The Killing Game (3 page)

She pulled into her drive. Andi still had some packing to do and the new buyers were giving her through the weekend to move. She’d managed to box up most of her belongings, forcing herself to fill one box per day or it would never happen, but now the push was on. Even though she was pregnant, she had a renewed sense of energy. What had seemed like an insurmountable task now felt doable.

Pregnant . . . !

Her cell buzzed as she was climbing from the SUV. She looked down to find a text from her best friend, Trini.

Tomorrow at the club?

Andi and Trini had a long-standing Tuesday/Thursday morning workout schedule, which Andi had completely abandoned after Greg’s death. Now she texted back You bet and immediately received All right! along with a winking emoticon happy face.

Would she tell Trini about the baby? No . . . not yet. Ditto Carter and Emma. She needed some time to process this. It felt too precious to reveal yet. She had no doubt Carter and Emma would be horrified. She was already the interloper, and now Greg’s
child
. . . She could already hear them talking about her behind her back, perhaps mounting a lawsuit to claim back the company; that would be just like them.

Her pulse fluttered as she thought about when she would deliver the news. She was three months and not even showing. She had time. Greg’s brother and sister were trying to put a good face on the fact that she was both majority stockholder and a capable business associate, but it was taking all they had. Since Greg’s death they’d been too involved in other business problems, chiefly the quiet war Wren Development was having with the Carrera brothers, who were trying to take over all the properties surrounding Schultz Lake, to put all their concentration on Andi’s position in the company. The Carreras were thugs who used fair means or foul—mostly foul, actually—to achieve their goals; they had tried to put a moratorium on building, not for any reason other than to stop the Wrens. Greg, Carter, and Emma had been handling the project, which involved slogging through and complying with all the county ordinances on the one hand, and dealing with twins Brian and Blake Carrera on the other. Greg’s death had put Andi in the thick of it even while she moved through life as an automaton, but the project had moved forward anyway.

Andi’s emotional fog had allowed Greg’s siblings to run things any way they wanted these past few months, but she’d set up a meeting with them for later today at the site. Even through her numbness, she’d been irked at the way they’d dismissed her, and now that she’d surfaced, she planned to take control of her life and her place in Wren Development.

And what a way to surface ...
she was having a baby ... a Wren heir.

The house Greg had insisted on buying for them was over three thousand square feet, a big, square contemporary settled among other big, square contemporaries. Andi parked in the driveway next to the Sirocco Realty sign with its red, diagonal “Sale Pending” banner. She’d already signed papers and the house had closed, so she had through this coming weekend to move, and it was just a matter of schlepping boxes and getting her furniture taken by truck. She couldn’t wait to move in.

She hit the remote for the garage and looked at the wall of boxes waiting for her. She’d left a small trail to the back door and traversed it now, letting herself into the sleek kitchen with its stainless appliances and sink, deeply veined, dark slab granite, and glass and chrome cabinets. No more stainless-steel cleaner, she thought with a sense of freedom. Her cabin was rustic. Not “decorator” rustic. More like old-time, maybe-there-are-mice-in-the-walls rustic.

She was going to have her work cut out for her and she didn’t care.

Of course everyone had told her to wait. Selling your home wasn’t the sort of decisions to make when you were still grieving. She didn’t see how she could explain that she’d never liked the house anyway, that she’d been dragged along by a husband who earnestly believed his wishes were her wishes, and who argued with her whenever she disagreed, certain he could make her see that her opinion was faulty, that she just needed to see his side. She’d learned to rarely fight with him, to pick the few battles carefully for which she would go to the mat. Whenever she did, Greg would roll his eyes and smile, like she was a crazy woman, and finally lift his hands as if she’d been blasting him with artillery fire, drawling, “Oh . . . kay,” in a way that meant he would acquiesce, but she would be sorr . . . eee, no doubt about it. His behavior had put her teeth on edge more than once, but she’d never seriously considered divorce until maybe Mimi. She understood Greg had thought their marriage was stronger than she had, but his perception was always different than hers, so she’d let him believe what he wanted. People were individuals, and as the French said,
vive la différence.

And there had been those times when she and Greg did see eye to eye, most of those times being when they were discussing Wren Development and Carter and Emma’s involvement. Greg thought both of them would be poor stewards of the profitable company founded by his grandfather, and Andi had agreed. Of course she’d believed Greg would be the person in charge, never dreaming she would be the one left holding the reins.

She stalked past the heaps of boxes in the foyer and dining room. She didn’t know where she would put everything in her two-bedroom cottage. Half of her belongings were going into storage as it was, and she’d made a pledge to herself that she would empty out the storage unit before a calendar year had passed, using, selling, or giving away everything inside. She had until Sunday evening to move. It was Wednesday, so that gave her five days.

Andi hurried up the stairs. She didn’t want to be late for the meeting with Carter and Emma and have to explain what kind of doctor she’d visited. Until it became too obvious to hide, she would keep her condition a secret.

Her steps hesitated in the hallway as she passed the doorway of the spare bedroom she’d planned as a nursery. It was painted a bright yellow, and there was a chest of once-scarred pine drawers, a piece of Greg’s from his childhood, that Andi had repainted white. That was as far as their plans for a family had gone. She’d wanted to wait until she knew what sex the child was before decorating further.

She wondered now if Mimi knew the sex of her baby. She’d tried so hard not to think about Greg’s mistress and her child, whether that baby really was Greg’s.

Now, shaking her head in disbelief, she went on to the master bedroom, which was done in tones of cream with touches of green, its heavy Mediterranean furniture Greg’s choice. He would never have gone for the Schultz Lake cabin even though Wren Development was building the new lodge, heralding a new era for the whole lake community. It wouldn’t matter how many people were making the cabins their primary residences. In Greg’s world, that wasn’t how it worked.

But now Greg was gone, and Andi was in the thick of the lodge construction. As for the rest of Wren Development’s projects, she didn’t really know much about them; she hadn’t been privy to all the ins and outs of the company.

Glancing into the mirror, Andi checked her outfit—gray slacks and jacket over a white silk blouse with its looping bow. She decided her clothes looked presentable enough for the meeting. Her black pumps could use a polish, but she didn’t have time and had no idea what box the polish might be in. They would suffice and only had a slight heel, nothing like the crazy three-inchers some of the young women wore to the office. Jill, the Wren Development receptionist, always looked like she was about to teeter over, popping ligaments and tendons along the way. Andi had never been one for super high heels in any case, but with her pregnancy, her footwear would definitely be heading into the supersensible range, a facet clotheshorse Emma could pick up on, if she was ever sober enough to notice. Greg’s sister was flirting with a serious drinking problem, though no one seemed to be addressing that elephant in the room either.

Ten minutes later she was on her way toward the lodge, where her meeting was scheduled for eleven-thirty. She glanced at the clock on her dash again and saw it was eleven straight up. Could she stop by the cabin and still be on time for the meeting? Not really. But the keys to the cabin were in her purse and she hadn’t had time to check things out until now. She might be a little late to the meeting, but so far neither Carter nor Emma even viewed her as a viable partner, so . . .

The cabin was down a rutted lane, like most of them were on the west side of the lake. Tiny fir branches and needles made a carpet that crackled as she drove away from the main road. A low September sun sent slanting rays into her eyes and she squinted as she angled beneath the arc of a natural arbor, formed by the sweeping branches of Douglas firs on either side. The greenery created the frame for a beautiful picture as Andi drove forward toward her new home at the edge of the lake. At least it would have been beautiful if the cabin hadn’t looked so decrepit. The moss-covered roof was first on her repair list, and the weathered gray board and batten siding needed to be repainted. The front porch listed a little, causing the southernmost post to dip, and therefore the roof above it.

She pulled to a stop and hurried up the two wooden steps, aware that one board was loose. She’d gotten the property “as is” on a short sale and was prepared to make repairs. Digging in her purse for her new keys, she had to untangle them from her old ones. Then she threaded the key into the lock, only to have the door open before she even twisted it.

Unlocked?

Andi frowned. Had her Realtor forgotten to lock it? Or...

She checked the dead bolt and realized the jamb was broken out, making it impossible to lock it satisfactorily. Huh. She was pretty sure it hadn’t been that way before.

Her stomach clenched. She was worried the place had been broken in to by vandals, but a cursory glance from the porch into the living room/dining nook showed the place was undisturbed. Carefully, she stepped inside, walking through the first two rooms to the kitchen. It sported old, scarred linoleum and chipped gray Formica. The pine cabinets, with their black, rustic hinges, were just as sorry and beaten up as they’d been when she’d seen them the last time, just before closing. No vandalism she could detect.

She retraced her steps and headed down the short hallway toward the bedrooms. The second bedroom still smelled musty, and the dust on the bedstead and sagging mattress, “gifts” from the previous owner, looked as if it had been there since the ice age. The hall bath looked okay, and as she crossed into the master bedroom, she let out a pent-up breath.

Then her eye fell on the brown envelope lying atop the bare mattress on the bed. ANDREA was spelled out in block letters on its face. Andi’s brain tried to tell her that Edie, her Realtor, had left it for her, but no one addressed her as Andrea.

Her heartbeat quickened as she walked forward and picked up the envelope by its edge. Sliding a finger under the flap, which wasn’t glued down, she carefully pulled out the hard white notecard. More block letters:

LITTLE BIRDS NEED TO FLY.

She stared in confusion. What? She lost her grip and the card fluttered to the floor. Immediately she bent to pick it up, trying hard to be careful, but it took an effort to get it back in the envelope without smearing her own fingerprints on it. Her mouth was dry, spitless. She didn’t know what the words signified, but they sounded ominous. A play on her last name, she guessed, but
what did they mean?

And who’d left it for her?

Gooseflesh rose on her arms and she scurried out to the safety of her car.

Chapter Two

I’ve made my first move. I want my opponent to get a first clue, a small inkling, nudge, worry, that the game’s afoot. I look around my special room and see the boxes of board games from my youth, dusty now from disuse. The old grinder, desktop computer where I once spent hours in play now sits idle. I don’t need any of them any longer.

I dream and strategize and plot. My vision is far in the future.

But there’s much to do.

* * *

The echoing sound of hammers greeted Andi as she drove along the chunky gravel that made up the temporary driveway to the lodge. The structure currently rose three stories, a skeleton of wood and steel that the framers were pounding at furiously. When the building was finished, the exterior would be shingles, the roof slate, similar in style to the lodge at Crater Lake National Park, though not nearly so grand in size. It had been Greg’s idea for the homage to the 1930s lodge in southern Oregon, and Andi had loved it. Carter had been less enthusiastic about the idea, though he’d acquiesced in the end. Emma hadn’t really cared one way or another, apart from how much it was costing them and when they would see some income.

Carter was already at the site, leaning against his shiny black BMW, ankles crossed, wearing a green golf shirt and tan chinos, his expression unreadable. He turned on a smile when he saw Andi approach, but like always, she got the feeling it was an effort for him. Greg’s little brother could be charming, but he was a shade too impressed with his own good looks for its spell to last long, except maybe on the string of pretty and vacant girlfriends he had as a retinue. He was smart, though, and had kept the project on track since Greg’s death. Andi wasn’t really sure what Carter thought about the lodge and lake community as a whole. Meanwhile, his sister could offer well-thought-out insights, at least when she was sober and when she was interested, but that was less and less lately. Today she was nowhere in sight as Andi pulled to a stop and got out.

“How’re you doing?” Carter asked.

“Fine.”

The note was fresh on her mind and she wanted to tell someone, anyone, about it. She opened her mouth to do just that, but then Carter asked lightly, “No recent blackouts?”

The words shriveled on her tongue. “What?”

“The blackouts. Since Greg’s death? Oh, come on. It’s the fucking elephant in the room.”