Fatal Game

by Linda Ladd

  “Hey, maybe we can get Shaggy to play with us down at the morgue. Stay in there awhile, where it’s nice and warm.”

  Claire scoffed. “I’m not playing anything inside any morgue. My only desire when I’m in there is to get the hell out. Besides, what do you think Charlie would do if he heard about us goofing off in there?”

  “Kill us? Ask questions later?”

  “Yeah, pretty much.”

  They browsed around the aisles a while, and Claire marveled at what an incredibly large inventory the store held. Hundreds of games, and a big used game section, as well. Some of the boxed products on those shelves looked like antiques that had seen better days. Everything on the shelves and tables was stocked in precise alphabetical order, no exceptions. They located the D section easily enough and found both versions of Detection, old and new. Claire decided to buy one of each. Maybe she’d give them to Bud and Shaggy for Christmas after she had examined the boards and read the instruction booklet. Then they could play each other at the morgue to their hearts’ content.

  Lots of gamers appeared to be Christmas shopping. People moved about the rows and made the big space seem crowded. Claire held her games in one arm and followed Bud back to the office/return counter. A couple of old guys were standing there, two senior citizens, by the looks of it. Late sixties, maybe older. They were returning something they’d purchased that had a missing piece. They were not happy. In fact, their expressions indicated it was the true end of their world. She and Bud stood back and waited while the men enjoyed a spate of lengthy complaints. Claire wasn’t waiting patiently for the elderly twosome’s tirade to stop, but she didn’t make a scene or threaten arrest.

  Occasionally, at the front of the store, a spattering of applause would rise up to the rafters and be overcome by the loud heaters, she supposed when somebody got a checkmate, or a check, or something equally empowering. Claire had no idea what any of that meant, actually. She had never played chess well, or any other way, until Black had cajoled her into trying it once, because he was pretty good at it and wanted to show off. Or at least, he said he was pretty good. Claire’s opinion? It was the most boring, tedious waste of one’s time ever invented, but useful if one wished to fall asleep fast without sleeping pills. They’d sat across from each other for what seemed like six eternities, neither of them able to concentrate, because Black kept giving her these ultra-hot, sultry, I-am-so-gonna-jump-your-bones-after-I-beat-your-pants-off stares out of those crystal blue eyes of his while she contemplated how the hell the game was even played. His romantic moves worked better than his chess moves, as it turned out, and they happily ended up in bed sooner rather than later. Game on—and what a game it had been.

  Everybody in Games Galore waxed as serious as sin. Observing and playing and no funny business, they’d damn you as an amateur if you even broke a smile. Claire and Bud didn’t fit with the program, because nobody else in the building had seen that tiny little dog tag jammed down into a lovely young girl’s body.

  Finally, the two old guys finished with their damn petty haggling and complaining. The more outspoken of the duo took time to count every single penny of his return cash refund. Nobody’s fool, that guy. Juno, the name of the lady game mistress, according to Bud, and hopefully their oracle of info, stood patiently waiting for the twin crotchety curmudgeons to take the hell off. She was an attractive lady, most likely in her fifties. Stocky, but in well-proportioned womanly curves. She was wearing a black T-shirt with a giant red chess piece on the front. It was a castle, if Claire remembered correctly. No doubt her salute to the tournament going on up front. Claire remembered seeing a sexy scene in an old movie where Faye Dunaway and Steve McQueen sat across from each other. The sexual tension absolutely dripped off them. It was pretty damn hot. Maybe Black had seen that one, too, and was reenacting it that night when they pretended to play chess on Kauai. Fine by her. Otherwise, that stupid game would’ve eventually forced Claire into sweet unconsciousness.

  “Hello there, Ms. Juno. How you doin’?” Bud jumped headlong into the act of charming the curvaceous woman, no time a wastin’. His schmooze had sparked alive and was landing on her like a worker bee on a rosebud. He was amazing in that regard, his handsome face and honeyed words truly impressive, and it seemed to work on anyone with the XX chromosome: young, old, tall, short, whatever. Always had, always would—well, except maybe this time.

  “Hello yourself,” the lady said, her tone curt, her face stony and unfriendly. Probably still mad at the two old guys.

  “Remember me?” Bud tried again, grin wide and affable. “I was in here last year at Christmastime. Bought a game for my mom. Scattergories. You recommended it.”

  “Yeah, to you and five hundred other people.”

  Yikes, Claire thought. Bud had better watch his step or he’d set off a land mine. The lady was not taking kindly to him.

  “But you gave me a fifty-percent-off coupon. Surely you remember something that generous?”

  That caused a tiny, baby little curve at one corner of Juno’s heretofore stern mouth. Bud’s legendary allure lived to see another day. Juno kept glancing over at Claire, or maybe it was the two games Claire was holding. Claire placed them on the counter, then held up her badge and got the ball rolling at a more suitable speed.

  “Ma’am, I’m Detective Claire Morgan. This is Detective Bud Davis. We’re from the Canton County Sheriff’s Department.”

  “So I gathered. I can see your badges plain as day. I’m Juno Bradshaw. I own this store. What can I do for you?” Juno had long salt-and-pepper gray hair pulled back in a tight, fat bun at her nape. Not a strand had pulled loose. Looked concreted to her head with hairspray, in fact. She had the skin of a much younger woman, as if she’d learned about sunblock at the age of two or lived at the North Pole with Santa. Nice teeth. Nice smile. Nice manners, now that she was over her miff. Claire wondered if the Roman goddess of games had been called Juno. She stood back and let Bud do his investigatory magic. This guy was gold. She leaned on the counter and watched in awe. Yes, she had missed Bud a lot. She read the back of the game box, pleased to let Bud handle things until he needed her to play tag team.

  Chapter 13

  After a few minutes spent shooting board-games-are-the-bomb bull, so to speak, Bud was still holding his own. Claire had seen him in action many times during their years working together. They had always been close friends. She knew he took his time sweet-talking his way to the heart of the issue. Finally, he was getting down to the shiny brass tacks.

  “We’re working a homicide, Ms. Juno. We think it might be related to a certain game that you sell here.”

  “Indeed?” Ms. Juno perked up big time and appeared mightily intrigued by such a delicious idea. “Detection, I take it, considering your purchases?”

  “That’s right,” Claire told her.

  “Well, that’s certainly apropos for a police investigation now, wouldn’t you say?” Juno smiled for the first time. They both smiled back, the ingratiating detectives. “That is one of our bestselling games during the holidays, even after so many years on the market. Especially with the locals around here. I’m holding a Detection contest next week, as a matter of fact. You two will have to sign up before you leave. You’ll need to get two more players in order to reserve a table.”

  “Could you give us a list of the people who’ve bought that game from you in the last six months?”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t have that information readily available. I’d have to go through all my receipts by hand and write down the names. Sometimes I don’t even get their names, not unless it’s a credit or debit card purchase. I don’t believe in computers, you see, not with all that hacking that’s going on nowadays with that Internet nonsense.”

  “You don’t use a computer program for the store? Seriously?” Bud looked genuinely stunned.

  “No. Never did like those computers. Not even the litt
le ones you hold on your lap. Old school, that’s me. As you can plainly see.”

  Juno looked from one of them to the other, daring them to chastise her for being computer illiterate. Bud lapsed seamlessly back into charm city. “I don’t like them, either, Ms. Juno. Too newfangled a gadget for me.”

  “Are you mocking me, young man? Because that’s exactly what that sounded like.”

  Claire stifled her urge to laugh. Bud had met his match this time. Ms. Juno knew the ins and outs of snark. Time to jump into the fray. “No, he isn’t, ma’am, he’s much too polite. But I can tell you that this is a serious matter that we’re talking about here. A young woman, who had every right to live her life to a ripe old age, is now lying dead in our morgue. We think the murderer is somehow connected to the game of Detection. We need to know what individuals bought those games from you, especially recently, or if a customer behaved in a suspicious manner while inside your store. A list of the participants in the upcoming Detection tournament would also be helpful.”

  Juno was clearly not appreciative of Claire’s no-nonsense approach to law enforcement. Juno preferred Bud’s kid gloves. Then again, most people they met up with did, too, but time was a wastin’, and Juno needed to give her cranky attitude a rest. Claire frowned at her, and some of the anger flashing inside the woman’s eyes died abruptly. Then, presto! she became as sweet as a pack of Valentine candy hearts. It was certainly an abrupt change of heart. Claire’s frown had never held that high a level of threat before, but if it got them the information they wanted, so be it.

  “Sure thing, I’d be more than happy to spend hours and hours just sitting by myself and looking through my invoices. No problem, Detectives. Not much around here for me to do except wait on my customers, stock inventory, see to the snack bar, call in orders to my suppliers, and oh, yeah, oversee the big important tournament I’ve got going on right now. Doing your research for you will give me something fun to do to take up all the hours of free time I don’t have on my hands.”

  Whoa, and fifty times whoa. Sarcasm 101. Or maybe even the super advanced class of snotty and snide. Claire could learn from her, yessirreedefinitely. And to think Claire thought herself adept at applying the necessary put-downs when called upon.

  “Ms. Juno, thank you so much for going the extra mile to help us out. We appreciate it, we truly do,” Bud sucked up, and then gave her one heck of a blinding thousand-watt high beam smile. Love, incoming and super-charged. Claire was pretty rusty in that charm thing. Never had an ounce of it since birth, in fact. That was one more good reason for going into private work and partnering with Will Novak. He wasn’t the least bit charming, either, and didn’t give a rip who knew it. However, now, as a detective back at the sheriff’s department with an official badge dangling around her neck, Claire had better buff up her ‘yes sirs’ and ‘yes ma’ams.’ If not, Charlie and Bud would axe her and find somebody else to fill in for future temporary assistance in homicide cases. Now that Claire was on board, with a brutal murder to solve, she wanted to find this sicko killer about as much as she’d ever wanted anything.

  Bud and Ms. Juno continued to chat about some mutual knowledge regarding the ins and outs of Trivial Pursuit Genus as compared to the Anniversary Edition or the 80s Edition. Claire wandered away from their boring discourse and paused in front of a large cork bulletin board at one side of the counter. Lots of snapshots and pictures were tacked up there, most of which looked like shoppers holding up purchases. One section heralded winners of various tournaments, lots of them, in fact—from tiny tykes competing against each other in Candyland to grandpas playing hot games of checkers. Some of them held up little trophies: none that looked like the murder weapon, unfortunately. All were held high, with pride and wide grins, while they hugged or shook hands with an even happier-looking Juno Bradshaw. In fact, Claire espied several photos of people she knew personally, including a photo of Shaggy holding the winning trophy that Bud had mentioned. Another picture had one of the secretaries at the sheriff’s office standing proudly with her husband and little preschool daughter holding a trophy for Chutes and Ladders.

  Claire just couldn’t see the appeal. She’d never had time to play games. Maybe she’d get the fever after she played Detection. Maybe it would change her life for the better. Maybe she’d win a tiny little trophy to tuck in among all Black’s big, prestigious awards he displayed in his office. Maybe it would make her as happy as a singing Disney forest creature every minute of every day, bouncing off the walls from the sheer joy of it all. Nah, she was already pretty damn happy at the moment. Didn’t need games to ring her bell. The lives she and Black were living couldn’t get much more lit without throwing a breaker. They were as happy as the proverbial larks. Things had been so good that Claire was getting nervous, afraid something dark and wicked was this way a-coming. Yup, because that’s what usually happened when she deigned to soar like an eagle with a fat trout in its talons. She thrust the bad vibes out of her head. Don’t chase trouble. Things are as good as good can get. Except for that poor little angel with a big, round hole in her belly, lying on that steel slab in Buckeye’s morgue.

  Then, miracle of miracles, her intense scrutiny of the photographs paid off as it landed on one that looked suspiciously like the alleged Special Agent Oliver Wood—obnoxious jerk. Yes, it was definitely the guy who had hightailed it out of the Cedar Bend lobby after spending fifteen minutes irritating the hell out of her and Black. She tugged the picture loose from the staple holding it in place and stared intently at the guy’s image. It was him, all right. Nobody could fake the intensity of those crazy eyes. Even now, they seemed to be trying to suck the camera into his head. Maybe he was an alien. It seemed more and more possible. He was standing in front of the shelves right behind Claire, the ones that had about fifty silver cups and trophies and blue ribbons displayed on them. So he happened to be a game player, huh? What a huge coincidence. Maybe one of his favorite games included extra points for bludgeoning angels to death and nailing them to bannisters. The Dead Angel Game, first edition, all rights reserved. Maybe Wood was the culprit who poked that token down through her flesh with those long, lean, strong fingers of his.

  Claire took the photo back to the counter. Now Bud and Juno were discussing TV shows; the positives and negatives of comparing Arrow to the Flash. Juno preferred Arrow, of course, because Green Arrow was so handsome and that little Felicity that he loved so much was absolutely adorable. Bud went for the Flash because he ran as fast as lightning struck, whatever the heck that meant. Bud was in dire need of Brianna to get back soon, before he became a full-fledged nerd, a king couch potato.

  “Excuse me, Ms. Bradshaw, sorry to interrupt. Could you please tell me the name of the man in this photo?”

  Bud leaned close to look at it. Juno gazed at Claire, resenting the interruption of their television review. She took the picture. She studied it half a moment and met Claire’s gaze again. “I don’t believe I know that fella.”

  “You’re in the picture with him, Ms. Bradshaw.”

  “Yes, I see that, but I’m in most of those pictures over there. Doesn’t mean I know him personally or remember anything about him.”

  “It’s dated one week ago. Want to look at it again and tell me the truth this time?”

  Juno’s regard registered as intense hatred, despite Claire’s purchase of the two games that had totaled $47.50, plus tax. “All right. If you must know, I don’t know him well. All he told me was that he’s on vacation here at the lake. Been here awhile, he said. Didn’t say for how long, but he’s come back in to watch the tournaments now and again. I took that picture because I thought his eyes were so beautiful.”

  “Did he buy anything when he was here? A Detection game, maybe?”

  “Not that I recall. No, I’d remember that. He didn’t buy anything. He asked me if I’d seen two guys in here. He showed me their pictures.”

  Claire and Bud both stood u
p straighter. Interesting? You bet your life.

  “Who were the other two guys?” Bud sounded eager.

  “He didn’t say.”

  Claire took over, rather excited herself. “Did you know them?”

  “No, but they did look familiar.”

  “Have you seen them here today?” Bud asked, glancing toward the front of the store.

  “I haven’t noticed them. Been busy back here. You know, running the store and yakking with you two.”

  “Does he come in alone?”

  “Yes, I believe so. He seems like a nice young man, but I don’t know him from Adam. Not really.”

  “He hasn’t told you his name, you’re sure?” Claire prompted her because she was pretty sure Ms. Juno was a great big liar—or a dodge-the-question expert, at the very least.

  Hesitation, big time, and a look that said: Huh uh, no way, I don’t want to tell you crap, lady cop. Then she took a deep breath. “Oh, all right, his name is Oliver. Or that’s what he said it was. Never told me his last name. But I don’t think he’s done a single thing wrong. He’s very polite and well mannered. And he knows his games, inside and out.”

  Oh yeah, and that’s the most important thing, Claire thought. She nodded. “We just want to talk to him, that’s all. We’re not here to run him in or get in his face.” That was a lie—two lies in fact, but oh well. “Did he mention what he did for a living?”

  “No, but he’s quite intelligent. I could tell that, just by speaking with him. Good memory, and that sort of thing I take note of. A keen intellect is always impressive.”

  “What else do you remember about him?”

  “Nothing, really. Last time I saw him, he asked me when the next tournament was, and he wanted a list of the upcoming ones.”

  Claire glanced at Bud. They both knew. They weren’t morons—at least, most of the time they weren’t. They were definitely on to something here. “What time did today’s tournament start?”