Murder at the Wizard-Hero Con

  Murder at the Wizard-Hero Con

  A Pet Portraits Cozy Mystery

  Book #11

  Sandi Scott

  Copyright © 2019 Sandi Scott and Gratice Press

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at Sandi@SandiScottBooks.com

  Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction

  Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Dedication

  For Rene and Mars

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Letter from the Author

  About the Book Cover

  PREVIEW: Murder off Broadway

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  RECIPES

  Banana Brownies

  Pomegranate Sorbet

  Strawberry Apple Pie

  Bitter Salty Perrotini

  MORE BOOKS BY SANDI SCOTT

  Chapter 1

  “Alizarin crimson, Stan. I need a tube of alizarin crimson,” Georgie said as she led her ex-husband into the art supply store.

  “What are you painting this time?” Stan asked as he looked around, looking askance at the specialty pencils, pens, markers, paintbrushes, and canvases as if they gave off a strange smell or maybe had cooties.

  “This is a specialty job,” said Georgie, her words gushing out. She clapped her hands together. “My client has a pet boa constrictor.”

  “What?” Stan barked. “You’re kidding me.”

  Georgie shook her head, making the hat she was wearing come to life. It was an orange beret with several silk butterflies all over the top dangling on tiny spirals that made them bounce and flutter when she moved.

  “I don’t even know if that’s legal.”

  “Stan, it’s a really beautiful animal. I never realized how detailed its skin is,” she said, batting her long eyelashes.

  “That’s because no one in their right mind wants to get near one of those things. Georgie, don’t you have a nice poodle or hamster to paint?”

  “My business card says A Portrait of Any Pet. Besides, this client has given me a chance to really get my name out there.” Georgie walked over to a huge wall of paints in tubes with brand names like Hue, Kato-Teller, Liquid-ease, or Sunset Graphix.

  “Here. Alizarin crimson,” Stan said, grabbing a tube from the wall and handing it to Georgie. “How is he going to get your name out there? I don’t know if I like the sound of that. Especially looking as cute as you do today.”

  Georgie rolled her eyes and shook her head. “That is Phenix brand. I don’t like this brand.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “It’s gritty. It doesn’t flow from the brush like Portal brands do,” Georgie said, standing on her tiptoes to reach a tube of alizarin crimson in her favorite brand. “Hercules is the hero of my client’s comic book series.”

  “Hercules?”

  “The boa constrictor.” Georgie looked at Stan. “Do you listen to me when I speak?”

  “I try, but when you are looking so good, I can’t help but get distracted. Why don’t we get this paint and go see if we can’t create something beautiful together?” Stan always flirted with his ex-wife. Nothing would have made him happier than for her to take him up on one of his offers to get back together. But Georgie had other plans.

  “Stan, you only say that because I keep telling you no.” She pushed her way past him, intentionally elbowing him in the gut. It was still as tight and hard as it had been when they got married, and Georgie hated him for being so good looking. It was like he got better looking with every year that passed.

  “That’s not true.”

  “If you really felt that way, you wouldn’t have left me and our three beautiful children in search of gold in ‘them thar hills’ all those years ago,” Georgie replied. It was her usual comeback when Stan talked about getting back together.

  “Am I ever going to be forgiven for all that?”

  “Yes. But not today,” Georgie replied, quick as a whip.

  On her way to the counter, she grabbed a couple of charcoal pencils and a pocket-sized spiral sketchbook that was in the SALE bin.

  “So, what does this client have in mind that will bring you fame and fortune?” Stan asked, standing dangerously close to Georgie. She inhaled his cologne and looked up at him smiling. He smelled good, the dirty scoundrel.

  “Hercules is the main character of his comic book series. Beau, that’s my client, has . . .”

  “You client’s name is Beau?”

  “Yes, Stan. What is your problem?”

  “Nothing.” He shrugged, raising his eyebrows in disinterest. “I just don’t see a guy named Beau as being all that . . . manly. That’s all.”

  “First of all, what does manly have to do with anything? And second, are you jealous, Stanley Toon?” Georgie shook her head. She hadn’t missed that slight pause in Stan’s comment about Beau’s name.

  “I can’t help it. You are a beautiful older woman. What young man wouldn’t want to learn the ways of love with someone like you?” Stan shoved his hands in the front of his jeans and rocked back and forth on his cowboy boots. They were old, dusty, worn things that he had been wearing for years. Just one more thing that always made Georgie mad at him. If only he’d aged like those boots and became discolored, soft, and worn around the edges.

  “Would you keep your voice down?” She hushed him as they approached the counter. “Beau has a booth at the upcoming Wizard-Hero-Con coming up next week. My painting of Hercules is going to be the backdrop to his display. Plus, he’s making postcards and posters and keychains to promote the next installment in the series. So, people are getting a little blurb about me as the artist with every bit of swag.” She bounced up and down on her toes.

  “Well . . . that is pretty cool,” Stan reluctantly agreed. “So, are you just going to sit back and wait for the phone to ring with hundreds of requests for pet portraits?”

  “Sit at home? Are you kidding?” Georgie smiled at the young man behind the counter who had tattoos up and down his arms and a black ring stretching out his left earlobe. He smiled back. “I’m going to the convention.”

  “Alone?”

  “Well, my client did get me two badges, so I was wondering, do you think Aleta would like to come with me?”

  “I should have known,” Stan huffed indignantly.

  Georgie paid for her supplies, took her bag, and then linked her arm through Stan’s as they exited the store.

  “It’s from Friday to Sunday, Stan. You can’t take that kind of time off work. Crime never sleeps.” She smoothed his salt-and-pepper hair back from his temple.

  “Where is it?”

  “It’s at Holland-Price Place. You know, where they have the car shows and the electronics shows and gem shows,” Georgie said.

  “May
be I’ll find a reason to stop by. I’d like to see your artistic interpretation of the boa constrictor named Hercules. I’d also like to get a look at this Beau fellow. Some of the guys on my most wanted list have weird habits and characteristics. I’ll see if any are known to have an interest in exotic animals or comic books.”

  “Stan, you worry too much.” She squeezed his arm.

  They walked to his old truck, and Georgie climbed in the passenger seat, letting Stan close the door for her. The pickup was as old as Pablo, Georgie’s vintage Volkswagen Beetle. Like the VW, it still ran well, starting without complaint even in the depths of winter.

  “What a beautiful day,” she said once Stan was behind the wheel.

  “Yeah. Perfect day for a little afternoon delight.” He turned and winked at her. For the briefest second, a millisecond at best, Georgie considered it. But instead, she rolled her eyes and shook her head.

  She cranked down the window manually and let the warm air of the city come inside the cab. There was something Georgie always liked about the smell of the air while travelling down Lake Shore Drive. There was the water on one side and the expensive high-rise part of the city on the other.

  If she sold her bungalow that was off on the edge of the city limits, she’d have enough money to purchase a small one-bedroom condo at just a walking distance from the water.

  “What would you think if I moved to one of these high-rises, Stan?”

  “I would say don’t do it.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’ve got a yard, your art studio is half the house, the kids grew up there, and most importantly, Bodhi has room to romp.” Bodhi was Georgie’s attack pug that took notice of every trembling leaf or trespassing bird that dared disturb the tranquility of his yard. He had a fierce bark, and he was not afraid to use it. A lot. At anything.

  “Plus, what would Aleta do without you?”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Georgie sighed, the idea of moving quickly leaving her mind. “Sometimes I just wonder how it would be to live somewhere else.”

  “If those people knew how you lived, Georgie, they’d be green with envy,” Stan said as he merged to the left. “You’ve got everything at your fingertips without the crime, grime, or crowding. Stay put. Besides, if you moved to a place like that and the sink got clogged, you’d have to let a strange maintenance man into the house, knowing he spends most of his time scurrying around the basement. Why have that when you’ve got me, the most handsome fix-it guy in the Midwest?”

  “Oh, Stan, you know it melts my heart to hear you talk about home repairs,” Georgie chuckled. He patted her knee, and they drove the rest of the way home in silence.

  “Would you like to come in for a coffee? I think I have some coffee and dark chocolate biscotti,” she said after she got out of the truck and slammed the door shut.

  “I’d love to, but I’ve got to get to the station. There is a mountain of paperwork I’ve been putting off that I better attempt to tackle.” He leaned toward the open passenger window and winked.

  Georgie waved, and before she even turned around felt a familiar set of eyes on her. When she turned to look, Aleta was just coming from around the back of her house with Bodhi trotting happily alongside her. As soon as he saw his mistress, he took off running, his donut tail wagging as he snorted his greeting.

  Chapter 2

  “So, what were you and Stan doing out so early?” Aleta asked as she followed Georgie into her house, carrying two steaming mugs of coffee.

  “I needed art supplies,” Georgie said waving the bag in her hand.

  “Were you going to a place that didn’t have bus or train access? Where VW Bugs are prohibited?” Aleta took a seat at Georgie’s kitchen table and carefully set the coffee cups down.

  “Of course not.” Georgie clicked her tongue. “Stan called last night, and I just happened to mention I needed to get this paint right away, and he offered to drive.” Georgie set down the plate of biscotti and looked at her twin sister critically.

  “That was nice of him,” Aleta said, biting into the hard cookie.

  “I get the feeling you have more to say.”

  “No, Georgie.” Aleta patted her sister’s hand. “I’m teasing you. But in all seriousness, do you think you should be relying on Stan if you aren’t going to get back together with him? Maybe you are missing out on finding a real partner in your life because Stan is still so close to home base.”

  Georgie took a deep breath and dunked her biscotti thoughtfully into her coffee.

  “Next to you, Aleta, Stan is my best friend.” She took a bite and talked with her mouth full. “I don’t want to get back together, but I don’t want to stop seeing him every couple of days, either. It’s weird, I know.”

  “I’m just keeping an eye on you, Georgie. I worry about you.”

  “I worry about you, too. You haven’t been on a date since that nice fellow from nature preserve. What was his name?”

  “Luke.”

  “Yeah, Luke the ranger. Where’s he been hiding?” Georgie sipped her coffee. “He was very sweet.”

  “He was. He is.” Aleta cleared her throat. “But he wanted to move a little faster than I had in mind.”

  “What?” Georgie coughed. “You didn’t tell me that.”

  Aleta shrugged. “I just wasn’t ready for the next step.”

  “Holding hands? That is a big one,” Georgie teased. “I didn’t realize he was being so forward.”

  “Not everyone is a walking, talking billboard of cleavage, okay? Some of us are a little more reserved, and when a man starts talking about that stuff, it’s too much.”

  “He started talking about your cleavage?” Georgie was trying not to laugh.

  “No.”

  “Oh, no!” Georgie gasped in mock horror. “He was talking about my cleavage. You were right to cut him loose.”

  “No, Georgie. He was just getting too serious.” Aleta shook her head. “I am not ready. Like you, I like my independence. He was talking about exchanging keys, and we’d only just gone out a dozen or so times. I don’t want someone I don’t know well coming and going from my house as they please. We weren’t raised that way.”

  “No. We weren’t.” Georgie patted her sister’s hand before resuming dunking her biscotti. “Well, are you still talking to him?”

  “Yes, now and again,” she said with a smile. “But it’s kind of run its course. At least that’s how I feel.”

  “No worries, Aleta. You are in for an adventure.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Just don’t make any plans for next weekend,” Georgie said before taking a sip of her coffee. “Keep it open.”

  “Not even a hint?”

  “I’ll tell you this—it’ll be unlike anything you’ve ever seen.”

  “Georgie, with you that could mean anything.”

  LATER THAT MORNING, Georgie took her new tube of paint into her studio that did consume the entire back half of her house. Hercules’ painting was on an extra-large piece of linen canvas that was stretched against the wall and pinned in place with thick nails. Beau had asked for it to be done this way for the conference, giving the piece a very organic feel that Georgie was pleased with.

  Slipping a paint-spattered duster on over her outfit, she studied the painting for a few minutes. Hercules was painted with such detail and care that he appeared to stick out from the page. Had she done him in oil, as she had initially suggested, he would have looked like he could slither off the page and wrap himself around anyone standing too close. But she had to use acrylic paint due to time constraints. Oil takes days to dry. Acrylic, although not as easy to work with as oil, blended well and dried quickly.

  She squeezed a tiny blob of the alizarin crimson onto her pallet, grabbed a thin-bristled brush, dabbed the hairs in some water, and began to mix it with the paint.

  As she added the details around Hercules’ eyes and mouth and along his back, she lost herself in random thoughts a
bout nothing in particular. That was what usually happened when she painted. A few strokes of the brush led her to add other details that made the picture pop from the canvas even more.

  Finally, after what only felt like twenty minutes, Georgie looked down at her watch to see that almost three hours had gone by. Her hands were covered with various shades of paint smudges where she’d blended or dabbed something with her fingers. She knew she’d scratched her face, so the chances of there being streaks of color across her cheeks and chin were pretty good as well.

  Just when she’d finished washing her brushes, her phone rang.

  “This is Georgie,” she said cheerfully, holding the phone up to her ear with just her thumb and forefinger.

  “Georgie. It’s Beau.”

  “Hi, Beau. I was just putting the finishing touches on Hercules.”

  “That sounds great. Will you be able to deliver it today?”

  “I will. Just give me some time to clean up, and I’ll be at your apartment in about two hours. Make sure that you have a place to hang this masterpiece. You’ll need about an eight-by-ten-foot space. Do you have that?”

  “I sure do. Can’t wait, Georgie.”

  Beau Hanbaugh lived in an up-and-coming neighborhood with his wife and Hercules. There were quaint shops and a coffeehouse as well as restaurants interspersed with boarded-up buildings and houses that were in the process of being rehabbed. Small trees lined the streets. Signs boasting new developments and businesses stood on open lots. Someday, this would be a booming, expensive area to live in. Georgie was sure of it.

  After washing up, Georgie rolled up the dried canvas and stuffed it into a large cardboard tube. She grabbed her car keys and a big red purse as Bodhi circled around her feet.

  “You stay home, Bodhi. I’ll come back as quickly as I can.”

  When she pulled up in front of Beau’s house, she felt the same jitters she always did when revealing her work to her client. There was always a chance they might not like her work. It was rare, practically unheard of. But still, as every artist feels unworthy or like a fraud at one time or another, Georgie doubted her abilities each time she displayed a new canvas.