"He thinks you're hot," Sam whispered to me in a singsong voice.
My stomach knotted. I was already a little nervous about our mission. She wasn't helping.
Sam went to Kyle and kissed him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her in until there was no space between them.
Chase's gaze traveled the length of me, slowly, and rested on my face. "Nice outfit."
I felt my cheeks heat. "Thanks. Uh, you too."
"My weapon is in the car," he said. "I'm Noctis Lucis Caelum."
"I have no idea who that is," I told him. "But I'm guessing we match. Sam says I'm Tifa Lockhart."
"You guys ready?" Kyle asked, opening the passenger side door for Sam and me to climb into the back seat. Kyle wore a black shirt with a high collar and one long sleeve and one missing, with black baggy pants. The crowning achievement was a wig of spiky blond hair. I didn't recognize him, but I assumed he was the fourth member of our Final Fantasy quartet.
"Who are you supposed to be?" I asked him.
"Cloud Strife." He rubbed his fake hair. "Sam insisted on the wig."
I stifled a laugh. "I'll bet she did." I shot a glance at my best friend, but she was pointedly avoiding my gaze.
"Are we ready?" she asked, grinning at her boyfriend's spike-shaped and not egg-shaped head.
We jumped into the car and took off. I wasn't sure if I'd gotten used to Chase's driving that week or if he'd actually slowed down on the way to the convention center, but when he parked, I wasn't nauseous and my organs seemed to still be where I'd last left them.
It was dark by the time we arrived downtown, parked, and walked back toward the con. However, the streets were as lively as if we'd been in the midst of Mardi Gras in New Orleans, rather than a Tuesday in Silicon Valley. The mood was festive as groups of costumed convention goers made their way toward the con—laughter, raised voices, and even a few songs filling the air. There was no sign that just days ago a man had been killed there—the collective mindset having quickly moved on.
As we entered the Grand Ballroom on the upper level, I easily spied Sophia Larson. She was dressed in full Athena gear, posing for photos with fans near the entrance. Her blonde hair was pulled back in an elaborate braid beneath a golden crown. Her long, tanned limbs were bare, a short gold skirt and sleeveless top covered in a gold breastplate finishing off the outfit. The hem was short, the neckline plunging, and the clinging fabric thin enough that I felt practically nun-like next to her. She looked every bit the bronzed goddess, and I had to admit, exactly like the poster plastered on the wall behind her, advertising the game. I could see why everyone had bought the line that she'd been Connor's muse. Of course, as Tyler had said, it was easy to paste someone's head on a character. But Connor had done an excellent job of conning everyone.
Sophia waved as I caught her eye, and we approached her just as she finished taking photos with a couple of guys dressed in Fortnite outfits.
"It's so nice to see you again," she said.
I was about to say the same thing, when I realized she wasn't talking to me—her eyes firmly on Chase.
"You look great," he said, giving her outfit (or lack thereof) a once-over. "Very authentic."
"Well, I am her," Sophia said, gesturing to the larger-than-life version on the wall behind her. "You want a picture?"
"Sure," Chase said. He nodded to the rest of us, and we all crowded around Sophia. Some of us closer than others, I noted, watching her put one arm around Chase's midsection as the flash went off.
"I'm surprised VizaSoft expected you to be here," I told her as we all stepped out of our pose.
"Oh?" she said, her fashionably thick eyebrows rising.
"Considering you must be in mourning." I swear I tried my hardest to keep the sarcasm out of my voice as my gaze flickered to her hemline.
Some of the light went out of her eyes, her smile dropping. And I suddenly felt bad for bringing it up. I realized how much it must be taking out of her to keep the smiling face in place for photo after photo.
"Yes. Well, the show must go on," she said softly.
"Sorry," I said, honestly meaning it as her eyes hit the floor.
She shrugged. "The best thing I can do for Connor now is carry on his legacy." She glanced up at the poster. "The game is still going to be huge, and I expect I'll be doing a lot of publicity for it."
I nodded, believing her on both points.
"Did you ever talk to Connor's manager?" Sophia asked. "You were looking for him at the memorial."
I nodded. "We did. He was…" I hesitated, again not wanting to tarnish Connor's image for her. At least not here and not like this. "…very enlightening."
"Oh?" she asked, her pretty blue eyes going wide. "About what?"
"Just…Connor's business practices. You know, filler for our article."
"Oh." She nodded. "Sure. Well, anyway, enjoy the ball, huh?" she said, her eyes flickering to the next group of convention goers waiting for photos. "Maybe I'll catch up to you later."
I opened my mouth to answer, but again, I could see she was addressing one member of our group in particular.
"You have my number," Chase told her as we stepped away, heading toward the main dance floor of the ball.
The kung pao tofu churned in my stomach at the thought of Chase comforting the scantily clad goddess on the dance floor at the ball. I suddenly felt silly in my homemade costume and too tight shorts.
"You okay?" Chase asked.
"Fine. Just…had some bad Chinese for dinner."
He gave me a look, but luckily I was saved from elaborating as someone hailed me from the growing crowd.
"Hartley, is that you?"
I spun at the sound of my name to find myself face-to-face with Pikachu. Or, that is, Ellen dressed once again in her yellow Pokémon costume. I gestured for the others to go on, and I'd catch up, pausing as Ellen made her way toward me.
"Hey, Ellen," I told her. I noticed she was with another Pokémon, a guy in a Squirtle outfit, his foam shell cutting a wide swath through the crowd as they approached me.
"Hey. I hardly recognized you," Ellen said. "You look so…" Her eyes went to my booty barely contained by the short-shorts.
I felt my cheeks warm. I knew this outfit was a bad idea.
"…different," Ellen finally ended on.
"Thanks," I mumbled, though I wasn't entirely sure it was a compliment.
"I saw you talking to Tyler today," Ellen said, taking my attention away from my outfit. "After fifth period."
"Yeah, I was." I felt a frown form on my forehead. "Wait—you know Tyler?"
Ellen looked sheepish. "Well, no. I mean, not well. I don't know know him. But I've seen him around."
The frown deepened. "Why didn't you say anything before?"
She blinked at me. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, when we told you it was Tyler who really created Connor's game, why didn't you say anything?"
"I-I don't know," she stammered. "You never asked."
I shook my head. "You never said you knew him."
"Is that relevant?" Ellen asked.
No. Maybe. I wasn't sure. But it felt like it was weird she hadn't shared that information with us then.
"Anyway, what were you two talking about?" she pressed.
And it felt weird that she was so interested in what we'd talked to him about now. What had she been doing lingering in the hallway that afternoon? The bell had already rung by then. Why hadn't she been on her way to class?
"Nothing," I said, watching Ellen's big brown eyes that I'd always thought held a distinct note of sincerity. But at the moment, I was questioning how well I actually knew Ellen.
"Oh. Well, okay." She looked like she didn't believe me.
But before she could ask more, her Squirtle friend grabbed her arm. "Dude, Ashlyn and Brayden are here," he said, gesturing toward a couple other Pokémon who had just arrived.
"See ya," Ellen told me, following Squirtle as they caught up w
ith their friends.
I watched them go, my mind still churning over the possibility that Ellen was hiding something from me. She'd idolized Connor. She'd been at the scene when he'd been killed. And she'd seemed to pop up around us whenever we'd been at the con. Coincidence? Or had Ellen been keeping tabs on us for another reason…
"Hey," Sam said, coming up behind me.
"Hey." I couldn't help still watching Ellen and Squirtle as they waddled through the crowd in their costumes.
"Guess who I just saw ducking out of the ballroom," Sam said. She didn't wait for me to make an actual guess before blurting out, "Jason Pruit!"
That got my attention. "Connor's manager?" I asked, turning to face her. "What was he doing here?"
Sam shrugged. "Publicity for the game maybe? He wasn't in costume."
"Did he see you?"
She nodded. "Oh yeah. He shot me a dirty look then stalked off through the exit on the north end." She nodded to the far side of the room.
"Ladies and gentlemen," a loud voice boomed through the speakers. "I'm pleased to welcome you all to the first annual Gamer Con Pixel Ball!"
A roar of excitement went up from the crowd, and my gaze whipped around to find the rest of our party. If the ball was starting, we needed to get into position quickly.
Chase and Kyle must have realized it too because they emerged from the crowd, quickly converging on us. "Hey, you guys ready?" Chase asked.
I nodded. "Ready as I'll ever be."
* * *
With the ball being the main attraction that night, the exhibit hall floor was rapidly emptying, those few vendors still in attendance slowly closing down their booths, wrapping up any unsold wares, and counting out their profits from the weekend. Though, enough stragglers were still walking the floor that no one paid us any attention as we made our way to the back of the room where the dark VizaSoft booth stood.
With a glance over our shoulders, we snuck under the yellow and black tape and around the barricade to the tall black structure that housed the display. Chase led the way inside the entrance, and it was dark inside, the slim cracks of light coming in through the doorway casting shadows around the small booth. Four gaming chairs and large monitors were set up where convention goers could have tested out Athena's Quest, and posters with scenes from the game were plastered on the dark wood walls, Sophia's face front and center on several.
Chase pulled out his phone, turning on the flashlight and shining it around the booth.
"Where was he killed?" Kyle asked.
I'd wondered the same thing. While the booth was larger than most at the con, it was still about the size of a small bedroom. There was an entrance we'd just come in and an exit on the opposite wall for flow-through traffic. Along the back wall, I could see another doorway, standing slightly ajar. I peeked in the open doorway and saw a small storage area, several boxes stacked inside of it that were probably full of promotional items related to the game that had never been handed out. I was about to turn around and go back, when something else caught my eye.
Two small red droplets on the side of one of the cardboard boxes.
My stomach clenched, and I told myself it was probably ketchup. Yup, somehow someone had been eating a hot dog back there and splattered ketchup on the box. Definitely not blood. Definitely not Connor's blood. And he definitely had not been killed…right where I was standing.
I took a huge step backward, colliding with Chase as I did.
"Whoa." His arms went out to steady me, and I sort of melted into their strong, warm, and very alive feeling.
"You okay?" he asked, his eyes registering genuine concern.
I licked my lips and nodded. "Yep. Just saw some ketchup."
He quirked an eyebrow at me but luckily didn't ask for an explanation. Which was good, because it took a couple of beats before I could find my voice again.
"We should get in position," Kyle said, gesturing toward the exit sign.
Chase nodded. "Right. You and Sam want to cover the back? Hartley, you can take the exit on the side, and I'll take the main entrance."
"Sure," I said, dragging in a steadying breath. I'd be happy to take any position not in that storage closet.
"Have your phones ready to film," Chase cautioned as we split up.
Sam and Kyle pushed through the doorway with the exit sign and went right, presumably finding somewhere behind the booth to hide. I watched Chase retrace his steps back the way we'd come in as he took up a hidden position at the front of the booth. And I went out the door and to the left, in the direction convention goers would have been funneled once finishing their test of the game.
The lights of the main convention floor were a stark contrast to the dark interior of the booth, and I blinked as my eyes adjusted again. Just in the few minutes we'd been inside, I could see the stragglers thinning out, fewer people lingering, most booths abandoned.
I found an empty one that had sold comic books just across the aisle from the VizaSoft display and ducked down behind it, crouching on the floor. The scents of dust and old paper still lingered, tickling my nose. I pulled my phone out, aiming it at the door to the VizaSoft display and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
I wondered how long until Phoebe made an appearance. If she made an appearance. We were still working on speculation. Even though I was pretty sure she was the one who'd killed Connor and pretty sure she'd bugged my phone to keep tabs on us after she did. There was still the question of if she'd take Chase's texts about evidence seriously and come look for it here. Who knows…maybe she hadn't even had a chance to look at his texts yet.
I'd almost talked myself out of the whole plan, when I finally heard something. The flutter of plastic as someone touched the crime scene tape.
I peeked my head around the counter and spotted her.
Or, at least a figure. A woman dressed in a long black cloak that reached to the floor. A wide hood covered her head as she moved with her back to me. I trained my phone on her, filming. But in all honesty, she was so well covered up, it was hard to tell if it was Phoebe. I needed a shot of her face. Or at least her feet or legs or anything that could identify her as her.
I moved to the left, out from the comic booth, and slipped behind a cardboard cutout of Spiderman, trying to get a profile shot of Phoebe.
But even from the side, the hood covered most of her features. The only part of her sticking out were her hands, as they turned the knob on the exit door and she slipped inside.
My heart beat hard against my chest. We had her. Our trap had worked. Phoebe had taken the bait.
All we needed now was a clear shot.
And it was up to me.
I pursed my lips, making a quick decision, and bolted forward, slipping beneath the crime scene tape again. Only instead of going inside the booth, I crouched down behind the partition that had been erected, hoping it shielded me from too much of her view when she exited the booth.
I could hear her moving around inside, her boots clomping against the wooden floorboards. Then silence. More clomping. She was obviously waiting for Chase and me to show up with the evidence of her dirty deed.
My heart pounded so fast I feared it might burst right out of my chest as the seconds ticked by.
Then finally I heard another sound. This one a voice. It was too muffled to recognize, but I could tell it was low and male.
Then it got louder, one line clear to my ears.
"What are you—"
That was as far as the voice got before it was silenced. Then there was a thud. A groan. And more clomping steps.
I bit my lip. What was going on in there? Who was with Phoebe? The voice had sounded male for sure. Tyler? Possibly. But it seemed older. Maybe Pruit? Had Phoebe and Pruit conspired to kill Connor together?
I thought about running around to the other side of the booth to tell Chase, but I was afraid I might miss Phoebe leaving and lose my opportunity to photograph her.
That is,
as long as she left the way she'd gone in. Which was not a given.
I took a deep breath, sucked up the last bit of bravery I could muster, and slithered along the walls to the door. With my phone in one hand, I slowly pulled the door open a crack, peeking inside.
I could see Phoebe. Well, the back of her anyway. The hooded cloak still covered much of her from view. I didn't see her companion as I blinked in the darkness. I was about to concede that he'd left through another door and hope that one of the others had caught him on camera, when the hooded figure suddenly turned toward me.
And her eyes went straight to mine.
"Hartley."
I would have answered, but my breath was frozen in my throat at the sight in front of me.
The dark hood had hidden not only her face but her long, shiny golden hair, braided into a regal goddess-like strand hanging down around her slim shoulders.
Sophia.
But the more shocking part was not her identity, but what she held in her right hand.
A shiny silver gun.
Pointed right at me.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
"Come in," Sophia said, gesturing with the gun. More a command than a welcoming suggestion.
I licked my lips, temporarily frozen to the spot.
"I said get in here!" she ground out, the gun taking a huge step toward me. In reality, it was probably Sophia doing the actual stepping, but in that moment, all I could focus on was the gun.
I did as she asked, stumbling forward, my limbs feeling like Jell-O.
"Close the door behind you," she instructed, her voice flat and demanding.
I did, trying to tamp down the growing fear at being alone. In the dark. With a woman who it was now painfully clear was a killer.
"Y-you killed Connor," I said, somehow finding my voice. Even though it sounded as shaky as my legs felt.
Sophia's eyes narrowed beneath her too-thick brows. "Don't play dumb now, reporter girl. We both know I did."
I hesitated to point out that I wasn't playing dumb. I hadn't known she'd killed Connor until just that moment. Hadn't even really suspected her. She'd acted so sincere.
Wicked Games (Hartley Grace Featherstone Mysteries Book 3) Page 16
