A/N Thanks to all who are still with me. Disclaimers are still in the first chapter.

Chapter 7: Aliens and Answers

Nick had never had allergies in his life; he always thought growing up in Texas among some of the tallest and biggest weeds in the world, not to mention the livestock, left him immune to pollens and dander. But as he fought to keep from sneezing in Christanson's hotel room, he began to wonder if he had developed an allergy to sloth. Vega seemed to be faring much better, standing in one of the only clear spots on the floor, notepad out, questioning the witness.

It gave Nick a chance to wander around, his toe gingerly pushing a pizza box out of the way, as he took a step toward the dresser. If the room's occupant minded his snooping, he certainly didn't say anything. With this much debris lying around, if Nick found anything, it might really be stretching the 'in plain sight' rule. If they liked Christanson for the murder, they might need a warrant just to pick up the garbage. His eyes scanned the dresser, trying to peer under…day-old tighty whities. Nick suppressed a shudder and turned instead toward the table in the corner. The remains of more meals littered it, spilling over to the two brightly designed chairs beside it.

"I thought the Con had only been in town three days?" He turned, eying the Alien Abduction lecturer casually. "Been entertaining a lot?"

Maxwell looked up from Vega and shrugged. "Lot of girls come alone to these things. Men in their life don't understand, you know?"

Nick really didn't. From the look on his face as he scanned the room, neither did Vega. The thought of Maxwell Christanson's grimy hotel room as a love nest boggled the mind. However, it wasn't necessarily part of this case. Vega cleared this throat, "I'm sorry Mr. Christanson, if we can get back to Clarence Simons?"

"Told you, don't know that name. Don't think he was an abductee. I know all the abductees attending the convention."

"Are there….many?"

Christanson lowered his voice, "More than you might believe. I'd bet that the two of you know at least one person who have been taken to one of their ships. Maybe even more. But Clarence Simons? Not one of them."

Nick glanced at Vega from behind Maxwell's back, his eyes rolling toward the ceiling. The detective's face remained neutral. "Well, we know he was registered for your lecture, late yesterday afternoon. We do need to know if he attended."

"Officer Vegas, was it? You know, that's an interesting coincidence. Your name. This being Vegas." Christanson turned to eye Nick for a moment, picking up the pizza box the criminalist's eye had been on and tossing it on the bed, revealing a couple of coffee stained books. "My own. Have you read them?"

"Ah. No sir, I haven't."

"Pity, they're quite good." He watched Nick for another moment before turning back to Vega, wiping his hands on his once-white tee shirt. "Where were we?"

"Mr. Simons?"

"No. Coincidences. Right. No such thing. Probably very important to your life, your name being Vegas, and living here. You should look into that."

"My name is Vega, sir. Not Vegas. Now if you'll just take a look at this picture, and tell us if Mr. Simons was in your lecture yesterday?" Vega slipped an eight by ten glossy of their victim's morgue shot out of a folder and handed it to Christanson.

"Really?" The man furrowed his brow as he took the photo, "I could have sworn you said Vegas….God! This man is dead!"

"That's what we've been trying to discuss with you, sir," Nick's voice was tight from his spot behind the man. "Have you seen him before?"

"Well certainly not dead!" Shaking his head, he glanced back down at the picture. "Yes. I…I think he was there. Left early. Really a pity, I had just been getting to the good information."

"Any idea why he might have left early?" Nick thought staying the whole lecture with this guy would probably be odder than leaving early.

"Well. Possibly." Christanson's eyes slipped to the floor as he spoke, for the first time not meeting either Vega or Nick's gaze. "It might have been when another of the presenters came in."

"Which one?"

"Well now. I don't know." Christanson shrugged, "Sorry I can't be of more help."

Nick glanced up sharply, "If you don't know his name, then how do you know he was a presenter?"

Christanson shrugged, "Silver ribbon. We all have them attached to our badges. Your Mr. Simons left just as he entered. Funny though."

Nick pressed his fingers into his forehead as he waited for the man to continue. When it became clear that he wasn't going to, Nick sighed. "Sir?" What's funny?"

"Oh. That the pretty girl that came in with him didn't leave with him."

Vega's brows came up at that. "He was with someone? Why didn't you tell us that before?"

Christanson shrugged, "Just thought of it." He looked from Vega to Nick, holding his hands in front of him. "Look. I just remembered the girl. Well, no, not the girl. But that she came in with…him." He glanced at the photo again, handing it back to Vega.

"Did she leave with the other presenter?"

"No. No, she waited till everyone else had gone, before she left. That's why I noticed her…her name. I thought she might be waiting to speak with me." He gave a shrug, "She wasn't."

Nick glanced to the ceiling again, taking a long breath. "Sir? Her name?"

"Oh. Baxter. Margaret Baxter. It was on her badge."

Vega grinned at Nick as they left the hotel room. "Margaret Baxter. I'll check with the hotel, see if she's registered. If she is, get her room number." He glanced at the folder in the younger man's hands. "Who's next on our agenda?"

"Cindy Sampson." Nick rifled through the papers until he came to the Con's schedule. "Simons was scheduled for 'Haunted Places in America'. At six PM." He glanced up, "Doc Robbins put time of death around eleven. Still, Sampson's the last on his schedule." He flips the schedule over, giving Vega a little grin, "And, as it happens…she's due to speak shortly. Ghost Hunting 101."

"Coincidentally?" Vega grinned as he led the way to the elevators, "Listen. I'll go check with the front desk about Ms. Baxter; you speak with Cindy Sampson and see if she noticed anything odd about Simons in her talk."

Either they had been in Christanson's room long enough that the rush was past, or by some twist of the space-time continuum the wait for the elevators going down was much shorter than that going up. Whatever the reason, Nick walked into the Nile A conference room. Several people were already milling about, taking their seats as Nick strode to the front of the room where several people were fussing with various pieces of equipment. "Ms. Sampson?"

"Yes?" A woman looked up from a laptop, hesitant smile on her face. "We'll begin in about ten minutes sir…"

After Christanson, Nick felt prepared for anything. Ms. Sampson, however, surprised him. She was dressed in jeans and a baseball jersey. Her hair was styled neatly in a ponytail, her eyes only partially obscured by black rimmed glasses. She was so…normal. For a moment, Nick glanced around. "You're the Ms. Sampson that taught Haunted Places in America?"

She grinned, "Well taught isn't exactly the word I'd use. But I did try to lead the discussion. If this is about missing it, I'd be glad to go over some of my notes with you after this session."

"No. Ah. It's not about me missing it. I'm Nick Stokes. With the Las Vegas crime lab. "Could I have a moment of your time?" He gestured to the back corner of the room.

"Crime lab?" Lifting her brows in question, she glanced over her shoulder, "Terry. See if you can get Power Point working, will you?" She followed Nick to the corner, brows raised. "What does the crime lab want with me?"

"Well Ma'am. It's about a Clarence Simons. Do you recognize the name?" At Cindy's headshake, he pulled out the photo. "The face?"

She looked up sharply at Nick as she realized it was a picture from the morgue. Swallowing she let her eyes fall back to the face in the shot, "No. No I don't."

"He was registered for your lecture last night."

"Uhm…Mr. Stokes. This…this isn't like a work related convention. People don't have to go to the sessions they sign up for. It's…" She took a deep breath, her eyes going anywhere but on the photo, "The registrations are just to give us an idea how big a room we need. I'm sorry, I can't help you."

Nick's pager sounded then, and he glanced at the message as he tucked the photo back into the folder. "Just one more question, Ms. Sampson. Does the name Margaret Baxter mean anything to you?"

Still staring wide-eyed at him, she shook her head slowly.

"Well then, thank you for your time." He gave her a smile as he turned and left the room in search of Vega.

Vega was waiting for him on the attractions level, near the entrance to La Salsa. "Margaret Baxter is inside. The Concierge remembered recommending this restaurant just before I questioned him. Says she's wearing one of Luxor's souvenir shirts. Turn up anything with Sampson?"

As the pair scanned the diners, Nick shook his head. "No. She says she didn't see our Vic at her lecture last night." Shrugging, he nodded to a table in the corner, "Seemed sincere enough, but you never know. Is that her?"

Vega nodded, "Fits the description. Red hair, shirt. Flowered bag. Let's go."

Margaret Baxter was picking at a salad when Nick and Vega walked up. "Ms. Baxter? I'm Nick Stokes with the crime lab, this is Detective Vega. Can we ask you a few questions?"

The woman looked up, her fork clattering to the table. "Oh God. This is about Clarence, isn't it?"

Vega nodded, taking the seat across from her. "When was the last time you saw Mr. Simons?"

""What…what's happened to him? Where is he?" Her voice rose as the questions fell from her lips. "I…I knew something was wrong…he was supposed to meet me last night. We….what's happened to him?"

"Miss Baxter. I'm sorry to have to tell you this," Nick glanced at Vega who nodded. "Mr. Simons is dead."

Her hand flew to her mouth as Nick spoke. She turned her gaze from one man to the other as tears filled her eyes. "I knew something was wrong," she whispered finally. "It was Summers. I know it."

Nick patted her shoulder gently. "Excuse me? Summer?"

"No. Summers. Jacob Summers. I know he killed my Clarence."