Murder at the Wizard-Hero Con

by Sandi Scott

  “Bring some of those cookies you’re always baking. And bring that pretty sister of yours, too.”

  Georgie nodded before turning and heading toward Aleta. It took the police a lot longer than they’d expected to clear the place out. But after an hour, everyone was gone except for the police, Stan, Dell, Lucy, and the two men who had helped with the body, plus a few others Georgie didn’t speak to, Aleta, and herself.

  Dell had been on his phone every time Georgie had looked in his direction. He was as pale as a ghost, and still his mouth wouldn’t stop running. Lucy had gotten some of the color back in her cheeks as she talked with the guys who had found the body with her. They looked as if they might have been enjoying the whole incident. It was exciting; Georgie couldn’t deny them that. And people who spend their time in such deep fantasy worlds probably really appreciated something this exhilarating when it happened in real life. They would certainly have some stories to tell when they got home.

  “Miss. Would you come here, please? I’ve got some questions for you,” Stan said loudly, pointing at Georgie so everyone looked at her. She rolled her eyes and got up from the chair she’d stolen from behind one of the T-shirt booths. Her mouth stretched in a wide yawn.

  “Where is Aleta?” Georgie was glad Stan opted to open with a simple question.

  “Ladies room.” Her tone matched his exactly.

  “Would you like me to have one of the squads take you both home?”

  “Home? No way.” Georgie felt touched by Stan’s concern, but she knew he really just wanted her away from the crime scene. “Aleta and I are staying for the whole event. We’ve got a hotel room at The Blackstone.”

  “The Blackstone?” Stan grumbled. “I did a prostitution bust there about eight months ago.”

  “Very funny.”

  “It’s true. It didn’t make the papers because I didn’t catch anyone famous with their pants down.” He shrugged. “Okay, do you want to tell me what you saw?”

  Georgie spilled everything she could remember about the bearded man she had seen. How he had been tossed out by security and then somehow gotten back in, throwing in how she had last seen the man running off in the direction of the back of the convention center floor for good measure.

  “I didn’t follow him or even go back there to see where he could have escaped to. I could have caught him, Stan. Or at least seen where he went.”

  “You could have gotten yourself hurt. Or even killed. Don’t beat yourself up because you didn’t pull some kind of Charlie’s Angels stunt,” Stan said as he wrote in his leather-bound pocket notepad. “If you insist on staying here for the rest of the event, you and Aleta may as well go get some sleep. I’m going to be here all night combing the scene for clues. I just know that the powers that be aren’t going to cancel the rest of the show and give a refund just because of a teeny-tiny murder.”

  “Do you want me to stay with you? I could bring you some coffee.”

  “Thanks, but no. However, I might like to catch forty winks at The Blackstone rather than going all the way home. Do you think you can help your favorite ex-husband out?”

  “Of course she can,” Aleta said. “How are you, Stan?” She gave her ex-brother-in-law a peck on the cheek.

  “No rest for the wicked, Aleta,” he replied.

  “A truer statement has never been uttered,” Georgie said with a smirk. “Since Aleta has said okay, you can take a nap in our room, once we are dressed and gone for the day. The event doors open to us around eight-thirty.”

  “I’ll probably still be here. You can pass me your key when I see you,” Stan said.

  “No. I’ll leave it at the front desk. For Detective Stan Toon.”

  “All right. Good night, ladies. And be careful.”

  Georgie linked her arm through Aleta’s as they walked outside into the cool city air. The sounds of honking horns, rushing traffic, distant elevated trains rumbling by, jets overhead, and the chatter of people walking along the sidewalk was comforting.

  “What a night,” Aleta said.

  “Phil seemed nice.”

  “He was. He was actually very nice. I’m not saying there was an instant love connection there, but he was really charming.”

  “I’m glad you had a nice time until the gruesome murder happened,” Georgie said. “I was having a nice time too and almost bought this fantastic rubber coat, but . . .” Her voice trailed away, and she shuddered, remembering the mess that she had seen on the floor.

  “I’m glad he’s dead. It couldn’t have happened to a better person,” said a young, male voice from behind Georgie. The Kaye sisters simultaneously slowed their stride to listen.

  “He might have been a jerk, but he didn’t deserve to die.” A girl’s voice answered the speaker.

  “Are you kidding? It is a well-known fact that Cole Ness never had a unique thought in his head. He stole every idea for every superhero he ever created.”

  “Yeah, they said the same thing about Herman Crea, and no one ever proved anything. All those superheroes from the 1960s were his ideas,” the girl replied.

  “Yeah, and Cole Ness had access to just as many big-time lawyers who could totally beat up any little guy who might be trying to get justice. The law is only for the people who can afford it.” The young man sounded belligerent.

  “Still. Murder? Really?”

  “I guess that’s for the people who can’t afford a good lawyer.” The young people chuckled as they hurried past Georgie and Aleta, their conversation already changed to food and what to eat.

  “That’s what the bearded man said before security threw him out.” Aleta squeezed her sister’s hand. “I hate to say it, but if Cole Ness stole his ideas and there was any way it could actually be proved, I think a jury would go easy on a guy like that.”

  “Maybe. But jealousy can be a disease worse than cancer. Cole Ness was not a gracious celebrity. He wasn’t nice to his fans. He didn’t seem very nice to his employees, and according to Lucy, he wasn’t nice to women. Perhaps, that was some kind of defense mechanism.” Georgie adjusted her hat making the tentacles quiver.

  “Okay, Doc. Go on.”

  “If he had really stolen someone else’s idea and was getting rich and famous over it, he couldn’t afford to get close to anyone. Or else he might have slipped up and given himself away,” Georgie mused. “Being mean and abusive would keep any prying eyes from seeing he was a fraud.”

  “It’s possible,” Aleta agreed.

  “It is also possible space aliens gave him these stories, too, and he was really a reptilian bent on world domination. I’m just letting some thoughts take shape that probably aren’t all that solid. But what those two people said is something to consider.”

  “How was he killed?” Aleta was curious. “Did you find out?”

  “Blunt object to his head a couple of dozen times. Mosey said it had to be either a very strong man or a very angry woman,” Georgie said with a chuckle.

  “Leave it to Mosey to put it down in black and white,” Aleta chuckled too.

  “He wants you to stop by the police station some time soon. And he wants us to bring some cookies,” Georgie said.

  “Mosey’s a sweetheart.”

  “He said to make sure I brought my pretty sister to the station next time.” Georgie looked sideways at her twin and elbowed her in the ribs.

  “Georgie, I don’t have what it takes to date a police officer.”

  “What are you talking about? Have what it takes? You’ve got what it takes, and you’ve got it in spades,” Georgie said looking at her sister’s backside and making her laugh.

  “That isn’t what I mean. It’s a dangerous job. That late-night knock on the door. I couldn’t do it. I don’t have it in me to lose someone else.”

  “I know what you mean, Aleta. Losing William was hard enough.”

  “He would have loved this convention. Even the murder part.” Aleta smiled and looked out at Lake Michigan.

  “He did have
a way of finding the silver lining, didn’t he?” Georgie had fond memories of her sister’s husband as well.

  “Even at the end, he . . .”

  Georgie saw tears in her sister’s eyes, and it brought tears to her own eyes.

  “I liked him the best, Georgie. That’s why it’s nice to talk to people like Phil and Luke, but they aren’t William. They just don’t measure up.” Aleta wiped a tear that had managed to escape her bottom lashes and trickle down her cheek.

  “I understand. I’m sorry if I’ve seemed pushy about you meeting someone new. It’s rather rude of me to do so since . . .”

  “I’d agree. It is rather rude of you,” Aleta teased.

  “Like I was saying,” Georgie pinched her lips together, “it’s rather rude of me since I’m not making any attempt to replace Stan. I can’t even imagine being anything more than friends with anyone else. Not in a million years.”

  Georgie grinned. It wasn’t sad and it wasn’t defeated. It was a content grin as if the cards had flown up and already fallen where they may.

  “Are you ever going to tell Stan that?” Aleta asked as the pair walked quickly across the street when the Don’t Walk sign began to blink and count away the seconds until the light changed.

  “I think so. But not today.” Georgie pointed to the hotel and the restaurant on the ground level of The Blackstone. “What do you say? Should we get something to eat?”

  “Yes. I didn’t get a chance to have anything but dessert.” Aleta rubbed her stomach. “And then I’d say we get to bed right away because it’s going to be wild over there tomorrow.”

  “You think so?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “I’m not sure,” Georgie mused as she pulled the restaurant door open. “Cole Ness wasn’t a very nice fellow. I’ll be interested to see what the response is from the other vendors and the fans.”

  “It ought to be interesting,” Aleta said.

  Chapter 7

  Georgie was wearing gray leggings with a red T-shirt that had a Jolly Roger on it, while a long black duster blouse covered any unsightly bulges or bubbles. She slipped on a bejeweled eye patch and red lipstick before knocking on the bathroom door to hurry Aleta up.

  “The convention is going to be over by the time you are ready,” Georgie whined.

  “It’s not my fault you went through some kind of reconstruction on your face that took forty-five minutes,” Aleta shouted through the door. “Go without me. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Where?”

  “At the food court where we had coffee.”

  “Fine.” Georgie grabbed her purse, a black studded satchel that matched her pirate motif. “I’ll see you there.” She left the hotel room and hurried to the elevator with renewed excitement about what Stan might have discovered over the course of the night.

  However, when Georgie arrived at the convention center, she stopped dead in her tracks after flashing her badge to get early access to the vendor area. It was a scene she hadn’t expected. Inside, her mind was screaming for her to run, but her legs wouldn’t move. It was as if they’d suddenly turned to hefty, thick slabs of stone that were bolted to the ground.

  Adrenalin rushed through her system as she frantically looked for a way out. But just as she decided running down the nearest aisle was her best bet, she heard her name called.

  “Georgie!” It was Stan, waving as he came walking toward her. Of course, it wasn’t Stan who was giving her palpitations. Even if he did look just as good, if not better, with his five o’clock shadow and droopy eyes. It wasn’t him Georgie was freaking out over. It was who was walking with him.

  “Hi, Stan.” She waved awkwardly.

  “Good morning, Georgie” Stan said, rubbing his eyes. “You remember Maggie, I’m sure.”

  “Maggie Hoffentop. Yes, I do.” Georgie’s stomach folded over on itself, making her thankful she hadn’t eaten anything yet. Just the thought of an elephant ear made her queasy. It didn’t seem that long ago that Stan had introduced Maggie to her for the first time an investigation at an apple orchard. It was thorny then, and it was twice as bad now. Maggie had made it very clear she was after Stan for the long haul. Whether or not her being here meant they were seeing each other, Georgie didn’t know. Maggie was the precinct crime scene photographer. It would be hard for Stan to avoid her all together. So, here she was in her boring size eight blue jeans and tight-fitting T-shirt. Was that the tiniest sliver of jealousy creeping into her pinky toe, Georgie wondered?

  “Hi, Georgie. I should have known you’d be here,” Maggie said through her smile. “Seems wherever Stan has to go, you’re there.” The laugh that accompanied the last comment sounded forced to Georgie.

  Georgie straightened her back and looked at Maggie while tilting her head to the right. It seemed like Maggie was about as happy to see Georgie as she would have been to get a scorching case of diarrhea.

  “Uh, Georgie has been nice enough to let me stay in her room at the hotel . . . uh . . . What hotel was that again?” Stan interrupted making sure Georgie didn’t have a chance to say anything more.

  “The Blackstone,” she replied without taking her eyes off Maggie.

  “That’s one way to keep him close by,” Maggie snapped. “If you need him, of course.”

  “Okay, Maggie,” Stan said.

  “Maggie, if you have something to get off your chest, I’m all ears.” Georgie knew she was way too old to pick any kind of physical fight. But she had the overwhelming desire to grab a handful of Maggie’s hair and just yank with all her might.

  “I’m just teasing you, Georgie.” She held up her camera and then looked at Stan. “I’ll get these developed right away.”

  “You do that, Maggie,” Stan said without a hint of amusement in his voice. That was the same voice he’d use when one of their three kids had crossed the line. Catherine had lied about doing her chores one Saturday morning. They were simple tasks like making her bed and brushing her teeth and making sure her clothes from last night were in the hamper. Simple. But as any parent knows, children from around the age of six until they move out insist on doing things the hard way.

  “Catherine, how come your chores aren’t done?” Georgie had a clear memory of Stan asking their daughter in that same tone of voice. “You told me they were.”

  Funny, Georgie mused internally—Maggie looked at Stan with the same worried, regretful expression Catherine had all those years ago.

  Maggie left without saying another word. Stan stepped up closer to Georgie and put his hands in the back pockets of his faded jeans, looking uncomfortable. “Sorry about that.”

  “It’s okay,” Georgie lied, doing her best to look as if it really was. “Did you find out anything more over the course of the night?”

  “There were a few bits of trace evidence that we’ll have sent over to the lab. But we’ve got no fingerprints, no weapon, and a list of possible suspects as long as the list of people attending this event here today.”

  “You’re kidding,” Georgie gasped. “Cole Ness was a jerk, but I had no idea of the magnitude of his . . . jerkiness.”

  “Yeah.” Stan yawned.

  “I’m so rude. Here.” She reached in her satchel and pulled out the room key card. After telling Stan the room number and making sure he knew he could make himself at home, she brushed his hair away from his face. “Get some rest.”

  “I will. Are you sleeping in the bed closest to the window?”

  “How did you know?”

  “I know you, Georgie,” he said and winked.

  “Yeah, well, I know you too. I know exactly how many pairs of underwear I have brought, so don’t get any ideas.”

  Stan chuckled as he took the key and stuffed it in his front pocket. He gave her a wink and headed off with a few of the uniformed police who had stayed with him through the night.

  Before Georgie went to the food court to get coffee and elephant ears for Aleta and herself, she thought she’d swing past the Nuclear Wo
lf space. During the night, workers at the convention center had erected plywood walls around the hallway where the body had been found. There was police tape along all sides of it. Of course, it would take a little more than plywood and police tape to keep Georgie from doing some investigating herself.

  Acting as if inspection of the plywood was her responsibility, Georgie nonchalantly looked for a way behind the barrier. A small space about two feet wide where the plywood wall ended and the back wall began was open for her to squeeze through. It was a snug fit, but she managed after inhaling deeply and holding her breath.

  There were a number of yellow cards with numbers on them in the hallway. There were tape measurements and a big pool of dried blood that resembled brown paint.

  There was nothing for Georgie to gain from looking at this except the realization that Mosey was right. Whoever had done this had been really angry. Before she could peek further inside and get a closer look, she heard the sound of men talking and the familiar sound of police-issue shoes quickly approaching.

  Taking a deep breath as if she were about to swim to the bottom of the pool, Georgie squeezed back out the way she came. But before she could slip away undetected, she ran right into another woman who apparently wanted to see what was behind the plywood as well. She looked familiar, so Georgie paused to look at her more closely.

  “Excuse me,” the woman stuttered as she started to back away from Georgie. She was dressed like one of the female heroines from the latest samurai/kung fu television shows that Georgie had seen previews for on television. She too had a vendor’s badge allowing her the same early access as Georgie.

  “No. Excuse me,” Georgie said. “Your name is Tabitha, right?”

  “Do I know you?” Tabitha had a very different attitude from the sniveling, blubbering girl Georgie had seen last night following Cole Ness like a lost puppy. Although her eyes did look red as if she’d been crying.

  “I saw you last night.” Georgie smiled kindly. “I heard someone call your name, Tabitha.”