“Yeah,” she said, gulping the last of her iced tea. “If anyone gives me a hard time, I usually just tell them that I did my best, and it paid the rent that week. And besides—what the hell?”
A sudden shower of mixed nuts and pretzels rattled down on our heads, and we both looked up to see that a monkey perched above our table had learned how to open the childproof lid of a snack jar.
“And on that note, I think I’ll leave before the gathering primates descend,” Maggie said, laughing as she tossed her head to shake the pretzels out of her mane. “Gotta run anyway; another panel.”
She ran off, leaving more money on the table than necessary to cover her share of the tab. Since I could see monkeys traveling from the far corners of the bar to hover over our table, I decided she had the right idea. I added enough cash to the tip to make sure the bartender remembered us both fondly. As I stood up, the weight of the little tape recorder in my pocket reminded me that I still didn’t know why Maggie was running around the convention telling people to prepare to die. And for that matter, now I had another question—why had she brought that particular photo to the convention? Was it only nostalgia? I sighed, brushed a few clinging peanuts out of my hair and reached the exit just as the first fight broke out among the swarming monkeys.
Chapter 33
Once I stepped out into the lobby, I found myself wondering if I should even bother going back to the dealers’ room. It was probably still deserted, since any fans not attending panels were still milling about the lobby and the hallway, trading rumors, and watching the press.
I went over myself to peer out the front windows of the hotel.
“God, there are more of them,” I muttered.
“Yeah,” said an Amazon security guard standing next to me. “And it’s getting to be a real pain, keeping them out.”
I glanced around the lobby. Yes, unless they had donned Porfirian disguise, the press were all outside, having grown tired of interviewing the desk clerks and photographing the wildlife. They hadn’t gotten into the convention proper. My respect for the Amazon security guards increased exponentially.
“My lord wizard! Can you not dispel the rabble infesting my courtyard?” another Amazon trilled, in the high, affected voice fans usually used when mimicking the QB. The words sounded vaguely familiar, so I assumed they must be a quote from an episode I’d seen.
“They are the envoys of a wise and ancient people,” a nearby Michael clone intoned. “We must approach them with subtlety and discretion.”
I recognized this as one of Michael’s lines from a recent show. A line that, as usual, provoked gales of laughter, not because it was particularly funny in and of itself, but because on the show, after Michael said it to Walker in his most solemn voice, they had simultaneously whirled and punched the two envoys in the jaw. Fortunately the Michael clone omitted the fisticuffs from his rendition.
A thought struck me. I fished out the tape recorder, turned the sound down, queued up the scrap of dialogue in Maggie’s voice, turned the volume back up, and stuck it out in the middle of the group of Amazon guards.
“Porfiria trivia quiz,” I said. “Identify this.”
I played them the snippet, the one where Maggie could be heard saying, “Prepare to die, you—whoops!”
“The Duchess, of course,” one said. “Maggie West.”
“Well, duh,” another said. “But what episode?”
“Play it again, will you?” asked a third.
I backed up the tape and obliged.
“I’ve got it!” the second one said. “It’s from the blooper tape. The Duchess threatening Porfiria in the ‘Portents of Evil’ episode, only this is the take where the Duke tried to draw his sword and hit himself in the chin with it.”
“You’re right!” the first guard said, shaking her head. “Damn, and I just saw the blooper tape again this morning.”
“Great,” I said. “Thanks. That one had us stumped.”
I strolled on, leaving the guard who had answered looking very pleased with herself.
I should have asked Dad where he’d taped the parrot. Odds were it was in or around the fan lounge, where they’d been showing the blooper tape once an hour since Friday morning. Enough repetition for even the slowest of parrots.
As I made my way back down the hall, I passed the vine-draped door to Salome’s room and noticed that someone had put a large CLOSED sign on it.
So if it was closed, why were there voices in there? One male and one female, and it wouldn’t have seemed odd if the male voice belonged to Brad, the keeper, and the female to, say, Maggie. But the male voice was Walker’s.
And the female voice was saying,
“Just leave me alone!”
I ducked under the vines—which required getting down on my hands and knees. Brad’s camouflage efforts were definitely getting out of hand. The vines no longer merely obscured the opening, they practically blocked it. The door itself was slightly ajar, so I put my ear to the opening.
“Please,” Walker said. “You’ve got to tell them!”
“I can’t,” a female voice said.
“If you don’t, I won’t have an alibi,” Walker said. “And I think they’re getting ready to arrest me.”
Aha! Apparently Walker’s luck was changing, and he had found his alibi.
Or had he only found someone he thought would be willing to lie for him?
“Do you know what my boyfriend will do to me if he finds out?”
Aha. Walker’s luck was changing, all right, but not for the better.
“You don’t have to tell your boyfriend,” he said. “Just the police.”
“He’ll find out,” she said. “The last time he got mad at me, he almost broke my nose, and that’s nothing compared to what he’d do this time.”
“Not if you—”
“I have to go!”
I backed far enough away from the door that I could pretend to be only just approaching as she flew out. Far enough, for that matter, to let me take a long hard look at her as she passed by.
Blond, pretty, on the skinny side, maybe early twenties but probably just barely legal—a lot like every other girl I’d ever seen at Walker’s side. Even without the skimpy red harem girl costume, I could probably pick her out of a crowd. But just in case, I took a look at her badge. And a second look, just to make sure I’d read it correctly. Then I ducked under the vines and went into the room.
Salome opened one eye when I entered, then closed it again and apparently went back to sleep, as if to say I wasn’t worth bothering with. Spike, still securely fastened to a post across the room, had curled up very carefully in exactly the same pose as Salome, though he was only pretending to sleep. Occasionally he would lift his head, look over at her, sigh, and put his head back down. I’d probably have found this adorable if I hadn’t known him better. Walker was leaning against a wall, well away from both animals. He acknowledged my arrival with a half-wave and an unconvincing smile.
“Walker,” I said, “I gather you have a problem.”
“Yeah,” he said. “The police are probably going to arrest me any minute now.”
“And your only alibi is a teenaged tart with a fake ruby in her navel who’s apparently registered for the convention as Concubine Aimee,” I said.
“Holy—how did you know?” Walker asked.
“I was eavesdropping, of course,” I said.
“Then you know how bad it is,” he said. “She won’t talk.”
“Now that you know who she is, you could just tell the police,” I suggested.
“I can’t,” he said.
