Part 3 (2/2)

”How about Jungle Traders?” I asked. ”Did they have a record of the pith helmet purchase?”

Lil frowned. ”We ran the Jungle Traders purchases back for six months: only three matched the girl's apparent age; all three have alibis.

Chances are she stole it.”

”Why?” I asked, finally. In my mind's eye, I saw my lungs bursting out of my chest, like wings, like jellyfish, vertebrae spraying like shrapnel. I saw the girl's smile, an almost s.e.xual smirk as she pulled the trigger on me.

”It wasn't random,” Lil said. ”The slug was definitely keyed to you -- that means that she'd gotten close to you at some point.”

Right -- which meant that she'd been to Disney World in the last ten years. That narrowed it down, all right.

”What happened to her after Tomorrowland?” I said.

”We don't know,” Lil said. ”Something wrong with the cameras. We lost her and she never reappeared.” She sounded hot and angry -- she took equipment failures in the Magic Kingdom personally.

”Who'd want to do this?” I asked, hating the self-pity in my voice. It was the first time I'd been murdered, but I didn't need to be a drama- queen about it.

Dan's eyes got a far-away look. ”Sometimes, people do things for reasons that seem perfectly reasonable to them, that the rest of the world couldn't hope to understand. I've seen a few a.s.sa.s.sinations, and they never made sense afterwards.” He stroked his chin. ”Sometimes, it's better to look for temperament, rather than motivation: who _could_ do something like this?”

Right. All we needed to do was investigate all the psychopaths who'd visited the Magic Kingdom in ten years. That narrowed it down considerably. I pulled up a HUD and checked the time. It had been four days since my murder. I had a s.h.i.+ft coming up, working the turnstiles at the Haunted Mansion. I liked to pull a couple of those s.h.i.+fts a month, just to keep myself grounded; it helped to take a reality check while I was churning away in the rarified climate of my crowd-control simulations.

I stood and went to my closet, started to dress.

”_What_ are you doing?” Lil asked, alarmed.

”I've got a s.h.i.+ft. I'm running late.”

”You're in no shape to work,” Lil said, tugging at my elbow. I jerked free of her.

”I'm fine -- good as new.” I barked a humorless laugh. ”I'm not going to let those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds disrupt my life any more.”

_Those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds_? I thought -- when had I decided that there was more than one? But I knew it was true. There was no way that this was all planned by one person: it had been executed too precisely, too thoroughly.

Dan moved to block the bedroom door. ”Wait a second,” he said. ”You need rest.”

I fixed him with a doleful glare. ”I'll decide that,” I said. He stepped aside.

”I'll tag along, then,” he said. ”Just in case.”

I pinged my Whuffie. I was up a couple percentiles -- sympathy Whuffie -- but it was falling: Dan and Lil were radiating disapproval. Screw 'em.

I got into my runabout and Dan scrambled for the pa.s.senger door as I put it in gear and sped out.

”Are you sure you're all right?” Dan said as I nearly rolled the runabout taking the corner at the end of our cul-de-sac.

”Why wouldn't I be?” I said. ”I'm as good as new.”

”Funny choice of words,” he said. ”Some would say that you _were_ new.”

<script>