“Hey, kid, move along; this is a crime scene,” a gruff officer said to me when I arrived on the scene.

I sighed in exasperation. Why is that always the first place they go? I wondered. I pulled my badge out of my pocket and retorted, “I’m not just some kid; I’m a detective.”

He snatched the badge from me and gave a disgruntled huff, shoving it back into my hands after glaring over it for a moment. “Folks at heardquarters’ll give anyone a badge these days. Come on, Frenchy, and make yourself useful.”

A full spectrum of colors was spread before us when we reached the staircase. Amongst the myriad of colors lay our victim. As I crouched to examine the body, I was startled by the blaring sound of what seemed to be a submarine alarm.

After a moment I recognized the noise as a cell phone alert and pored over the room in search of the device. Buzzing next to a closet door was a phone in a lime green case. Looking at the screen I saw the reminder ‘rehearse for con’ on the display.

Con? “Did the victim have a criminal record?” I asked, picking up the phone. “Nope, the kid was clean. Just a couple minor traffic violations over in Orange County for illegal parking. You got somethin’ there on the phone?” the same officer who had escorted me in said. “Maybe, but I’m not sure,” I replied.

A black streak bolted through the room and hissed at the investigators. “The hell was that?!” shouted the officer. “It sounded like a cat,” I said as I stood. A pitiful meow came from the kitchen and a furry black face peeked from around the banister. I started towards it, but it fled past me and I nearly tripped over it to avoid stepping on it.

Another officer came down the stairs and sighed. “We’ve been trying to catch that cat all afternoon, but it’s real skittish,” she explained.
I had seen that little black face before.

Checking the phone again, I looked through the photos and saw the same cat about a dozen times in pictures with people in various costumes.

Stepping around the victim, I went up the stairs and perused the rooms with open doors. Ignoring the bathroom, I stepped into the master bedroom and stopped.

All over the walls were posters for cartoons and games. Littered about the desk and nightstand were figures and photos of individuals dressed as said figures. In the open closet were dozens of brightly colored costumes that seemed to match everything else in the room.

Things were beginning to make sense now.

I examined the desk where the computer was still on. I picked up a small stack of papers from atop the printer. They were plane ticket confirmations, two of them, both one-way to Denver for February of next year. Bringing the computer out of idle, I was relieved that the victim hadn’t put a password on it and the screen came right up.

The open tab on the browser was for Orbitz where they were confirming their flight selection, but another tab caught my eye. What in the world is MegaCon? I wondered as I clicked the tab.

I was immediately assaulted with a bizarre sight. The top banner proclaimed MEGACON in obnoxiously large letters, and on the left was what appeared to be a cartoon alligator riding a surf board with Spiderman. In the center of the screen was a photo of costumed people mid-performance on a stage. There were banners in the photo with the same term, MEGACON, on them. In the photo was none other than our victim, Cassandra Walker, wearing an eye-gougingly orange miniskirt and white blouse with a huge blue bow.

From downstairs I heard a loud yelp followed by a hiss and a dull thud. “Someone catch that damn cat!” shouted another investigator.

Thinking back over everything else I’d seen that evening, I couldn’t help but sigh. This was no murder. In fact, this was hardly a case at all.

I traipsed back down the stairs and found the lead officer on the scene. “Oh, good evening Mister Logan. I hadn’t realized you were here already. Do you need me to show you around the scene?” he asked.

“Actually, I’ve already solved the case,” I replied with a smirk. He gave me a look demanding that I elaborate.

“The victim was found at the bottom of the stairs surrounded by colorful fabric. I found that same fabric used in dozens of costumes upstairs in the victim’s closet,” I said gesturing towards the victim’s bedroom door at the top of the stairs.

“The cell phone we found said ‘rehearse for con’ on the reminders. On the victim’s computer one of the web browser tabs was open to a page called ‘MegaCon.’ On the page was a picture of the victim dancing in one of those costumes I told you about.

“There were also these,” I said handing the officer the plane tickets. His brows furrowed and he asked, “What’s all this about?”

“There was another tab open on the computer for something called ‘Animeland Wasabi.’ It’s some kind of event in Denver. The date is a couple days after the tickets. There was also a flight confirmation for two return tickets a few days after the event. The victim was obviously planning to perform at this event and then return home, but it looks like her little accident won’t allow that.”

“Accident?” questioned the officer.

“Yes, accident. You see, sir, this is not a case of murder. If you’ll examine the victim, I’m sure you’ll find she has a broken neck. I’m afraid all that’s happened is that she was walking down the stairs with that large tub of fabric in her hands and couldn’t see her cat to avoid tripping on it.”