“Would you come to my chambers and make love to me?" Sweet Quincy Windsor clasped Hannahlee's hand in both his own and gazed beseechingly into her eyes.
They were the first words he'd said to her. Dunne hadn't even had the chance to introduce them. He and Hannahlee had simply walked up to Quincy after the crowd had cleared...and Quincy had pushed right past Dunne to make a grab for Hannahlee's hand.
"Please, sweet lady, sweet goddess." Quincy's speaking voice was thin and nasally, utterly unlike his deep, rich singing voice. "Fulfill the lifelong dreams of this humble servant."
Hannahlee pulled her hand away. "No."
"Que sera!" Quincy jammed his thumbs in the pockets of the leather vest he wore over his puffy white shirt—black leather etched with red and gold flames. "I couldn't live with myself if I didn't at least ask Kitty Willow for a date when I had the chance!"
"No date," said Hannahlee. "You can, however, help with my mission." She pointed at Dunne. "My aide, Dunne Sullivan, will explain."
"Yes, of course." Quincy turned and clamped his big hands on Dunne's shoulders. "I already know the help you need."
Dunne frowned. "What's that?"
Quincy was at least six and a half feet tall. He had to bend down to whisper in Dunne's ear. "Writing help."
"You think so?" Dunne said it with sarcasm.
Quincy leaned back. "You need a partner on your next Willows book."
"And you can be that partner?" said Dunne.
"There is no bigger fan." Quincy drew himself up to his full height and puffed up his broad chest. "In more ways than one!"
Dunne nodded. "Then maybe you can tell me what a...'slashfic filker' is."
Quincy chuckled. "It's what I do." He swung up his stringed instrument and strummed a chord. "'Filk' singing is like folk singing, but it's about things fans can appreciate. Weeping Willows fans like songs about their favorite Willows characters...songs that tell stories." Quincy sang the rest, returning to his operatic bass. "And sometimes the stories are filthy."
Quincy leered as he strummed another chord. "One type of filthy story is slash fiction—slashfic—in which unexpected combinations of characters get it on. Like Kitty slash Leif. Get it?" Quincy strummed a series of fast chords flamenco-style, ending by smacking the instrument's body with the palm of his hand. "And I am the first and best of the slashfic filkers."
"Wow." Dunne shook his head, but not because he was impressed. He'd really missed out a lot since his last convention over a decade ago. "So what can you tell us about the Weeping Willows fan underground?"
Quincy's eyes sprang wide open. "I can tell you everything...but it would mean the death of us both."
Dunne sighed. "What if we wanted to find someone in the underground?"
Quincy pulled his waist-length black ponytail forward and held it in front of his nose and mouth like a mask. "Funny you should ask! Someone in the underground recently inquired about finding you. Red-skinned fella, pointy horns, cloven hooves."
Suddenly, Hannahlee spoke up. "If you can truly help us," she said, "you'll be paid."
"Wha-?" Instantly, Quincy straightened and dropped his ponytail. "In Earth money?"
"I'm authorized to offer payment," said Hannahlee, "courtesy of Halcyon Studios."
For the first time since they'd met, Quincy was speechless.
So was Dunne. Other than travel expenses, he hadn't known there was money in play till she'd mentioned it.
"However," said Hannahlee. "It all depends."
"On what?" said Quincy. "My star sign? My blood type?"
"On my bullshit detector." Hannahlee raised an index finger and flicked it from side to side like the needle of a gauge. "As soon as it detects you're full of shit, you get nothing."
"Understanding, of course," said Quincy, "that I am always somewhat, if not totally, full of shit."
"The bullshit detector never fails," said Hannahlee.
Quincy cleared his throat. "You say you're looking for someone?"
"We've been told he's in the fan underground," said Dunne. "He doesn't want to be found."
"Who's 'he?'" said Quincy.
"Cyrus Gowdy," said Hannahlee. "Creator of Weeping Willows."
Quincy's face lit up with wild excitement. He let loose a girlish shriek so loud and piercing that it hurt Dunne's ears.
And at first overpowered another, horrified cry that was coming from the hall outside the Bradford Room.
"Scott Savage is dead!" said the heavyset girl in the Leif Willow t-shirt. Tears poured from her eyes, dragging mascara down her face. "He's dead."
Quincy, who'd charged into the hall after the scream, clutched the girl's shoulders. "Are you sure? Where did it happen?"
"In the men's room." The girl pointed toward the men's bathroom down the hall, where a crowd had gathered. "Leon just found him!"
Arriving paramedics caught Dunne's eye as they hurried down a flight of stairs. By the time Dunne looked for Hannahlee again, she was gone.
Guessing she'd headed for the crime scene, Dunne rushed past Quincy into the crowd. People cried out as he pushed his way through...and then, someone stopped him. A hairless giant who was bigger than Quincy—big as a barn—squared his shoulders and wouldn't let Dunne pass him. Whichever way Dunne moved, the giant moved, too.
Finally, Dunne stopped moving. "I'm with Halcyon Studios," he said. "I have to get in there."
"Me, too." The giant sneered over his shoulder.
Dunne swallowed hard. He wished he could move Obstacle Guy out of his way with physical force...but some things never changed, as much as he would've liked them to.
He still didn't have any guts.
Dunne scooted away from the giant through the crowd, then angled toward the middle when the giant could no longer reach him.
The people in the front row were highly annoyed when Dunne tried to squeeze between them, but they gave way. Dunne found himself looking down at the backs of paramedics huddled over a bloody body on the gray carpeted floor.
Dunne recognized the clothes on the body before he got a look at the face: pale blue madras shirt, white chinos, huarache sandals.
When the paramedics stopped working and leaned back, shaking their heads, he saw that the screaming girl had been right. It was Scott Savage.
Leif Willow was dead.
And that wasn't all. Savage's throat was torn open from one side to the other, leaving a gaping, gruesome gash. It didn't look to Dunne like the kind of wound you could get by accident in the bathroom.
Who did this?" Dunne looked up at the sound of Hannahlee's voice. She was standing on the other side of the crowd. "Who killed him?"
"Who knows?" One of the paramedics hiked a thumb toward the men's room. "But they did leave a note."
Without another word, Hannahlee shot into the men's room. Dunne charged after her, ignoring the voices in the crowd that shouted at him not to contaminate the crime scene.
Inside, Dunne saw Hannahlee standing at the sinks, staring up at the mirror. As he joined her, he saw that someone had scrawled a message in blood on the glass.
ALL THE "WILLOWS" & THEIR FATHER WILL DIE BEFORE 30.
"Two weeks," said Quincy. "That's all we've got."
"Huh?" Dunne couldn't stop shaking. He and Hannahlee had spent the last hour in the Bradford Room, being questioned by an in-your-face police detective. Apparently, just snooping around the crime scene had been enough to land them on the suspect list. "Why two weeks?"
"Two weeks from today," said Quincy, "marks the anniversary of the debut of Weeping Willows on TV. The thirtieth anniversary."
"Congratulations." Hannahlee hunched over in her chair. "You know more about the show than I do."
"Egad!" Quincy gasped and clutched his feathered cap against his chest. "I shall carry those precious words with me to the grave, Madame."
Dunne took a deep breath and slowly released it. The shaking did not let up. "So the Willows are all in danger."
"Within the next two weeks," said Quincy.
"I'm a Willow," said Hannahlee. "Why didn't the killer get two birds with one stone?"
Dunne thought he could take a good guess. "You've kept a low profile for a long time. Maybe he didn't recognize you."
"Also, Scott was scheduled to be here," said Quincy. "Or maybe the killer's just saving you."
"Saving me?" said Hannahlee.
"For later." Quincy shrugged, then reached back to retie his long ponytail. "Maybe he has to stick to an order. Oldest to youngest or something."
Dunne got up from his chair and paced, hoping it would lessen the shaking. "What about the quotes?"
"What quotes?" said Quincy.
"Around 'Willows,'" said Dunne. "'All the "Willows" & their father.'"
"Because we're actors, maybe?" said Hannahlee. "We're not really the Willows?"
"Maybe." Dunne continued to pace the room. He wasn't sure what had him more rattled: being interrogated or getting up close and personal with a murdered corpse for the first time in his life. "So what about the 'father?' Isn't Stewart Bank dead?"
"Yeah." Quincy arched an eyebrow and cocked his head. "But maybe we're not looking for the guy who played the Willows' father on TV. The Willows have another father, right? Initials C.G.?"
"Of course." Dunne still thought Quincy was nuts, but he had to admit Quincy was right this time. "The man who created the series could be considered their father."
"Great." Hannahlee sighed and shook her head. "Not only am I marked for death, but so is the man we've been hired to find."
"So, wait," said Quincy. "Why exactly are you looking for Cyrus Gowdy?"
"If we don't get him to sign a release," said Dunne, "there won't be a movie version of Weeping Willows."
Quincy's eyes bugged out, and his mouth fell open. "Howza whoza what now? Who said anything about a big screen Willows movie?"
"Halcyon Studios," said Dunne. "But apparently, Gowdy doesn't want to be found. So I wouldn't get my hopes up, if I were you."
"Holy shit shit shit." Quincy clapped his hands. "So saving Gowdy from the killer really is important. This'll get you some major traction with the fans."
Dunne stared at him. "You mean saving Gowdy's life wouldn't be enough by itself?"
"All I'm saying is, the fans can really get behind something like this." Quincy nodded. "You got lucky. Fans can sometimes be a little protective, if you catch my drift."
"Your job," said Hannahlee.
"Ex-squeeze me?" Quincy cupped a hand around his right ear. "I baking powder?"
"Fan liaison," said Hannahlee. "That can be your job. Get the fans to be a little less protective."
"Say what?" Quincy's thick fingers kneaded his feathered red cap as if he were wringing water from a sponge. "You mean you want me to go with you?"
"Yes," said Hannahlee.
"You want me to go on an adventure with you?" said Quincy. "Kitty Willow needs me?"
Hannahlee raised an index finger. "Remember the bullshit detector."
Quincy nodded and beamed like a child promising Santa to be good. "No bullshit," he said, scrunching his eyes shut and turning his face to the ceiling. "Unless that's how you refer to ecstatic prayers of pure joy and gratitude."
"So tell me," said Hannahlee. "Where to?"
Quincy's eyes popped open, and he looked down at her. "Where to what?"
"Where do we go next?" said Hannahlee. "To find Cyrus Gowdy?"
Quincy rubbed his chin. "I have heard a rumor," he said. "Ultra quadruple top secret, though."
"What's the rumor?" said Dunne.
"That Gowdy's secretly involved with the Weeping Willows movie," said Quincy. "That he might even be visiting the set."
"The set of the big screen movie?" said Dunne. "That's impossible."
Quincy smirked and twirled his hat roguishly. "Sorry, old chap," he said in a British accent. "Did I say 'big screen?'"