A Game of Murder (20 page)

Victory danced in her eyes, and she revealed her real objective. “Then I’ll take Luke back to Alabama. What you give us will be plenty to live on there.”

John shook his head. “We’ve been through this before, Roni. I can’t leave Tucson. And, according to our custody arrangement, you can’t take Luke more than fifty miles from my home address. You’ll have to make do with what I give you.”

“It’s not enough.” Roni drank some more of her tea, put the glass down on an end table. She walked to the end of the room, stared out the window for a minute, then whirled to face him. “You’ve had things your way long enough. I’m taking Luke back to Alabama. You can’t stop me.”

Anger—and fear—surged inside John. Roni may have put on the appearance of getting her life under control, but at the heart of things, she was still the same old selfish Roni. “I’m not only going to try, I’m going to succeed.”

Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “I’m going back into court and get sole custody of Luke. You’re not fit to be his mother.”

* * *

“You can go in now,” the receptionist told John.

He put the three-month-old issue of People magazine on the table, not remembering any of the photos or articles he’d read while waiting for his appointment with his lawyer.

“Good to see you again, John.” Elizabeth Perkins was a gray-haired lady in her early sixties who reminded John of his grandmother every time he spoke with her. She’d handled his divorce, and, while John couldn’t say the process had been easy, Liz Perkins had at least made it tolerable.

“Good to see you, too, Liz.” When he called yesterday following his confrontation with Roni, he didn’t think he would get an appointment with the lawyer so quickly. Now he wasn’t sure he was ready for this conversation. “Thank you for making time for me today.”

“You sounded distraught on the phone, so I squeezed you in. I have a half hour before I need to be in court.” She undid the button on the jacket of her brown tweed suit, exposing a starched yellow blouse. A file folder bearing his name sat in the middle of her desk blotter. “Tell me what brings you here today.”

John moistened his lips. Without time to ease into the topic, he got straight to the point. “I want to know what I have to do to get sole custody of Luke.”

Liz raised her eyebrows. “What’s going on?”

John told her about Roni’s threat to move back to Alabama, his suspicions she was using drugs again, his fears about her effect on Luke. By the time he finished talking, he felt as if he had run a marathon. The nervous energy that had powered him to this point drained out of him, leaving him exhausted. A film of perspiration coated his face.

The lawyer leaned toward him, focused her eyes on his. “Is Luke in immediate danger?”

John shook his head. “I don’t think so. As far as I know, her friends don’t come to the house when Luke is home, and she only indulges when he’s with me. I try to take him as often as possible.”

“Did you happen to take any pictures of the house after her party? Document the fact that she’s been using drugs?”

“No.” The idea of documenting Roni’s behavior never occurred to him.

Liz sat straighter in her chair. She picked up a pen from her desk, played with it while she thought. “We have two problems, John. The first one is Arizona law prevents modification of legal decision-making and parental time—commonly referred to as custody—earlier than one year following the original custody order.”

This was the first time John had heard of that requirement. His divorce decree and accompanying agreement regarding Luke had been finalized not quite eleven months ago. “Are there any exceptions?” He had to ask.

“That’s why I asked if Luke is in danger,” Liz said. “Endangerment would be grounds for an exception. By your own admission, he isn’t. At least, not immediately. Which brings up the second problem.”

“What’s that?” As if he needed more problems.

“You have no proof of your ex-wife’s drug usage. In fact, during the divorce negotiations, you made it clear you didn’t want to make that an issue.”

Being caught in a compromising situation with Meredith Powell—even though he hadn’t been at fault—had filled him with so much guilt he’d responded by insisting Roni’s substance abuse be omitted from any discussions. He’d hoped their divorce would, as much as possible, be amicable. And now he was paying for being a nice guy.

“The situation isn’t quite as bleak as all that.” Liz must have noticed his downcast expression. “The year is almost up. Knowing Roni, she hasn’t got the means to move back to Alabama before we can petition the court for a change in custody. In the meantime, make sure to take photographs of any evidence of her substance abuse. Right now, all we have is your word against hers. It would be even better if she were arrested.” The lawyer glanced at her watch. “Sorry to cut this short, but I have to get to the courthouse.”

John nodded. “Thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”

“We’ll work this out, John.”

Despite the lawyer’s reassurance, John had doubts. As he walked through the parking garage to retrieve his car, he wondered if Liz had been suggesting he report Roni to the police. He couldn’t imagine himself doing that, particularly if Luke were around. There didn’t seem to be any solution. At least, he didn’t know of one. But he did know who might.

Dear God, Please keep Luke safe while I wait for a solution to this problem. I’m sure you have one, but I can’t see it yet. Keep my faith strong. Amen.

Faith pulled her Honda in behind the bright yellow pickup truck with the mouse-ears logo on the door, glad she didn’t have to squeeze by on the narrow street just north of the university. In Tucson, everyone needed regular pest control, students probably more than most. Lacking hard freezes in winter, bugs not only survived, but thrived in the hot climate, providing the perfect diet for scorpions and other nasty creatures. Even if you were the kind who didn’t mind bugs—which Faith certainly was not—it behooved you to keep the population down so as not to attract the poisonous predators that fed on them.

When she emailed Rok after class asking for more information on members of the gaming club, he responded with the address of the house which Paul Hawkins shared with several other grad students. Now she was parked in front of it.

The bungalow looked much like the others in the neighborhood of homes built in the early 1940s, a single story on a small lot with a porch across the front to sit on during the hot summer nights with hopes of catching a breeze. Being in the older part of town, the landscaping was more mature than in Faith’s newer neighborhood. Trees—sweet acacia, velvet mesquite, and the occasional desert willow—grew tall and lush, providing shade for the homes.

Paul’s station wagon was parked in an alley beside the house, the hood raised at the far end. At least she knew he was home. Faith got out of the car and approached the figure leaning inside the engine compartment, being careful to step around the toolbox and assortment of wrenches and screwdrivers scattered beside the vehicle.

A stream of mild profanity accompanied the clatter of some tool or other banging under the hood.

Having not much choice, she addressed his butt. “Paul?”

“What?” The gamer’s voice was drenched with annoyance. His tone changed to anger when he hit his head on the hood as he pulled it out to confront whoever had interrupted him. He held a wrench gripped tightly in his hand. “Son-of-a-“ He stopped when he saw Faith.

“Hi,” she said tentatively. Definitely a bad time to begin an interrogation.

Paul’s voice went back to annoyance. “What are you doing here?”

I came to ask you for a date? A job recommendation? The name of a good restaurant?
Confronted with yet another angry male, Faith’s mind gravitated toward the ridiculous. She might have slapped herself in the face to stop the hysteria, but she doubted that would have the desired effect on Paul, so she did the mental equivalent instead. Deep breath. “I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions. If this is a bad time, I could come back another day.”

“Questions about what?” He put the wrench in the toolbox and wiped a sheen of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. When he lowered it, once again Faith noticed the scars. Up this close, she could also see a skin graft on the side of his face. Part of his left eyebrow was missing as well.

“Fire,” he said.

“What?” Faith had no idea what he was talking about.

“The scars are from a fire. It happened when I was a kid. I dropped a birthday candle on one of those paper tablecloths and it went up in flames. My mom couldn’t pull me out fast enough to keep me from getting burned.”

Faith reddened, embarrassed she’d been caught. “I apologize for staring.”

Paul shrugged. “It happens. Since people are always staring at me anyway, I got the tattoos to give them something to stare at.”

“They’re striking tattoos.” Was that enough of a complement to move on to her objective? Apparently it was.

“Sorry about snapping at you,” Paul said. “I’ve been trying to put a new alternator in this jalopy for the past half hour. The mounting screws are so corroded, the old alternator doesn’t want to come out. I’m afraid I’m stripping the screws so bad I won’t be able to get the new—well, new from the junkyard—one in.”

“I suppose you’re also upset about Ashley, too.” She almost held her breath, waiting to see if this hit a sensitive spot.

“Yeah.” He hung his head. “I thought she really liked me. We barely started to get to know one another, and then she was dead.”

“I’m sorry.” There seemed to be an awful lot of apologizing going on in this conversation.

“’S’okay. It’s not the first time I’ve been abandoned or rejected.”

“But Ashley didn’t reject you.”

“But she did leave. Even if it wasn’t her own idea.”

Another geek with no sense of social interaction, Faith thought. A guy who thought every situation was all about him. Her thoughts flashed briefly to John and how he was different, but she stifled them. Now was not the time to get emotional. She tried another question. “How is your game coming?”

Paul looked up and, for the first time today, his face was bright and happy. “Really good. I’ll be ready to post it online by the next meeting. Plenty of time to get votes for it. It’s the best game I’ve ever written.”

“Glad to hear that. Derek wins the trophy every year, though, doesn’t he?” Faith’s scalp broiled in the sunlight. Her brain was probably well-done by now. She wished she had worn a hat.

“Not this year.” A grin spread over Paul’s face. “He’s working on a commercial game, one he thinks he can turn into an app and sell. He’s not entering the comp. This just might be my year to take home the Adventurer’s Torch.”

Interesting. Paul acted almost human, once they were discussing his favorite topic. He didn’t sound like a murderer. Faith decided to push him a little harder. “Rok seems to be a competent game creator. Doesn’t he have a chance of winning?”

Paul fidgeted, barked a laugh. “I don’t think so. I’ve seen his game. Mine is definitely better.”

“At least you don’t have Mira’s game to compete with.” On purpose, Faith made the statement provocative. How he responded might be as telling as what he responded.

“I don’t think she ever had a real chance, but now that her game is no longer in the running, I’m guessing all the groupies who were playing it because of Adam’s blog will drop out of the voting.” He grinned. “So, yeah. I’ll be getting most of the votes.”

“Do you have any idea who killed her?” Faith’s heart beat faster as she waited for his reply. Her overheated head thudded in time with her heart.

“Not a clue. Had to be somebody from the café, right? They’re the ones who made the food.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “Say, Lorna said you helped out that night. Did you see anyone tamper with Mira’s food?”

Shock rolled through Faith. How could he think she had anything to do with Mira’s murder? She didn’t quite trust her voice as she uttered a single word. “No.”

“Oh, well.” Paul picked up the wrench. “I gotta get back to this alternator or I won’t be able to get to my class this afternoon.”

Obviously dismissed, she thanked him and headed back to her car. Another dead end. Stan was looking like her best suspect. She reviewed her schedule, trying to think of a time she could talk to him. And, if he was guilty, how she could entice him to admit his guilt.

Breathless, Faith opened the door to the Prickly Pear and charged inside. She’d been so busy working on her proposal for Arizona Cycling, she’d lost track of the time and was late for the gamer meeting. She stopped short when she saw how few members were present. Adam and Cathy were missing. Lorna was either back in the kitchen or hadn’t shown up. She’d hoped to talk to Rok tonight, ask him for advice on her game, but he was nowhere in sight. The few members who had shown up sat in five of the eight chairs at one large round table.

Derek stopped talking and stared at her. “You might as well sit here, Faith. Looks like it will be a small group tonight.”

Grateful Derek was willing to include her rather than forcing her to sit at a table by herself, Faith took the empty chair between Isaac and Bob. A good position if she were going to interrogate them both, a bad one because there’d be no keeping the conversation from Derek.

She wasn’t the last one to arrive.

“Ha, ha, ha! Blubber Belly is here!”

“Sit down, Dennis,” Derek said.

Dennis bounced to one of the two remaining chairs, the one between Isaac and Paul, still grinning. Isaac pushed the eighth chair back from the table, leaving him and Paul room to shift their chairs away from Dennis, who needed the space for his extra large derriere and the elbows of his mammoth arms, which otherwise might have poked the two of them in the ribs.

“As I was saying, there’s only a week to enter your games into the comp. The sooner, the better. Anyone not submitted your game yet?” Derek asked.

Hope came out of the kitchen, carrying a basket of tortilla chips and a bowl of salsa. As she put them in the center of the table, Faith gave her a questioning look and mouthed, “Lorna?” Hope shook her head. It appeared as if Faith would be the only woman at this meeting.