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 little 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 up 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?”
“About an hour ago. It’ll last all day and into the evening with this many players showing up. Even on a bad snow day like today. It’s quite wonderful, really. I suppose people who want to get out of the house have little else to do.”
“What did those other two guys look like?” Claire asked.
“I don’t remember. One wore glasses, I think, black ones, maybe. They were pretty young. Well-dressed. They both had on baseball caps. I do remember that, for some reason.”
“What team?” Bud asked.
“Don’t recall that much. Might’ve been the St. Louis Cardinals. That’s what I see the most in here. Some Kansas City Royals, too.”
Claire was pretty sure their Bradshaw well had gone dry. “Okay, thank you so much, Ms. Bradshaw. You’ve been very helpful. May I keep this photo, please?”
“If you’ll bring it back after you’re done with it, you may.”
“No problem. You’ll get it back as soon as we make a copy of it. I’ll bring it back in myself. Thank you again, ma’am.” Then they turned and headed hastily for the front of the store. “What’d you think, Bud?”
“I think we ought to sit down and watch some chess for a while. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“You’re a mind reader, you.”
So that’s what they did. Some little Cub Scout troop was selling candy bars and homemade lemonade over in the front corner, so Bud bought them lunch. Neither wanted to visit the snack bar, not with a clear-cut vision of pineapple papaya pizza reduced to glutinous green goo dancing in their heads. They perched on a couple of uncomfortable folding chairs in a spot where they could observe the entire audience, which was sitting around silently, watching the chess players sit motionlessly and stare at their boards. Yes, it was a lively, kickass spectacle. Claire kept scanning the tables and all the people standing around them, but didn’t see her prey. Hell, she could probably pick him out from the white glow scorching out of his eyes.
Several hours passed, with several more winners who were delighted to have advanced into the semifinals. Everybody who won acted as if they had received the Pulitzer Prize for Literature or an all-expenses paid trip to Hong Kong. To each his own, but come on—they were playing a game, for Pete’s sake. While Bud texted Brianna, to keep up with her travel itinerary and post sweet nothings, no doubt, Claire kept her own eagle-eyed gaze out for Crazy Eyes—without a lot of luck. Then, all of a sudden, the clouds parted, like a real-life miracle, and she saw him. He was sitting by himself in the back row on the other side of the competitor tables. Either she had missed him somehow, or he had just turned up.
“Hang it up, Bud, there he is. Let’s go get him.”
Claire maneuvered around the opposite edge of the crowd toward Oliver Wood, with Bud right behind her. She kept her hand inside her jacket near her Glock. The pseudo FBI agent was watching the game tables intently and didn’t see them coming; those eyes must have been turned down to low beam. By the time they reached his chair and plopped down on either side of him, it was too late for him to flee like the felon he probably was.
“Hello there, Special Agent Wood,” Claire greeted him. “Oh, but wait, that’s right. I forgot. You’re not a special agent. You were just feeding me lies. So tell me, who the hell are you, really?”
The so-called Oliver Wood stared at her, attempting his eye trick. He didn’t seem surprised to see her. Didn’t seem upset about it, either. Claire stared back, not mesmerized this time. Finally, he said, “I’m Oliver Wood. And I do work for the FBI.”
Bud laughed. “Lying only goes so far, Wood. We know the truth. Quit playin’ us.”
“Apparently, you don’t know the truth.”
“Maybe you should come down to the office so we can have a long and drawn out and extremely tough interrogation. We’ll give you a cup of coffee to keep you awake, and a donut, too, if you’re good.”
Still calm, Wood smiled at Claire. “Are you here to arrest me for something?”
“I didn’t say that, now did I?”
“Because you can’t. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Except for that little thing about impersonating a Federal agent.”
“You’ve got everything wrong. I can explain.”
“Be my guest.”
During their less-than-friendly exchange, Wood kept glancing at the game tables. Claire followed his interest and found he was looking at one of the players, a guy who saw her watching and quickly looked back down at the chess board. He was fairly young, had on black-rimmed glasses, and had already made it into the semifinal rounds and was awaiting a new opponent. “That guy in the glasses a friend of yours, Mr. Wood?”
“Who?”
“The guy you were surveilling.”
“Look, I don’t know what your problem with me is. But if you want to take me downtown and question me, I’ve got no problem with that. I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“Good, because that’s gonna happen right now.”
“Fine by me.”
“Get up,” Claire told him, tired of his cavalier airs. She stood up. This guy.
“Let’s go,” Bud said.
The three of them got up and walked along the perimeter of the player tables. The guy in the glasses was speaking into his cell phone now, not looking at them, as if he bore no interest whatsoever in what they were doing. Wood didn’t look at him, either. Had their silent communication been Claire’s imagination? She thought not.
Outside, they walked straight into a large crowd of loitering paparazzi. They started yelling her name and snapping pictures and asking her to stop and give them a good money shot.
“Damn it,” she gritted through clenched teeth. She kept a tight grip on Wood’s upper arm. “Just push on through them, Bud. How the hell did they find out I was here?”
“Told you that picture of you in that bikini was hot,” Oliver Wood said softly to her. He was grinning, still not exactly terrified to be taken down to the sheriff’s office.
Claire and Bud got on either side of him and held him tightly between them. They pushed their way through the cameras, heading at a fast walk across the street to Bud’s truck. They were moving pretty good, but some of the media types were hot on their heels and trying to block their path. Halfway across the ice-slick road, a car came barreling down the street right at them, motor gunning. Claire whirled around and saw a brief flash of black metal before Oliver Wood grabbed her and shoved her hard out of the way. They fell together against the front fender of a parked car, Oliver on top of her, knocking the breath out of her.
Bud wasn’t so lucky. The car swerved toward him, knocked him up in the air, and then down over the top and off the back of the speeding vehicle. He landed upside-down in a deep snowdrift pushed up under a lamppost.
Pulling her weapon, Claire tried to jump up and fire after the speeding car, but she’d landed so hard on her hip that her knees went out from under her when she tried to stand up. She’d slammed the side of her head, too, and could feel warm blood running down into her ear. Her head started pounding, but she was more worried about Bud. He wasn’t moving, and Oliver Wood was already up off the ground and bending over Bud. “Call 911,” he yelled at her. “I think his leg’s broken.”
Claire groaned, the pain in her head throbbing like hell, but she got her phone out of her pocket. She called 911 and asked for an ambulance. Then she struggled up onto her feet and braced her palms on the hood of the parked car. It felt as if her hip had been knocked out of socket, but it wasn’t, or she wouldn’t be standing at all. Photographers were all around her now, and Bud, too, snapping pictures as fast as they could. Nobody offered to help them, just took advantage of the accident, the jerks. When she looked back at Bud, he was moving a little and groaning. The car that had tried to kill them was long gone. So was Oliver Wood.