Con Job

by Laura VanArendonk Baugh

  “Aunt Lydia,” he said, “I should probably warn you. There’s been some video and stuff showing up around the con—”

  “Hold on,” she said. “What is that?”

  In the corner, flanked by doors opening onto each street, stood a robot of gleaming white plastic, about nine feet tall. Jacob considered. “Looks like a giant robot,” he said with deliberately flat accuracy. “I don’t know which one.”

  Lydia slowed, and as they watched the robot, surrounded by three spotters, began to fold in upon itself. As it knelt and inverted, wheels appeared, and a tail, and a spike where a hood ornament might appear, if the construct could be called a car.

  “Wow. It really transforms.”

  “We’ve got some great costumes here this year,” Jacob said. “I’ve seen some really good stuff already.”

  “I wonder what kind of mileage he gets? Maybe I should upgrade.” She looked around. “Man, seems like such a happy cool place. Hard to believe there was a homicide here.”

  “Two.”

  She turned to stare at him. “What?”

  “Since I texted you, they found another body. Same cause of death, arsenic poisoning via food.”

  “Arsenic? Did I miss a trip back to 1913 or something?” She shook her head. “Same food?”

  “Not sure.”

  “Same time?”

  “No. The first one was last night, and we saw the other in Con Ops this morning. She died in the hotel bar later.”

  Lydia raised a tapered eyebrow. “The hotel bar?”

  “It wasn’t open; she was just waiting there to meet with the con chair. But she was going to be waiting a while, because we were helping him avoid her.”

  “Yipes. Bad romance?”

  “Oh, no way. She was a corporate sponsor, and she was giving him a hard time about the con. I saw her yesterday, yelling at him in front of everyone because of a typo in the program guide. Which, to be fair, was in her company name — but it wasn’t worth that level of drama.”

  “So is this con chair maybe a person of interest?”

  “Heh,” said Jacob. “I’m sure he is, but he’ll have to take a number. Sorry, Aunt Lydia, but I kind of get the feeling that no one is upset about her. Shocked, yes, but not sad.”

  “Ah.”

  “So Dead-Laura was going to be hard, because there was just no context to it at all. But Valerie’s going to be hard because, as far as I can pick up, she made a lot of enemies.”

  “Dead-Laura?” repeated Lydia. “Don’t they teach you how not to be callous?”

  “Oh, no, I didn’t mean — her name was Tasha something. That was her costume, the dead Laura from American Gods, and she was doing this thing where she was gradually decaying over the weekend, like the character.”

  “Oh,” said Lydia. “That’s actually kind of cool. And sad.”

  Jacob’s phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a text from Sam. Audition in ten minutes. I’m starting to get nervous. Tell me something calming.

  Aunt Lydia just verbally trashed two jocks who were picking on a Helm’s Deep elf.

  That’s really cool, but you have a weird understanding of “calming.”

  “Sam’s going in for her audition in a few minutes,” Jacob said aloud.

  Lydia drew out her own phone. “Ooh, I’ll tell her to break a leg.” She finished the text and followed Jacob into Con Ops.

  “Back from lunch,” he announced. “Is Daniel around?”

  “He’s next door,” Rita said. “You need help with something?”

  “What? Oh, no. This is my Aunt Lydia. I just wanted to introduce them.”

  “I’ll meet him later, if that’s okay,” Lydia said. “Can I go catch Sam’s audition?”

  “Sure, it’s just down the hall in Main Programming. Here, take a program guide. Also, you can use the mobile app, which will have all the updates as things change.”

  “Do things change a lot?”

  “Not a lot, but it happens. Panelist gets sick, someone doesn’t show up, people suggest it’s not a good idea to run a game of Murder when two people are dead. Scan this QR code, it’s a free app.”

  “You’ll need a badge,” Rita said. “All the rooms have badge checks at the door.”

  “Even if she’s just going to support a friend?” Jacob didn’t really expect her to concede, but he asked anyway.

  “Sorry, them’s the rules. Vince was really adamant about not comping badges this year.”

  “It’s cool,” said Lydia. “I’ll want to get into the dealer hall later, anyway. How much?”

  She opted for the weekend pass instead of the Saturday-only badge — “in case I want to come back tomorrow” — and headed out the door.

  “Hey, Jacob!” Jessica appeared, leaning over the pass-through counter. “Tag my sword for me?”

  She’d changed into a pirate costume. He took the rapier, checked the edge — non-metallic and blunt — measured it, and tagged it. “I need to check the pistol, too.”

  She passed it to him. “Even though it’s not remotely modern?”

  “Any firearm replica, sorry.” He turned it over. “No orange tip, Jessica? Really?”

  She turned up a palm. “For an eighteenth-century gun? I didn’t think it was likely anyone would mistake it for the real thing.”

  “Not my rules, sorry.” He handed it back. “You can borrow some orange paint and tip it, or you can leave it in the room. But if Con Aid sees you with it untagged, they’ll confiscate it.” He glanced at the bin below the counter. “And they’ve been doing that all weekend, looks like.”

  She nodded. “I’ll put it up before I head to Sam’s audition. Oh, check this out.” She swiped several times on her phone and held it out to him. “Look how the Trek pics were coming out, before they moved the crew. No depth of field, so it looks like the Ponies are right behind them. See that Rarity behind Captain Kirk? Like a Pony shoulder angel conscience or something. And this one, it’s like the Ponies are high-fiving because Applejack is giving Spock bunny ears.” She laughed.

  “That’s funny,” Jacob said, mostly to be polite. “Sorry about the pistol. Tell Sam to be awesome.”

  “That’s okay. I should have known, and I will. See ya.” She headed off again.

  Jacob looked at the schedule on the wall. “Is Daniel doing interviews?”

  “If that’s what you want to call it.”

  Jacob left Con Ops and went down to the staff suite, now empty of all refreshment but bottled water and canned soft drinks. Daniel was speaking to another officer, in more traditional uniform. “Oh, hello, Jacob. Come and meet Detective Martin.”

  “Anne Martin,” she said with a smile, extending a hand. “Daniel says we’ll be seeing you soon.”

  “I hope so.”

  There was a knock at the door, and Christopher Adams leaned in. “Hello? Is this where I should meet someone, to, you know, answer questions?”

  “Come in,” Detective Martin called. Her friendly smile shifted from Jacob to Christopher as she moved to pull out a chair for him. “Yes, please.”

  Christopher looked uncomfortable as he sat. “Paul the Programming DH told me you’d want to see me. He said everyone who saw Valerie this morning needed to talk to you.”

  “That’s right. But this is just a preliminary interview, you know. If you’d like to wait and speak when counsel is present, that’s fine, of course. No one is being charged at this time, we’re just trying to get a handle on who all is even around here.” Detective Martin had a soothing, dependable voice, and Jacob found himself liking her even across the room. He hoped he could develop a style like hers.

  “Right. But I don’t need counsel. I mean, there’s no reason to need counsel for this.” Christopher Adams blew out his breath. “This is just — really nerve-wracking, you know? I mean, we weren’t friends, but….”

  “Trust me, I understand. It’s never easy. But that’s why we have to do this.” She glanced at Daniel and Jacob. “Would you prefer to speak priva
tely?”

  “I’m probably not going to say anything that’s a big secret, so I guess it doesn’t matter.”

  “All right, then. I’m going to make some notes, but again, this is just to help us get our bearings. It doesn’t mean anything more than that right now.”

  He nodded.

  “Can you please explain your connection to MEGAN!ME and Valerie Kimberton?”

  Christopher pursed his lips. “We weren’t business partners.”

  “Can you elaborate?”

  “We were supposed to have a joint project, but it didn’t happen. I was approached by Eddie Thomas, of FunFilms, to do a web series — part industry reviews, part previews, part interviews, part comedy, lots of things. I would host it, as the Terra Vista Ranger. That’s my persona, see?”

  It wasn’t apparent whether Detective Martin did see, but she dutifully made note of it.

  “Eddie was a cool guy. We talked out a deal, and I was supposed to prep a first season and FunFilms would buy it and stream it. It was going to be something really cool; Eddie wanted me to cover other companies’ stuff, not just FunFilms, so it would be a pretty even-handed view.”

  “How does that relate to Ms. Kimberton?”

  “Eddie got sick. Stomach cancer. He’s doing okay now, I hear, but he ended up selling FunFilms, and MEGAN!ME snapped it up.”

  “Including your show?”

  “Well, that’s the thing. When the deal happened, Eddie told me MEGAN!ME wanted the show, too, and that it would be largely unaffected. I waited, but I didn’t hear anything. And then a few months ago, I emailed to say that the season was wrapped, we were just waiting for the new logos to replace the FunFilms logos, and that MEGAN!ME already had a few good product reviews in the season, and where did they want delivery?”

  The officer frowned, guessing where this was going. “When was this?”

  “I got the response on April fourth. Not going to forget that any time soon. It was from Valerie, the first time I’d heard of her or from her. She said MEGAN!ME had decided not to pick up my show.” Christopher didn’t succeed in masking his bitterness.

  “What about the deal with FunFilms?”

  “Eddie told me that Dan Peters, the MEGAN!ME CEO, really liked the idea and was excited about it. But the contracts never mentioned my show, which I guess Eddie missed or just plain forgot to check after they said it was a go. He was really sick, I guess I can’t blame him. But I guess we were both stupid.”

  Detective Martin gave him a sympathetic smile. “Love many, trust few. I’m sorry it didn’t work out. What happened?”

  “As far as I can tell, from talking to Eddie and asking around, Dan Peters was on board with it until Valerie took a stand. She said it was bad business to support anything which mentioned other companies’ catalogs and titles.”

  “And they took her advice?”

  Christopher scowled. “I asked a friend in Famion — they were bought out last year, but some of the staff stayed for MEGAN!ME — if she knew anything about it, and she’d heard that Valerie had a pet project of her own she wanted to do, a sort of fake video blog by a cute mascot character talking up various MEGAN!ME titles.” He shook his head. “Which is all kinds of stupid. First, people want real interaction, not an animated character giving them sales pitches. And second, how is a hyper-cute little mascot going to sell Blood Drive and other mature-audience titles? It’d be really limiting — or else it would send the wrong message to parents about the titles and draw a lot of complaints. I had completely different sets and different costume accessories for each bracket, to keep everything straight.”

  Detective Martin nodded.

  “Anyway, my friend heard a rumor in the company that Valerie was having her sister do the design for the chibi.”

  Detective Martin held up a finger. “Chibi?”

  “Uh, it’s a little, super-cute thing. Comes from the Japanese for small. Generally a little, disproportionate, hyper-cute character.” He held up his key chain and pointed to a cartoonish Captain America dangling from it. “Comes in all flavors.”

  She nodded. “And it was thought that Valerie was having her sister do the design?”

  “That’s what my friend heard.”

  “And what’s your friend’s name?”

  “I don’t think I should tell you. She probably shouldn’t have been talking to me about it, you know? Do I have to tell you?”

  “Maybe later.” Detective Martin closed her notebook. “That’s all for now, Mr. Adams. But please don’t leave the con without checking in with us, okay? In case we have any more questions.”

  When Christopher had gone, Detective Martin looked dubiously at Daniel. “So let me get this straight: we have a suspect whose motive would have been, his job was threatened by a stuffed animal?”

  Daniel shrugged. “Some people take these things very seriously. But I have to agree with you, it doesn’t seem the killing thing to do.”

  Martin looked down at her notes. “This whole thing’s a mess. So far I’ve got one guy who was on a business trip to Beijing until two days ago, a woman who says the deceased had a bleak aura and probably invited dark forces, and now a professional rivalry with a cutesy animal.” She wrote more, flipping pages and drawing arrows.

  “Any likely faces?” asked Daniel.

  “Groene has money issues, and frankly, money’s a much better motive than a stuffed animal. Let’s look and see if he could have benefited financially from Kimberton’s death. Who knows, maybe she was bringing in a nephew to replace him as a voice actor, if that’s really how she was inclined to work.” She drew her phone and photographed her notes. She caught Jacob watching. “People talk more when there isn’t a recorder or when you don’t take a lot of notes,” she explained. “So take basic notes and fill them in after they’re gone. And an app which reads handwriting and makes them all searchable is worth its weight in good wine.”

  “What about Tasha Kurlansky?” asked Daniel. “Even if someone had a financial motive to kill Valerie, killing an unrelated cosplayer wouldn’t help. It would just double the chances of being caught.”

  “Maybe he thought it would be camouflage? Distract from the motive by looking like random killings.”

  “In which case, he might not think two bodies is enough.”

  They looked at the empty catering tables around them. “The food court staff were supposed to be checking their kitchens.”

  “Do they even know what to look for?” Jacob put in. “Do we know what to tell them to look for?”

  Daniel sighed. “A bag of white powder. Man, that could be anything, from cocaine to anthrax to MSG.”

  “How soon will they have test results back on that baggie from this morning?”

  “Not soon enough.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Main Programming — a series of connected hotel ballrooms — had been modified for the auditions, with a black-curtained makeshift booth at the front of the room and a table and chairs on the stage. Within the curtains Sam could see an over-sized microphone, shielded by a filter, and a camera aimed down on the interior.

  Lots of cons had acting or voice acting workshops or demos, and some had contests or “auditions,” but most of the latter were simply filler to occupy con attendees. This one was different, however. It was still a fun event for the con, but professionals Mickey Groene, Ryan Brazil, and Sandra Shark were commenting on each entry. Most significant, however, was that each participant’s attempts would be recorded, and the winner of today’s contest would have this mini-reel forwarded to TruCast, who would select one voice actor from the pool of winners, taken from a dozen such contests at cons across the country, to invite for a minor role and further auditions.

  It wasn’t a traditional or likely path to success, but it was a potential shortcut, and the only risk was receiving an American Idol style dress-down in front of the con. Sam was willing to hazard that.

  She had signed up for the contest almost the moment registration had o
pened, and she arrived a few minutes early, clutching a warm green tea and honey in a textured paper cup. She had brought the tea and honey from home and brewed it in the hotel room.

  Two techs were tweaking the microphone and camera, calling back and forth from the AV station, and finally seemed satisfied. More hopefuls were filtering into the chairs, marked with a “reserved for contestants” printed sheet, and friendly, excited chatter began.

  Sam eyed them. There were a few who looked serious, but about half she guessed were just here for some fun at the con, not intent on a career launch. She sipped her tea.

  Onstage, the three voice actors were making their way to the table. All carried a beverage: Mickey Groene had a steel bottle, Ryan Brazil had a Starbucks cup, and Sandra Shark had a plastic bottle of water.

  “You look pretty serious,” said a voice beside her.

  Sam glanced to her left and saw a blue-green Mole, his multi-colored antennae curling forward over his head. “Sorta. That is, I’d like to actually go into voice acting, so I want to do well today.”

  He nodded. “Me too. I’m majoring in theater, but they don’t have a voice track.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Katnak.”

  “Sam. Samantha, really, but that takes too long to say.”

  “Using your real name? Ooh, edgy.” He grinned.

  Behind them, the ballroom was filling with spectators. Sam took another sip of her tea, its warmth radiating down her throat. Her phone buzzed, and she glanced down to see one more text from Jacob. You can rock this.

  Someone else was on the stage now. “Hi, everybody. If you’re here to see some great amateur voice acting, this is the place! Contestants, make sure you’re checked in with Mary there with the clipboard, and we’ll be getting started in just a short minute. In the meantime, let me introduce our professional panel.”

  Katnak rose and went to speak to Mary, along with a number of other participants. Sam had been the first.

  “And Ryan will be voicing Nega Carson in the upcoming Mega-Nega Racetrap, which hits Playstation next — May, is it, Ryan? You don’t know? They just hand you a mic and send you checks, you don’t do the marketing, right.” The MC laughed. “And then we have Sandra Shark.”