Red Rover, Perdition Games

by L E Fraser

  “So I can share a meal with a man who puts killers and child molesters back on the street.”

  She stared him. “Why are you so angry with Jim? Did something happen when he was over on Monday?”

  His lips thinned and his eyes shone with anger. “Why does Jim think I’m manipulating you into not seeing Kira? Did you blame me for that zoo screw-up?”

  “Of course not. Did he say something?”

  Reece turned his back and went to the base of the ladder stairs, leaving her in the kitchen. “Detective Romero told me Caitlyn’s house is a state-of-the-art fortress,” he said. “He’s offered to meet us and explain the oddities.”

  “He didn’t mean on a Saturday night.” She rummaged through a closet to find a gift bag for the wine. Finding one that wasn’t in too bad shape, she went back to the kitchen island to package the wine.

  “I suppose I can suffer through Roger’s company one more time. Tell me, did he book the DNA test?” His upper lip curled up, and the snarly expression that showed his rogue eyetooth was a major turn off.

  “I don’t know.” She kept her tone impartial.

  “I’m sure he didn’t. Probably has some new excuse.” He sighed heavily. “The man is an outright liar. I bet those pants he gave you weren’t even the ones he was wearing the afternoon Graham died.”

  She’d had the same suspicion, but kept it to herself. The lab results had come in, and she didn’t know whether to feel relieved or apprehensive that they hadn’t found biodegradable waste on the pant legs.

  “He’s not rushing to do the test because he thinks you won’t follow through on the murder investigation if he gives you what you want.” She gave him a steely look. “Is he wrong?”

  “He’s reluctant because it’ll prove he’s the father.” His nose and forehead crinkled with disgust. “Slept with Abigail—an informal patient, but still a patient—and drove her to suicide. All while he was sleeping with Brenda, another ex-patient and a married woman. He’s a sketchy, dishonest man and probably a murderer.”

  Sam just shook her head. “I’m leaving. Are you coming or not?”

  He leaned against the railing to the stairs and picked at his thumbnail. “Please don’t accept any more invitations on my behalf. It’s disrespectful.”

  Despite his less than ideal behaviour, he did have a point. Relationships were partnerships, and one person shouldn’t make unilateral decisions that affected the other.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m going and I hope you come with me, but I understand if you don’t.”

  Her apology seemed to break the tension between them. Reece ran his fingers through his hair, leaving a tuft sticking up at the back of his head. “No, I’m the one who should apologize.” He sighed. “It’s important to you, so I’ll go.”

  He trudged up to the bedroom loft, and, a minute later, she heard the shower.

  Her new cell rang while she was tucking the wine into a gift bag. Only a few people had the number—the police, her stepfather, Lisa and Jim, and Roger. No one else. And this caller had blocked their number. With a feeling of unease, she answered and waited.

  There was breathing and a low, unvarying beat that resembled a very slow tempo on a metronome but reverberated like shallow, even hits on a drum skin. Whatever caused the sound was either away from the caller or very quiet. It was hard to hear it, and impossible to identify. She was about to hang up, when a robotic, genderless voice started singing.

  “Red rover, red rover, I call Sam on over. A life or death type game. The purpose is to maim. You’ll be the first to play, then Reece another day.”

  The caller was using a voice modulator. That explained the mechanical, toneless singing.

  “Who is this?” Sam demanded.

  “See the blood on Sam’s face, as her skin’s carved to lace. See her look of surprise, as she painfully dies. Red rover, red rover, I call Sam on over.” There was a moment of silence before the voice said, “Keep that white blouse on so I can watch the blood drip from the silk.” An ominous chuckle followed and the caller disconnected.

  She frantically turned out all the lights, crept to the south wall of windows, and gazed down three floors to the bustling city street. Pedestrians strolled along the sidewalks on both sides of Queen Street. People sat at outdoor tables on the patio of a corner bistro. Lights glowed from the windows of a building across from hers, where a small advertising company operated. Streetlights lit the street, but she couldn’t see into the dark alleys that ran between the buildings.

  She’d been wearing her white silk blouse all day—a visit to the library, coffee with Roger, lunch with Reece, and various errands around the city. It was possible the caller wasn’t outside but had seen her sometime during the day. Still.

  “Turning out all the lights to hurry me along?”

  Reece’s voice made her jump.

  He wrapped his arms around her. “I’m sorry I was such an asshole. I washed off the grumpy and sprayed on some charming, I promise.”

  She opened her mouth to explain about the call, but paused. Roger had her new cell number. They’d had coffee this afternoon, and he knew what she was wearing. Did she believe he’d threaten her? For just a moment, she did. She remembered how uncomfortable she’d been at his house on the day she’d gone over to get the pants. Ridiculous. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to dismiss the notion.

  She pulled away and headed for the door before Reece could read the fear and confusion on her face.

  “It’s okay.” Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. “Let’s go. Lisa’s a great cook so at least you’ll enjoy the food.”

  * * *

  AFTER SAM FINISHED updating Lisa on how they’d found Caitlyn, she hesitantly told her about the death threat. It wasn’t the first death threat she’d received—there had been plenty after she’d shot the fifteen-year-old gangbanger who killed her police partner—but Lisa’s preoccupation with the pots on the stove annoyed Sam.

  When Lisa shut the oven door, still without commenting, Sam asked impatiently, “So, what do you think?”

  Lisa dropped an oven mitt to the counter. “You didn’t recognize the voice?”

  The men were in the living room, so Sam led Lisa through the kitchen to the patio doors, where she hoped she’d have her friend’s full attention. They stepped out of the house to the side deck. Across the street, stars speckled the sky above High Park, and the southern breeze drifting inland from Lake Ontario was warm. The air was redolent with the scent of burning wood from a neighbour’s outdoor fire pit. Along the side of Lisa’s property, maple trees shielded the yard from the four-hundred-acre city park across the street, and tall cedar bushes hid the neighbours on either side. Still, Sam’s eyes roamed over the area, hunting for anywhere an interloper could skulk. A warble of laughter reached them from the street and she flinched.

  “The caller used something to disguise their voice. A modulator is my guess.” She wrapped her arms around her body.

  “It was just a silly song. Don’t overreact.” Lisa’s voice was impatient, and she flipped her long black hair over her shoulder.

  “They knew I was wearing a white blouse. They may have had sightlines into the loft,” Sam said. “What worries me is no one has the number except for this group and the police.”

  Lisa gazed across the yard. “I didn’t give the number to anyone. I’m sad you’re blaming me, but I guess that’s where our relationship is now.”

  “I never accused you of giving out the number,” Sam said, caught off-guard by her friend’s accusation. She thought they’d finally been having a friendly conversation, like they used to. “Lisa, what’s going on with us? Why are you so difficult all the time?”

  Lisa’s lips turned down. Perma-frown was her new expression and it drove Sam crazy.

  Instead of answering, she said, “Jim wouldn’t publicize your number, but you can ask. Talia’s overseas and I can’t see her taking a break from fighting terrorism to make a threaten
ing call to you. Roger’s acting peculiar, but…” Lisa didn’t finish her thought.

  “Peculiar how?”

  Lisa shrugged and pulled her cardigan across her chest. “Never mind. Roger has the bad habit of leaving his phone places, and he unlocks it with a flourish so it’s easy to see the swipe pattern. Brenda or her kids could take your number off his cell.”

  “I thought of that.”

  “What’s the possibility of this Caitlyn woman finding it?” She looked off into the distance, a pensive expression on her face. “You said she’s an IT genius, couldn’t she hack into one of our accounts and scroll through our contacts?”

  “Maybe.”

  In the dim moonlight, she felt Lisa’s eyes on her.

  “You think it was Roger.”

  Sam remained silent.

  “But it was so childish,” Lisa argued. “The red rover thing is weird. We all associate that game with Abigail getting hurt, and this whole mess started with her suicide. This has been such a terrible time for me. I wish everything could get back to normal.”

  “No, this started when someone killed Graham Harris. The husband of Roger’s lover,” Sam said firmly. Immature behaviour must be contagious. After dealing with Reece’s temper tantrum earlier, and now Lisa’s self-involvement, Sam felt like adding a resounding “duh” to make her point.

  Before Lisa could argue with her, she hurried to say, “Jordan knows the game. He and Reece talked about it. Brenda does too—Graham played it with some of Jordan’s football friends.”

  “There you go. It wasn’t Roger,” Lisa said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Brenda, Jordan, or Jordanna are your best suspects.” She paused before adding, “Or this Caitlyn person.”

  Sam agreed, but the vision of Roger lurking outside her loft would not leave her mind.

  “Well,” Lisa said, “I’m not surprised you don’t want to tell Reece.” Her tone was cold.

  “Why’s that?”

  Instead of answering, she turned to the door.

  Sam took her hand. “Lisa, why don’t you like Reece?”

  “I never get to see you, and you’re never around when I need you. He keeps you on a short leash and that scares me. I fear controlling men, and you know why.”

  “Why do you think Reece is controlling?” Sam asked evenly

  “It doesn’t matter, you won’t listen. I don’t know how you can be with someone who doesn’t like Kira.” She pulled her hand away and went into the house.

  Sam followed, locking the patio doors behind her. “He likes Kira. It was Reece’s idea to take her to Canada’s Wonderland. Remember? I asked you when I dropped off the stuffed llama.”

  Lisa didn’t reply, busying herself with the food preparation. Sam leaned against the island and watched. The room wasn’t hot, but a sheen of perspiration coated Lisa’s face. At five-foot-eight with tiny bones, Lisa had always been thin and fragile, but she looked like she’d lost some weight. It was probably the cut of her dress. Front pleats bunched across her middle, and the fabric created the illusion of a potbelly.

  “Are you okay?” Sam asked.

  Lisa transferred pasta to a bowl. “I’ve gone to a lot of trouble. I’m here by myself without any help or company. You used to pop over before Reece moved here. Now you don’t have time for anyone but him.”

  “Well, I’m sorry dinner was so much effort. You could have cancelled.”

  Lisa collected plates from a cupboard and handed them to Sam. “Can you finish setting the table? We’ll eat family-style.”

  Sam took the plates to the dining room and set the table. Preoccupied with her own thoughts, she absentmindedly opened the two bottles of wine she’d brought. Then she noticed that Jim or Lisa had already opened two bottles and had left them on the bar to breathe.

  “It smells fantastic in here.” Reece was smiling and seemed to be enjoying himself, which was a relief. He gave her a kiss. “Where do you want me?”

  She pulled out a chair, and he chuckled when she tucked him into the table and kissed the top of his head.

  Jim arrived from the kitchen with a heaping platter of osso buco and a gigantic bowl of fresh orecchiette pasta smothered in a white wine sauce. Lisa followed, balancing a platter of green beans with pancetta and a basket of homemade rolls. There was enough food to feed twelve people. Reece’s eyes widened with admiration as he gazed at the pasta dish.

  “Lisa, the pasta is amazing,” he said, and Sam could hear the sincerity in his voice. “It’s been years since I’ve seen osso buco this tender. You outdid yourself. Thank you.”

  “I’m Italian,” Lisa replied with a flat voice. “Pasta isn’t special.” She sat down. “Jim, pass the veal. Roger, start with pasta.”

  Undeterred, Reece reached for the red wine. “We brought a 2011 Dugat-Py Burgundy. I hear it has dark fruit and finishes with sweet, horizontal tannins. The balance should be excellent.” He stood and circled the table, poising the bottle over Lisa’s glass. “Compliments to the chef,” he exclaimed with a wide smile.

  She covered the top of her glass with her palm. “No thank you.”

  “It’s supposed to be fantastic,” Reece coaxed good-humouredly, turning the bottle so she could see the label.

  “I said no,” she snapped. “Not everyone has to drink to have fun. I see you opened four bottles for five people. A little excessive, don’t you think?”

  Reece froze on her left side and his smile faltered.

  Jim glanced at him. “I’ll try some.”

  Reece moved to his side and poured. He filled Sam’s glass and passed the bottle to Roger without speaking.

  “Lisa, I opened the extra wine,” Sam told her. “Didn’t notice you had some breathing.” She took a sip. “This is delicious, Reece. Excellent pick.”

  Based on Lisa’s angry expression whatever she planned to say wasn’t nice, but Roger spoke before she had a chance.

  “So you’re an oenophile,” he said to Reece. “I’m a member of Vintage Conservatory, the private wine club. I’d be honoured if you’d accompany me to a tasting.”

  “I’m sure Reece would enjoy that,” Lisa retorted. “I don’t recall ever seeing him without a glass in his hand.”

  Shock prevented Sam from saying anything, and she dropped the platter of green beans she was holding to the table.

  Roger arched an eyebrow at Lisa. “Shall I assume your ungracious opinion extends to me?” he asked magnanimously. “After all, I’m the one who pays to belong to a club whose mandate is to consume wine.”

  Lisa shrugged, moving her pasta around on her plate. “Some people hold their liquor better than others.”

  “Lisa—” Sam said sharply, but Reece interrupted.

  “Excuse me, but have I done something to offend you?”

  She glared at him. “You drink too much,” she stated tersely.

  Sam didn’t bother to disguise her anger. “That’s a nasty thing to say. Just because you experienced issues with your dad doesn’t mean everyone who drinks is an alcoholic.”

  “If you say so,” Lisa replied condescendingly. “Roger, pass the beans please.”

  Roger passed the dish and held up his glass. “Let us offer libations to appease the gods.” With his glass raised, he turned to Reece. “My ambition is to become a modern day god of wine.” He clicked his glass against Reece’s glass. “We’ll gather women to hold secret meetings and hope Lisa doesn’t evoke the 186 BC Senatus consultum de Bacchanalibus, ordering our execution.” He chuckled.

  Lisa turned on him. “I’m glad you find humour in the destructive properties of alcohol!” she said, her tone scathing. “I’m sure your flippant attitude would thrill your self-help fans.”

  “My darling, there’s a monumental difference between guzzling moonshine and partaking in wine as splendid as this vintage while consuming ambrosia prepared by a goddess. Your meal is sublime.” Roger smiled over the rim of his glass, tipped it back, and finished the half glass in a single gulp. Rolling his eyes upward, he si
ghed with pleasure. “Magnificent.”

  Lisa threw her napkin on her untouched food. “It’s wonderful you’re all enjoying yourselves at my expense.”

  “Lisa—” Sam began, but her irate friend cut her off.

  “Made any interesting phone calls recently, hmmm?” Lisa scowled at Roger and held out her hand. “Let’s see your phone.”

  Roger looked mystified. “Pardon me?”

  “Your phone! Unlock it and give it to me.”

  He reached into his pocket, swiped his password, and passed her his cell. “What’s going on?”

  She snatched the phone and scrolled through. She smiled triumphantly. “You have it set to clear your call log.” She tossed it on the table. “Convenient.”

  “Lisa, don’t do this,” Sam begged.

  “What’s this all about?” Reece asked.

  “Oh nothing,” Lisa said airily, waving a hand in the air. “Just that someone is threatening to kill Sam.” She broke into a cruel smile. “Ah, she didn’t tell you, did she? She’s in danger, and she’s hiding it from you.”

  Colour drained from Reece’s face.

  “It was one call, while you were getting ready,” Sam hurried to say. “I was going to tell you tonight.”

  Roger pushed back his chair and stood. “And you have the unmitigated audacity to accuse me?” He spun around to face Sam. “Are you accusing me too?”

  “No! I just thought it was possible someone may have gotten my number off your phone.” It sounded lame to her ears.

  “You told Lisa but you didn’t tell me,” Reece cut in.

  “I—”

  “Because you’re controlling,” Lisa shouted at Reece. “You’d lock her in a dog crate under the guise of protecting her if you thought you could get away with it.”

  “I’m controlling?” Reece said and laughed at her. “Lisa, you’re impossible. You’re rude, self-centred, and lack compassion for anyone. Do you even care that someone’s threatening your best friend?”

  “Reece, that’s en—” Jim started.

  Lisa turned on her husband. “I don’t need you to fight my battles.” She turned and glared at Reece. “You’re closed-minded and arrogant! Sam told me that she tried to talk to you about controlling her life. You went on the offensive and attacked.”