"Let's start at the VizaSoft booth," Chase decided.
I nodded, following him as he threaded through the masses toward the escalators. With the crowds, it took us what felt like forever to navigate to the back of the main hall. Along the way, I could see that security was much more present than it had been the first day of the con—uniformed guards making their presence known as they surveyed the crowds at the end of every aisle. I figured the beefed up protection was supposed to make us feel more comfortable, but instead it was having the opposite effect on me—making me feel antsy, like a killer was walking among us somewhere.
That feeling was only amplified as we reached the abandoned VizaSoft booth. It had been roped off with yellow crime scene tape, and a waist-high barricade of metal gates had been erected around it. It might have been my imagination, but it seemed like convention goers were giving it a wide berth, averting their eyes as if not wanting to be reminded that something awful had happened there.
Chase pulled out this phone and took a few pictures from various angles, but there really wasn't much to be seen. All the action had been the day of the murder, and now it just looked sad and abandoned.
"Hartley?" said a voice behind me.
I turned and spotted a Pokémon coming toward me. It took me a minute to realize I knew the face encased in the yellow Pikachu outfit. "Ellen," I said as she approached us.
"Nice look," she told me. "And love that!" she said, turning to Sam.
"Thanks. An oldie but a goodie."
Ellen nodded to the VizaSoft display. "So sad, right?" She shook her head. "I halfway hoped that I'd come in today and the display would be up, the line would be long, and Simon would be alive." I could see her starting to tear up behind her glasses.
"It's such a tragedy," Sam agreed, putting a hand on Ellen's paw.
Ellen sniffed then glanced at Chase, who was getting a closeup photo of the life-sized image of Sophia as Athena on the side of the booth. "What are you guys doing?"
"Taking pictures. For the school paper."
Ellen nodded. "Right. I read your story this morning." She glanced at Chase. "Are the police any closer to knowing who killed Connor?"
"I don't know," I told her honestly. "But we're working on a couple of theories."
"Oh?" She gave me her full attention. "Like what?"
I quickly gave her an abbreviated version of our theory about Connor's manager.
"Wow," Ellen said when I was done. Her brown eyes were big and round behind her glasses. "You really think he would have murdered Connor?"
"Well, someone did," Chase said, pointing out the obvious.
"You were here the day Connor died," I noted. "You didn't happen to see Connor's manager, did you?"
Ellen scrunched up her face. "What does he look like?"
Great question. I had no idea.
"He's older than Connor," Chase jumped in. "And he would have been arguing with him."
"Sorry." She shook her head. "The line was pretty long. I was a ways away from the booth."
"Did you see anyone approach the booth while you were here?" Sam asked.
"Just a couple VizaSoft employees. And that blonde." She nodded toward the poster. "Connor's girlfriend. The booth wasn't open yet, so everyone else was waiting in line."
"You think someone farther up the line might have seen them?" Chase asked. "Maybe overheard what Pruit and Connor were saying?"
Ellen shrugged her gigantic foam shoulders. "I dunno. I guess. I mean, it was a really long line."
"Did you get to see Connor at all?" Sam asked.
"Only when he came out to address the crowd." She looked past us to the empty booth. "He thanked everyone for coming and said he was excited to hear what we thought of Athena's Quest. Then he signed a couple of autographs. I wanted to get one, but I didn't want to lose my spot in line. I wish I had now." Her eyes looked watery again.
"Did you see Connor talk to anyone else?" Sam asked.
Ellen looked off to an area behind us, probably to where Connor stood when she last spotted him. "No. He just came out that one time then he ducked back inside where I guess he was setting up the game for us all to try out." She turned to me. "I wonder if they'll even release it now."
"I'm sure they will," Chase said. "With all this publicity, it's gonna sell tons of copies now."
My stomach twisted at the morbid irony, but I let it go as Ellen's face perked up.
"I hope so," she said. "It would be a real legacy to him. They've got a big memorial display going over at the Peak Games booth."
"Is Phoebe Lyons here?" I asked, my eyes scanning the rows of booths, wondering exactly where the Peak Games one sat.
Ellen scrunched up her nose again. "Who?"
"She was Connor's partner when he was at Peak," Chase explained.
"Oh," Ellen said, the name still lost on her.
"Brown hair, wears red glasses, kinda on the short side. Nose ring," Sam said, describing the woman we'd met the day before.
Ellen nodded. "Right. I remember seeing her. I mean, I'm not sure if she's here today, but I know she was at the con before it closed."
I spun on her. "Wait—did you say before it closed?"
Ellen nodded. "Yeah."
"Like, the day Connor died?" I asked, my eyes pinging meaningfully to Sam. "You're sure?"
Ellen nodded. "Yeah. Short, nose ring, red glasses. She was right over there when Connor was signing autographs." Ellen pointed to the far end of the VizaSoft booth. "I remember because I thought she looked antsy to meet Connor. Like she might try to cut the line or something." She paused, her gaze going to mine. "Why?"
Because Phoebe Lyons had told us she wasn't at the convention.
Which meant she'd totally lied to us.
CHAPTER EIGHT
After extracting from Ellen exactly where the Peak Games booth was, the three of us made a beeline for it, finding it manned by Clipboards and the receptionist with pigtails from the day before. They were both wearing Peak Games T-shirts and looked bored and put out at having to work on a long weekend. They had a stack of brochures in front of them with info about their most popular games, and behind them I could see a couple of gaming chairs set up in front of monitors where convention goers were sampling the goddess series games. A small line had formed, but it was a far cry from what we'd seen at the VizaSoft booth before Connor's death.
"Hi," I said as we approached. "Remember us? We applied for the intern positions yesterday?"
Clipboards went from Sam to Chase before coming back to me. "Sure." He nodded and gave a shrug of his slim shoulders. "Thanks for stopping by. You can jump in line and try out any of the goddess games."
"Actually, we were wondering if Ms. Lyons is here?" I glanced behind him, trying to see farther into the booth.
Clipboards frowned. "She hasn't made any decision about interns yet. You'll be notified if you've gotten a position, and we'll post the complete list of interns on our Facebook page."
"Right." I nodded, looking uncertainly at Sam. "I, uh, just…"
"She just thought of something she should have told Ms. Lyons during the interview," Sam jumped in, saving me. "Just today. Something super valid to the position."
He looked skeptical. In his defense, he had seen my application.
"You guys could leave a message for her?" Pigtails offered.
"So, she's not here at the con today?" Sam asked.
The two exchanged a look. Probably wondering how much to tell the overeager interns. On the one hand, even I had to admit, we had a sort of stalker vibe right now. But on the other, the sooner Peak took on interns, the sooner Clipboards and Pigtails could pawn weekend work off on them.
A thought that must have occurred to Clipboards as he finally said, "She's over at the Marriot taking private meetings until after lunch. You could try back then."
"Thanks!" I said, giving him a big smile.
Even though there was no way I was waiting until after lunch.
* * *
>
The San Jose Marriott was located on South Market Street, just a hop, skip, and a jump over a couple of homeless guys from the convention center. Which made it a convenient place for out-of-town convention goers to stay or for local companies to rent meeting rooms for making those behind-the-scenes deals with vendors, distributors, and merchandisers.
We entered the lobby and were immediately enveloped in cool air conditioning and a soft flowery scent. A dull mechanical hum filled the air, along with hushed tones that somehow made me think of a library. We crossed the polished hardwood floor to a pair of mid-century modern looking check-in desks, made of wood and stone with lots of curved edges and stylish pretension. They stood just to the right of a floor-to-ceiling art piece done in 3D ridges and swirls in stark white. It was pretty, in an abstract way, but it looked sharp enough to puncture skin if you got too close. We skirted around it and approached the clerk at the closest desk.
His suit looked starched and his light hair was sleeked back too sharply, making me think he'd gone a little too heavy with the gel that morning. He looked up and smiled, causing little lines to crinkle the skin at the corners of his eyes. "Welcome to the San Jose Marriott. How may I help you?"
"Hi," Chase said, taking the lead this time. "We're looking for Phoebe Lyons. Could you tell us where we could find her?"
"Is she a guest here?" the man asked, pleasant smile still in place.
Chase looked to me. I shrugged. Clipboards hadn't been that specific. "Uh, she's conducting corporate meetings."
"Oh?" The man's eyebrows rose as he looked from one to the other of us, taking in Chase's disembodied horse head T-shirt, Sailor Moon, and my grubby street look.
"We're interns," Sam jumped in quickly. "Working at the convention next door."
"Right." He smiled again, but it was slightly less pleasant.
"Uh, anyway, can you tell us which room Phoebe might be in?" I asked.
But he shook his sleek head, his hair not moving an inch. "Sorry. We can't give out that kind of information. Our guests have an expectation of privacy, you know."
"Oh." I heard the disappointment in my own voice. "Thanks anyway," I mumbled as we stepped away.
Chase nudged me in the arm and pointed across the lobby to a conversation area, where some low, modern looking chairs and stone tables sat.
"Let's hang out here a bit," he suggested.
"Why?" Sam asked, following us.
"The guy at the Peak booth said she had meetings until after lunch," Chase said. "She'll be heading back to the con then. So, we'll just wait until she does."
"And ambush her!" Sam said, a light in her eyes.
"And talk to her," I decided. That sounded a lot less likely to get us thrown out of the Marriott. I could still see the clerk eyeing us warily.
Sam shrugged and sat on one of the black chairs. I sank down beside her with a squeak of stiff leather. Chase took one across from us, looking almost too tall for it as he crossed one ankle over his knee.
Sam pulled out her phone and almost immediately resumed her text conversation with Kyle. I was about to pull my own out and browse some funny memes to pass the time, when it buzzed from my pocket.
I extracted it, seeing an incoming call from Mom lighting my screen. I hesitated a moment, glancing around the hushed lobby. But I knew not picking up could likely inspire her to send out a search party, so I swiped to take the call and answered in a quiet voice.
"Mom?" I said, the rise of a question in my voice.
"Where are you?" she demanded.
I froze, feeling my stomach clench as my eyes whipped around me. "Uh, at the convention?" There was that questioning lift again.
"Are you sure?" she pressed.
For a moment I feared she'd installed some sort of GPS tracking on my phone, but then she added, "Because David has been looking for you and hasn't seen you all day."
David. Detective Raley.
"I've been at the con," I reassured her. Which was true. I had been at the con. I technically wasn't there now, but the less I technically lied, the better.
"Is Sam with you?" she asked, some of the urgency in her voice starting to fade.
"Yes." I nodded emphatically, even though I knew she couldn't see me. "Chase is too."
"The boy from the school paper?" Mom clarified. She'd met him once when he'd been my date to the homecoming dance—purely for professional reasons and not in a romantic capacity. I think. Probably. But I'd strategically not mentioned him much since then, as I didn't want her to get the wrong impression. Especially since I wasn't quite sure yet myself what the right impression would be.
"Yeah, that's him," I said, standing and taking my conversation to the relative privacy of the other side of the room. I paused in front of the poky-looking art piece. "I told you, we're working on a story about the convention."
"You know, I don't feel like I know anything about him."
"Who?"
"Chase. Your guy."
"Mom! He's a guy. Not my guy," I said, keeping my voice down so the guy in question didn't hear me. "Why would you want to know stuff about him?"
"Well, you spend a lot of time with him."
"For the paper," I clarified.
"He seems nice."
"I guess so…" I hedged, not sure where she was going with this.
"You should invite him over for dinner."
"What?" I choked on the word. "No. I don't think that's a good idea."
"Why not?"
So many reasons. But I settled on "Chase isn't really a meet-the-parents kind of guy."
"Well why not?" Mom asked again, and I could hear a little note of defensiveness in her voice. "Your mother happens to be very hip."
I rolled my eyes at the dangerous artwork. "The very fact you used the word hip contradicts that statement, Mom."
"Tonight."
"What tonight?"
"You should invite him over to dinner tonight."
"No." I shook my head, a little voice inside screaming Danger, Danger, abort phone call! "I mean, don't you think that's a little short notice? He's a really busy guy. He probably already has plans."
He'd better have plans.
"Ask anyway," Mom persisted.
"I'm sure he'll say no. Like I said, he's super busy with…stuff."
"I'm making veggie loaf and mac and cheese."
Considering Mom's version of mac and cheese had no actual macaroni nor any cheese in it, that was not winning her the argument.
"I think maybe you're making a bigger deal out of my friendship with Chase than it really is," I told her.
"Come on, Hartley," she said, her tone going from defensive to pleading. "It will be fun. David will be here."
"Again?" I asked, unable to keep the note of annoyance from my voice.
"Yes, again. What? I thought you liked him?"
"What on earth could have possibly given you that idea?"
"He likes you," she said, trying to convince me.
I highly doubted that. I was pretty sure he saw me as a necessary evil in the path to more canoodling on my mom's sofa. "You aren't actually serious about Raley, right?" I asked, hating how much the answer meant to me.
"Hart." Mom's voice was softer this time, a note of concern in it. "I know it's weird for you to see me dating."
That was an understatement.
"But he's a really nice guy."
"You don't know that for sure," I told her. "I mean, he could be just laying it on thick to get you…"
"Into bed?" Mom asked, a teasing note in her voice. "I'm not that naïve, Hartley. I've been around the block a couple of times, you know?"
"Okay, you know what? Let's not talk about this."
Mom chuckled. "Fine. I promise I won't discuss anything relating to S-E-X in front of you and your boyfriend at dinner tonight."
"Friend!" I said. Loudly enough that the clerk at the check-in desk frowned my way. "He's just a friend."
"Great. I expect to see you and your friend at
six."
"But Mom—"
Only that was as far as I got before she hung up on me.
CHAPTER NINE
I walked back to the chairs and sat beside Sam.
Chase frowned at me. "What?"
"What, what?" I asked.
"What is that look on your face?"
"I don't have a look on my face." I tried to erase any sort of look that might have indicated I was envisioning awkward conversation over veggie loaf. But by the way Chase smirked at me, I wasn't sure I succeeded.
"Was that your mom?" He nodded toward my phone, still in my hand.
"Yeah." I paused, shooting a glance at him. I wasn't sure if I should tell him about my mom's dinner invitation or just pretend the whole conversation had never happened.
"Everything okay?" he asked, genuine concern pulling his dark eyebrows together.
I nodded. "Mostly." I paused again, gathering courage. I had no idea how he'd take this next news. "She wants me to invite you to dinner tonight."
Sam did a laugh slash snort thing beside me. "Dude."
But my eyes were on Chase, gauging his reaction. Unfortunately, he didn't give me much to go on, the frown slowly ironing out as his shoulders bobbed up and down in a shrug. "Sure."
I blinked at him. That was it? Just sure.
When I didn't reply from shock, he added, "Sounds like fun."
"You have a funny definition of fun," I mumbled.
Sam snorted beside me again.
I shot her a death look, but she innocently kept her eyes on her phone. No doubt texting Kyle all about it even as we sat there.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, my stomach was growling, Sam had miraculously run out of things to say to Kyle and was playing a puzzle game on her phone, and Chase was pacing the marble tiled floor and glancing down the hall toward the meeting rooms every few seconds, looking a lot like a caged animal.
I tilted my head up and started counting the ceiling tiles. I'd reached forty-three when I finally heard the squeak of sneakers on polished floor approaching. My pulse sped up in anticipation, and I scooted to the edge of my chair.
Wicked Games (Hartley Grace Featherstone Mysteries Book 3) Page 8
