Part 44 (2/2)

”Ditto,” Lang added.

”Who stood to gain if you quit early on? Tiara Fordham. If you quit, Keelie, Tiara would have an opportunity to make a splash in the reality TV world-maybe even get her own gig. For sure she'd get lots of exposure and publicity.”

”So you are saying Tiara's responsible for the mischief and her kidnapping is a hoax,” Keelie said.

I shook my head.

”Well, maybe earlier on. But at this stage of the game?” I shook my head. ”It doesn't make sense. It's too late for Tiara to benefit from your quitting now. The ride is almost over.”

Langley, the director's son, sighed and shook his head. ”Abominable pacing. Too anti-climactic,” he said. ”Most likely the production company would cut their losses, use the footage they had, pack up, and call it good,” he said.

Keelie nodded. ”He's right.”

”So, maybe someone else decided Tiara deserved her chance in the limelight,” I suggested. ”You know. To s.h.i.+ne like a star! Maybe this isn't about someone not liking you, Keelie, but rather about someone liking Tiara a lot.”

”Like who?” Lang asked.

I shrugged. ”I've got no clue. Someone who really has a thing for Tiara. Somebody who really wants her to succeed. To give her the world.”

”If you're right, that's good, isn't it? If someone who cares about her, has her? Right?” Keelie asked.

If I wasn't way ”out there” with Bowie's Major Tom floating around in an alternate universe.

We stood, a perplexed Trekkie trio, watching, waiting.

Kenny, I saw, was back at his booth. Or rather, Kenny the Klingon Caricaturist. Like most of the vendors, Kenny had gotten into the spirit of the s.p.a.ced-out party. Too bad, things were at red alert status. I'd rock Kenny's world and ask Keelie to pose for her number one fan.

Kenny the one-eye-fits-all artist.

He raised his hand and waved. I waved back.

I thought about those eyes-the eyes in the drawings he'd done of Gram and me-how they had appeared so similar when, in reality, are nothing alike. How despite not resembling Gram's or my eyes, they'd still seemed familiar somehow.

I thought more about those eyes and, remembering something Taylor had said, I pulled my phone out.

”h.e.l.lo? Taylor? Do you recall a certain sand sculpture-” A few minutes later I stuck my phone back in my bra and approached Kenny the Klingon Caricaturist.

Time for a little Art a.n.a.lysis 101.

”Hi Kenny. Looks like business is good. May I have a peek?” I asked the giggling coed being immortalized and motioned at the work in progress.

She giggled. ”Sure. Go ahead. I hope it doesn't scare you too much.”

I grinned. ”I doubt that very much. Kenny here does justice to all his subjects, right, Kenny?”

”I try,” he said, his eyes on easel.

I took a position behind his left shoulder and observed the drawing.

Holy battle stations! There it was! Right before my very own eyes! Why hadn't I seen it before?

”So? How is it?” the subject asked.

”Very nice,” I told the coed. ”You're going to be pleased. Especially with the eyes.” I saw Kenny's drawing hand jerk as if he'd received a jolt of AC current. ”Hey, Keelie! I told you this guy was good. Come and check Kenny's drawing out and see for yourself.”

I could see from Keelie's expression she had no idea what the object of this exercise was.

Me? I just wanted a second pair of eyes to confirm I wasn't seeing things that weren't there.

Clear as dirty 3-D gla.s.ses, right?

Keelie stepped beside me.

”So, what do you think, Keelie?” I asked. ”What do you think of Kenny's drawing?”

She gasped. Her jaw dropped.

That's what we call confirmation.

We continued our ”art appreciation” while Kenny finished the drawing, signed it with a shaking hand, gave it to the young woman, and began to gather his supplies.

”Don't you want your money?” his young customer asked. Trembling visibly, Kenny took her money and handed her back the change.

”You've given me back too much,” the girl said, and handed him back a ten and left with her picture.

”Everything all right, Kenny?” I asked. ”You don't look so good.”

”It's the heat. And the costume. It's getting to me.”

”That's too bad,” I said. ”Keelie and I came for a sitting. We'd like our Star Trek street dance moment immortalized. Isn't that right, Keelie?”

Still apparently taken aback by the drawing, Keelie nodded. ”Love one,” she managed.

”Oh. Sorry. Another time? I'm just not feeling up to it, right now.”

”That's too bad,” I comforted. ”Maybe you can show us some of the drawings you've already done,” I suggested. ”Wait. Where's your van?”

”Parked down the road a piece. Found a quiet spot where I can camp and sketch, so I nabbed it while I could.”

”Oh. Well, we'll help you pack this stuff into the van for you since you're not feeling well,” I insisted.

”I'm fine. I'll be fine,” he said. ”I don't want to put you out.”

”No trouble at all,” I insisted and picked up one of his cases.

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