I ignored him. “Acting. We’re actors. For his…acting class.”
The guard didn’t appear entirely convinced ofmyacting, but she set the paper down and picked up the phone. “What was the name, again?”
“Lee Straus.”
She dialed a number and put the receiver to her ear.
“You’re looking for Mr. Straus?”
I turned to my right. A girl with a wicked Mohawk, those gauged ears my friend Aubrey had, and a backpack sagging off her shoulders had stopped about two feet away from me. “Um, that’s right.”
“Class was canceled today.”
“He’s your teacher?” I asked.
“Yeah.” She reached into a pocket of her—I think—purposefully tattered jeans and removed a compact mirror. Mohawk flipped it open and checked her eyeliner. “He rescheduled for tomorrow.”
“Where is Mr. Straus now?”
She was taken aback by my forwardness. “Uh—he had some event to go to. Our teachersareworking professionals, you know.” She said that with a hint of pride, as if no other colleges hired teachers with actual experience in their field. “It’s at the Javits Center, I think. Some of my classmates are working there too.”
“The antique fair?” I asked.
“That’s it,” she answered, snapping the compact shut. “I guess there are supposed to be some collectors there with film exhibits? But I don’t know. The ticket was too expensive for me.”
I thumped my fist against the counter in annoyance, nearly turned away, then paused. “What class do you have with Mr. Straus?”
“I thought you just said you were here for his acting class?” the guard interrupted.
Mohawk looked confused. “We only have one teacher for the summer intensive classes.”
“Of course,” I answered quickly. “Do you have a classmate named Casey Robert?”
She raised a lip. “Casey, yeah. He’s in my group. He’s supposed to be working at the show, which I guess is why he’s flaked out of class for the last few days.”
“You don’t like him?”
She pulled out some kind of gloss from another pocket and wiped the wand over her bottom lip in a distracted manner. “He’s kind of weird,” she finally said, then smacked her lips together. “Him and this other guy in class were talking once about how they were going to make a million dollars.”
“Next Hollywood blockbuster?” I asked.
“No,” Mohawk said with a disbelieving laugh. “Like, robbing someone. Or—I mean, it could have been that. I know trouble when I see it, so I stay clear of them. I’m here to seriously learn. I want to direct movies when I get older.” She finally tilted her head a bit and took in Neil’s appearance. “Are you guys cops or something?”
“Seb, let’s go,” Neil murmured.
“Hold on,” I protested when he took me by the shoulder. I turned to Mohawk one more time. “This other kid Casey hangs out with—does he like licorice candy?”
“How’d you know that?”
“MY SPONSORSHIPlanyard was in my bag,” I told the ticket guy in the lobby of the Javits Center. “My bag was stolen yesterday by a punk-ass kid who might be responsible for a murder or two.”
Ticket guy startled and looked at me as if I were insane. Couldn’t blame him. I was starting to feel that way.
“For Christ’s sake.” Neil joined me at the counter and showed his badge. “Detective Neil Millett, CSU. Can you tell us if there’s a Lee Straus registered and attending the event today?”
The guy swallowed convulsively at the sight of Neil’s badge. “I don’t—I think I need a warrant to show you that information,” he stammered. “It’s just—because it has people’s addresses and credit card numbers, you know? I can’t afford to get fired, I’m late with my rent.”
“Then we need to go downstairs into the exhibit hall,” Neil concluded, tucking his ID away.
