“I’ll just tell them the truth. That there were some harsh words tossed back and forth, but nothing beyond that. Nothing to kill anyone over. What’s more, McCandles didn’t even show up until it was almost over. If anything, there was more bad blood between me and Slim than between Slim and McCandles.”
“Bad blood. Good one dat, vamp,” Kane said with a wink.
“Not sure you should say such a thing to a cop now. Wit how Slim was killed and all.”
“Why not?” Lowell said. “They don’t know I’m a vampire. To them, I’m just another attendee of a weird convention. All of us are.”
“So you sayin’ we cover for him?” Kane said.
“I’m not covering for him. I’m just going to tell them what happened,” Lowell said. “Besides, I don’t think he did it.”
“Because he said so?” Margie said.
“Because I don’t see where he’d have any reason to,” Lowell corrected. “If anything, quite the opposite. He’s been knocking himself out trying to run this conclave. Why would he do anything to disrupt it or to draw unwanted attention to it?”
“I’ll have to go along with that,” Tail agreed. “He rubs me the wrong way, but he’s also doing right by us. We all expect certain things from dragons; Griffen has turned at least some of my ideas around.”
“That’s certainly true for us changelings,” Tink said. “He always has time to talk with us and make us feel welcome. This whole thing with Slim, it’s almost as if whoever did it wanted Griffen to look bad.”
A silence fell over the group as they looked at each other.
“Why? Seems a powerful strong way to wrong someone,” Kane said softly.
“Someone already said it.” Tail frowned. “To mess up the conclave.”
“Maybe by setting up one of the groups, like, say, us vampires, to appear to be disruptive influences, if not killers,” said Lowell. “By the way, Tail, we really didn’t send you that cake from the Three Dog Bakery.”
“I think the real question,” Margie said, “is not ‘why?’ but ‘who?’ Who would want to see the conclave fail at Griffen’s expense?”
“What about a dragon?” Tail said, darkly.
“What is it wit you ’n’ dragons? You got a serious mad on for a reason?” Kane grimaced.
“No. Wait a minute,” Lowell said. “Tail might have a point there.”
“How do you figure that?” Tink asked.
“Think about it,” the vampire said. “Remember all the things we’ve heard about dragons, and how ruthless and power-hungry they are. This is the first time we’ve had a dragon at one of our conclaves, and we all like, or at least respect, McCandles. That’s got to have some kind of impact on other dragons. They may see it as degrading.”
“Or as an opportunity to do Griffen some dirt,” Tink said. “Anything that happened could get blamed on his being involved with the conclave.”
“Slow down here. Let’s not get carried away,” Margie said. “All of this is just speculation. We don’t know that Slim’s death was anything except random violence. We sure can’t point the finger at any one person or group without some kind of proof.”
“Well, there’s nothing stopping us from doing a little investigating on our own,” Lowell said.
“Reality check?” Margie said, raising her hand. “Exactly what do yo think we can do that the regular police can’t?”
“Lots of things.” The vampire smiled. “How about it, Tail? Is there anything you or yours could do to help track down the killer?”
“Not de way it work, Batman,” the shape-shifter growled. “We’re not bloodhounds. Even if’n we were, got any idea how many damn tourists passed by de scene of de crime by now? Worse’n a needle in a haystack, dat job.”
“We might be able to help with that,” Tink said. “One of the things we changelings are good at is finding things.”
“And that helps us how?” Margie said, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, one of us… Tammy, you remember her… is particularly good at detecting supernaturals. If she could locate some that aren’t involved with the conclave, and one of them turned out to have a grudge against Griffen, we just might have found our killer.”
“That’s pretty thin,” Lowell said. “And we’ve only got, what, maybe thirty-six hours to do it in? Besides, from what I recall of that little scene at the poker game, I’m not sure Tammy will be all that eager to do a favor for McCandles.”
“You don’t know Tammy,” Tink said. “She’s probably cooled down by now. Besides, it will give her a chance to gain his thanks, if not admiration.”
“And if it doesn’t work, we’re no worse off than before,” Tail pointed out. “Let’s do it.”
Forty-seven
Griffen wasn’t sure what to expect from the conclave the morning after Slim’s death. He had made calls to the various speakers and leaders the night before, after talking with his own inner circle, Jerome, Val, and Mai. He had almost called Mose, but the old dragon’s distant attitude lately made Griffen hesitate. The advice from the others would have to be enough.
The conclave was already winding down. Today the scheduling was light, and tomorrow there wasn’t anything serious at all before the big masquerade ball. It seemed they were used to everyone wanting to have time to rest up before the real party. Griffen had been assured that the speakers could handle most of the workload that day if he needed to deal with more important matters.
Which was exactly the problem. Griffen wasn’t sure where his priorities should be. The loss of Slim had him mixed up emotionally, but he had been engaged as moderator. A moderator who didn’t know which meetings during the “light” day were actually important. The weight of the tragedy and the weight of his inexperience were combining into something truly crushing.
So he was going in a bit early, to gauge everyone’s reactions and feelings after having a night for the news to make the rounds and settle into everyone’s mind. Then he would decide how best to use his energies. He tried not to think about what Slim would want him to do. Slim, who had been one of his biggest supporters as moderator until the unfortunate incident with Lowell.
As Griffen walked into the hotel lobby, he saw he wasn’t the only one getting an early start. He wasn’t sure which surprised him more, Harrison sitting in one of the low chairs in the lobby or the two uniformed police standing some distance behind. The last thing Griffen would have expected from the scruffy vice detective was obvious flaunting of what he was, but the uniforms didn’t seem to have any other purpose.
Harrison was leaning in toward a young woman, someone associated with Gada and the magic types if Griffen remembered right. Harrison was talking low, but the girl kept glancing around nervously, afraid of who might see her and what they might think. Of course her back was to the door, so that she could see the two uniformed officers, and Harrison could see anyone who came in.
He looked up at Griffen, and the lines of his face deepened as he scowled. A few more words to the girl, and she craned her head back, eyes wide and startled. She muttered something back and quickly rose and scurried out of the lobby.
Harrison stood, and the two uniforms stepped up to flank him.
“This needs to be in private,” Harrison said.
He turned and didn’t bother looking back. Griffen hesitated only a moment before following him, the two uniforms falling in behind him. Harrison went into one of the conference rooms set up for the conclave itself. Once Griffen had entered as well, the door was closed by one of the officers, leaving the two men alone.
“Detective Harrison, I ju—”
Harrison grabbed Griffen by his shirt, cutting him off. Griffen was surprised by the strength of the man who jerked him around and slammed him facedown onto the conference table in the center of the room. Griffen had to concentrate hard to keep down his body’s ever-growing reactions to danger. The last thing he needed was for
