No Saving Throw Read online

  “Don’t pretend you care,” I said.

  Donald’s eyes widened. “Autumn, that’s terrible. Meghan’s had a shock—we all have, and we need to support each other right now.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Meghan lifted her head and dabbed artfully at one eye. “Thanks, Donald.” She took a step away from him.

  “I wanted to talk to you in private, Autumn.” Donald glanced at Bay and Hector.

  Private—except for Meghan. I had a feeling I wouldn’t enjoy this conversation. “Of course,” I said in a forced cheerful tone. “Let’s go across the hall.” I led them back up the short flight of stairs and out the door. As I left, I glanced at Hector and Bay standing together behind the register. Bay gave me an encouraging smile, but Hector looked like he wanted to punch Donald on his reddened nose.

  Great. Even my employees thought I was about to get pwned.

  In the spillover gaming room, I picked up three of the chairs Nick had upset during his great escape attempt and shoved them close to a table in the center of the room. Meghan and Donald sat together on the same side, facing me like members of a jury. I suspected I wouldn’t be getting a fair hearing, but I might be able to get something useful out of it all the same.

  “I was surprised to see you at the station so late last night,” I said to Donald, fishing.

  “Oh? Oh, yes.” As if he didn’t remember. He glanced sideways at Meghan. “They were asking me about the building’s security and access. Things like that.”

  “You were here late last night, too.” I hoped I sounded curious and not accusatory.

  “Yes. They wondered if I saw anyone unusual, but, of course, I was in my office. And, anyway, I was gone by eight fifteen. Craig MacLeod and I walked out together. We were talking shop that night.” He made a strange motion with his arms, half shrug and half expansive gesture, and glanced at Meghan, who gave him a tight-lipped smile. “And I told them about the building’s safety precautions and the waiver your customers sign when they use the building for their games, and all that.”

  “Right, right,” I said, as if I had been through the same discussion with the cops. “Did Max see anyone? You said you were going to talk to him before you left last night. And he has those security cameras . . .”

  Donald shifted in his chair. “Ah, yes, well. Those cameras are more of a precaution than anything else.”

  “What does that mean?” I glanced at Meghan, but she didn’t react. She and Donald seemed to be so cozy, she probably already knew about the cameras.

  He sighed. “They’re not hooked up to anything. Budget cuts, you know—” He waved a hand, then planted it firmly on the table, looking at me squarely. “Businesses are struggling.”

  “I’m aware.” My voice sounded small and stiff.

  Donald turned his serious, sympathetic landlord face on me. “Autumn, we need to talk about what’s going to happen in the next few weeks.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, the store and the building are already getting a lot of attention. First with the grant business and now with all of this, there’s a lot of public interest. And not all of it’s positive. Despite what they say, not all publicity is good, and some of it is very bad. We need to protect the interests of the businesses in the building as well as the safety of the customers. And in the meantime, I think we need to do everything to minimize the backlash from this incident.”

  My jaw dropped at this sudden change of subject. “A boy died, and you’re worried about publicity?”

  Meghan swooped in. “You know that’s not what Donald is saying, Autumn. But the store and the building are going to be the focus of a lot of scrutiny. And it’s such an important time, with the grant on the line. This building needs some attention, whether it’s the preservation plans I’m advocating or even your remodels. Donald and I were talking, and we’re both afraid that the gossip your store is attracting right now might spill over onto the building’s reputation.”

  I wanted to speak, but no words came to mind. I stared at them both, my heart pounding. Donald shrank backward as if he wanted to retract into his shell, but Meghan remained poised and neutral. Too neutral. “What are you suggesting I do?”

  “We thought it might be best if you retract your name from the grant application pool.”

  There it was.

  “And what should be my reason?”

  “You feel it’s inappropriate, given the situation?” Meghan suggested. “It’s valid reasoning.”

  I closed my eyes and took a deep, slow breath. “Look, my plans for the grant are good. The publicity from the grant is all good. I understand why you’re worried, but it won’t hurt any of us for me to get the money to green the building. It might even help with the bad press—people will remember me, and the store, and the building, for the upgrades. And anyway, they’re announcing the finalists on Monday. It may not even matter.” I worked very hard to keep the pleading note from my voice. I hadn’t realized how badly I wanted that grant until this moment. “Just let me wait until that announcement.”

  Meghan looked at Donald. “At least say you’ll consider it,” he said.

  “Of course I will. We’re all still reeling, but I have plans to make things better. I think we’ll have a memorial for Wes next week, and that will do nothing but good for everyone involved.” My words ran on, falling like sand from a broken hourglass. Donald looked dismayed.

  “Autumn, I don’t know—it might be better all around if you just suspend operation until they decide whether those young people taken in today are suspects.”

  “You want me to close?”

  “No, no, I didn’t say that. But it might be best—it would give you time to think about the grant, to consider whether or not you want to keep forcing yourself into public notice. Closing temporarily would give everyone some distance.”

  “Forcing myself into public notice? You think I want all this attention, that I want reporters hanging around, questioning my employees, that I want to be meeting with the City Council every week, that I want to do anything but run my store and give my gamers a safe place to hang?” I stopped, short of breath. My vision had blurred but not with tears. I could practically see the blood boiling beneath my skin.

  “Listen to yourself, Autumn,” Meghan said in a quiet voice. “You don’t even like working for the grant. Why not let it go, save yourself the stress? You’re already struggling. No one would blame you.”

  “You have no idea what the hell you’re talking about. You have no right to tell me what to do with my store, to spread rumors and act like you run this place,” I snapped at her. “Besides, dropping out of the grant competition has nothing to do with closing my store.”

  “Now, ladies,” Donald said fretfully. “Don’t fight. Autumn, we want the best for you and your store. That’s the only reason we’re suggesting you take a step back.”

  Wrong. Meghan wanted me out of the running for the grant money to improve her own chances. Donald wanted to protect his checking account. I stood up. “I’ll consider it. But I’m not closing—that’s not an option. Shutting down would be like admitting I thought the store, the games, had some role in Wes’s death, and that’s just plain ridiculous. And more than that, this is supposed to be one of our busiest weeks of the year—closing might very well sink me. Shutting down right now would hurt you, too, and open up another vacancy in the building. If you’re so worried about making money, you ought to be helping me, not trying to close me down.” I paused and looked at Meghan. “And you’re right. I don’t like the attention, I don’t like making the presentations, I don’t like any of it. But I believe in my grant application. If I decide it would be for the best to drop out, I will, but I won’t do it to make your life easier.”

  They both stared up at me. Meghan retained her cool, carefully arranged neutrality, but Donald’s face had gone red again. I seemed to have that effect on him. He stood. “Autumn, please be reasonable. I unders
tand your position, but I will ask you to consider the situation of everyone else in this building. You’re not the only one whose reputation is on the line.”

  “No, but I seem to be the only one who isn’t worried about how a death is going to impact my sales.” I’d gone too far, and I knew it as soon as the words came out of my mouth. “I’m sorry, Donald,” I said. I wouldn’t apologize to Meghan—Donald was genuinely concerned, but Meghan was trying to capitalize on his legitimate fears. “I’ll think about it. I swear. I’ll take a day to consider, and I’ll speak to the committee on Monday. If it seems like I’m out of the running, it won’t matter, and if it seems like they would like me to step back, I will.” Maybe. I didn’t know, actually, but I did need to buy myself some time. If we could prove that the murder had nothing to do with gaming, there would be no need for me to drop out.

  But how I was supposed to solve a murder in a day, I had no idea.

  Donald seemed to deflate with my apology. “Please consider it. And let me know what you decide about the shop’s activities.” He hesitated, then added, “If you decide to have a memorial, I would like to be there.”

  That seemed like a friendly enough gesture. I smiled. “Of course.”

  I moved to let them both out of the room, my heart still pounding from my small gesture of rebellion. I didn’t like confrontation, never had. I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans before I shook Donald’s hand, bidding him farewell. Meghan lingered after him.

  “You’re making a mistake,” she said.

  “Thanks for sharing your opinion.”

  “That boy’s death came at exactly the wrong time for you, Autumn. If you had any sense, you’d back down, do what Donald says, and let the publicity blow over. By staying in the running for the grant, you’re going to feed the story. I promise you, this will get worse for you.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  She smirked. “Please. I’m just stating the obvious.”

  “For someone who recently ‘had a shock,’ you’re awfully snide.”

  “I’m tougher than I look.” She turned to go. I let her, seeing no need to drag out our little spat. She was tough—tough like patent leather, shiny and impervious.

  I went back to the main store, exhausted. There were no customers. Bay and Hector watched me slink over, and Bay offered me a cup of coffee when I slumped into the chair behind the register. I told them what Donald said, about Meghan’s threats, about my wild hope of vindicating the store and the other gamers before someone forced me to tuck my tail and hide under the bed.

  “So now I have to figure out how to solve a murder in the next thirty-six hours, or I’ll end up having to drop out of the grant competition and all this time and effort will have been completely wasted. I get the feeling that Donald will pull some strings and make me close up for a few days if I don’t.”

  “He can’t do that!” Bay cried.

  “Wait—” Hector said. “You don’t have to solve a murder.”

  “I don’t?”

  “Nope.” He grinned, dark eyes shining. “You don’t have to prove someone else is guilty. All you need to do is prove that Paige and Nick, and Cody, I guess, are innocent. That’s all our justice system needs. Reasonable doubt.”

  “That wouldn’t get suspicion off the store,” I said dubiously.

  “No, but it’s easier than trying to solve a murder. Just find some way to prove they didn’t do it or weren’t likely to have done it.”

  “What if they did do it?” Bay asked.

  “If they did, closing up for a week might not be a terrible idea.” The words, bitter as burnt tea, spilled out of my mouth before I could stop them.

  “No way,” Bay said. “If there was a murder because of a game and you close up, you’ll never open again.”

  She had a point. “You’re probably right.” I groaned. “We’re so screwed, but we have to try.”

  Hector grinned. “I think I know just the people to help.”

  7

  SUNDAY WAS USUALLY THE day I ran the store alone. It was a short day, not terribly busy, and the atmosphere was laid back. But that particular Sunday, two LARPers and two of the tabletop RPG players from the group that had given Cody the boot showed up at the store promptly at noon, eager for the chance to vindicate their friends—and more than a little titillated at the opportunity to play their greatest roles yet.

  “So, what, we’re like, investigating the murder now?” José asked Olivia under his breath. “Is this for real?” He sounded excited.

  Olivia shushed him. “Autumn will tell us what to do.”

  Like I had any idea what to do. I silenced them by ringing the gong on the register. They stopped talking and turned to stare at me. My mind went blank, and I stared back, daunted. What on earth was I supposed to do with four gamers, security cameras that recorded nothing, no leads, and one very chatty, very oblivious guard manning the security desk downstairs? Eight expectant eyes gazed up at me, and my mouth went dry.

  “You’re probably wondering why I’ve gathered you all here today,” I said weakly.

  They giggled. From the corner, Hector nodded encouragingly. He had volunteered to come in on his day off, showing far more interest than was probably healthy in our amateur detective project. After some arm-twisting, Jordan had come, too. She refused to say anything about what the police knew or didn’t know, though, and insisted she was here in a general advisory capacity. She would tell us what questions to ask but not who to talk to or how to approach them: my own, personal, half-committed Watcher.

  Her presence gave me heart.

  “Okay,” I said, bolstered by Jordan’s support. “You all know that the police are suspicious of Paige and Nick, and Cody, too.”

  “Good riddance,” one of the tabletop gamers said. Hector grinned.

  “I know, he’s not the most likable guy, but he’s one of us, so we need to do what we can.”

  “How are we supposed to solve a murder if they can’t?” Olivia jerked her chin toward Jordan.

  Before Jordan could get riled, I said, “They can and they will, but it will take time. Today we’re just looking for evidence that may help them to solve it—and to prove that Nick, Paige, and Cody are innocent.” Hopefully. “We need to know what went down during the night of the game. You guys are going to walk us through that night, step by step, and show us every place where you saw them: Wes, Cody, Nick, and Paige. We need to figure out who was the last person to see him before he died. That means talking to the shop owners; to Max, the security guard; and even finding out if there were any customers here that night. We have to know who was in this building Friday night, where they were, and what they were doing. It’s not going to be easy. But if we can find out anything, any tiny piece of information the police might have missed, that will force them to reconsider.”

  Jordan cut in. “Keep in mind that you guys have zero authority. Most of the people who work in the shops have already been questioned. They may not want to talk to you. Don’t make a nuisance of yourselves, or I’ll have to act in a more official capacity.” Hector made a face at her, but she adopted her most serious-business expression. “I’m not kidding. I’m helping out for the same reason you guys are—I love Autumn and I love this shop. But if you interfere with the official investigation, the police will stop you in whatever way they have to, even if that means putting you in jail. I know you want to help, but you have to protect yourselves and Autumn first. Be very, very careful.”

  “Okay, Mom,” José mumbled.

  Jordan glared at him. “Don’t mistake me for your mom—I’m much, much worse. I will stop you if I think you’re becoming a problem.”

  Hoping to lighten the mood, I clapped my hands. “Okay, Scoobies. You know what to do. Ask the people in the shops if they’re willing to talk. Find out what, if anything, they saw. Find out when they were here. If anyone acts reluctant or cagey, don’t press them.”

  “But tell us they didn’t
want to talk,” Hector said.

  “Right,” I said. “I’m going to go downstairs first to try to retrace Wes’s path. If you saw him Friday night or talked to him, please come with me.”

  The LARPers formed a small mob around me as I trekked out of the store and up the stairs to the lobby that was the ground floor at the town square entrance. From there, one could look down on the fountain and the tables surrounding it. The elevator rose in a shining column from the bottom level, and Max’s security desk stood sentry at one end of the long, narrow space. We should have been at eye level with the fountain’s spray up here, but building maintenance hadn’t turned it back on yet. Without the pleasant, babbling, ambient noise from the fountain, the lobby was eerily silent. Donald refused to play music in the lobby and hallways, for which I was normally very grateful, but today the silence seemed more creepy than peaceful.

  I stared sideways at Max, sizing him up. He sat with a newspaper open in front of him like a deflector shield, but I knew his rheumy eyes kept a vigilant watch on the lobby and the basement spread before him. Mostly his job was to keep homeless folks from setting up camp at the basement tables and to run off teens who loitered, throwing coins and rubbish into the fountain. But he took it seriously, and I knew that if there had been anyone in the building who shouldn’t have been, he would have seen them.

  “This is a very bad idea,” Jordan muttered in my ear as the gamers scattered like ants, mapping out their starting points for the game. Max peered over his paper at them, his eyes narrowed. He was like a caricature of a security guard, and I felt a brief wave of pity for him: the murder had happened on his watch.

  “You’re probably right,” I said to Jordan. “But it’s all I have, and I need to do something.”

  She nodded. I left Max for the moment, figuring he’d be easier to talk to after the crowd had dispersed, and went to speak with the LARPers. José met me by the balcony, his face solemn. “Before we get started, I wanted to say a few quick words to everyone.”