No Saving Throw Page 3

  “Downstairs.” She sobbed and hung up.

  Disturbed, I rose from my chair. I waded into the party-fray, but I didn’t get far before my phone rang for a second time. It was Paige again, but when I answered, Nick’s voice greeted me.

  “It’s okay, Autumn,” he said, breathless. “You don’t need to come.”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing. Just—a misunderstanding. We’ll talk to you later.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He had already hung up. I frowned at my phone, but there was nothing more I could do. I didn’t want to go chasing after them when there was nothing wrong, and it was never in my best interest to get involved in private troupe drama. They could sort it out.

  Still, Paige was no flake. If she was in trouble, it was serious.

  On the other hand, she wasn’t alone. Nick could help with whatever it was.

  Bay appeared at my elbow, Jordan trailing after. “What’s wrong?” Jordan asked.

  I glanced down at my phone, then explained. “I’m not sure whether or not I should go after them.”

  “If it helps you decide, it’s time to start moving folks over to the other room for the draft,” Bay said.

  “Shit,” I muttered, glancing at the timey-wimey clock on the wall. A pair of preteens sitting at the table nearby giggled, and I stuck my tongue out at them. Time to put another dollar in the jar. “You’re right. Okay. Why don’t you gather up everyone who’s paid their entrance fee, and I’ll get the box of decks—”

  “I’ll go check on the LARPers,” Jordan said.

  I rounded on her. “Thank you!” I could have kissed her, but it would have just been awkward, the pair of us being besties and all.

  Bay grinned, then started to herd the kids toward the other room, and I darted for the register, where we’d held back a few dozen booster packs of cards for the draft. We wouldn’t play tonight, thank goodness, but the draft itself could take hours, and then we had to sort out which deck belonged to which person, organize the decks by the entrant’s time slot the next morning, and a thousand other little chores that would culminate in the weekend-long tournament.

  My brain went into autopilot as I gathered up the boxes and started to collect the lists of people who had paid their entrance fees. Around me, the tide of gamers eddied toward the back room as Hector and Bay funneled the crowd out of the shop.

  Jordan elbowed her way back to the register just as I flipped open my box cutter. I glanced at her, feeling harassed, and stabbed the tape on the box. “Everyone okay?”

  “No.”

  Her voice caught, and I turned. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “There’s been—an accident.” Her eyes looked wide and red around the rims.

  I dropped the knife on the counter. “An accident? Oh my god, what—”

  “Downstairs. There’s an ambulance. I asked one of the on-duty cops.” She swallowed. “Autumn, it doesn’t look good. A kid named Wes Bowen was found dead about twenty minutes ago.”

  A dull ringing filled my ears. “What?” My own voice sounded distant. Twenty minutes—was that when Paige had called me?

  “It—” Jordan paused, swallowed, and tried again. “There are wounds on his neck, like something bit him.”

  “A vampire killed him?” My voice rose, threatening to crack into hysteria as I said the absurd words for the second time that day. I saw, as from a great distance, one of the parents glance at me. I tried to get myself under control. “That’s impossible.”

  “Of course it is. But he fell, too, from that balcony inside the building. They don’t know yet which killed him, the fall or the wounds.”

  “My god.” I put a hand to my mouth. Around me, people were staring. Bay appeared over Jordan’s shoulder, her pale face swimming in and out of my line of vision. “Jordan, what should I do?”

  “I think maybe you’d better clear out your party. They’re still downstairs with—well, you know. And they’ll likely want to talk to you and your employees.”

  “Of course.” I nodded. My eyes were stinging. Jordan put a hand on my shoulder. I felt her fingers tighten. “I should be there for the others, too.”

  “The others?”

  “The LARPers.”

  “Okay . . .” Jordan paused, as if nerving herself. “Autumn, this doesn’t look good.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “All of it. Hon, think about it. They were playing a violent game of pretend, at night, in public . . . I think you need to be prepared.”

  “For what?”

  “For . . . anything. Things are going to get bad for a little while.”

  My vision was clearing, and as the mist faded, my thoughts crystallized. “What are you saying? Bad for me? For the gamers? For the shop?”

  She hesitated again. “Yes.”

  “Okay.” I nodded, taking control of myself, as if that would make any difference in the next few hours. “I understand.”

  “I—I probably shouldn’t be talking to you anymore. I should go downstairs since I was here. Talk to the other cops, then head to the station.”

  “Got it. Thanks for—being the one to tell me.”

  “Of course. I’ll call you later.”

  She pushed her way through the crowd and disappeared.

  The party went on. A bubble of silence had welled up around me, and I wondered who had overheard what. Bay clutched my arm.

  “Is it true?” Her blue eyes were huge. She’d heard, then.

  I turned. Hector was there, too. He spoke before I could. “There are cops in the hallway. Fire trucks outside and an ambulance and—”

  “There’s—” I swallowed. “There’s been an accident,” I said, stealing Jordan’s polite euphemism. “I think we’d better wrap up here.” I lowered my voice to speak to my employees. “The LARPers. I’ll explain in a minute. We need to get everyone out, and through the store, not the mall.”

  “You got it,” Bay said. She turned, already working the crowd.

  “I’ll get the other room.” Hector followed her.

  I began to move, slowly, feeling as if someone had strapped a dead bird to my back. Wes Bowen, sweet and gentle, friends with Paige and Nick. So unobtrusive I’d hardly seen him when he stood in front of me in my shop. I’d made fun of him to myself, mocking the very gentleness that had kept his friendship with Paige and Nick alive. It was that sweet nature that made him a solid fixture in our store. Who would have been able to kill him?

  I felt my stomach heave. I forced myself to swallow and take slow, even breaths. If I lost it now, I’d never find it again, whatever it was, that slender thread that tied me to sanity, tied the shop to respectability. My lips refused to smile, but I did moderate my voice to the polite neutrality employed by shopkeepers everywhere.

  “I’m sorry,” I said to the person in front of me. “There’s been an emergency, and we’re going to have to close early.”

  I said it again, and again, and again. I deflected the questions, offered reassurances, promised things I could never guarantee. Of course we’ll reschedule. I’m sure everything will be fine. We’ll see you soon.

  Bay sent the last holdout into the early March night and locked the door behind him, then turned and leaned against the glass.

  She sobbed.

  I heard Hector shut the mall door and come down the steps onto the main selling floor. He stood beside me. “What is it?” he asked.

  “Wes is dead.” My voice echoed in the empty shop.

  Hector sucked in a ragged breath, and Bay let her chin fall to her chest.

  “I knew—someone. I looked out the window, and I saw the ambulance, but I didn’t know who—”

  I took Hector’s hand to stop him.

  Bay looked up. She stared at us, and we stared back.

  “What happens now?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  For the first time in my shop, in my corne
r of heaven, I felt frightened. I didn’t know. But I would soon.

  3

  AS IT TURNED OUT, what happened next was an interminable hell of questioning at the police department.

  “Let’s go through it again,” Detective Keller said. Her lined face creased as she rubbed her forehead. My own eyeballs felt coated in sand. “What time did you see him at the store this evening?”

  “Between seven and seven thirty, I’d guess.”

  “And he was involved in some sort of altercation?”

  “No, that’s not what I said.” The detective’s eyes flashed, and I strove to regulate my tone. “I said he was present when my employee was arguing with another customer.”

  “Uh-huh. And this other customer was angry with him?”

  Things were not looking good for Cody right now. I stumbled over my earlier statements. “The other customer was angry, but not specifically with Wes . . .”

  “Did he tell you this?”

  I wanted to ugly cry. “No, he did not.”

  “And you saw this other customer again tonight, correct?”

  “Yes. He was at the release party this evening.”

  “At the same time Wesley Bowen was—er—gaming in the building.”

  “I suppose.”

  “You ‘suppose.’ Ma’am, was he or was he not in your store while Wesley Bowen was in Independence Square Mall?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you.” Detective Keller wrote some notes, as if she hadn’t already heard me explain this.

  “Now, tell me again what happened when Miss Harding called.”

  “It was about eight forty-five. Paige called to say she needed my help.”

  “What exactly did she say, Miss Sinclair?”

  I closed my eyes. “She said, ‘I need your help.’ And when I asked where she was, she said, ‘Downstairs.’ And that was it.”

  When I opened my eyes, the detective was sucking on the end of her pen.

  She pulled it from her lips and gestured with it. “And Miss Harding sounded distressed.”

  “Yes.”

  “And then Mr. Lawlis called?”

  “Yes. He said, ‘You don’t need to come,’ and that there had been a misunderstanding.”

  “A misunderstanding.”

  “Yes.” Inwardly, I screamed. She acted like everything I said was the most fascinating thing she’d ever heard. And I was fairly certain I’d put Cody, Hector, Paige, and Nick on her pitiful list of suspects. She even acted curious about Max the too-talkative security guard’s distrust of the gamers. I felt like the biggest sellout since George Lucas after—well, it was no time for pithy similes.

  “Did he sound upset?”

  “Ah,” I said. I paused. He hadn’t sounded tearful, like Paige, but he had sounded flustered. And also friendly? After going over this twice already in one night, I was beginning to doubt my memories. That was why they did it—soon I would crack and tell them whatever they wanted to know, even if I had to make it up. Wasn’t that how torture worked? “I’m not sure. He didn’t sound happy, but he wasn’t as upset as Paige.” There. Fairly neutral.

  “Your cell phone indicates that this call came in at eight forty-seven.”

  “Okay,” I responded. Detective Keller made another note. They had no time of death yet, that much I knew. All they had was the time of the 911 call.

  I shivered, thinking of poor Wes sprawled dead on the floor of the building’s lowest level. Five stories of balconies looked down over that central floor, the building’s grandest design feature. There was a fountain in the center and an array of small tables and chairs scattered around it. How far had Wes fallen? How had he gotten the puncture wounds on his neck?

  My mind raced. Jordan said the first responders had been unable to tell whether it was the fall or the neck wounds that had killed him. Were they thinking my gamers had done it? Silly, stupid Cody with his petty anger over his dismissal from the other LARPing troupe? Skinny Paige and handsome Nick, finally unable to take the lingering presence of Paige’s sad-puppy ex? Both theories seemed so flimsy, so pitiful—but Cody had been there, lurking and shady. I hadn’t seen him after he confronted Hector. And Paige’s phone call hadn’t stopped being weird since she made it.

  The door to the little room opened.

  It was my dad, oddly dressed in suit trousers and a zip-up fleece jacket. His thinning hair stood on end, and he had forgotten to tuck his belt into one of the loops. My jaw dropped to see him so frazzled.

  “Hi, hon,” he said. “I’m sorry—it took me forever to convince them that I’m your lawyer. And there’s no grounds for keeping you so long.” He said this last bit to Detective Keller with a glare, as if he were a hotshot criminal defense lawyer instead of an aging tax attorney.

  “Your daughter agreed to cooperate with us.” The detective capped her pen, though, knowing a lost cause when she saw one.

  I stood to kiss my dad’s cheek. “Thanks for springing me.” I turned to the detective. “Am I free to go?”

  She nodded.

  “You know where to reach me if you have any more questions,” I said. I felt a little bad about ditching her like this—years of DARE training in elementary school were hard to undo. A part of me still felt like cops were supposed to be my friends. Hell, one of the White Lake cops was my best friend, and I knew that the WLPD generally had our best interests at heart.

  I let my dad shoo me from the room, guilt’s cold fingers brushing my neck.

  Jordan stood outside the door, poker-faced. Her expression broke when she saw me, and she gathered me up in a hug. “Oh, Autumn, I’m so, so sorry.”

  I started to cry. She was the first person to give me space to melt down, and I stood there under the fluorescent lights, sobbing on her shoulder while my dad awkwardly patted my back. “He was such a sweet kid,” I said. My voice broke.

  Wiping my eyes, I pulled away. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize.” Jordan’s dark eyes glowed with sympathy.

  “Right.” I looked up at my dad. “Thanks for coming.”

  “Of course.” He squeezed my shoulder. “Let’s get out of here. Audrey is worried sick.”

  Audrey, my stepmom. I was surprised she hadn’t beaten down the door.

  She was waiting in the lobby, and when she saw me, she rushed forward and hugged me. Over her shoulder, I could see that half the town was there—Bay and Hector, of course; Donald Wolcott, the building owner, looking shell-shocked; Paige’s parents, Nick’s mom; security guard Max half-asleep on one of the shiny vinyl chairs.

  Audrey let me go, and Bay and Hector swarmed me. We gathered in a giant group-hug, Hector and Bay and me soaking up all the love. When we broke apart, Bay had tears running down her cheeks and Hector wiped surreptitiously at his nose. I squeezed their shoulders.

  “Thanks for being here, you guys,” I said.

  Audrey grabbed my face and kissed it. “We were so worried.”

  I sort of laughed, a half-beaten sound.

  “Are you ready to go home?” my dad asked.

  Surprised, I said, “My car is in the garage.”

  “We thought you’d want to stay with us.”

  “That’s really sweet, but I need to go finish closing up the store, and I wanted to talk to Hector and Bay a little.” I glanced at them. Bay nodded—she wanted to talk, too. Hector wore a guarded expression.

  “Okay,” Audrey said. She shot my dad a let-her-live-her-own-life look. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I gave my dad another hug. “Thanks again for busting me out.”

  “Let us know if you change your mind, and we’ll come pick you up,” he said, as if I were fourteen and headed to a sleep-over at a new friend’s house, not thirty-three and going to my own home.

  I collected my people, dragging Jordan with us. Donald stopped me, though, and pulled me aside. “We need to talk. Soon. Let’s meet tomorrow.”

  I nodded.


  Back at the store, still brilliantly lit in the silent darkness, I locked the street door while everyone else sat around the register. The early spring night hung clear and starry over the town square. Outside, the lamps of the streetlights cast an old-timey golden glow on the historic storefronts. If I stepped out and craned my head, I could look up the street to see the stark white City Hall building looming ominously over the rest of the square, but I had no desire to step back into the cold.

  It could have been a lovely night in the store, cozy and picturesque, but Independence Square Mall was closed for the evening—and for the horrifying special circumstances—while the rest of the square was as busy as it was any normal Friday night. A group of college students walked by the street door, laughing and talking as they headed for one of the trendy downtown bars. A wave of sadness crashed over me. Wes, Nick, and Paige should have been doing just that tonight.

  I turned back to the store, my heart heavy.

  Bay perched on the counter, Jordan leaned against the wall, and Hector and I pulled up chairs from one of the gaming tables. Someone had left a small Superman sweatshirt on the back of one of the chairs. I felt a pang, seeing it, and folded it. Bay took it from me and placed it in our lost and found tub.

  They stared at me.

  “What did they ask you?” I asked.

  Bay and Hector both opened their mouths, but Jordan spoke first. “You really shouldn’t discuss that . . .” She trailed off when I glared at her. Sheepish, she shrugged. “Sorry.” She mimed taking a hat off and setting it aside. “Cop hat off now.”

  “Good. Thank you. What did they ask?”

  Bay went first. They made her recount her night, focusing on Paige, Wes, Nick, and the six other gamers who made up the rest of their new Blood Ties troupe. They’d also asked about Cody, but Bay hadn’t witnessed the earlier argument. “I didn’t see him interact with them at all tonight,” she added. “He got his cards and was sitting in the corner.”

  “I didn’t see him leave,” I said. “Was he still here when—when we got the call?”

  Hector and Bay stared at each other, blank. “I didn’t see him, either.”

  “Did they quiz you about that argument?” I asked Hector.