The Mystery Megapack

been taking advantage of our absence. Everybody else will work the masquerade with me.”
    “Shouldn’t I go back backstage?” Shannon asked hesitantly. “I mean, I’m still in the contest. That’s where I was when you called the Linus.”
    I stifled a sigh. Clearly her job in security was secondary to a chance to act out a scene with Bane. At least she’d responded to the Linus this time. “Fine, we’ll handle it.”
    As I’d expected, most of the fans were milling around, spreading stories that had nothing to do with what had really happened. I heard half a dozen people who claimed to know the real story: everything from a drug bust to an orgy to a government crackdown to alien infiltration. We tried to reassure them and got people back into their seats as fast as possible. Once we had them situated, we brought in the judges, including Bane, and got the show moving.
    The judges dutifully announced the winners, including Shannon, who got an award for “Most Daring” for her scraps of fur. The way she rubbed against Bane when she accepted her ribbon made it plain she hoped to supplant Girl Friday.
    Once the awards were over with, Bane solemnly announced what had happened to Pinky, and said some kind words about him. I saw plenty of tears, but I also heard speculation about whether or not the death had really been an accident. I tried to tell myself that the idea was ridiculous, but it sounded all too believable.
    It wasn’t just the oddness of Pinky’s death, it was the faces around me. Granny Goodness actually looked glad when she realized that Pinky was the one who’d kept her away from Bane during the meet-and-greet. Wanda Wannabe was there with a satchel, and I’d have bet dollars to donuts that she had a copy of her manuscript with her, hoping to corner a writer in the bathroom. Then I saw Girl Friday, bawling loudly where Bane could see. As he left the stage, he took pity on her and let her sob on his shoulder. That wouldn’t have happened if Pinky had still been alive.
    I’d heard that when somebody’s been a cop for long enough, everybody starts to look guilty. Now I understood what they meant, because suddenly it seemed as if anybody in that room could have pushed Pinky down those stairs. If it hadn’t been for the walkie-talkie in my hand, offering me instant aid from the rest of the redshirts, I think I’d have run screaming from the room. No wonder Pinky had been so attached to his. For one morbid moment, I considered suggesting that the walkie-talkie be buried with him, which led to the even more morbid idea of him sending me a message from the grave.
    Then something occurred to me, almost as if Pinky had sent me one last message.
    Though the plan had been for Bane to choose the person who’d be acting out the scene with him at the end of the costume contest, under the circumstances, it had been forgotten, and I heard people muttering about it. That gave me the idea about what to do next.
    I buzzed Elliot, and told him to take Bane someplace where I could talk to him privately. Then I buzzed Ted, and told him to announce that Bane would be picking somebody momentarily. Both of them sounded taken aback, but they didn’t argue.
    Leaving the rest of my team to keep watch, I went backstage, which was mostly empty now that the masquerade was over. I was happy to see that Elliot had managed to detach Girl Friday, so he was the only one who heard me tell Bane what I had in mind. For once, I forgot that Bane was a celebrity and the most handsome man I’d ever met. From that point on, he was just another member of my team. I told him what I wanted, and why, and made it plain that I expected him to agree. He did.
    I buzzed Ted again, told him Bane was ready, and listened as he told the same to the waiting throng. There was a hush when Bane stepped on stage, and I could practically hear fingers crossing.
    “I know the timing is awkward,” Bane said in that delectable accent, “but a lot of people have come a long way to hear tomorrow’s program, and it’s fair dinkum that Pinky wouldn’t have wanted them to be disappointed.”
    There were enthusiastic sounds of approval.
    “Now I’m hoping one particular sheila will be willing to share the stage with me.” Now there were shrieks, giggles, and more than one shout along the lines of “Pick me!” Bane, who was an actor after all, paused dramatically. Then he named his choice. “Come on up here, luv.”
    There was a delighted shout,