Eliot made a face. “I … you suck.”
“You used her name as a password?” Jake smirked. “You guys are so … schmaltzy.”
“I thought it was sweet,” I said. “I don’t use his name for a password, though. I don’t want to be a stereotype.”
“No, you use Solo123,” Eliot shot back. “Yeah. I know how to get on your computer, too. I don’t do it out of respect, though.”
Crud. Now I was going to have to change it. “Well, that’s neither here nor there … .”
“I’ll know the next one is going to be Jabba456, too,” Eliot said.
Son of a … . “We’re getting off course,” I gritted out. “There’s a killer here and we all know it. We’re running out of time to solve this. I didn’t mean to cause a scene, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to leave the convention and not keep interviewing the workers. We don’t have time for that.”
“I could take the passes away,” Eliot threatened.
“You won’t, though,” Jake said. “I hate to admit it because … well, it makes me look weak … but we need her here asking questions. She sparked interest the other day because she asked someone the right question. We need her to do it again.”
Eliot was incensed. “You want to use my girlfriend as bait?”
Jake shook his head. “I want to set her loose on the crowd and watch her like a hawk.”
Eliot relaxed, if only marginally. “I … okay. I want freedom to follow her, though.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Jake said. “She needs to be watched and she’s a handful, so that’s falling on you. I think it’s the best thing for everyone.”
Wait … did I hear them correctly? “Are you really encouraging me to do whatever I want to do?”
“Within reason,” Jake cautioned. “Do what comes naturally … but take a step back if you sense things getting out of hand.”
Oh, wow, and just like that my happy week was back. “Great. When do we start?”
Jake smiled. “You’re on the clock.”
LEXIE and Carly wanted to stay and play, but that’s where Jake put his foot down. It was one thing to watch me be obnoxious. It was quite another to keep an eye on three crazy women – even if they did have a fearless leader.
Jake purchased another funnel cake and loaded them up in Lexie’s car before unleashing me on the unknowing convention populace. But now that I was free to do as I wished I had no idea where to direct my efforts.
More out of curiosity than anything, I headed toward the horror movie section. If I had to work on a Saturday – a job for which I probably wouldn’t get paid unless I came up with something worth writing – I figured I might as well shop while I was at it.
I picked a dark display with a lot of handmade candles – some shaped like skeletons, others like monsters – and kept my ear to the ground as the two guys behind the counter chatted. They wore heavy makeup – seriously, liquid eyeliner should’ve been outlawed decades ago – and seemed oblivious to my presence. I couldn’t be sure, but I had the distinct impression they were gay. No, my ego is not huge and I’m not just thinking it because they refused to check me out. I honestly think that.
“I think it’s weird.”
“What’s weird?”
“They found Kristen’s body days ago, but no one has mentioned it since,” the first guy said. “Why aren’t they giving us updates? How was she killed? Was it an accident?”
I knit my eyebrows as I realized the workers were even more in the dark than the cops on this one. Frankly, that was flabbergasting. “I know how she died,” I offered, drawing attention from the dark minions of … whatever bad horror movie inspired them to do that to their faces.
“You know what we’re talking about?” The second man arched an eyebrow, causing the ring lodged through his pale skin to glint under the muted light. “How do you know what we’re talking about?”
I decided the best way to approach this was brutal honesty. It will work. Trust me. “Because I was eavesdropping,” I replied. “I’m Avery Shaw. I’m a reporter with The Monitor. The cops are coming up empty on this one. That’s why I was listening to you guys and hoping to hear something of interest.”
Instead of being annoyed, the first guy grinned, revealing an adorable dimple. He would’ve been cute if someone hosed him down, made him eat a cheeseburger and removed half of the jewelry from his face. “I like that you just admitted that,” he said. “I’m Damien.”
Right. His mother named him after the bad seed from The Omen and he just happened to end up working in the horror section of a comic book convention. Did he think I was stupid? “Damien?”
“That’s my stage name, but it’s the only one I go by,” he conceded, smirking. “This is Chucky.”
“Ooh, after the doll?” That made sense given the hints of red in the other man’s hair.
“No, my parents named me Charles Anderson Junior.”
“Oh, well, that’s cool, too,” I lied. Seriously, I’m not sure I’ll ever understand convention folk. They’re just as weird as circus folk. Er, at least that’s what I learned from watching that season of American Horror Story set in a circus freak show. Sadly, I have no practical knowledge.
“So, how did she die?” Damien asked.
“What?”
“Kristen,” he prodded. “How did she die? You said you knew.”
“Oh, that,” I said, glancing over my shoulder to see if anyone was looking or listening before continuing. “Someone tried to strangle her and when that didn’t work – or didn’t work fast enough – they stabbed her through the throat.”
Damien’s eyes widened. “For real?”
I nodded. “The cops say it was a hunting knife, but they’re not sure which kind,” I said. “Because you guys are full of horror movie knives, they have a lot to sift through.”
“Wow,” Damien said. “That seems like such a hard way to go. I thought everyone was exaggerating when they said she was murdered. I thought maybe she slipped and fell or something and everyone filled in the other gaps themselves.”
“No, she was murdered,” I said, an idea forming. “My boyfriend is helping with security here and we’re actually the ones who found her.”
“No way,” Chucky said, leaning forward. “For real?”
“For real,” I confirmed. “I didn’t realize what I was looking at when I first saw her. I didn’t realize she was dead. The closer we got, though, well … it was obvious.”
“So you really saw her, huh?” Damien rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t even know what to think about that. Was it … gross?”
No grosser than the overabundance of pasty makeup on his face. “I didn’t look too closely,” I replied. “What can you tell me about her?”
I worried Damien and Chucky would balk at the question, but apparently they expected it.
“She was nice, but kind of shy,” Damien replied. “She got a bad rap around here because people thought she was snooty. She wasn’t snooty. She just didn’t know people and had a hard time talking to strangers. Once you got to know her, she was great.”
“How well did you know her?”
“Well enough that we talked every few days,” Damien replied. “She kept to herself. Unlike most everyone else here, she didn’t have grand visions of moving onward and upward. She wasn’t using this as a stepping stone to a career. This was just a way to make money.”
“Why did she need money?”
“Why does anyone need money?” Chucky challenged. “She wanted her own place and to settle down when she saved up enough and found another job. She was happy to keep her nose out of other people’s business and do the work assigned to her. That’s why we liked her.”
“I would imagine that most everyone who comes here thinks they’re going to be one of the celebrity guests one day,” I said. “You’re saying Kristen wasn’t like that.”
“She wasn’t like that at all,” Damien said. “She didn’t care about being famo
us. She only cared about surviving. She wasn’t even interested in dating or finding a boyfriend until we talked her into it a few months back. She didn’t even get a chance to enjoy it.”
Now we were getting somewhere. “So … she was straight?”
“I see you’ve been talking to the unwashed masses,” Damien said, chuckling. “They all made up stories about Kristen because they didn’t have anything better to do with their time. They didn’t understand her, so they spread gossip.”
“How did Kristen feel about that?”
“It’s human nature to gossip,” Chucky replied. “It’s also human nature to have your feelings hurt when others gossip about you. It’s a vicious circle.”
“I don’t doubt that,” I said. “You said you talked her into getting a boyfriend. You also said she didn’t get a chance to enjoy it. I don’t suppose you can tell me who that boyfriend is, can you?”
Damien and Chucky exchanged a thoughtful look.
“What would you do if I did tell you?” Damien asked finally. “Would you put it in the newspaper?”
“Not until I check it out and confirm he’s a suspect or get a statement from him.” There was no reason to lie. I’m a total pain in the keister when I want to be. I’m also diligent about doing my job the right way. “I’m just looking for a lead. I want to find answers. I feel … responsible … since I helped find her body.”
“And you’re not shining me on, right?”
“I only do that when I need to get myself out of trouble,” I replied. “I’m not in trouble with you, so there’s no need.”
“I like your candor,” Damien said. “Fine. I’ll tell you. It’s a big deal, though. It was supposed to be a secret. The only reason we know is because Kristen confided in us. She swore us to secrecy – not that she’s around to know we broke our oath.”
I was practically salivating. “Who?”
“Chris Doherty.”
That name meant absolutely nothing to me. “Who is Chris Doherty?”
Damien smirked and pointed to a spot behind me. I turned, coming face to face with a huge standee proclaiming “Griswold the Magnificent – The Best Magician in the World” and tried to peer around it.
“Is he behind this display?” I asked, confused.
“No, silly,” Damien said. “He’s the magician.”
“Oh.” I focused on the heavily made-up face looking back at me on the display, the brown eyes practically boring into my soul. There was something familiar about him – and I was hoping it wasn’t just that his image stared back at me from at least three different locations around the convention floor. “And where can I find him?”
24
Twenty-Four
Finding a magician – one who proclaims himself to be magnificent on top of everything else – when you’re in a sea of people dressed as pop culture characters isn’t as easy as it sounds. No, really.
I cut my way through the crowd, being careful to protect my sore knee as I narrowed my eyes and scanned the hordes. A Saturday at a comic book convention is packed. I was lost in thought when I felt someone move up behind me. I knew it was Eliot before his hand landed on my hip.
“Oh, you should be careful,” I intoned. “If my boyfriend sees you doing that he’ll rip your head off.”
“You are a … sick … individual,” Eliot muttered, although he didn’t sound particularly perturbed. “What did the Goth guys tell you?”
“Quite a bit actually,” I replied, keeping up my search as I leaned back into Eliot. I enjoyed the feeling of his muscled chest pressing against my shoulders. I’m such a girl when he’s around sometimes. I can’t explain it. “They knew Kristen better than anyone else I’ve come across.”
“Is that a good thing or bad thing?”
“I think it’s good,” I replied. “It might simply be another dead end, though.”
“Tell me who you’re looking for and I’ll help.”
“I need Griswold the Magnificent.”
“The magician?”
I nodded. “Apparently he was Kristen’s boyfriend.”
“That is a good lead,” Eliot said. “He has his own dressing room at the back of the building. He doesn’t enjoy mingling with non-magical people between sets. I’m not making it up. He told me so.”
“You’ve talked to him?” I glanced over my shoulder, intrigued. “What do you think of him?”
“I think he’s a tool.”
“Of course he’s a tool,” I said, snickering. “He’s a magician. All magicians are tools. They’re like clowns, only possibly creepier.”
“How do you figure that? Nothing is scarier than a clown.”
“Yes, but clowns are overt,” I said. “Magicians are something else.”
“Yes, annoying.”
“I can’t argue with that,” I said. “He has brown eyes, though. I saw him in the display they have set up by those candles. Oh, and I want some of those candles before I go. They’re cool.”
“Brown eyes? Like the guy who attacked you in the parking lot?”
“Exactly like that.”
“I have brown eyes, too,” Eliot pointed out. “I think half the population has brown eyes. I don’t think you can go on that to out a killer.”
“I’m not outing a killer,” I countered. “I’m looking for the guy who went after me in the parking lot. Lexie and Carly think I’m overreacting and that he wasn’t really going after me and I misconstrued his intentions.”
“He tackled you.”
“That’s what I said!”
“He had a knife.”
“I explained that, too,” I said. “The problem is, maybe they’re right and he was drunk or something. Maybe he stumbled into me. He was dressed as Jason Voorhees. That character carries a knife.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not buying that,” Eliot said. “In fact, the more I think about Jake using you as bait, the more I don’t like it. I think you should stick with me for a few hours until I can go home. The real estate agent called and has another house for us to look at. I want to do that, mostly because she doesn’t think it will be on the market very long. It sounds perfect for us.”
“No red bricks?”
“Orange bricks.”
“Pool?”
“Pool.”
“Finished basement?”
“Finished basement.”
I pursed my lips as I considered. “If you agree to let me talk to the magician I’ll be happy to go the house with you.”
“That easy?”
“I want the candles, too.”
Eliot chuckled in my ear as he gave me a hug from behind. “Deal. I’m going to be in the hallway when you talk to Griswold, though. If you get in trouble … .”
“I’ll kick him where it hurts and call for you.”
“There’s been a lot of action where it hurts for people since this convention came to town,” Eliot said. “You’ve hit someone with a purse and grabbed another guy’s little friend and twisted it. Is there something you want to tell me?”
“I have great reflexes.”
“Good answer,” Eliot said, patting my rear end before pushing me forward. “I won’t be far. Do not push this guy to the point of no return. I have a feeling something bad will happen if you do.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I met him,” Eliot replied. “He doesn’t have much of a sense of humor.”
“Sometimes I think that goes for all of the men in my life.”
Eliot made a face. “How many men are we talking about?”
“I would have to make a list to be sure.”
“And you’re sick and annoying today,” Eliot said, shaking his head. “Be careful. If you get hurt we’re going to have something else to fight about later.”
“I’m always careful.”
“Be more careful than that.”
GRISWOLD the Magnificent was a tool. Eliot was clearly right. He didn’t even greet me – or yell about privacy – when I opened his dressi
ng room door and stepped inside. I decided to approach him as if I was magnificent, too.
“I need fresh blueberries,” Griswold said, not looking up from his iPad as he sat haphazardly in a chair playing Candy Crush. “I also need a bottle of water and what this place is offering is completely unacceptable. I need flat water, not sparkling. It can’t be Aquafina, though. I need something exotic.”
I ran my tongue over my teeth as I regarded the back of his greasy head. Some people think the grunge look is hot. It’s only hot when cleanliness is involved and the filth is faked. Actual filth – and it smelled real to me – isn’t remotely a turn-on.
Instead of answering, I trudged toward the sink and grabbed one of the plastic cups from the stack on the counter. I filled it with tap water and handed it to Griswold, the movement enough to finally drag the man’s attention away from the iPad and to me.
“What’s that?”
“It’s totally exotic,” I replied. “It’s Detroit drinking water. Make sure to share your new find with all your friends on Facebook.”
Griswold scowled. “Are you trying to be funny?”
“I don’t generally have to try. People find me naturally funny. It’s not always on purpose.”
“I’m not drinking that swill,” Griswold said, knocking my hand away and causing the cup to fly across the room, dumping the contents on the linoleum floor. “Pick that up.”
I had no idea who he thought he was talking to, but I wasn’t here to play maid. Oh, and just for the record, I like playing games but that’s never going to be one of them. Now, if I could get Eliot to dress up in a sexy maid's costume and follow me around picking up after me that might be another story. “I’m Avery Shaw.”
“Well, Avery Shaw, if you want to keep your job you’ll clean up that mess and fetch me some blueberries and exotic water.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
I remained rooted to my spot for a moment, tilting my head to the side as I studied him. He didn’t recognize me. That much was certain. There was no flash of recognition when he locked gazes with me. There was no spark of fear. He didn’t have clue who I was.
Bylines & Skylines (An Avery Shaw Mystery Book 9) Page 21