Wicked Games (Hartley Grace Featherstone Mysteries Book 3)

by Gemma Halliday

Sam and Chase turned too, and sure enough Phoebe Lyons' form appeared, making quick tracks toward the exit.

  Like her team, she wore a Peak Games T-shirt, but she'd paired it with a black blazer and a pair of skinny slacks that ended just a couple of inches above her sneakers. Gold hoop earrings swung from her ears as she approached us, and a messenger bag was slung over one shoulder.

  "Phoebe!" Chase called.

  Her head swiveled our way, and a small frown of confusion played on her face.

  "Hi! Chase Erikson. Intern hopeful." He shot her a big toothy grin.

  Recognition dawned in her eyes. "Right." Her gaze went to Sam and me briefly. "Hi."

  "Hi. I'm glad we caught you."

  "Oh?" Her right eyebrow lifted, some of the confusion back.

  "We were hoping we could talk to you about Connor Simon," I jumped in.

  "Why?" It might have been my imagination, but I thought I detected some emotion flitting behind her eyes.

  "Because you lied to us," I said, cutting to the chase.

  "Excuse me?" The indignation was clear in her voice.

  "You said you weren't at Gamer Con the day Connor Simon died."

  Phoebe frowned. "I never said I wasn't at the convention that day," she told us, and I could see her picking her words carefully. "I just said I wasn't there when Connor died."

  "So you admit that you were at the convention that day?"

  The frowned deepened. "I'm not admitting anything. But, yeah. I told you Peak Games has a booth at the convention. I was there Saturday morning."

  "But you weren't there when Connor died?" Sam asked.

  "No. I left." She looked from me to Chase to Sam. "I have a room here where I was taking private meetings with prospective vendors."

  "What time did you leave?" Sam pressed.

  Phoebe put a hand on her hip. "Exactly what is this?" Her gaze raked over the three of us again. "You aren't really interns, are you?"

  Busted.

  "No," I confessed. "We're not."

  She looked at me and scoffed. "Well, you certainly weren't in the running."

  I swallowed back a smart retort. Mostly because I didn't want to get on the bad side of a potential murderer. "We're members of the press," I said, maybe a little more loftily than I'd intended.

  Phoebe rolled her eyes. "Figures."

  "Look, we're doing a story on Connor's murder," Chase stepped in.

  At the word murder I saw her visibly flinch, some of the coolness in her eyes replaced by emotion again.

  "We have a witness who put you at the VizaSoft booth the morning Connor died," I pressed.

  That emotion started to look a lot like fear. "It's not what you think," she said quickly.

  "Then what is it?" Sam piped up.

  Phoebe took a deep breath, her eyes scanning us again as if trying to figure out how much to share. But she must have come to the conclusion that the truth was less damaging than what we could be imagining and likely planning to print, as she finally relented. "Okay, yes, I was at the VizaSoft booth that morning. Briefly. Only long enough to serve Simon papers."

  "Serve him papers?" Chase asked.

  "I was suing him." Phoebe tilted her head back with an air of defiance.

  "You were suing Connor?" Sam repeated. "Why?"

  "Over rights to Athena's Quest."

  "Wait—are you saying Athena's Quest was your game?" I asked.

  Some of her confidence faltered. "Well, not exactly. I mean, I didn't develop it."

  "Then how are you claiming rights?" Chase asked.

  She pursed her lips together. "Look, Connor had a contract with Peak, okay? All I was asking was that he honor it. Anything he developed while working at Peak Games is property of the company."

  "And you think he developed Athena's Quest while still under contract with Peak. Not after he left to sign with VizaSoft?" Chase said, putting it together.

  Phoebe nodded. "Yes. I have reason to believe he did."

  "What reason?" I asked.

  "Because I know Connor, okay." She sighed, some of the fight leaving her. "Or knew. I know how he coded. And as soon as I saw the first leaks of Athena's Quest, I knew there was no way he put together a game like that so quickly. That's when I realized what he'd really been up to."

  "Tell us," Sam prompted.

  Phoebe shifted her bag to the other shoulder. "Look, something changed in Connor over the summer. Right before he decided to leave. He became secretive, distant. Like his mind was on something else. He kept missing days of work, skipping meetings. At the time, I just thought he was unhappy with…well, unhappy."

  "But now?" I asked.

  She tilted her chin higher. "Now, I think it's clear what he was really feeling. Guilt. All those days of work he missed—they were because he was putting in time on a new game that he had no intention of releasing with Peak."

  "Are you sure Connor didn't just whip this one out faster than normal?" Sam asked, sounding skeptical.

  "Positive." Her eyes shifted to me. "Here, I'll prove it to you. Hand me your phone."

  "My phone?" I hesitated, suddenly suspicious.

  "I'll download our latest game. Hera's Pride. The last one Connor did for us."

  Sam nodded for me to do it.

  "Okay, I guess." I handed it over.

  Phoebe took it, typing some stuff into a browser to access a private website and download the app. "This game took him ten months to develop. And that was fast for him. And he had the whole Peak team working on it."

  "Wouldn't he have an even bigger team at VizaSoft?" I reasoned. "I mean, maybe they worked faster?"

  But Phoebe shook her head. "No. I know Connor," she repeated. She handed my phone back to me as the game finished loading.

  Sam looked over my shoulder as I clicked the app open. Even though I was no advanced gamer, I had to admit the graphics on the home screen looked nowhere near on the realm of what I'd seen of Athena's Quest. Far less realistic and cruder. I clicked through to play the first level and saw more of the same, the movements of the character less fluid and articulated than I'd seen in the press releases of Connor's new game.

  "See what I mean?" Phoebe said, giving us an I told you so look.

  "Okay, so maybe Connor had a lot of help at VizaSoft. Maybe he put in overtime on it?" I asked.

  Something flitted behind Phoebe's eyes. "No. Not Connor."

  "Do you have any actual proof he was working on it while still under contract with Peak?" Chase asked.

  Phoebe crossed her arms over her chest. "Not yet. But my lawyer is getting a subpoena for his early code. And an injunction against VizaSoft putting out the game."

  Ouch. I was no business whiz, but it was clear they'd put a bundle of money into marketing the game already. I wondered how much they stood to lose if Phoebe's lawyer was successful.

  "What did Connor say about it all?" Sam asked.

  "What?" Phoebe turned her attention to Sam.

  "When you served him the papers at the convention. I bet he wasn't happy?"

  Phoebe snorted. "Not even a little."

  "Did you two argue?" Sam pressed.

  Phoebe frowned. "Now, wait a minute. You're twisting this."

  "What time was that?" I asked.

  "What time was what?" Phoebe asked, her tone defensive.

  "That you two argued."

  "I never said we argued—"

  "What time exactly did you leave the convention that day?" Sam asked.

  "I-I don't know." Phoebe took a step back, as if our verbal assault was having a physical effect. "I didn't log my every move."

  "You just told us that you weren't at the convention when Connor died. Sounds like you were keeping track then."

  Phoebe scoffed. "Look, I don't know who you think you are, but I had nothing to do with Connor's death. Connor and I…" She paused. She licked her lips. She took a deep, deliberate breath. "I would never have hurt him," she said, her voice calm but sounding like it was taking a lot of effort to keep it th
at way.

  "You were suing him," Sam pointed out.

  "Only for what was legally mine!" she blurted out, giving up on the calm thing. She shook her head. "Look, I've got to go. Print whatever you want," she said. Then she gave me a pointed look. "But just know my lawyer will slap a slander suit on you so fast it will make your little blonde head spin."

  And with that, she stalked off, her sneakers squeaking with every step as she made her way across the lobby.

  CHAPTER TEN

  "So, what do we think of the partner?" I asked as we walked back down the block to the convention center.

  "I think she's bitter as all heck," Sam decided.

  Chase nodded. "She has good reason to be, though."

  "If Connor did, in fact, create Athena's Quest while he was still working at Peak Games," I pointed out. "And, just because she had good reason to be angry at Connor, that doesn't mean she wasn't the one to kill him."

  Chase frowned. "I don't know. I mean, what does killing him achieve?"

  "Revenge?" Sam tried. "Or, maybe it wasn't planned. Maybe she served him the papers, they argued, and she just lost it and hit him."

  Chase shrugged. "I guess it's possible."

  "I think it's more than possible," I said. "I think it's likely at this point. She already lied about her alibi—"

  "Or we misunderstood her," Chase cut in.

  But I ignored him, forging ahead. "She's suing Connor, and we have a witness who put her near the VizaSoft booth."

  "While Connor was alive," Chase countered.

  I put my hands on my hips as we approached the convention center. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you're defending her."

  Chase frowned. "I'm not defending her."

  "Sure," Sam said, heavy on the sarcasm. "Just like you weren't flirting with her at the intern interview."

  "Right?" I agreed.

  "I wasn't flirting!"

  "Good," I said as we jumped in line to get our passes scanned. "'Cause it could be hazardous to your health to flirt with a murderer."

  Chase shook his head. "Whatever. Look, this whole theory of yours with Phoebe rests on one thing."

  "How short Phoebe's fuse is?" I offered.

  "If Connor really did violate his Peak Games contract."

  I bit my lip. He was right. That was still an if.

  "When we were at her offices, didn't Phoebe say she was looking for a summer intern to work directly under her?" Sam asked.

  I nodded. "Yeah. And I think she had an idea who she wanted under her too." I shot a look at Chase.

  He shook his head, half a smile on his full lips. "You have a vivid imagination, Featherstone."

  He had no idea…

  But I shook that thought out of my head as Sam continued.

  "Well, maybe Connor had one too," Sam offered. "An intern that is, not an imagination. I mean, didn't Phoebe say he started acting funny last summer?"

  "Right!" I nodded, liking where she was going with this. "Maybe his intern would know if he had been working on Athena's Quest."

  "Don't you think Connor would have been doing it a bit more on the sly?" Chase reasoned. "I mean, if he was planning to leave Peak with it, he wouldn't have wanted anyone to know what he was working on?"

  "Well, maybe the intern saw something before Connor thought about leaving? Something that didn't clue him in right away but in hindsight would make sense?" I grasped. "At the very least, an interview with him—"

  "Or her," Sam pointed out.

  "Or her would make a great addition to the story."

  Chase thought about it a minute, but he couldn't argue that last point. "Okay, so how do we find out who was interning with Peak Games last summer?"

  "They said they'd be posting the list on Facebook once they chose," I said, remembering what Clipboards had told us at the booth. "Maybe they did the same thing last year?"

  Chase shrugged, pulling his phone out of his jeans pocket and opening the app. A minute later he was on the Peak Games official page and was scrolling through posts.

  Lots of scrolling. Apparently they relied heavily on social media marketing, as there were several posts a day. Sometimes several an hour.

  "This is going to take forever," Sam moaned.

  Actually it took slightly less than forever, but by the time Chase was finally getting to posts from August of last year, we were back inside the main hall, sitting on a bench outside of the Sega booth, where a Sonic the Hedgehog with weird teeth was dancing to game music played nonstop from the speakers.

  "Look." Chase pointed at his screen. "Here's a picture of the interns' last day last summer."

  Six people looking in their late teens to early twenties stood arm in arm in front of the backdrop of monitors we'd seen in the Peak lobby, smiling for the camera. My gaze roved over each face, but none were tagged to say who they were.

  Chase scrolled back some more, going through several posts about summer sales, a new game release, lots of press about Connor.

  "There!" I stabbed my finger at his screen as the words Intern List fairly jumped out at me.

  "Jacob Stark," Chase read off the tagged names. "Allison Parker, Amanda Chang, Devan White, Tyler McGowan, and Michael Davenport."

  "So which one do you think worked under Connor Simon?" Sam asked, crowding up next to us to peer at Chase's screen.

  Chase clicked on the first name, taking him to Jacob Stark's page. Nothing terribly telling there. Lots of posts in celebration of graduating from UCLA in the spring. No mentions of Peak games or Connor Simon.

  Chase did a repeat with each of the names on the intern list—seeing lots of posts about graduations, school accomplishments, college affiliations. Enough that I was starting to feel like I was falling way behind in the race to adulting.

  Finally he hit Tyler McGowan's page. Which was possibly the most sparse, but thankfully he had heartily celebrated his internship last summer by posting a photo of Connor Simon along with the words My boss for the summer!

  Bingo.

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later, Chase, Sam, and I pulled up to the address listed on Tyler McGowen's LinkedIn résumé, which ended up being in a residential area of San Jose, just a few blocks from my own home. It was a two-story blue house with bright white shutters and flower boxes in each window. There was scalloped trim along the roof, and a white picket fence surrounded the small lot. It was cute. Almost a little too cute. Like the type of houses we drew as kids in elementary school. It only needed a blue cloud of smoke from the chimney and a crisp yellow sun with straight-lined rays in the left corner of the sky.

  "Adorable," Chase said, stealing my thought. Only his tone was filled with cynicism.

  We walked up the flared cobblestone walkway to a small front porch that was only big enough for a single white wicker chair and a mini palm tree in a peach-colored ceramic pot.

  Sam stood just behind me texting as I rang the bell. None of us said anything as we waited.

  The door opened and a skinny guy wearing a burgundy T-shirt and baggie cargo shorts stared at us. His sandy brown hair stood erect at several different angles, and his feet were covered in fuzzy, bright red socks with the words Ho, ho, ho in white lettering.

  I wasn't sure what I'd been expecting, but in person this guy looked no older than Sam and I.

  "Are you Tyler McGowen?" Chase asked.

  The guy scratched the side of his head, his gaze going from me to Sam. "Who wants to know?"

  "We're from the Herbert Hoover High Homepage," Chase explained.

  "What's that?" the guy asked with a squint.

  "A newspaper," I supplied.

  "They still have those?" He smirked.

  "Can we ask you some questions?" Chase asked.

  "About what?" the guy replied.

  Well, he didn't deny he was Tyler, so at least we had the right house and right person.

  "We're doing a story on Gamer Con and Connor Simon's death," I said.

  At the mention of Connor's name,
the smirk died, and the guy's expression went immediately dark. "I don't know anything about that." He took a step back, ready to shut the door.

  But Chase had the reflexes of a cat and jumped into the doorframe. "You did intern with Connor last summer, right?"

  "Yeah." Tyler paused. "So?"

  "So, we just wanted to get your take on him," Sam said. "You know, your inside view of him as a person. Can we come in?" She shot him a big smile.

  Which seemed to disarm him a little as he stepped back. "Okay I guess. But just for a minute."

  We stepped into a pastel colored living room, complete with a Robin's egg blue sofa, soft yellow loveseat, baby pink walls, and a pale green throw rug. It was like walking into an Easter egg. I was about to voice a suspicion that Tyler himself had not been the decorator, when a tall woman suddenly appeared from a back room. She wore jeans and a sweatshirt with a pair of kittens on it.

  "Tyler, are these your friends?" she asked, blinking innocently at us.

  Tyler seemed to shrink into himself. "Just some kids from school, Mom," he mumbled.

  I raised an eyebrow at him. "You go to Herbert Hoover High too?"

  He didn't answer, ducking his head in a way that was positive affirmation enough.

  "Well, it's lovely to meet you. Tyler hardly ever has friends over." Her smile was so big it was a bit alarming. "Please, come in. Don't be shy."

  Tyler groaned. "Mom, please don't embarrass me," he said under his breath.

  She tapped his arm. "Oh hush, Tyler. I just want to meet who you hang out with. But please follow me into the kitchen. I cannot let my buns burn."

  Tyler groaned again, but if his mother heard it, she ignored it, leading the way toward the kitchen.

  Which, just like the living room, had also been hatched from an Easter bunny. Soft blue refrigerator and gleaming white counters beneath pale yellow walls were an ode to pastel. Another green rug sat under a round white table and chairs. I wondered if she bought them in bulk.

  "So, are you all freshmen as well?" Mrs. McGowen asked, turning her attention toward the stove.

  "Freshmen?" I glanced at Tyler, whose face was turning red. His secret was out of the bag. He was fourteen.

  "Uh, no," Chase answered. "But we all mingle on campus."