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“Monty Newman, yes.” The sim creator looked even more like a bird as he cocked his head to one side. “I have to say, you’re a bit younger than I expected.”

Matt didn’t know how to answer that. His first step toward getting into the sim had been filling out a pretty comprehensive online questionnaire. Ed Saunders had asked about Matt’s knowledge of the mystery field, what historical eras he liked, and lots of personal data, including how old he was. Matt had entered his proper age. If stork-boy here couldn’t pay attention—

Right then another figure appeared in the office — a tall, thick, balding man who supported his massive weight on a thick ebony cane. A perfectly tailored black suit covered his bulk, and his face was square rather than jowly. But he was definitely a heavy man, the image of Lucullus Marten, reclusive private eye. In fact, he was the Lucullus Marten whom Matt worked with as Monty Newman.

A second later a tall, slender, hawk-faced man appeared. He also had a cane, a thin bamboo accessory which he leaned against negligently as his sharp blue eyes took in the room. “Milo Krantz,” he announced in a clipped voice.

An instant after that a couple popped into existence on the other side of the room. They, too, were dressed in 1930s finery. The man wore a tuxedo. He had a thin mustache on a good-humored face — except for a certain ruthlessness in his gray eyes. The woman wore a white silk evening gown, her short-cropped brown hair bobbing as she glanced inquisitively around.

Both raised martini glasses.

“Mick and Maura Slimm have arrived,” the man announced.

Matt nodded grimly. He’d read about the Slimms — and Krantz — in the sim’s New York Chronicle. The three of them were considered “society sleuths.”

Last to appear was a burly guy in a shabby trench coat. His tight pink face boasted a broken nose, and the big, hamlike hands sticking out from the coat’s sleeves had scars all over the knuckles. Matt had already encountered him in the sim — Spike Spanner, hard-boiled private eye. He’d been making the same rounds as Monty Newman, gathering information.

Spanner took in the scene around him with angry bloodshot eyes. “How come them bozos got a drink and the rest of us got nothing?” he demanded in a hoarse voice.

“We brought our own, darling,” Maura Slimm replied in a chirpy voice.

Spanner half-leaned against Ed Saunders’s desk, opening drawers. “There oughta be a bottle stashed someplace. Since you invited us here, you should offer us a drink.” He glanced at Matt. “None for the kid, though. Unless he can handle it.”

“You’ve met the young man,” Saunders said. “Although you know him as Monty Newman.”

The other participants in the sim stared at Matt until he felt as though he were standing in his underwear.

Lucullus Marten’s look was more like a glare. He was apparently angry with his erstwhile assistant for showing up as his real self rather than in the sim’s proxy appearance. Shrugging, Matt vocalized a command and turned into Monty Newman.

A little belatedly, he thought he realized why the others had all attended this meeting in their sim personas. They didn’t want to give anything away to their competitors. Now it appeared that Lucullus Marten thought his chances of being first to solve the case had been hurt. The other players knew his legman was just a teenage kid instead of a thirty-something sophisticate.

Even Marten hadn’t realized that until this moment, Matt suddenly realized. Unless he’s been hacking into Saunders’s application files.

Maybe it was just as well he hadn’t known. The fat man was unbearable enough under normal conditions. If he now thought he had a reason to rag on Matt…well, the sim might just be a bit more complicated going forward.

Ed Saunders interrupted his thoughts. “Give up on the bottle, Spanner. I called this meeting because of a real-life problem. In the last two weeks I’ve received nasty letters from several lawyers — not ambulance chasers, but partners in big law firms. What you might call power brokers.”

“You mentioned somebody wanting you to cease and desist—” Matt began.

“Quiet, boy,” Lucullus Marten cut in. His colorless eyes bored into Ed Saunders’s face. “Why should anyone have a problem with this…harmless entertainment?”

“There are people who apparently don’t think it’s harmless,” Saunders said angrily. He hunched his shoulders, resting his hands on the desk. Much of his anger, it seemed, was aimed at himself. “I based this mystery scenario heavily on an actual case. I thought it was long enough ago that nobody would care.”

“You mean this was for real?” Spike Spanner growled. “Some rich dame actually got herself ground into chopped meat?”

Maura Slimm waved an empty martini glass at Saunders. “Naughty, naughty. We don’t know that yet — unless you were cheating?”

“Judging from the lawyers’ communications, you certainly miscalculated the amount of disinterest on the part of the affected parties,” Milo Krantz said in a dry voice. “That raises an interesting point. How was your work discovered? While it is of paramount interest to those of us here”—he gestured around the circle of make-believe sleuths—“your divertissement would not, I imagine, be well known in the wider world.”

“It made me wonder, too,” Saunders said grimly. “When the first letters came, I just kept my head down. Figured it might blow over. This latest letter explained a little more. The timing was just great. It came just after my bank called in my college loan.”

His gaze was accusing as he looked at the simulated sleuths. “It seems that somebody — most likely one of you — remembered or came across a reference to the case I was using. Then that somebody began hacking into sealed court records about the case. That set off some alarms in high places, and got the—”

Saunders bit off his words before he gave away the actual name. “It got a very important family — and their lawyers — on my back.”

“Hacking?” Spanner hooked his thumbs in his belt. “That kinda egghead stuff ain’t up my line.”

“I’m offended that you would include me in such insinuations,” Milo Krantz said.

“Maura and I just came along for the fun of it all.” Mick Slimm gave everyone a lazy smile.

“While I don’t appreciate your suspicions, I can understand them.” Lucullus Marten’s scowl grew thunderous. “I can assure you that I have taken no such actions.” He glanced at Matt. “Though I cannot necessarily claim to control the youthful enthusiasm of my associate.”

“Hey!” Matt angrily responded to the veiled accusation. “The only digging I’ve been doing has been inside the sim. You know that.”

“Unless,” Marten rumbled, “you dream of stealing the credit for this case from your own employer?”

“Shocking,” Krantz sniffed.

“I guess that’s what happens when you have to rely on everything coming to you second-hand.” Maura Slimm raised a perfect eyebrow as she looked at Marten.

“Maybe if you got off that fat duff of yours—” Spanner began.

Still hunched at his desk, Ed Saunders rubbed an obviously aching head. “I’d hoped that whoever was responsible would own up — and promise to stop.” He looked around at the circle of odd characters. “Obviously, that’s not going to happen with everybody here, and accusations and arguments will get us nowhere. So I’ll put it this way. Until the hacker contacts me — privately — and gives his word that all further hacking will stop, the sim stays down.”

He sighed. “With nothing to win, there shouldn’t be any reason for anybody to poke around in the real case.”

Leif Anderson shook his head as Matt told him about Ed Saunders’s meeting. “Sounds like your friend Saunders is hopelessly naive.” Leif stretched out on the Danish Modern Revival couch in his simulated living room. Most people created a one-room virtual space. Leif had gone for something bigger — a simulated Icelandic stave house, with ever-changing scenes in the windows. This visit Matt could see a volcano erupting in the distance. Knowing Leif, it was undoubtedly a full-scale, authentic recreation of some actual Icelandic volcano in action — and Leif had probably paid somebody well to provide the touch.