We'll Always Have Parrots(38)

While Michael brushed his teeth, I copied the photos from the camera onto my laptop. I wasted some time trying to find a program that would let me look at them in larger than thumbnail size, but evidently my nephew Kevin hadn’t expected that I’d want to do anything with photos but send them to him. So that’s what I did. I managed to attach the two photos of the torn comic to an e-mail, telling Kevin enough about them to pique his interest without getting so graphic that my sister would object if she looked over his shoulder, and asking him to figure out a way for me to get some printed blowups.

Michael was asleep before I logged off, and I didn’t plan to be far behind him. Still, it was past 2:00 A.M. before I fell asleep. Thank goodness Michael didn’t have any panels until 11:00 A.M. Saturday, I thought, as I drifted off. I had to be in the dealers’ room at ten, but I needed much less prep time. So we could actually sleep in until nine. Which wasn’t all that great, considering how late we’d stayed up. Still, it was better than Friday morning.

The phone woke us up a little before eight.





Chapter 19




Michael pulled the pillow over his head. I growled, and reached for the phone.

“Meg? It’s Kevin.”

“Kevin?”

I must have sounded pretty out of it.

“Kevin? Your nephew? You’ve only known me for, like, fifteen years.”

“And I’ve only been asleep for, like, five hours,” I said. “Give me a break. What’s up?”

“These photos you sent me? The ones of the comic?”

“Right,” I said, sitting up.

“Is that really her hand? That Porfiria lady?”

“That’s her,”

“You actually found the body, and she was holding this in her hand?”

“Yes.”

“Coo–ul!” he exclaimed.

“I’m glad you like it,” I said. “I like it, too. At least I think I will, when I can see it well enough. Preferably on paper.”

“An actual dead hand,” he said

“Kevin!”

“Okay, okay,” he said quickly. “I don’t suppose you can leave the hotel and go to a Kinko’s? According to MapQuest there’s one about a mile from you.”

“I really need to mind my booth,” I said.

“You can’t just leave it for an hour or so?”

“If you could get the photos to me without my having to leave the hotel, I might be persuaded to send you a photo of her whole body.”

“Wow! Is it gory?”

“Exceedingly,” I lied. “Now isn’t there some way you could—”

“Hang on,” he said.

It took half an hour, and in the long run I might regret giving Kevin my Visa card number, but he arranged to download the photos to the Kinko’s, have the staff there print them out, and then call a courier to bring the photos to the hotel. When I was sure he had it all arranged, I sent him two photos of the QB’s body, after checking one last time that they weren’t really all that gory.

“I wouldn’t have had the slightest idea how to do all that when I was his age,” I said to Michael, who decided halfway through my conversation with Kevin that he might as well get dressed.

“You’d have managed,” he said.

“I’m sure I would, but this kid is only fifteen, and he already knows. Should I worry about that?”

Michael seemed to find the question hilarious. He also reassured me that I probably wasn’t warping Kevin for life by sending him the murder photos.

“After all, the kid watches all the forensic shows on the Discovery Channel,” he pointed out. “Not to mention listening to your father.”

I’m not sure that last point made me feel better.

Despite the lack of sleep, Michael’s cold seemed better. Not to mention his mood. I heard him whistling cheerfully as he went through his usual morning routine.

Whistling “Ding-Dong! The Witch is Dead!”

“You might want to watch your musical selections when you go back out in public,” I said, as he came out of the bathroom.

“Well, it’s not as if I started it,” he said. “Or didn’t you like the Amblyopian Minstrels’ rock rendition last night?”

“I seem to have missed that,” I said, shaking my head.

“They were doing it when I came in,” he said.

“Must have been when I was interrogating Chris.”

“Interrogating him? Or fending him off?” Michael asked.

“That, too,” I agreed. Obviously Michael had seen Chris at convention parties before. And luckily he appeared to consider Chris harmless. “Please tell me Walker wasn’t singing that song.”