a guard. So I’m going to get into this one and try to get to 103 from inside.”

  “Nope. Not going to work.”

  “Why on earth not?”

  Lawrence shifts some bags in his hands. He’s been busy shopping already. “Because, like I said, you look
too guilty. Best way to do this is straight on.”

  He digs in his bags and produces a thick pair of black lensless frames.

  I try to look merely confused instead of annoyed as hell, which is how I feel. “Clark Kent glasses? I’m wearing my contacts today, and I don’t see how this will get us past a guard.”

  He shrugs and, without asking permission, pulls out a purple pashmina and wraps it around my shoulders. “If we have to try getting in another way, it will be harder to determine you’re the same person. We’ll just switch your costume . . . Oh, that damn hair.” He glances up at the recognizable shock of blue. Rummaging around in the bag, he produces a too-big black top hat, which he puts on my head in a pushed-back manner.

  “I look ridiculous.”

  “It’s Comic-Con. You look downright normal.”

  Touché. I roll my eyes at him, square my shoulders, and march up to the guard. He eyes me as I approach.

  “Hello,” I say in my best businesslike manner. “Andy sent me over to check one of the auction items.” I reach under the pashmina and pull out my Genius lanyard displaying my picture ID.

  The guard shifts on his feet. “I’m not supposed to let anyone in.”

  “And you’re doing a fine job.” Jerk. I smile. Time to unleash the Force. My “these aren’t the droids you’re looking for” tactic. “It’s okay. I can come back later. Or I could go get Lelani to talk to you. Would that work? Or Edward Casey. He’s the one who wants me to check to make sure one of the items wasn’t damaged.” I’m inventing wildly at this point and decide to add humor. “I could go get a teacher’s note from him if you need.”

  The guard hesitates.