We’ll Always Have Parrots

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.

“Now is not the time to get all chivalrous,” I said.

“I’m not being chivalrous,” he said. “I already threatened to tell, and she said if I did, she’d deny it.”

“Walker, you can get her to tell the truth,” I said. “All you have to do is—”

And then I paused. What were the odds that Walker could talk Concubine Aimee into anything? About the same as the odds he could get through a fight scene without hurting himself. Which was why Chris was his stunt double. At the moment, apparently, Walker needed a brain double.

“Let me talk to her,” I finished.

“You really think you can talk her into it?”

I shrugged.

“Worth a try,” I said. “Just lie low for a while.”

I crawled out of the lair and reconnoitered. Concubine Aimee had disappeared, but that was okay. I didn’t want to talk to her until I had a little more information about her, and I thought I knew where to look. I remembered seeing the Amazon security guards and the guest of honor escorts disappear into a room off the green room. I headed there.

Sure enough, when I walked into the room in question, I found two convention volunteers doing something with laptops.

When in doubt, pretend you know just what you’re doing and have every right to do it, I told myself. It always worked for Mother.

“Hi,” I said, going up to one of the computer users and flashing my badge, with its vendor ribbon. “I need to check an attendee out.”

“Is there a problem of some kind?”

“Probably not, but I’d like to keep it that way,” I said. “Can you look up someone by badge name and see if they’re really registered?”

“Oh, God,” the other computer volunteer groaned. “They’re not faking the badges again, are they?”

“Not necessarily,” I said. “It may just have been the light that made it look funny, but with all these reporters around, trying to sneak in—”

“What’s the badge name?” the first volunteer asked.

“Concubine Aimee,” I said, sidling around so I could look over her shoulder. “No, with a double ‘ee’—that’s right.”

“Looks like she’s legit,” the woman said.

“Unless there are multiple Concubine Aimees running around,” the other volunteer said. “One color copier and bingo! You’ve got clones.”

“I know someone who probably took a check from this one,” I said. “Let me see if the address and other stuff you have matches what’s on the check she has in her cash box, and if there’s a problem, I’ll come back and let you know.”

They liked that idea, so I copied down the relevant information on a While You Were Out slip, stuffed it in my pocket, and left before someone more security-conscious showed up.

Okay, it was convenient that they let me take down Aimee’s personal information that easily, but not reassuring. Did they have information about Michael and me in the same computers, guarded by the same bozos?

I’d worry about that later. I set out to look for Aimee—whose real name was Amy Goldman. I also had a local address and a phone number.

But as I walked through the green room, I noticed Nate sitting in a corner. Quite apart from the fact that I wanted to tackle him on why he’d lied about knowing Ichabod Dilley, I wanted to know the reason for the singularly glum look on his face. Concubine Aimee could wait a few more minutes.