A Game of Murder (2 page)

Faith raised her chin, her jaw as hard as granite. “I promised her I’d be here. I keep my promises.”

“I know.” Hope’s voice held comfort, like a soft angora sweater, but the barbs pricking Faith’s psyche kept solace at a distance.

Guilt tugged at her. She wasn’t the only one with problems. “How is the adoption going?” she asked.

Hope sighed. Her shoulders slumped and her normally turned-up lips turned down into a frown. “Slowly.”

Faith thought Walt’s reluctance to adopt had been overcome at the retreat last month when Hope’s husband had finally agreed with the solution to their childlessness.
Had he changed his mind?
“Any problems?”

Hope shook her head. “Adopting a child takes a lot longer than I thought. First there’s the application, then there’s the home study, then you have to find a child who’s a match, and then there’s more paperwork. And lawyers.”

“How long?” Faith asked.

“A year or more.” Hope fingered the corner of her apron, her eyes fixed on the floor.

“I’m sorry, Hope.” It was Faith’s turn to provide comfort. “I’ll pray for you.”

Hope raised her head and met Faith’s eyes with her own. “Thanks.” She forced a smile to her lips.

“Is there anything else I can do?” Faith asked.

“As a matter of fact, there is. We had to list five personal references. Of course, I put you down. I don’t know whether they’ll email you a form or interview you in person, but whichever way they contact you, I hope you’ll tell them Walt and I will make good parents.”

“You know I will. Because it’s true.” Faith put her hand on Hope’s arm. No one would make a better mother than Hope. And Walt, while sometimes awkward, would do his best to be a good father.

Hope dropped the apron corner and straightened. “Thanks. I’d better make sure the dining room is ready.”

Lorna was putting turquoise paper placemats, the color matching the rickrack on the Prickly Pear’s new shirts, on the two tables closest to the stage when Faith and Hope entered the main dining area. Hope grabbed a handful of forks and knives from the bins on the counter and handed them to Faith, then grabbed spoons and napkins for herself.

“Will two tables be enough?” Hope asked as they set the tables.

“I think so,” Lorna said. “We usually have about ten people at a meeting. If more show up, I’ll set places at the table behind these two.”

“Maybe we should set the third table now,” Hope said. “That way, if more people come, you won’t have to get up during the meeting.”

Lorna shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

“Get some more placemats, will you, Faith?”

Faith hurried back to the counter for the placemats and additional flatware. Small club, she thought. If there were only ten members—although, often not all members showed up for meetings—five games meant half of them must have games in the contest. The group sounded inbred, and the possibility of social and political influence in determining the winner was quite strong. Even more reason for her not to enter the contest. She’d be lucky to get Lorna’s vote, much less anyone else’s.

A knock on the door interrupted her musings.

* * *

John peered through the glass as he waited for someone to unlock the door. Faith had told him she was going to a meeting here. If he remembered correctly, the meeting started at seven-thirty, and it was already seven-fifteen. He hadn’t expected to see her tonight, but Roni, his ex-wife, had made him change his plans.

Hope smiled when she saw him and hurried over to open the door. Apparently it hadn’t been locked after all. “Good evening, Pastor John. I didn’t know you were into computer games.”

John laughed. “I’m not. I need to talk to Faith.”

Faith had been staring at him since he’d stepped inside. She hadn’t expected to see him, either.

“Well, you’ve found her,” Hope said. She scanned him from head to toe, stopping briefly on his face.

John scratched the stubble on his chin. He’d been in such a hurry, he hadn’t thought to shave or change out of the grungy blue jeans and tee shirt he’d been wearing when Roni called.

Hope turned to Lorna. “Why don’t we get the rolls and butter?”

The two of them turned and headed toward the back of the restaurant, leaving Faith and John alone.

Faith hastened to him and tilted her head up. Her long blonde hair spilled off her shoulders and down her back, silken strands he wanted to stroke with the tips of his fingers. Her emerald eyes captured his gaze, drew him in until he almost forgot why he’d come. Fortunately, she spoke first. “What’s up?”

He pointed to a table for two next to the door. “Why don’t we sit here so we don’t mess up the ones set up for the meeting?” He took her hand, needing to touch her, if only for the single step it took to reach the table. Once they were seated, he had a hard time knowing how to start.

Faith sat patiently opposite him. The concern on her face grew stronger the longer he sat without speaking. He’d best begin. “I need to ask a favor of you.” He took a deep breath, taking a minute to fill up his courage as well as his lungs. “Would you be able to babysit for Luke for a few days this week?”

“Babysit? What’s going on?” Panic crossed her face.

His gut twisted at the reason, a matter he preferred to keep secret, but he knew he had to explain why he needed her to watch his four-year-old son. “It seems as if Roni has fallen back into old habits.”
Not for the first time.
He’d thought his ex-wife had gotten clean, but every so often she gave in, partying with her “friends” while Luke was with him.

Faith’s eyes widened and her mouth opened, her expression frozen for a second before she spoke. “She’s not putting Luke in danger, is she?”

John shook his head. “Not so far, but I told her she has to get herself under control if she wants to keep joint custody of him. She’s promised to stay in treatment. Again. Part of the program is a week of encounter therapy, and she can’t take Luke with her. Not that I’d want her to. So he has to stay with me while she’s gone.”

The tension left Faith’s face, was replaced with comprehension. “And you can’t take him with you all the time.”

In response, the knots in his stomach slowly untwisted. She understood. He’d hoped she would, but their relationship had been such a roller coaster of ups and downs, he hadn’t been sure. “Right. I know this isn’t the best of times for you, but I was thinking since you work from home, you might be able to watch him at least part of every day.” And having a little boy to take care of might take her mind off her brother’s death. Goodness knows, keeping up with Luke kept
him
from thinking about much else.

Faith scrunched up her face.

“But if it’s a problem…” he quickly said, even though he wasn’t sure who he’d get in her place if she refused.

 
The scrunches smoothed out, but then her face clouded over. “You might want to rethink your choice in babysitters. I never knew what to do with kids, even when I was one.”

“Luke is pretty easy to entertain.”
 
John grinned at her.

Faith nibbled on her lower lip.

He held back a sigh. “I’ll try to make other arrangements. You don’t have to do it.”

“I’m trying to think if I made any appointments for this week. I don’t always sit at my computer in my home office. Some days I go on sales calls for new clients or take photos for websites or run other errands.”

He waited while she thought. Even though she only took a few seconds, those seconds stretched into an eternity. Her face finally cleared.

“Nothing I can’t reschedule,” she said.

He breathed deeply. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. I’ll bring over some of his toys when I drop him off.”

“Will you teach me how to play with them?” Her lips twitched.

It took him a minute to realize she was teasing. Then he smiled. “If you need me to, sure. But Luke would be a better teacher.”

The door swung open, admitting three men in the midst of an animated discussion.

A tall, thin man dressed all in black, with a short beard and mustache, and even shorter hair, led the way. Light flashed off the lenses of his throwback wire-rimmed glasses. “I think we should set up two different divisions this year.”

“Why don’t we ban them?” This was said by an even more oddly dressed fellow. He wore a white dress shirt with the collar open and a loosened tie, sweater vest over that, and an electric blue jacket over everything else. His pushed-up sleeves revealed colorful tattoos snaking up his forearms, with some kind of animal head on the back of each of his hands. His glasses had black plastic frames instead of wire rims.

“We have to let them enter the contest,” geek number three said. His appearance was the most normal of the three: a sport shirt open at the collar, a fringe of brown hair circling the top of his bald head, and the apparently requisite glasses. Tortoiseshell brown ones for him.

Faith wondered if she should break out her reading glasses so she’d fit in. She could only hope the women weren’t required to wear spectacles.

“Looks like your meeting is going to start soon,” John said, drawing her attention away from the new arrivals. “Thanks for taking Luke. I’ll call you tomorrow with the details.”

They both stood, and he kissed her on the cheek before heading out the door. Faith took a few steps toward the kitchen, wondering if there was anything left for her to do.

The three men took seats at one of the tables near the stage and continued their argument. Faith paused nearby to listen to their conversation.

“I’d like to ban all games that aren’t parser-based,” the man in black said, “but then that would mean banning other development systems we’ve allowed in the past. We never put anything in the rules saying the games had to be programmed in any particular language.” He scratched the top of his head.

Lorna came out of the kitchen area carrying a couple of plastic pitchers, one filled with iced tea and the other with water.

Geek three said, “I don’t think we can ban the Twine games now. Thanks to Adam and his blog, a whole bunch of new people, people who aren’t members of the group, signed up to judge the comp. I’d hate to lose all those potential members before they’ve had a chance to join.”

After putting the pitchers in the center of the table where the three men sat, Lorna interrupted their discussion. “Derek, Paul, Bob, I’d like you to meet my friend Faith Andersen.”

Three faces turned toward her like swimmers breaking the waves to breathe air. Lorna tipped her head in Faith’s direction. The faces followed the movement and regarded Faith as if seeing her for the first time, which they probably were since they’d ignored her when they passed by a few moments ago.

“Faith,” Lorna said as she pointed to the man in black, “this is Derek Bourne.” She waved at the man in the middle, the one with the tattoos. “This is Paul Hawkins, affectionately known as Hawk. And this”—she pointed at the one in the sport shirt—“is Bob Morris.”

“Hello,” Faith said and waited for a response from the guys. Acknowledgement was limited to an unintelligible grunt from one of them.

“Faith is the one I told you about. You know, the fantastic programmer I used to work with.”

Apparently Lorna had said the magic words.

“Glad to meet you, Faith,” Derek said. “I’ll be interested to see if you’re as good a programmer as Lorna says you are.”

Faith bristled at the remark, but kept a plastic smile on her lips.

“Nice to meet you, Faith.” Bob smiled at her in return. He even looked like he meant it.

“Hullo,” Paul mumbled, then turned back to his friends.

Faith took a deep breath. It was going to be one of
those
situations. Not one of them had risen to shake her hand or invited her to sit with them. Over the years she’d almost gotten used to the male brotherhood of geekdom, the one where women were considered second-class citizens until they’d proven themselves worthy. Almost.

She turned to Lorna. “I’ll help you bring out the rest of the drinks.”

She and Lorna went back to the kitchen. Once they were out of earshot, Faith asked, “Now I know why you need moral support. I thought that breed went extinct before we were born. What’s with those guys?”

Lorna pulled four more plastic pitchers from a shelf near the refrigerator and started filling them with ice from the freezer. “They’re not all that bad. Adam is nice and Dennis… Well, you’ll just have to meet Dennis when he gets here.”

“From what I heard, they aren’t fond of Adam.”

“Take these two and put water in them, would you, Faith?”

Faith proceeded to fill the pitchers from the filtered faucet at the sink.

“Anyway,” Lorna continued as she filled a pitcher with tea, “Derek can be arrogant and demanding, but he’s a terrific programmer. He used to work with us.”

Faith searched her memory for a time when she might have seen him at her old company and couldn’t come up with one. “I don’t think I ever met him.”

“That’s possible. He wasn’t on the sales side. He worked on forecasting and purchasing.”

“Even so, I would have thought I’d have run into him in the cafeteria at some point,” Faith said.

“Not likely.” Lorna flashed her a grin. “He and his cohorts played games during lunch. I’m not sure they ever ate.” Lorna finished filling her pitchers with tea. “We better bring these out or they’ll think we’re plotting against them.”

“Not yet. But I will have to think about it if they keep acting like idiots.” Faith pinched her brows together in mock anger, but upsetting the cadre might not be such a bad idea.

While Faith and Lorna had been in the kitchen, several other gamers had come in and taken seats at one of the tables. Three new geeky guys sat with Derek and company. One looked significantly older than the others, with long, wavy, reddish brown hair, a potato of a nose, and, yes, glasses. The other two were younger, most likely students at the University of Arizona if Faith guessed right. One was Asian, the other a pudgy Caucasian with a mass of bushy dark hair, reminiscent of an Afro, framing his face.

A man wearing a navy blue hoodie, who looked closer to Faith’s thirty-four years, stood alone, shifting from one foot to the other and periodically glancing at the door. He brightened when he saw Lorna.