appreciate the thought.”
“I really don’t mean to step on your toes. It’s not that I didn’t think you could handle it. It’s just, sometimes it’s easier if you don’t have to be distracted and think through all the legal stuff on your own.”
Jacob threw her a sideways look. “And you wanted to look for that FFVII figure.”
“The fully-poseable Cloud Strife with the intricately-detailed scale Hardy Daytona motorbike? Possibly.” She took a bite of her pasta.
Lydia was only fifteen years older than Jacob, but she was his aunt and legal guardian. She was also at least two points cooler than any attorney had the right to be, even according to his friends, but most of them didn’t know how grateful Jacob was to her. If not for Lydia’s willingness to take on the family tooth and nail, Jacob would be living a very different life. Instead, he had a normal school career and a good chance at his detective dream, not to mention a moderately healthy trust fund for emergencies.
If Lydia worried at all over him, it was only because of how fiercely they had fought to make this life, and she wouldn’t let it slip away from him. He could hardly fault her for that — and she usually stayed out of the way even while she kept her eye on things.
“Aunt Lydia,” he said, “I should probably warn you. There’s been some video and stuff showing up around the con—”
“Hold on,” she said. “What is that?”
In the corner, flanked by doors opening onto each street, stood a robot of gleaming white plastic, about nine feet tall. Jacob considered. “Looks like a giant robot,” he said with deliberately flat accuracy. “I don’t know which one.”
Lydia slowed, and as they watched the robot, surrounded by three spotters, began to fold in upon itself. As it knelt and inverted, wheels appeared, and a tail, and a spike where a hood ornament might appear, if the construct could be called a car.
“Wow. It really transforms.”
“We’ve got some great costumes here this year,” Jacob said. “I’ve seen some really good stuff already.”
“I wonder what kind of mileage he gets? Maybe I should upgrade.” She looked around. “Man, seems like such a happy cool place. Hard to believe there was a homicide here.”
“Two.”
She turned to stare at him. “What?”
“Since I texted you, they found another body. Same cause of death, arsenic poisoning via food.”
“Arsenic? Did I miss a trip back to 1913 or something?” She shook her head. “Same food?”
“Not sure.”
“Same time?”
“No. The first one was last night, and we saw the other in Con Ops this morning. She died in the hotel bar later.”
Lydia raised a tapered eyebrow. “The hotel bar?”
“It wasn’t open; she was just waiting there to meet with the con chair. But she was going to be waiting a while, because we were helping him avoid her.”
“Yipes. Bad romance?”
“Oh, no way. She was a corporate sponsor, and she was giving him a hard time about the con. I saw her yesterday, yelling at him in front of everyone because of a typo in the program guide. Which, to be fair, was in her company name — but it wasn’t worth that level of drama.”
“So is this con chair maybe a person of interest?”
“Heh,” said Jacob. “I’m sure he is, but he’ll have to take a number. Sorry, Aunt Lydia, but I kind of get the feeling that no one is upset about her. Shocked, yes, but not sad.”
“Ah.”
“So Dead-Laura was going to be hard, because there was just no context to it at all. But Valerie’s going to be hard because, as far as I can pick up, she made a lot of enemies.”
“Dead-Laura?” repeated Lydia. “Don’t they teach you how not to be callous?”
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean — her name was Tasha something. That was her costume, the dead Laura from American Gods , and she was doing this thing where she was gradually decaying over the weekend, like the character.”
“Oh,” said Lydia. “That’s actually