"I could totally see that," Sam said, licking sauce off her fingers. "She seemed pretty mad at you back there, and all you did was ask a few questions."
"Right?" I agreed.
"I don't know," Chase said.
I turned on him, hating how he insisted on defending the cute, successful older woman.
"I still think the person with the most to lose here would be Connor's manager, Jason Pruit," he went on. "I mean, if Connor really was thinking of firing him, that was a lot on the line for Jason."
"But why kill Connor? Doesn't that kill the goose laying his golden eggs?" Sam asked.
"Maybe." Chase nodded. "But, now he'll still get his percentage of everything Connor's estate makes, whereas if Connor had fired him, he'd be cut off with nothing."
"And a witness did see him arguing with Connor," I reminded them.
"I wish we could talk to Pruit," Sam said.
"Agreed." I had little hope Jason would be calling Connor's cousin back. Especially if he'd been the one to murder him.
"Well, here's what I want to know," Chase said, breaking into my thoughts. "How did the killer slip into the VizaSoft booth unnoticed?"
I frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Well, there was a long line of people waiting to get into the booth. And the con was packed. If the killer slipped in unnoticed while Sophia was using the restroom, they must have been waiting for the opportunity to catch Connor alone."
"And taken it quickly," Sam agreed.
I nodded. "That's a good point. Okay, so maybe that narrows down our killer. Whose story matches the timeline?"
"Good question," I said.
"Well, we're here—let's reconstruct the scene of the crime," Sam suggested.
I was about to tell her I didn't think that would make any difference, when Chase jumped in. "That's a great idea."
My protest died on my lips.
"If we can physically act the moment out, it might give us a better idea of who is lying about their alibi and where they might have really been," he continued.
"But we only have three people," I pointed out.
"Kyle's on his way. That will make four," Sam said.
"What about that friend of yours. The Pikachu?" Chase said, turning to me.
"Ellen. And I don't really know her that well."
"But she seemed invested in Connor. I bet she'd help."
I'd bet he was right. So, even though I still had doubts about the whole thing, I texted Ellen and asked her to meet us at the VizaSoft booth again.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, we'd filled Ellen in on our latest developments, and all four of us were standing just on the safe side of the crime scene tape waiting for Kyle to arrive. Which he did in style. Kyle walked up wearing a black tuxedo jacket, a top hat, and a red lined cape over his usual T-shirt and jeans. A white masquerade ball style mask covered his eyes, and at first I thought he was the Phantom of the Opera. But as Sam squealed and hugged him, Chase leaned down to fill me in.
"Tuxedo Mask," he said, his voice low and close to my ear.
So close it sent a shiver down my spine. "Who?"
"From Sailor Moon's anime," he continued.
I nodded, pretending I was totally interested in what he was saying and not fixated on the feel of his breath.
"So, fill me in," Kyle said, once he'd detached Sam from his lips. "Sam said something about reconstructing a crime?"
I nodded, shaking myself back to present and filling him in on everything we'd learned so far about Connor's death that had not made it into one of Sam's texts. "The thing is, whoever killed Connor only had a moment of opportunity. So we want to see which one of our suspects could have taken it."
"Dude, I'm in," Kyle said. "Let's do this."
"Okay, I'll play our victim," Chase offered. "Connor Simon."
"We're not actually going in there, are we?" Ellen asked, her big brown eyes on the crime scene tape.
Chase shook his head. "I think this is close enough for our purposes."
Which I was glad to hear. The last thing I wanted to do was actually go in the booth and see where the man had died. I shivered a little just thinking about it.
"Featherstone, you're my girlfriend."
My heart leapt into my throat. "Your what?"
"You play Sophia. Connor's girlfriend."
Oh. Right. Connor's girlfriend. Not Chase's. I shook the silly thought out of my head. "Right. Sure," I agreed, hoping the fluttery sensation in my belly wasn't obvious in my voice.
"Sam," Chase said, turning to her, "you can play Phoebe Lyons."
She nodded and laced her fingers through Kyle's. "Smart, driven, successful. I think I can pull that off," she joked.
"Don't forget potentially a killer," I reminded her. And possibly Chase.
"Ellen," Chase said, ignoring that comment, "would you mind playing Tyler?"
She nodded, though there was a sadness in her eyes. She'd looked practically crushed when we'd told her that a freshman had actually done the work that her hero had been claiming as his own. I wasn't sure if it made Connor's death easier or harder for her to take, but she'd been very quiet ever since.
Then Chase turned to Kyle. "And that leaves you playing Jason Pruit, Connor's manager."
"On it," Kyle agreed.
"Now, the purpose of this is to see which one of us could have killed Connor in the time frame of his death," Chase went on. "So, let's all stage where our suspects said they were and see if they could have made it to the VizaSoft booth and killed Connor in the time frame Sophia provided." He turned an expectant gaze my way.
"Right." I pulled out my phone and scrolled into my gallery, tapping on the photos of Raley's notes. Luckily Sam and I had gone over them enough the night before that I could actually read them. "Connor was found just before 11. Sophia was in the restroom at 10:45." I looked up. "Where is the nearest one?"
We all turned and looked around the crowded convention floor.
"I think there's one around that corner," Ellen said and pointed to a restroom sign hung on a wall several yards away.
Depending on how far around that corner it was, it could have taken Sophia a couple of minutes to walk there.
"If she was spotted at the restroom by witnesses at 10:45, let's say she left here at 10:40 at the earliest," Chase decided.
I nodded, mentally noting my role. Potty at 10:40.
"Ellen, you spotted Phoebe here when?" Chase asked.
She scrunched up her nose. "It was probably a little after 10. Like maybe 10:15? 10:20?"
"Phoebe claims she left after that and went to the Marriot."
"But it's possible she didn't," I interjected.
"Or she came back," Sam added.
"For our purposes let's assume Phoebe was telling the truth about going to the Marriot," Chase said. "How long would it take for her to get there, be seen walking through the lobby, then slip out a side door and get back to the con to kill Connor?"
Sam looked up as if calculating in her head. "Well, I think earlier today we got back here from the Marriot's lobby in about fifteen minutes."
I nodded. "Okay, let's say she leaves here at 10:15, after Ellen sees her argue with Connor. She gets to the Marriot at 10:30. Would she have enough time to get back here and murder Connor at 10:45 while Sophia was in the bathroom?"
"Sounds like it would be tight," Kyle noted.
"But possible," I countered. "So Sam, that's your timeline."
She nodded.
"Okay, Tyler said he was in the food court," Chase said, picking up the thread as he turned to Ellen. "The pizzeria has a Mario dancing around to attract people to their food every fifteen minutes. So let's say that was 10:30."
"Got it," Ellen said. "Food court. 10:30."
That just left Kyle. Or Jason Pruit.
"According to Raley's notes," I told Kyle, "Jason was seen arguing with Connor at 10:15."
"So he could have been anywhere by 10:45," Kyle said, frowning.
"Not necessarily." I scrolled to the next page of notes on my phone. "Unlike us, Raley did get Jason to talk to him, and he claims to have been at the Peak Games booth when Connor's body was found."
"Checking out the competition?" Sam asked.
I shrugged. "Could be. Or wanting to talk to Phoebe if she had, in fact, just served his client with papers."
"Either way," Chase said. "Could he have been able to kill Connor and get all the way to the Peak Games booth before the body was found by Connor's girlfriend?" He turned to Kyle. "That's your job to find out."
"On it." Kyle tipped his hat regally at Chase. I couldn't help noticing the shape of his shaved head as he did. Sam was right. It totally looked like an egg. I tried not to stare.
"So does everyone know where they should be?" Chase asked.
We all nodded.
"Alright, it's 4:10 now. Let's all get in our positions, follow the suspects' timelines, and see if anyone gets here by 4:45 in time to kill me."
I cringed at the morbidity of that statement, but I could tell Chase was fully into his role and hadn't even realized how it sounded.
Kyle and Sam shared a slightly-longer-than-quick kiss before she made for the exit, heading to her spot at the Marriot. Kyle walked around the booth to the VizaSoft entrance, hovering there as he waited for his moment to pretend to kill and run. Ellen, still looking a bit dejected, swished her tail behind her as she made for the food court.
Leaving Chase and me alone as we waited.
I shifted from one foot to the next, feeling antsy for no reason. It wasn't as if we were really waiting for someone to come kill him, but even the reconstruction felt a little too close to reality for comfort.
"You okay?" Chase's deep voice broke into my thoughts.
"Uh-huh."
"You sure?" he asked. "Because you're dancing around like you have to pee."
I shot him a look. "Maybe I'm just getting into character," I countered.
He chuckled. "So what was she like?"
"Who?"
"Sophia." He turned to face me. "The hot model girlfriend."
I shrugged. I'd forgotten Chase hadn't been with us on either of our visits to her place. "She's fine."
"Fine?" He raised an eyebrow my way. "That's the worst description ever."
I rolled my eyes. "She's gorgeous, okay? And nice. And smells good. Her place is amazing. Gleaming white. I was afraid I'd smudged her sofa."
He looked down at my street urchin outfit. "I'd be afraid of that too."
That's it. Tomorrow I was coming to the con as something hotter. Princessy. Showing some skin.
"So what time is dinner?" he asked.
I felt my stomach flutter. "Six."
"Cool."
I glanced over at him. I couldn't tell if he was actually cool with meeting my parents—scratch that, my mom and her sorta-maybe-dating-but-hopefully-not-serious guy—or if he was humoring me. Or just looking for a free meal.
"It's time," he said, cutting my assessment short.
I looked down at the readout on my phone. 4:40. Time for a potty break.
"Good luck," I told him with a grin as I took off toward the restroom sign.
"Thanks," he called to my retreating back. "I think I'll need it!"
As it turned out, the restrooms were around the corner and waaaaay down a long hallway. I walked quickly—playing the role of the model who had to go—down the echoing hall to a pair of restroom doors. I pushed open the one marked with the figure in a skirt and was immediately hit with a nauseating wave of strong lemon cleanser. Yay for the room being clean, but I had to take shallow breaths to avoid a contact high.
It wasn't super crowded, and there weren't any lines. I had no idea if that had been the case the day Connor had died, but I went with it. The room was divided into two rows of stalls, with four to each side. Three sinks stood to the right, and several women in complicated costumes were touching up makeup and re-taping various parts of themselves into their skimpy costumes.
Yeah, I definitely needed to rethink my outfit for tomorrow.
I moved to stand in front of an unoccupied sink and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My makeup was fading, and now I looked more dirty than dystopian. I grabbed a paper towel from the silver dispenser on the wall and wiped my cheeks. Then I looked down at my phone. It was already 4:45. I'd give Sophia at least a few more minutes to do her business then a couple more to wash her hands and touch up her makeup—because what model wouldn't, right?
I watched a woman in a skintight black cat suit try to re-pin her tail to her behind. Then Wonder Woman came in and powdered her décolletage. Followed by a zombie in a tight miniskirt who was in tears talking to someone on her phone about what her boyfriend had said to Lara Croft at the pretzel stand.
Finally my phone hit 4:50. I had no idea how long Sophia had actually been in the restroom, but I didn't want to rush it. Chances were Sophia hadn't that day, right? I gave it one more agonizing minute, feeling antsy to do something, before I finally went back into the hallway where I could take a full breath.
I fought to keep my pace at a normal gait as I walked back down the long corridor, my footsteps echoing off the walls. I wanted to run, some weird urge to rush to the VizaSoft booth and save Chase coursing through me. Even though I knew this was all pretend, the idea of poor Sophia walking this path, totally unknowingly about to see her boyfriend bludgeoned to death, was making me feel on edge.
By the time I reached the corner where I turned and could see the VizaSoft sign, we were already at 4:56.
I saw Chase in the same spot I'd left him. I felt a strange sense of relief at seeing him standing there, totally unharmed. But more importantly than him being alive and well was that he was alone.
I picked up my pace, reaching him quickly. "Hey," I said as I approached. "So, are you dead yet?"
He grinned and shook his head. "No. You're the first one here."
I frowned, eyes surveying the room. "Really?"
He nodded. "I was starting to get lonely," he joked.
"What about Kyle?" I asked.
Chase shrugged, dialing Kyle's number. We only had to wait one ring before he picked up.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey," Chase responded. "Hartley's back. Which means my body has just been found. You make it to the Peak Games booth yet?"
"Negative, chief," Kyle told us. "I'm only at the World of Warcraft display."
"Okay, come on back, then," he told Kyle before hanging up.
"So Jason Pruit isn't our killer." I frowned. Darn. He'd been a great candidate.
"Unless he was sprinting through the crowd, it doesn't seem like he'd have had enough time." Chase's gaze roved the convention floor, as if looking out for our other suspects.
I stood next to him, leaning against the makeshift partition erected between us and the crime scene. A couple minutes later, Sam finally appeared, quickly rushing toward us. As soon as she saw me, her shoulders slumped.
"So, I'm not the killer, huh?" she said.
I shook my head, looking at my phone. "It took you twenty minutes?"
She nodded. "The guy checking passes at the front is hecka slow. We must have hit it at the right moment when we got here earlier. I had to wait forever in line just now."
I pursed my lips. So it was possible Phoebe had hit the line at the right time, but it would have been very tight.
I was about to voice that thought when Ellen's pointy ears came into view.
Her eyes went round when she saw Sam. "So Phoebe Lyons did it?"
I shook my head. "No. I got here first."
Ellen frowned. "I left the food court as soon as I saw the Mario dancing."
"Well, someone killed Connor," Sam said, throwing her hands up.
Chase nodded, his gaze going out across the crowd again as Kyle's top hat approached us. "That means only one thing," he decided.
"What's that?" Ellen asked.
"It means that either none of them did it," Ch
ase said, his attention coming back to the four of us. "Or one of our suspects is lying about where they were when Connor Simon was killed."
CHAPTER TWELVE
To say I was not looking forward to dinner was an understatement. How had I gotten myself cornered into this? I should have tried harder to convince Mom otherwise. I should have contracted mono or broken a limb. Hmm…that last one wasn't too late…
I shook that thought out of my head and applied a layer of lip gloss in my bathroom mirror. It was dinner. A meal. Okay, so what if Chase happened to be present at it? We'd eat, he'd go, it would be fine. I mean, what could Mom possibly do in the span of one meal?
I paused, looking at myself in the mirror and watching the horror spread across my face as I conjured up all sorts of answers to that question.
Get a grip, Featherstone.
I capped my lip gloss with maybe a little more force than it deserved and shoved my feet into a pair of low-heeled boots.
Not, mind you, that I was dressing up for a dinner with a friend. I wasn't. Just, after a day of looking like a homeless person, I felt a little compensation was in order. For me. Not Chase.
I'd gone with a simple pair of jeans and a navy sweater, but I'd added a pair of silver hoop earrings with little crystal sparkles on them. After the long shower I'd enjoyed upon getting home from the con, I'd spent a little extra time blow drying my hair and attacking it with some mousse and a curling iron. The effect was pretty good if not straight-from-the-salon perfect. While the boots were new and had little rhinestone details along the top, I'd gone subtle in the makeup department, sticking with a little mascara, some blush, and lip gloss.
Overall, the outfit was casual with a side of bling that said I wasn't dressing up for a date but I wasn't a slouch either.
At least I hoped that's all it said.
I glanced down at my phone. 5:59. I could stall no longer.
I turned off my light and hit the stairs. Aromas of caramelized onions and garlic wafted toward my nostrils. It smelled good, but I knew that was a trick. It usually was. How many times had I salivated due to scent alone to discover Alfredo sauce made solely from cauliflower or chocolate cookies made from bitter cacao and dates?
Wicked Games (Hartley Grace Featherstone Mysteries Book 3) Page 11
