A Murderous Game

by Paris Patricia

"How would you know?" Abby turned toward him, firming her chin. "You probably know more about your caddy at the country club than you do about me."

  He looked at her as if waiting for her to make a point.

  "I sent you a birthday card last month," she said. "Did you get it?"

  "I got it. What's that have to do with anything?"

  "Do you know when my birthday is, Dad?"

  "January," he said, crossing his arms.

  "Close. February third. At least that's what it says on my birth certificate."

  "Abby," her mother said.

  "Don't worry, Mom, I'm done. I really do have some things I need to do." She kissed her on the cheek. "I'll call you in a couple of days."

  She retrieved her sweater from the back of her chair. She folded it and laid it over her arm, smoothing it once before she turned to go.

  Halfway across the room she hesitated. "Goodbye, Dad," she said, and waited a second. He didn't respond. She swallowed and walked out of the kitchen, across the thick Persian rug in the dining room, past the framed print of John Singer Sargent's Daughters of Edward Darley Bolt in the foyer, and out of the house. She closed the front door, and another one shut in her heart. One less key to carry around she told herself, and dashed the tear from her cheek.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  "Why don't you open a bottle of wine while I get the phone?" Abby picked up the cordless handset and took it back to the stove so she could keep an eye on the onions and garlic she was cooking for the marinara sauce. Sweating, she thought. Her mother would say she was sweating the onions, cooking them just until they became clear without letting them brown.

  She wasn't much of a cook. Pasta marinara was the one thing she'd learned to make from her mom, and everyone told Abby it was the best they'd ever tasted. She'd mastered it. It was her standby if someone came to dinner and she cooked. Squirt some bottled dressing on a bag of mixed lettuce, add some bread, some wine, and presto, you had a respectable meal.

  The phone rang and Abby picked it up, hoping it might be Gage to say he'd be home Monday night instead of Tuesday.

  "Oh, hello, Detective Simms." She turned to look at Rachael, who rolled her eyes and smirked. Abby shook her head. She didn't understand her friend's reaction to the man.

  "I apologize for bothering you on a Sunday evening," the detective said, "but I wonder if you could just answer a couple of questions."

  "If I can," she said.

  "Was there anyone other than you or your ex-husband who had a key to the property in Florida?"

  "I suppose my parents had one, but other than that I don't think so."

  "Did either of you ever offer anyone the use of the place for a vacation? Someone you might have given a key to and forgotten about it?"

  "No, at least I never have. I don't know if Dick did, but I doubt it."

  Rachael finished filling the glasses and set the bottle on the counter. She held one up and Abby nodded.

  "Most of the people I know wouldn't consider it much of a vacation destination," she explained. "It was relatively secluded, so unless you were looking to escape and do nothing, it didn't have much to offer. Why are you asking?"

  "Because he's sadistic," Rachael mumbled close to her other ear as she handed her the glass of wine. "He enjoys messing with people's minds."

  "Stop it."

  "Stop asking you questions?" Simms said.

  "Oh, no, sorry, I didn't mean you. My friend Rachael's here. She came over for dinner. I was talking to her."

  Simms was quiet for a moment. "I apologize for interrupting your meal."

  "You don't have to apologize. We were just having a glass of wine. The sauce isn't ready yet."

  "Like he cares about the sauce," Rach said with a snort.

  Abby gave her a look that said behave yourself. "Will you open that can of tomatoes and pour them in there before my onions brown?"

  "Sorry, Detective, Rachael again."

  "I'll let you get back to your dinner," Simms said. "If you think of anyone else who might have had a key, would you give me a call?"

  "I will, but like I already said, I'm pretty sure no one else did."

  "Goodnight, and tell your friend I said hello."

  Abby slid a glance to Rachael. "Umm, okay. Bye."

  Rachael put a hand on her hip. "What was that all about?"

  "He wanted to know if anyone other than Dick or I had keys to my grandmother's house in Florida."

  Abby poured the linguini from the box into the pot of boiling water. "This whole business about Dick selling the property is weird. I mean the police said they talked with the developer, who swears he met with Dick in Florida and that Dick had told him he was there on vacation for the week."

  Wondering what extra keys could have to do with it, she leaned a hip against the counter, holding the wooden spoon in the air. "I suppose it's possible he could have gone down for a couple of days, and I wouldn't have known, but why would he? I don't know, maybe he got wind someone was going to be developing all the land around there and realized he might be able to trick me out of it."

  "Why do you think Simms is so interested in the Florida property?"

  Abby shrugged. "I don't know, and he wouldn't say, but Dick did sell it for a lot of money. Maybe Simms thinks somebody else could have found out about it and tried to blackmail Dick or something."

  "What would they blackmail him with?"

  "I don't know; I'm just speculating." She set the spoon on the counter and crossed her arms. "I don't understand anything that's going on, or why." She blew out an exasperated sigh. "I'll just be so glad when all this over."

  "He didn't harass you, did he?"

  "No, he was fine." Abby turned back to the sauce, added some more oregano, and turned the dial to simmer. "Gage doesn't think I'm their main suspect anymore. He met with Simms at the Roundhouse the other day, and the detective said he'd been able to corroborate most of what I told them."

  "Good." Rachael sipped her wine. "Maybe now he'll call his dogs off."

  "He said to tell you hello."

  "Did he?" She twirled her glass. "Well, the next time you talk to him you can tell him I said I'd like to buy his proctologist a drink."

  "I don't even want to know," Abby said, raising a hand in the air to cut off any explanation.

  When the pasta was ready, they sat at the counter to eat.

  "So how was dinner with your parents yesterday?" Rachael asked. "Was your dad his usual insult-a-minute endearing self?"

  Abby had been trying hard not to think about her father's rejection. She didn't understand why he didn't love her, but she wasn't going to let it ruin her life. She couldn't make him care any more than she could sprout wings and fly.

  She tried to come up with a witty rejoinder, but nothing came to mind. Her shoulders drooped.

  "Was it that bad?" Rachael asked with feeling.

  Abby shook her head and said as she looked away, "He was the way he always is, you know." She wrapped her arms around her waist. "I can't have a relationship with him anymore. Maybe he'll mellow when he gets older, and things will be different, but I just can't do it now."

  "I'm sorry I brought it up. We don't have to talk about it unless you want to."

  "Let's not."

  Rachael nodded. "Okay. So your dad's out, Gage is out, and that piece of yellow journalism in The Dish is out. Does that leave anything in your life you do want to talk about?"

  Abby laughed. "Can't think of anything. What about you?"

  "I did have an odd thing happen on Friday." Rachael wiggled further back onto the stool and crossed her legs. "When I went to my car to leave the station, there was this baggie, like a sandwich bag, under the windshield wiper. So I take it out, right? And inside is a picture that looked like Selby."

  "Your Selby?"

  "Yeah, I thought it was curious. I mean, why would someone put a picture that looked like my dog on my car? But nobody was around and nothing came of it."

  Abby suppressed a shu
dder. "That's kind of freaky, Rach. Maybe you should report it."

  "What, like to the cops? What am I supposed to say? Someone put a picture that looks like my dog under the windshield wiper of my car? I'm sure it doesn't mean anything. Whoever put it there probably just had the wrong car and intended it for someone who would know what it was supposed to mean."

  Instead of dismissing it as a fluke as Rachael apparently intended to do, Abby was already imagining several different scenarios, some harmless, some not. She didn't want to be an alarmist, but she also thought Rach might want to be a little more careful than normal, at least for a while. In all likelihood it was a prank, or as Rachael said, a case of mistaken cars, but what if it wasn't?

  "Maybe," Abby said, "but it wouldn't hurt to take some extra precautions when you're leaving work at night. Has anything else odd happened lately? Hang ups, that kind of thing?"

  Rachael waved her hand in the air. "No, nothing, so don't start worrying. It's not like I found a picture of a woman in chains. It was a dog, a cute little dog, nothing sinister."

  "Well, maybe you should have someone walk out to your car with you if it's dark when you leave your building."

  "Fine, I'll enlist one of the camera crew to play my personal guard. Now stop worrying. If I'd known you were going to get all spooky about it, I wouldn't have told you." Rachael twirled some pasta around her fork and took a bite. "This is really good, Ab. Do you have any parmesan cheese?"

  Abby nodded and slid off the stool to get it. "Okay, so another topic bites the dust. I suppose when we're done eating we can take our wine into the living room and stare at each other the rest of the night."

  Rachael flashed a smile. "That's one of the great things about being such good friends. We don't even have to talk, and we can still enjoy each other's company."

  Abby returned to the counter and picked up her wine glass. She raised it to Rachael.

  "Let the good times roll," she said dryly.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Harold Billings walked off the elevator in front of Abby the next day when she was leaving for lunch. She slowed her step, lagging back until he'd crossed the lobby and exited the building.

  He hadn't said anything to her about the article in Friday's paper, but every time he looked at her she could see the mocking humor in his eyes, the smug enjoyment he derived at her expense.

  She felt a burst of annoyance when she got outside and saw Billings standing on the sidewalk in front of their building. He had his back to her and was talking to a man who seemed vaguely familiar. Harold hadn't approached her in the office, but he might be more inclined when none of their coworkers could observe him.

  Hoping to avoid an encounter, she began to turn in the other direction. She cast a parting glance at the other man, positive she'd seen him somewhere before. He looked up at that moment, and their eyes met. He said something, and Billings looked over his shoulder at her.

  Who was he? Had they met before? Perhaps he'd been one of Dick's acquaintances. That would make sense since he and Billings had been such good friends and probably had friends in common.

  Harold gave her a mock salute. Lifting her chin, she turned away from them and started down the block. Whoever the guy was, she had no interest in finding out if they'd met at some previous time. He had a slimy aura, like he'd crawled around in a big pile of garbage and had absorbed the stench. She looked back once to make sure they weren't following her and was relieved to see they'd moved on, heading in the opposite direction she had.

  Good, she thought, and slowed her step. Despite the uncontrollable events responsible for the giant cloud that had gathered over her life, the day had dawned bright and sunny, and the beautiful spring weather was as good as chocolate for her spirits.

  Gage had called late last night to tell her he hoped to wrap things up in Chicago by midafternoon and be back in Philadelphia later tonight. She was anxious to see him. She'd missed him terribly.

  The last couple of days had been difficult. She'd gotten through them, mostly by refusing to think about the article in The Dish, or her father, or her tenuous position at work. She was still worried about being a suspect in Dick's murder, but Gage seemed to think Detective Simms had changed his mind about her, and she'd begun to hope that problem would work itself out.

  The situation with her dad hurt her deeply. Who didn't want their parent's love? She swallowed the lump in her throat. She wouldn't dwell on it. If he couldn't appreciate her, then it was his loss.

  Her biggest concern at the moment was the press. If nothing else came of Friday's article, she could deal with it. In time people would focus their attention elsewhere. Some new scandal would snare their interest and she'd be able to melt into the background with the rest of the normal people.

  Let that be the end of it.

  She ducked into a deli near

  Rittenhouse Square and picked up a fresh fruit salad. Taking it to the park instead of returning to the office, she found an empty bench and sat down. As she was finishing her lunch, Gage called on her cell phone.

  "I'm on my way to the airport. The board meeting was shorter than expected, and Grace was able to get me an earlier flight."

  He'd be back this evening. Abby felt a burst of pure joy, the first she'd had in several days. "Hello to you, too," she said with a laugh and heard him chuckle.

  "How would you like some company this evening, say around eight?"

  "If the company is you, I'd enjoy it very much."

  "Good, because I was planning on coming there right from the airport. I packed an extra suit so I can stay the night and go into the office from your place tomorrow. We can have a pajama party."

  She grinned and hugged herself. "I think I like it better and better."

  "I'd probably prefer to skip the pajamas."

  She laughed again. It felt so good. He made her feel good. She tilted her head back, enjoying the warm fingers of the sun caressing her face. Tonight it would be his fingers caressing her, his mouth enticing her, his body transporting her to the sensual world he'd introduced her to.

  "Just a minute," he said, "I've got another call."

  Still holding the phone to her ear, she stood up and with her free hand gathered all the trash from her lunch and put it into the bag her salad had come in.

  Gage came back on the line. "Sorry, I'm going to have to deal with this. I'll see you around eight."

  On that note he disconnected, and she clipped her phone onto her waistband and walked back to the office.

  ~~~

  Gage dropped his bag, pushed the door shut with his foot, and yanked Abby against his chest.

  "Christ, I missed you," he said fiercely, capturing her mouth in a searing kiss that had both of them moaning. "Do you have any idea how many times over the last four days I've thought about doing this?" He ran his hands down her back, over her hips, resisting the urge to undress her on the spot and make love to her on the floor.

  She lifted up on her toes and kissed him again, wrapping her arms around his neck. He could taste her desire, and it fed his hunger, pushing him close to the edge.

  "I picked up some dinner," she said in a seductive whisper that sounded more like an invitation to pleasure than for something to eat. If he had to sit through a meal before he could touch her, he thought he might go mad.

  He dipped his head and kissed the curve of her ear, nibbling and licking until he worked his way to the base of her neck. He could feel the pulse there beneath his lips—erratic, excited.

  "Will it keep?"

  She nodded.

  "Good." He started backing her across the room. "Because I don't think I will."

  When they reached the stairs to the second floor, he shrugged out of his suit jacket and hung it over the newel post. He saw the warm flush spreading over her satin cheeks, and how her eyes had deepened to an intense green, the way they always did when she became aroused.

  She darted a glance behind her then looked back at him with a teasing grin. Gage h
itched his head toward the upstairs bedroom.

  "Keep right on going, sweetheart." He loosened the knot in his tie until he was able to pull it off and dropped it over the rail where it slid down to join his jacket.

  With a throaty laugh Abby turned and sprinted playfully up the stairs. He was right behind her, as anxious as a horny teenager with his first girl. He had to get control of his rampant desire, or he'd disappoint them both. He wanted to give her a climax she'd never forget, one neither of them would forget.

  Standing beside the bed, he forced himself to slow the pace. Taking her face in his hands, he lowered his head and kissed her softly, running his tongue along the crease of her lips and licking the corners of her mouth.

  "I missed you, too," she said almost shyly.

  "Nice of you to finally say so," he teased. "I'd hate to think I'm the only one doing the missing in this relationship."

  She bit her lip. "Of course I missed you," she admitted softly.

  "I know you did, green eyes," he said, his voice turning tender at her seriousness.

  She reached for the buttons on her blouse and began to unfasten them one by one, glancing up at him through half-lowered lashes. He knew she had no idea of the devastating effect she had on his control.

  Struggling to keep his vow to go slow so he could increase both their pleasure, Gage removed his shirt slowly. He tossed it on the end of the bed then reached for his belt, doing his damnedest not to appear overanxious.

  Abby had removed her clothes, all except a lacey pink bra with matching lace panties that were cut high on her slender hips. It took a moment before he realized her expression had changed as she watched him undress.

  "Is something wrong?" he asked, surprised by what he thought looked like apprehension in her eyes.

  "No, I'm—" She kissed his chest, a quick peck he recognized as an evasive maneuver on her part.

  "You're what?" he coaxed, angling his head so he could look into her eyes.

  "Nervous," she blurted, seeming embarrassed. "I'm just a little nervous."

  "What are you nervous about?" he asked gravely, for he could see she wasn't joking.