I'd just walked in the door at home when I got the call.
"Bird Goddess!" Kayla sounded frantic. "Sherman's cult has started another Con that opens in one hour!"
Philby walked up to me and sat. From the look on her face, I thought I was about to get chewed out for something that wasn't my fault. Or maybe it was. I never really knew with her. In fact, sometimes I wondered if I was being chewed out just because.
"What are you talking about?" I asked Kayla as I headed for the kitchen.
The only thing that could shortchange my cat's fury was a can of tuna. I was "in trouble" so often that I ordered them by the crate.
"Sherman's druids!" Kayla shouted. "They just launched their own Con in the next ballroom over!"
"That's a sneaky way to get around the rules that shut down the event," I said, perhaps a bit too admiringly.
Philby made two attempts to get onto the counter, failing both times. It was difficult not to laugh. Squatting and using my legs to avoid a hernia, I lifted her bulk and put her on the table, next to the tin of tuna. She buried her face in it, meaning I could focus on the call.
"How can they pull that off?" I asked Kayla. "What about advertising, and speakers and all that junk?"
"Kurt's looking into it. So far he's found notifications on Doomandgloom.com for it starting a month ago!"
"Doomandgloom.com?" Sounded like a site you visited when you wanted to be depressed.
"It's a social media network for our kind of people," Kayla replied. "I'm surprised you haven't heard of it. It's very popular and has ten thousand followers."
How suspicious. Not the social media site but the fact that Sherman had a Con ready to go. "It sure looks like Sherman knew something was going to happen that would drive folks out of your Con and into his."
Was Sherman and his band of depressed but wealthy misfits for real? No one ever got caught this quickly by sheer stupidity. What was the fun in that?
"Do you think he killed Deliria?" Kayla screamed into the phone. It was so loud that it made Philby tear her attention away from her tuna.
I shrugged. "I don't know. It just seems suspicious."
"You'd better get over here and arrest him, then!" She hung up before I could say that I didn't do things like that. I'm not saying it wouldn't be nice, but I had a feeling Rex would frown on it if I ran around arresting people.
Philby looked up from her empty can and belched. Then she more fell off the table instead of hopped off. After flailing on her back like a tick, she got to her feet, walked over to me, and threw up on my shoes.
Somehow, it felt deliberate.
"Bird Goddess!" One of Sherman's female druids met me at the door. "Your admission is free! Please give us some time later to have a little chat with you. I am Dred Demon Daphne." She gave a very low curtsy. "At your service."
The girl was pretty. Very pretty, with long blonde hair in beachy waves and a perfect nose that gave me the impression it wasn't originally her own.
"Thanks," I said. "Nice to meet you, Daphne."
The girl blushed. "The pleasure is all mine!"
She handed me a thick, glossy booklet that said THE NUMBER ONE DRUID CON PREMIERE EVENT! I flipped through. The first section featured the cult, with high definition, touched-up photos of everyone, including Sherman and Daphne.
It seemed even more suspicious that they'd pay good money to have these printed up, if they didn't know something was going to happen that would cancel Stewie's event. My mood lifted. Hopefully I was on to something here. Oh sure, it was mostly circumstantial. That was kind of my thing. I gathered those kind of clues, and Rex backed it up with hard facts. Actually, we made a great team, although I wasn't sure he'd agree with that.
I stepped inside and looked around. To be perfectly honest, I didn't want to be here. As with the earlier event, I had very little interest in something like this. However, if Sherman was framing Stewie, I felt I owed it to my own cult to check it out.
Professional booths lined the walls, with vendors of all sorts, from comics to manga to cosplay. These were not just middle-aged comic dealers with questionable hygiene and Superman T-shirts. These were business reps with expensive and shiny displays. I didn't realize the druid-comic thing was so lucrative.
"Bird Goddess!" Another of Sherman's druids—a girl with long dark braids—handed me a tote bag. "We are so honored you came! I am Dred Witch Ellen. At your service." She also bowed deeply.
"Um…okay." I took the tote. "That's nice."
Ellen's skin was so pale it was nearly translucent, and she was so thin I wanted to run out and get her a sandwich. She gave me a solemn nod and ran off to hand out more tote bags. The bags were beautiful black leather. Was that real leather? I gave it a sniff and was rewarded with that rich aroma. The trim and handles were a vibrant red. It was so classy I could use this as a purse.
A man in a suit walked by, stopping as he watched me smell the bag with a look of dazed glee on my face. He frowned and moved away quickly.
"Oh right," I called after him. "Like I'm the weirdest thing here!"
I stuffed the program inside, put the tote over my shoulder, and took a lap around the perimeter, stopping at each booth. The swag was surreal. I got a bottle of body spray that smelled like fresh comic pages, a Wonder Woman tiara that I promptly stuck into my dirty blonde, short curly hair, an eye mask that you could wear as a disguise or could be refrigerated to soothe tired eyes—which I also slipped on. I don't even know what these businesses were promoting, but I got some pretty cool free stuff.
By the time I'd completed my rounds, I had maybe $500 worth of free swag and the tote was bursting.
"You're here!" Kayla cried out as she, Heather, and Mike circled me.
"I came as fast as I could," I admitted.
"I almost didn't recognize you with your disguise," Mike winked. "Good thinking to move around incognito."
"Yes," I lied. "That's exactly what I was trying to do. You're very smart."
Mike beamed under the compliment. "Thanks Bird Goddess!" Then he looked around and leaned in conspiratorially. "Sorry. I didn't mean to blow your cover."
I waved him off and adjusted the tiara. "I'm sure no one noticed."
The kids looked at my bulging swag bag, and that's when I realized that they didn't have one. My druids looked like normal teens—awkward, gangly, unpolished. The Cult of Eternal Fear and Loathing looked like they all kept stylists on retainer.
"You took their stuff?" Heather looked disappointed.
"For research," I insisted, shoving the bag behind me.
Kayla nodded. "She's building a case against Sherman! She thinks he killed Deliria in order to set this up! Right?" She turned to me.
I pulled the Batman chocolate bar on a stick out of my mouth and agreed.
"Can you believe they charged us $25 to get in?" Mike squeaked. "We refused the bags out of solidarity with Stewie." He gave me a pointed look.
I decided not to tell them I got in for free. "What do you think of their Con?"
"Well…" Kayla folded her arms over her chest. "It's overpriced and tacky, that's what I think."
"Yeah!" Heather added. "We could've done all these things, but we didn't because we have standards!"
Mike leaned in. "They have a bar in the back corner. Can you believe that?"
Not only could I believe it, but I now suddenly wanted a drink.
"I should check it out," I suggested. "Just to make sure they aren't roofying anyone."
"It isn't even lunchtime yet," Mike whined.
"It almost is," I insisted before leaning in to them and whispering, "This is an investigation! It's not like I want a drink. I have to check out every aspect of this event!"
The kids didn't seem convinced but followed me glumly to the bar, which was staffed by men in tuxedos.
"Ah," one of them said. He looked like a posh butler. "Bird Goddess. Whatever you want is on the house."
"Just a glass of white wine." I smiled. On the house! All right!
"On the house?" Heather's voice was tight.
"Of course, mademoiselle." The man nodded. "She is part of the Cult of Eternal Fear and Loathing."
Three pairs of eyes bore into my back. I took my glass and turned to them. "No, I'm not. Stop worrying about it. I would never leave you guys for…" My eyes wandered. "Oh wow! They're giving away a convertible?"
"Focus!" Mike said, but his eyes wandered over to the cherry-red car that was spinning on a turntable.
"Oh. Sorry." I pulled them to the side. "Look, I don't know what's going on here, but if I'm going to get to the bottom of it, you guys have to stop questioning me."
"I get it!" Kayla whispered. "You're undercover!"
Heather brightened. "What's your cover?"
"I'm a wealthy benefactor looking to invest," I said in hushed tones.
"Really?" Mike scowled.
I lifted the edge of the mask to glare at them more efficiently. "No, not really! Everyone has been calling me the Bird Goddess! They all know me!"
"Oh" was all Kayla said. "Well, Kurt is here undercover. He's going to get to the bottom of it too."
Great. "Look, guys, you should probably go see if Stewie has posted bail and then pay it to get him out."
The three straightened and saluted me for some reason. They'd never done that before. I kind of liked it.
"Good plan!" Heather said before they turned and ran for the exit.
I let out a sigh and sipped my wine and, once I knew they were gone, filled out a raffle slip for the convertible.
"Greetings, milady!" A man appeared at my elbow, with a giant handlebar mustache, a monocle, and a black, three-piece suit, complete with top hat.
"Hey Kurt." I handed him the pen. "Are you signing up for the convertible too?"
He looked wounded. "How did you know it was me?"
I pointed to his suit. "You look like the Monopoly man. Why are you undercover anyway?"
He shielded the side of his face in the worst attempt to avoid attention ever. "Kayla wanted me to find evidence that these guys killed Deliria."
"Did you find any?" I asked as I walked away.
Kurt ran after me. "Not really. Nice swag though." He pointed to his tote bag. "I can't wait to try out the virtual reality headset! Those retail for $400!"
"I know, right?" I got a little excited. "And what about the fitness watch? I've been meaning to get one of those!"
"They really are doing this right," Kurt admitted. "Don't tell Kayla I took the stuff, okay?"
I crossed my heart as we stopped at one of the inner booths I hadn't visited yet. "My lips are sealed."
"I am Iron Man!" A very birdy voice squawked.
I looked around and found Dickie, the scarlet macaw, on a stand at a booth representing the zoo. For a moment I hoped maybe Mr. Fancy Pants, the king vulture was here, but no such luck.
"Hello, Dickie," I addressed the bird, who didn't really like me that much.
"Squaaaaawwwwk! DC drools, Marvel rules!" Dickie clicked his beak a couple of times for emphasis.
I didn't recognize the zoo employee at the table, and he was too busy talking to Iron Man and Captain America, who had just agreed with Dickie that DC sucked. I pointed at my DC superhero Wonder Woman tiara, and they turned back to zoo guy.
I started to walk away but had a thought and doubled back to the macaw. "Any idea who killed Deliria?"
Dickie, for the first time since I'd known him, kept his beak shut. Oh well. It was worth a shot. I slipped away, hopefully unnoticed in my disguise as a wealthy investor wearing a mask and tiara. Kurt was gone when I got back to where we'd been talking. That was probably just as well, as his costume would require further taunting on my part.
I found some tables with fine linens and sat down to finish my wine and think. This really was a sweet setup. And it was far too well-organized to have been thrown together at the last moment. Who can lay their hands on virtual headsets of this quantity in a short time?
No, this had to have been planned in advance. In fact, I wondered if it hadn't been planned even before my cult organized theirs? These were professional vendors with serious and very awesome swag.
Granted, Sherman Kennedy came from money and may have had the wherewithal to set it all up, but it didn't seem possible to do it on short notice. Which supported the suspicion that Sherman didn't kill Deliria to frame Stewie and make his own event more successful.
I looked at my swag bag. Strictly speaking, they had more than enough here to steal the crowd from Stewie. The admission fee was more than covered by just one item in the swag bags. But Deliria was a big draw. Maybe he couldn't get her and decided she stood in his way. Like the if I can't have her, nobody can idea that men were so fond of.
That might not have been his only motive. He really seemed to hate Stewie, and his cult was definitely a rival of ours. He was even trying to poach me. How can you hate someone so much that you'd frame them for murder, steal their thunder and me?
"Bird Goddess." Sherman sat down next to me. "I am so glad you're here."
I sized him up. This kid was smarmy with a capital SMARMY.
"How convenient, you showing up right now," I said casually. "I was just thinking about your cult."
"Really?" His eyebrows rose hopefully. "I can answer any questions you may have. I know you'd rather be affiliated with professionals than that rabble."
Professional druids?
"I'm rather fond of that rabble. And Stewie. I just wondered why you worked so hard to set him up?"
Sherman looked shocked. "Why would we do that? I really have no problem with them. But the fact of the matter is, we planned our Con before they did. Stewie stole the show, which hardly seems fair, now does it?"
I narrowed my eyes, "Stewie stole your show?"
The young man gave a single nod. "Look around. Would we have been able to set something like this up overnight? We may have more money, but it still takes a lot of work to pull this off."
He had a point, and I was a bit thrown off by the idea that my cult stole his cult's thunder. Would Stewie do that? I was also disappointed that if it was true, the theory that Sherman killed Deliria took a nosedive.
"And accusing him of murder?" I asked before taking a sip of wine.
Sherman's face closed up. "I only tell the truth. That's what I saw."
"And what did you see, exactly?" I pressed.
Sherman said nothing.
"I'm not inclined to work with a group I can't trust," I said. "And if you can't state your case, I feel like you're hiding something."
It was as if I could see the gears grinding in his head.
"I told the police." He spread his hands.
I got to my feet. "Then we have nothing more to discuss. I've got to go." I waved my hand around. "This is nice."
As I turned and walked away, he called me back.
"Yes?" I turned back to face him.
"Stewie is guilty," Sherman said. "You should be with a group that doesn't murder C-level late-night horror celebrities."
I already am, I thought to myself. So why was a tiny ray of doubt popping into my head?