The Killing Game

by Nancy Bush

  “I don’t need a landscaper, but thanks.”

  “You might need something else sometime.” He shot Luke a knowing glance, then took off.

  Luke locked the door after he was gone, then turned back to Andi.

  “That sounded kind of ominous,” she said, rising to her feet. She practically stumbled into Luke’s arms.

  “I think I may have underestimated Carlos,” Luke admitted.

  “What did Thompkins say? Jarrett hasn’t called back. Everything’s so out of control.”

  Luke brought her up to speed, finishing with, “Thompkins is leaning toward her death being an accident, but I’m leaning the other way.”

  “Bobby?”

  “I didn’t tell the detective about the bird messages. I maybe should have, but I wanted him engaged in this and I’m not sure how much he is. I met another detective I’d like to contact again. She might be more helpful.”

  * * *

  September arrived at Sirocco Realty twenty minutes later than she’d expected. She pushed through the front door to find three sober female employees, Kitsy and two others, one closer to Kitsy’s age whose coat was slung over her arm as if she were on her way out, and another in her early twenties. The one in her twenties sat in the reception desk chair, wide-eyed and pale, braids falling to her shoulders. The other woman was drawn and tense, and Kitsy held a tissue in one hand, her eyes red.

  “Detective,” Kitsy said in relief upon seeing her. “I’m sorry. I can’t remember your name.”

  “Rafferty.”

  “That’s right, Rafferty. That’s right.” She looked helplessly at the other two women, who were staring at September.

  “I’m Edie,” the older woman introduced herself. Her eyes were dark with sadness. “When Kitsy told me about Tracy, I . . . I knew I wanted to talk to you.”

  “And this is Heidi Sorenson,” Kitsy said, motioning to the girl in the chair. “She’s our part-time receptionist. Works mostly weekends.”

  “Hi,” Heidi said dully.

  “I’m sorry about Tracy,” September began. “I was asked by the Winslow Sheriff’s Department to meet with you and—”

  “Who could do this?” Edie broke in, unable to hold back her horror. “Why?”

  Kitsy said, “None of us knew Tracy all that well outside of work.”

  “She was here yesterday,” Heidi said, squeezing out huge tears. “She came in for a few minutes. I got her a cup of coffee, but she didn’t drink it.”

  “She came by to pick something up apparently,” Kitsy explained. “It wasn’t a workday for her.”

  “Pick something up?” September questioned.

  “In the desk. Bottom drawer.” Heidi pointed. “It was partly open and the box was gone.”

  “What box?” Edie asked.

  “I don’t know. But it was there before she came. . . .” More tears followed and ran down Heidi’s cheeks. “And then it was gone when she was gone.”

  Kitsy looked at Edie, who shook her head. September gazed from one to the other. “Something you want to tell me?”

  Kitsy kept right on looking at Edie, as if daring her to speak up. Finally, Edie said, “I told Kitsy I suspected Tracy was letting herself into some of our listings without our knowledge. She didn’t have an electronic key so she couldn’t access the lockboxes.”

  “She wasn’t a Realtor,” Kitsy explained.

  Edie went on, “But she was inside a couple of homes. One, the seller called me and was really upset. She’d come home and there was Tracy, who acted like she was there on Sirocco business, but she wasn’t.”

  “What was she doing?”

  “We don’t know.” Edie pressed her lips together and shook her head, then said, “I was worried she was stealing, or planning to steal.”

  “Tracy wouldn’t do that!” Heidi burst out.

  Kitsy said, “Of course not, dear,” but over Heidi’s head her silent gaze said, Well, yes, maybe she would.

  “Nothing was ever reported stolen,” September guessed.

  “No,” Edie admitted. “I just hope we don’t have somebody six months from now realizing their diamond earrings are missing.”

  “What do you think was in the box?” September asked.

  No one said anything for a moment, but then Heidi finally spoke up reluctantly. “Keys.”

  “Keys? To homes?” September asked.

  Heidi confessed, “I picked up the box and shook it once.” Her breath caught on a sob.

  “Oh God.” Edie looked dazed. “What was she doing?”

  “Do you think . . . could this have anything to do with what happened to her?” Kitsy asked, her voice turning into a squeak.

  “We’re just beginning the investigation,” September said.

  She asked a number of further questions about Tracy, but as Kitsy had already said, they knew nothing of her social or personal life outside the office. Finally, September recognized she’d exhausted them as a source of information and put her notebook away.

  Kitsy drew a breath and then asked, “This isn’t connected to the bones you’re trying to identify, is it?”

  “What bones?” Edie asked as she shrugged into her coat.

  Heidi sat in silent horror.

  “No, that’s a separate case,” September answered Kitsy. She followed Edie toward the door, Kitsy trailing a few steps behind.

  “How are you doing on that one?” Kitsy asked. There was no real interest in her tone. She was just making conversation.

  But she’d given September an opening. As Edie held the door open for her, September said, “I’ve whittled down the rental to four names of people who could’ve lived there, on Aurora, during the window of time I’m investigating. Kirkendall, Wright, Patten, and Brannigan.”

  “Patten,” Kitsy said immediately. “Like the shoe. Patent leather.”

  “Patten,” September repeated.

  “Lance Patten,” she said. “That’s his name. And the parents were Joan and ... hmmm. Escapes me. They had a horse.”

  Lance Patten. Finally, a name! September felt that tiny little zing, the one that sizzled through her brain whenever she realized she’d made a connection, an inroad into a sticky investigation.

  Staring at the floor, Kitsy went on, “The kid rode it sometimes, but that was before he went off the rails, I think.” She was frowning, remembering, but she looked up and met September’s gaze. “Does that help?”

  “Yes,” September assured her.

  Kitsy sent her an uncertain smile. “I, um, I hope we can keep Sirocco’s name out of this. We don’t need any bad publicity. I mean, I’m so, so sorry about Tracy, but . . .”

  “Too late. That reporter talked about Tracy on the news,” Heidi spoke up. She’d finally roused herself from the chair and had pulled her purse out of a drawer. “I saw it in the break room.”

  “When will we know something about Tracy?” Edie asked. She was still holding the door.

  “As soon as we have some information,” September said.

  * * *

  Luke took Andi to dinner at a steak house that had been in the area for sixty years. It still served baked potatoes in foil, though the iceberg salad wedge with blue cheese dressing was a new addition. Andi had no appetite whatsoever, so she just chased lettuce leaves around on her plate.

  “Eat something,” Luke told her.

  “I can’t. I feel tied up inside.”

  “You still need to eat something or you’re gonna crash.”

  She knew he was right. What she really wanted was one of her antidepressants. She hadn’t taken one earlier when they were talking about them, and she needed to get back to evening herself out. The pills were supposed to help. “Jarrett said he’d call back and he hasn’t.”

  “He’s supposed to call Thompkins, too.”

  “He’s not hiding or anything, is he?” Andi asked, worried sick.

  “What did he say to you?”

  “Nothing. He was freaked that she was gone.” She gazed at
him unhappily. “I can’t even say the word. Dead. There. I said it.”

  He reached across the table and captured one of her cold hands. “Give yourself some time. Come on, I’ll take you home.”

  “What if... I mean . . . what was Jarrett doing there?”

  “Call him,” Luke suggested. “See if he’ll pick up. Ask him yourself.”

  Uncertainly, she reached in her purse for her cell phone. He was right. What was she afraid of?

  When she pulled out the phone she saw she’d missed a text from Emma: Carter told me about Mimi! WTF! Scott’s an asshole!!!! Andi made a strangled sound. “I guess he didn’t tell her about Trini.”

  “Who?”

  Rather than explain, she turned the phone so he could read the text. “It’s from Emma,” she said. “It seems so stupid and trivial now. I was thinking Scott could be behind the bird messages, but I don’t think he is really. And even if he is, I don’t care.”

  She put in another call to Jarrett, but once again he didn’t answer; her call went straight to voice mail. She didn’t bother leaving another message.

  Luke paid the bill and put his arm around Andi as they headed to his truck. He drove her home through a dark night filled with fits of wind-driven rain. The cabin’s front light welcomed them. The place really did feel like home.

  Once inside, Andi took off her coat and went straight to her bedroom. The willow circle Luke had made was lying on her dresser and she picked it up and brought it back to the living room, where Luke had dropped to the couch and was looking at his phone.

  He glanced up. “You okay?” His gaze fell to the willow ring and he looked kind of sheepish. When she went into the kitchen, he asked, “What are you doing?”

  “Hanging this up.”

  “Come on.” He laughed. “You don’t have to.”

  She brought out a hammer and nail and opened the front door. Setting the willow branches on the ground, she hammered in the nail, then hung the wreath on her door.

  “A talisman against evil spirits,” she said.

  For an answer he came to her and wrapped his arms around her, kissing the top of her head. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

  “I know.” Her gaze fell on the vials still sitting on her table. She briefly thought about starting the antidepressants again, but having Luke around was better, and the urge she’d felt in the restaurant, the need for the pills as some kind of hopeful balm, had eased. “It’s early, but I want to go to bed.”

  “Okay.”

  When he didn’t follow after her, Andi looked back. “Coming?”

  “No more couch for me?”

  “Not unless that’s what you want.”

  His answer was to bound after her. “I didn’t pick up any condoms.”

  She switched on the bedroom light. “It’s not likely to matter. My pregnancy was an anomaly.” She started unbuttoning her blouse, but he swept her hands away.

  “I’ll get some tomorrow,” he said huskily, pulling her body to his and tilting up her chin.

  Andi already felt like melting wax in his hands. “I just want to forget everything.”

  He kissed her gently, then with more urgency.

  After that there was no more talking.

  * * *

  Poor, poor little bird. So distraught over your friend. You don’t see me here in the shadows, but I see the light in the bedroom beneath your shade. Are you sleeping alone? Not a chance. You’re all set to fuck your knight in shining armor. Do you know about his other women? Maybe I should tell you . . . leave you another note. Y’see, I’ve been doing my research on the ex-cop. He’s got some honeys in the wings. There’s the hot one from the district attorney’s office and the even hotter one with the red hair . . . supposedly a client, but there’s no way he’s kept his dick out of that much woman.

  Yes . . . a little note about ex-detective Denton. Maybe I’ll leave it in that god-awful wreath of sticks on your door. Willow branches . . . someday soon I’ll tell you a story about them.

  But first I’m going to let you in on all the little secrets your lover’s not telling you.

  I can hardly wait. Hurting is an important part of the game.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Luke and Andi spent Sunday in bed. They slept, made love, talked about the Carreras and Trini, and Scott and Mimi, then made love again, slept some more, and talked some more. Andi had enough fresh vegetables to make a salad and some frozen hamburger that Luke thawed and they threw together a pasta dish out of a jar of marinara sauce and some bowtie pasta. “Butterfly spaghetti,” he called it, and Andi just let it all happen.

  She could still scarcely process Trini’s death. And she was worried sick about Jarrett, who still hadn’t returned any of her calls.

  As the day wore on, Luke outlined what he wanted to do over the coming week. Monday was the meeting with the Carreras; then he wanted to meet with Detectives Rafferty and Thompkins again and apprise them of the little bird messages.

  “I also want to do some checking up on my own about the boyfriend, Bobby. Trini met him through one of her classes.”

  “At the gym where she worked?”

  “Um. That’s what she said. She said he was buttoned-down, like Greg. Not her type at all.”

  “But she fell for him.”

  “Yeah, big-time. So out of character. She knew it.” There was something else that was bothering her. “Oh, and she said he wore a toupee and glasses. Again, not Trini’s usual type. She was all for the rock-hard gym rat; y’know, most of her exes could have been male models. So it was all weird. I don’t think she thought anything about him at first, but then she was smitten.”

  “Smitten. I like that word.”

  He smiled at her and she managed a smile back. She almost felt guilty finding joy in anything with her friend gone. “Trini kept saying how crazy it was. He pulled back for a while and she thought it was over and was kind of crushed, then recently they were back on.”

  “And he said he was allergic to shellfish as well?”

  “That’s what she said.”

  “We need to know more about him.”

  “Maybe at the gym where she held her classes?”

  He nodded. “My thought exactly. We’ll go there first thing tomorrow morning, before the meeting with the Carreras,” he said.

  Andi inwardly shivered, but said, “Okay.” She wasn’t looking forward to that meeting at all.

  * * *

  September clicked off her cell phone and threw it on the couch in disgust.

  “Still no response?” Jake asked her. He brought a bowl of popcorn for them to share as he sank down beside her on the couch.

  September took a handful and munched away, scarcely tasting it. “Face-to-face is always better, but I’ve suddenly got lots to do. Tomorrow I’m meeting with the Winslow Sheriff’s Department, and George has that other case I told you about.”

  “Cricket flour,” Jake said, nodding. “Who knew?”

  “Not Trinidad Finch, apparently.”

  “And this ex-cop wants to meet with you about that case?”

  “Denton. He didn’t say that exactly, but George was being pissy. Practically threw that case at me, too, although he really doesn’t want me to have it. What he wants is someone else to work it, so that he can sit at his desk and do research. I should have him make these calls and just do the legwork.”

  “Leave it till tomorrow,” Jake suggested.

  She mowed her way through more popcorn, unable to turn her brain off. “I think I’ll go visit the Pattens first thing tomorrow.”

  “They’re the ones in Hood River?”

  She nodded. “Kitsy said their son’s name is Lance and Tommy Burkey said his friend’s name was Laser, but maybe that’s a nickname Lance used. I’ve tried calling the Burkeys, too, but no one’s picking up my calls there anymore either.” With a wry smile, she added, “I guess I’m persona non grata.”

  “You’re a cop. Get used to it.”

&
nbsp; “I have.” She took another handful of popcorn, her fingers scraping the bottom of the bowl.

  “What about the RV people?”

  September slid him a look. “You’ve been paying attention.”

  “You’ve been making calls all day and swearing in between them about the RVers, and the Patent Leathers, and two Wrights make a wrong. . . .”

  September choked on some popcorn and motioned for Jake to hand her his water bottle, which was on the table beside him. Once he gave it to her, she drank lustily, then cleared her throat, slapping at his arm with the back of her hand. “You made me laugh and I sucked in a kernel. I didn’t say any of that stuff!”

  He lifted a brow at her faux outrage.

  Rolling her eyes, she admitted, “Okay, maybe I did.”

  “Well, I’m just glad you threw your phone down for a while.”

  “Me too.”

  She handed him back his bottle, then leaned her head on his shoulder and eyed the engagement ring on her finger. “I’ll give it up for a while.”

  “Good.”

  Ten minutes later her cell rang. Jake groaned, and even September was slow to reach for her phone. “I’m taking the rest of the day off.” She looked at the screen and didn’t recognize the number, though she thought it was slightly familiar. “After this call,” she said, then clicked on and said, “Hello.”

  “Is this Detective Rafferty?” a woman asked.

  “Yes, it is. Who’s this?”

  “It’s Annaloo.”

  September blinked, aware that the woman on the other end of the line thought that would mean something to her. Then her brain sharpened. Anna Liu. The daughter of the Asian couple who lived across the street from the Singletons. September had ceased calling her after her frosty voice had told her enough times that her parents didn’t know anything about the bones in the Singletons’ basement.

  “Hello, Miss Liu,” she said, straightening up in her position on the couch.

  “I know I’ve said over and over that my parents knew nothing about the Singletons, which is still the truth. But recently I’ve learned that they remembered something about a teenage boy who knew them.”

  “A teenager who knew the Singletons?” September clarified.

  “Yes.”