"How nice is that?" Mrs. McGowen said. She opened the oven door, and the aroma of fresh bread and chocolate hit me hard. If someone bottled that scent, they could make a fortune.
I glanced at the fridge where three photos stuck to the shiny surface with magnets. They were each of Tyler at the beach. Two were of him by himself, and the last one was of him, his mom, and a man who was probably his father. They all must have been taken at least five years ago. Tyler was younger, smiling, and looking happy. Looking nothing like the guy currently dying of mortification in the corner.
When Mrs. McGowen was done checking her food, she turned to us and said, "I am making Mr. McGowen's favorite meal. Beef stew with homemade rolls and a chocolate torte."
Tyler rolled his eyes.
I thought it sounded delish. Especially when I knew my mom was making veggie loaf and faux mac and cheese. That I'd have to eat next to Raley. And Chase.
The last thought made my stomach roll despite the chocolaty aromas wafting toward me.
"So what are you kids up to today?" Mrs. McGowen asked.
Chase, Sam, and I exchanged glances. We'd barely told Tyler why we were here. What were we supposed to say? We came to question your son about his involvement with a dead guy?
"Those are some outfits," she noted before we'd had a chance to answer the first question.
"We were at Gamer Con," I said and turned to Tyler to watch his reaction.
Unfortunately he was looking at his feet.
"Isn't that where that man died?" She turned to Tyler. "The one you worked for last summer?"
Tyler just nodded, eyes still on the floor.
"Horrible." Mrs. McGowen shook her head. "I'm surprised it's still open."
"They shut it down for a day while the crime scene was processed," I explained. "But it's back open today, and they added an extra day onto the end tomorrow."
"I see. Do you three…I'm sorry, what are your names?" she asked. The more she spoke, the more she reminded me of Mom. Her innocent sounding questions were starting to take on an edge, as if she had an ulterior motive for asking. Or maybe she was just highly suspicious by nature.
"I'm Hartley, that is Sam, and this is Chase," I said.
"I don't remember Tyler mentioning any of you before."
That would be because he hadn't.
Luckily before I was forced to answer and reveal how I hadn't even known her son existed thirty minutes ago, Tyler's loud sigh echoed around the room.
Mrs. McGowan quirked her right eyebrow at him. "Tyler, use your words, please." Her tone definitely had SMother to it.
He snapped his head up and pinned her with a look. "Can you please stop this torture so we can go to my room?"
"Okay, fine," she said and blinked innocently several times. "Go along and hang out."
Tyler stormed past her through the kitchen archway.
"But keep the door open, Ty. You know the rules about girls."
"Mom!" Tyler whined, sounding more like a two-year-old than a high school freshman.
"It was nice to meet you," I said to his mom.
She gave a smile that was one part welcoming and two parts suspicion. She might have lived in a candy-colored world, but she had good instincts.
Tyler led us down a short hallway into a bedroom that was the polar opposite to the rest of the house—dark walls, dark bedding, and dark colored furniture. It also didn't seem to have a floor. Clothing, old crinkled snack bags, and empty soda cans covered it. I was afraid to walk in, in case I hurt something of value. Like myself, by twisting an ankle.
Game posters covered every square inch of wall space, and there was even one taped to a rear window. While I might have guessed him to be a game enthusiast by his choice of internship, I hadn't expected this level of commitment. A twin-sized bed was pushed up against a wall, and a desk with two monitors sat on the other side of the narrow room. His dresser drawers were all slightly open, and various articles of clothing—socks, T-shirts, boxers (I quickly averted my eyes)—draped over the sides.
How did a person live like this? How did that polite, torte baking woman allow it to happen?
"So, you're a freshman at Herbert Hoover High?" Sam asked. She was standing by his door. She'd barely entered the room and almost looked a bit scared, as if she wondered if she'd need a tetanus shot first.
Tyler shrugged. "Yeah. So?"
"So how did you get an internship with Connor Simon?" Sam asked. I had a feeling she was only partly asking for the story and partly for her own summer plans.
Tyler shrugged again—it seemed to be his go-to move—and sat on his bed, between a pizza box and a stiff grungy sweatshirt that looked like it hadn't seen a washing machine in months. "I've been at ID Tech every summer since I was seven." He glanced up at Chase and me. "You know, the coding camp?"
I shook my head. The only camp I'd ever been to had been soccer camp, which had ended with a broken arm after running into a goal post and two very bruised shins from all the other girls who had taken soccer way more seriously than I had.
"It's held at Stanford," he clarified.
Sam sighed. "Figures."
"Anyway, I knew the software pretty well that Connor was using for his latest game, so he hired me."
"And what game was that?" Chase asked, jumping on the opening. "The latest one he was working on?"
"I-I can't remember." Tyler's eyes went down to the floor. Or, where I was pretty sure a floor should be.
"You can't remember what game you worked on?" I pressed.
"It was one of those goddess ones."
"They're all goddess ones," Sam pointed out. "Which goddess one did Connor have you working on?"
"What does it matter?" Tyler's head popped up, the dark defiant look we'd first encountered at the front door back again.
"It matters because someone is claiming that Connor started developing Athena's Quest last summer," I said.
Tyler frowned, something changing behind his eyes. "Who's claiming that?"
I hesitated, not sure how much to share with Tyler. But, honestly, I couldn't figure what it could hurt at this point. "Connor's former partner at Peak Games," I told him. "Phoebe Lyons."
"What's she saying?" His gaze pinged between the three of us.
"Just that she thinks Connor couldn't have coded the entire game in the time he had between leaving Peak and signing with VizaSoft."
Tyler licked his lips, looking suddenly nervous. "Well, she's right."
Chase shot me a look. "She is? You mean, Connor was working on it last summer?"
Tyler sucked in a deep breath. "No. Connor wasn't." He paused, doing more lip-licking. "I was."
"What do you mean?" I asked, feeling a frown form between my eyes.
"I mean, it was my idea. The game."
Sam snorted. Chase smirked. I gave him a get real look.
"It was!" he said, his voice rising. "Look, one of the perks of being an intern was we got to use all the cool software Peak had anytime we wanted. I was playing around on it one day, and Connor saw the snippet of a game I'd created."
"And you're saying that was Athena's Quest?" Chase clarified.
Tyler nodded. "Connor liked it. He said the style was innovative. He told me to work on more of it."
"How much more?" Sam asked.
"A lot." He paused. "Connor pulled me off other projects and just had me working on this one game."
I shook my head. "But the main character, Athena, is based off of Connor's girlfriend. She said she was his muse."
Tyler snorted. "More like VizaSoft thought she'd sell copies. Look, they pasted her face onto my ideas. Maybe she's Athena, but the coding was all mine."
"So you're saying you single-handedly coded the entire game yourself in one summer?" I asked, still unable to keep the disbelief out of my voice.
"Well, no. It was mostly just concept stuff. You know, world building, some signature moves and looks."
"Did VizaSoft know that they were sinking millions of do
llars into a teenager's game?" Sam asked.
He shook his head. "No one knew." He swallowed hard. "You think they invested millions?"
Sam nodded. "And they—and Connor—stood to make that several times over."
"Off of your creation," Chase finished. I noticed he was watching Tyler closely.
Tyler, on the other hand, looked like he was going to throw up. "I-I don't know about any of that. All I know is Connor told me that since I made the game at Peak, it was his. He owned it. He…he said he'd give me credit."
"But he didn't," I surmised. "Because if he did, that would mean admitting he'd worked on it while at Peak."
Tyler's jaw hardened. "No. He didn't give me credit. He just took it and…"
"And passed it off as his own," Sam finished for him, shaking her head in disgust. "Totally unfair."
"Right?" Tyler said. "I mean, I knew those corporate guys were jerks, but I thought Connor would be cooler." He looked genuinely hurt.
"Why didn't you tell anyone?" Sam asked.
Tyler shrugged. "Who would I tell?"
"The media," I suggested. "Press. I dunno, maybe even a lawyer?"
"Yeah, right. And who are they going to believe? The great Connor Simon or some lowly intern who can't even drive yet?"
He had a good point there. None of us had believed him at first either.
"What did Connor say when you confronted him about it?" I asked.
Tyler blinked at me. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, didn't you ask Connor why he didn't give you the credit he promised?"
But Tyler just shook his head. "No. I mean, I tried to call him, but he wasn't at Peak anymore, right? And the VizaSoft guys just kept saying I could leave a message."
"I'm guessing Connor never returned those messages?" Chase said.
Tyler shook his head again. "Jerk," he muttered under his breath.
"You must have been pretty ticked off," I said.
Tyler scoffed. "Wouldn't you be?"
I nodded. "I sure would." I paused. "Did you know Connor would be at Gamer Con?"
Tyler froze. "N-no." His eyes went to the nonexistent floor again. I'd have bet money he was lying.
"Tyler, were you at Gamer Con?" I asked softly.
"What would I want to go there for?" he said on a sneer.
I glanced around the room at the five hundred posters. Gee, clearly no interest in video games here.
"Are you saying you weren't at the convention?" Chase pressed.
He clamped his lips shut, eyes going from one of us to the other as he clearly took a beat to think about his answer. Finally, he said, "Okay. Fine. I was there. So were lots of people. So what?"
"So, did you see Connor there?"
"No!" Tyler scoffed.
"Where were you when Connor was killed?" Chase pressed.
"Whoa." Tyler popped up off his bed. "No way. Dude, you have got this all wrong. I didn't kill Connor!"
"He stole the game from you," Sam pointed out.
"And you were mad over it," I added.
"And he wouldn't return your calls," Sam jumped in again.
"Yeah, but I didn't kill him!" Tyler protested.
"Then tell us where you were when he died," Chase repeated.
Tyler looked from Chase to me to Sam, the fear in his eyes so real I could almost feel it myself. "I-I don't know. What time did he die?"
"Around 10:45," I told him.
"I was at the food court," he said quickly. Almost too quickly.
"You're sure?" I pressed.
He nodded, his sandy hair falling into his eyes. "At the pizza place."
"Were you with anyone?" Sam asked.
"No." His Adam's apple bobbed up and down.
"You were at the con alone?"
"My mom had just dropped me off," he said. His eyes cut to the door, as if willing his mother to come corroborate his story. "I was gonna meet up with some friends later, but I grabbed a slice first."
"Did anyone else see you there? Anyone else who can back up your story?"
"It's not a story!" Tyler said vehemently. His eyes darted around the room. "That Mario guy." He looked to me as if pleading for me to believe him. "The dude who was dressed as Super Mario and dancing around in front of the pizza place. I laughed at him, and he gave me the finger. He'd remember me, I'm sure."
As far as alibis went, it wasn't iron clad. But as Tyler crossed the room to the open doorway, I had a feeling it was all we were going to get from him.
"Now I think I'd like you all to leave." Tyler stood next to his bedroom door and crossed his scrawny arms over his chest protectively.
We walked out of his room and made our way to the front door.
I glanced down the hall and saw Mrs. McGowen hovering in the kitchen doorway, drying a glass. Did she always stand in the doorway doing that, or was she trying to overhear our conversation?
She waved and smiled, though it was tight and far less welcoming than it had been when we'd first arrived. I wondered just how much of our conversation she might have heard as she turned back into the kitchen.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I typed up some notes from our interview with Tyler on my phone as Chase's Deathmobile sped back toward the con, only violating a handful of traffic laws on the way. As soon as we'd parked in a lot down the street and hoofed it back to the convention center, we went straight to the food court, to check up on the supposed alibi Tyler had provided.
Being that it was well into the afternoon, the place was packed, long lines in front of all the food booths and the mingling scents of hot dogs, pizza, and burgers filling the air in an enticing mix that had my stomach growling. While several of the booths were game themed, we spotted the dancing Mario right away—his giant head bobbing back and forth above the crowd.
We tried to get close, but too many people had their phones out filming him—half of them laughing like Tyler had described and the other half looking like they were seeing the coolest thing on earth. We had to wait until he'd finished out his little jig and taken a bow before we were able to approach the costumed man.
"Excuse me," Chase said, putting a hand on his arm as the guy moved to leave the food court.
"No selfies," the guy said, sounding slightly breathless.
"Actually, we just wanted to ask you a couple of questions," Chase said. "About the other day when the con shut down."
The guy paused, turning his gargantuan cartoon head our way. I could barely make out the shape of his face inside the costume through the mesh eyes. "What about it?" he asked.
"A, uh, friend of ours says he was here. At the food court that morning."
"So?" The defensive tone in the guy's voice was unmistakable.
"Tall, sandy hair, a couple years younger than us?" Sam said, describing Tyler.
Mario shrugged. "That describes half the kids here, honey."
"He said he laughed at you and you gave him the finger," I added.
He grunted. "Okay, now you've narrowed it down to a third of the kids here."
Great. So much for Tyler's alibi.
"I don't suppose you know what time you were out dancing that morning?" Chase asked.
"Sure." Mario shifted his weight to his other foot, the head bobbling precariously. "On the fifteen, all around the hour."
"Wow. You must get tired." Sam glanced up at the large head.
"Could be worse," he said with a shrug. "Charmander's gotta be on all the time." He gestured his head to the large orange costume of the mascot waddling in front of the churro stand, before he turned and made his way down a corridor to the back rooms.
Since we were already there, and my stomach wouldn't stop growling, we all grabbed slices of pizza ourselves and settled at a table near the edge of the dining area that overlooked the busy main floor of the convention.
"So what do we think of Tyler?" Chase asked after taking a bite of his pepperoni and sausage. A small dot of sauce sat on his upper lip, and I had the sudden urge to lean over and wi
pe it with my thumb.
I looked down at the table and focused on a small scratch in the dark wood to stifle the weird grooming instinct. "Well, I think he was angry at Connor."
"Obviously," Chase added.
"Angry enough to kill though?" Sam asked. "That's the question."
"Could be," I said, ripping open a packet of parmesan and sprinkling it on my slice. "He was at the con. He had opportunity."
"You think he's lying about not seeing Connor at the convention?" Sam asked.
I shrugged. "Possibly. I mean, if it were me, I probably would have sought Connor out first thing." I paused. "Plus he has no real alibi."
"Other than Super Mario," Chase said with a grin. He finally licked that sauce off his lip. I tried not to watch his tongue as it darted out, but the scratch in the table could only hold my attention so long.
"You know the same could be said of Phoebe," I pointed out, trying to avert my eyes. "Even if she was clueless that the game was Tyler's creation, she must have been angry at Connor for cheating her out of profits that were rightfully hers." I paused. "Or at least half hers."
"Half of potentially millions in profits is a great motive," Sam agreed.
"She says she was only there to serve him the documents, but what if she actually was there to kill him?" I said.
"I don't know," Chase said. "I mean, she was suing him, and we now know she actually had a good case. Why kill him when she could just get what she wanted in court?"
"Court costs can be expensive," Sam said. "I know. Kevin wanted to sue this company last year, and the lawyer he saw said it would take like a hundred thousand just to get into a courtroom."
"Wow." Chase sipped his coffee. "That's a lot."
"Who was Kevin suing?" I asked.
Sam shrugged. "The maker of his smartphone. He left it too close to his SVO converter and it exploded."
I stifled a laugh. "Poor Kevin."
"Okay, so suing someone is an expensive proposition," Chase said, getting us back on track. "But, if there was potentially millions on the line for Phoebe, a hundred thousand would be a sound investment."
"Okay, so maybe she didn't kill him over the money. Maybe it was more a reaction," I offered. "She serves Connor the papers, and maybe he laughs at her or argues or says something that riles her up. Then she kills him in a sudden burst of rage."
Wicked Games (Hartley Grace Featherstone Mysteries Book 3) Page 10
