The Frame-Up (The Golden Arrow #1)(87)

I glance at the schedule and note the ballroom number. Wading across the sea of people, I make my way over to the bank of doors on the other side of the hall. “One-oh-two, one-oh-three . . .” Crap. Standing in front of the door to ballroom 103 is a uniformed security guard. I think he’s meant to look like he’s casually placed there, watching the con, but I know better. And I’m going to need a way to get around him. I head to room 102 and jiggle the handle. Locked.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” a voice comes from behind me.

Busted. I whirl to find a smirking Lawrence.

I gasp, hand over my heart. “You scared the bejesus out of me.”

“Well, you’re not going to get anywhere looking as guilty as you do.”

“Thanks for the pro tip,” I mutter.

“What did you find out?”

“The auction goods aren’t at the Genius booth like I hoped. They already set up the auction in ballroom 103, which has a guard. So I’m going to get into this one and try to get to 103 from inside.”

“Nope. Not going to work.”

“Why on earth not?”

Lawrence shifts some bags in his hands. He’s been busy shopping already. “Because, like I said, you look too guilty. Best way to do this is straight on.”

He digs in his bags and produces a thick pair of black lensless frames.

I try to look merely confused instead of annoyed as hell, which is how I feel. “Clark Kent glasses? I’m wearing my contacts today, and I don’t see how this will get us past a guard.”

He shrugs and, without asking permission, pulls out a purple pashmina and wraps it around my shoulders. “If we have to try getting in another way, it will be harder to determine you’re the same person. We’ll just switch your costume . . . Oh, that damn hair.” He glances up at the recognizable shock of blue. Rummaging around in the bag, he produces a too-big black top hat, which he puts on my head in a pushed-back manner.

“I look ridiculous.”

“It’s Comic-Con. You look downright normal.”

Touché. I roll my eyes at him, square my shoulders, and march up to the guard. He eyes me as I approach.

“Hello,” I say in my best businesslike manner. “Andy sent me over to check one of the auction items.” I reach under the pashmina and pull out my Genius lanyard displaying my picture ID.

The guard shifts on his feet. “I’m not supposed to let anyone in.”

“And you’re doing a fine job.” Jerk. I smile. Time to unleash the Force. My “these aren’t the droids you’re looking for” tactic. “It’s okay. I can come back later. Or I could go get Lelani to talk to you. Would that work? Or Edward Casey. He’s the one who wants me to check to make sure one of the items wasn’t damaged.” I’m inventing wildly at this point and decide to add humor. “I could go get a teacher’s note from him if you need.”

The guard hesitates.

“It will take three seconds,” I say, sensing weakness. “Andy says one of the frames might have cracked in transport. We might have to fix it before the auction tomorrow. But like I said, I can come back later if you need a note or something.”

He saw my badge. He knows I work for Genius. He wavers and finally steps aside. “A few minutes?”

“Or less,” I say, doing my best to keep a straight face. “I appreciate your diligence. We wouldn’t want anything in here to go missing.”

I slip through the door and into the dark, quiet ballroom. In here, the buzz from the hall is diminished, sounding like a faraway swarm of bees. A row of covered folding tables is set up on the stage, lined with various groups of items, each one with an official-looking placard describing the lot. I waste no time ascending the stairs, bypassing the podium, and walking quickly down the line of elements.

My fingers itch to touch everything, including early editions of The Hooded Falcon. Signed pen-and-ink drawings on card stock. I’m passing the first large framed piece when I hear a noise in the room. Instantly I am on alert, and I straighten.

“Find anything?”

Guard Guy pokes his head into the room and regards me uneasily. I can tell he’s still not sure he should have let me in.

I make a show of pointing to the large framed piece in front of me. It’s the same one that sat behind Casey Senior’s desk, and the last time I saw it, it was on the floor of Casey’s office. Thor’s hammer, the sight of it has me buzzing with excited energy. “I think this is the one Andy told me about. I’m just going to have to inspect it for damage.” I brandish my phone, turn on the flashlight function, and proceed to check over the frame front and back, hoping the guard will get the hint and leave again.

Instead, he walks up the dark aisle toward the stage. No, no, no. I cannot properly look at this frame with him in the room. I feel like crying. I’m this close.

It’s going to be hard to fake a damaged frame if it looks perfect.

“Oh, I see what you’re looking at,” he says, motioning to the frame.

He does? I blink. “Oh yeah.” I lean over the frame with my phone flashlight. “It’s just easier to see with some light . . .” But he’s right. From this angle, I notice that the black paper covering the back of the frame is torn. About the right size tear for someone to slip a journal through. My heart does a victory dance.