The Killing Game

by Nancy Bush

  “Peg Bellows isn’t home?” he asked the man.

  “Nah.”

  “I’ve been calling her and there’s been no answer.” Luke walked toward him. “You do the landscaping around here?”

  “Yep.”

  “You have a card? I have a friend who bought a cabin just down the way. She could use some help.”

  He squinted at Luke. “Name’s on the truck.”

  Luke had seen that he was Kessler Landscaping. “Saw that, but there’s no phone number. You’re Kessler, then?”

  “Art Kessler.”

  “Luke Denton.” He stuck out his hand, and the older man hesitated briefly before extending his own.

  “I’m looking into Peg’s husband’s death,” Luke told him as Kessler dug in a couple of pockets, apparently searching for a business card. “Did you know Ted?”

  “Twenty-five years.”

  “Ah . . . well, I’m following up. Someone’s gotta make sure justice was really served.” He knew how pompous he sounded, but he wanted Kessler on his side.

  The older man squinted up at the sun. “I gotta get workin’.”

  “You don’t know when Peg’ll be back?”

  “If you was really workin’ for her, you’d know where she was.”

  “I’ve reopened the case.” Luke wasn’t going to back down. “I don’t think Ted’s death was an accident, and I think the Carrera boys were at fault.”

  “You a cop?”

  “Was. Worked on this case a bit. Now I’m doing it on my own.”

  “What’s your stake in this?”

  “I don’t like killers escaping justice. That’s all.”

  The older man considered for a moment, then said, “She’s away. Won’t be back till sometime next month. I’m keeping an eye on the place while she’s gone.”

  “Do you know where?”

  His answer was a shrug.

  “Okay.” Luke nodded. “I’ll have to catch her when she’s back.”

  “You really think you can put them boys away?”

  “I’m sure as hell gonna give it the old college try,” he answered grimly.

  “Good luck to you, son.” Kessler’s lips turned up in what Luke thought might be a smile, but then he headed back to his equipment.

  Luke climbed into his own truck and drove back down the lane to the road. Scratch Peg Bellows for now. If he was going to bring the Carreras to justice, he was going to have to go back to the beginning. He should’ve asked Bolchoy if he’d made copies of the department file on the Carreras, something he was known to do even though it was frowned upon.

  He headed back to his office. Saturday was as good a time as any to catch up on reports and filing, and it was a great way to while away the hours until Andi was at her cabin.

  * * *

  The day was long and hot and Andi had banded her hair back and dressed in jeans and a sleeveless blouse. Though she wasn’t doing any of the heavy lifting, she was emptying boxes and putting things away. And she felt like shit. Tired and cranky.

  She’d asked the movers to haul away the leftover furniture in the cabin as a last request. They’d demurred; not their job. But then she’d given them a substantial cash tip and they’d changed their minds. Now she sank down on the love seat, wishing for an iced tea. Maybe caffeine free, though she really felt like she could use a dose of some kind of picker-upper. But it was a moot point anyway because she wasn’t sure what box held the remains of her pantry and she didn’t feel like searching.

  What she really felt like doing was getting into bed, but that would mean making up the queen-size in the master bedroom. Again, she wasn’t sure where the bedding was.

  She picked up her phone and thought about texting Luke to ask when he would be stopping by. A part of her really wanted to see him, and it wasn’t because she was looking for a protector, and another part wished she had a day or two to put herself together. Grimacing, she sent another text to Trini, who was being remarkably quiet after practically insisting Andi meet her new guy. This time Andi wrote: Am moved into the cabin. Kinda beat.

  She was debating on whether to send Luke a text or maybe actually calling him—a novel thought in these days of modern communication—when Trini texted back: Bobby and I are spending a night in. Can we see the cabin tomorrow?

  Hope she comes by herself, Andi thought wearily, but she wrote back: Perfect.

  Then she did text Luke: I’m at the cabin now. Her finger hovered over the Send button, but then she added: Rain check till tomorrow? That would give her some time to feel less discombobulated.

  Ten minutes later her phone rang and her heart skipped a beat when she saw it was Luke. Slow down, she warned herself, then clicked On. “Hey, there,” she said.

  “Rain check’s fine, but how are you for food?”

  “Terrible, actually.”

  “Maybe I should bring something over . . . or we could go somewhere. What do you feel like?”

  “I want to go somewhere,” she said, changing her mind. To hell with being tired. “The cabin’s still pretty packed up and I’m just in the jeans I’ve been working in today while they unloaded.”

  “So nothing fancy.”

  “Yeah.”

  “How about Lacey’s?”

  Andi thought of the burger she’d wanted two days earlier and her mouth watered. “Sounds good.”

  “I can be at the cabin around five.”

  “I’ll be ready.” Her weariness had magically evaporated. This isn’t a date, she reminded herself sternly, but she was already heading toward the shower.

  * * *

  Lacey’s was happening on a Saturday night. The click of pool balls could only be heard when there was a break in the thumping music. Several enterprising young women with bare midriffs and Daisy Duke denim shorts were holding bottles of beer and dancing together in the middle of the room. The waitresses looked ready to clobber someone and Luke had to step in front of Andi to keep her from getting pushed by a couple of guys who were standing around the barstools, telling tales that required a lot of body English.

  The decor was a cross between a lake theme and a sports one. There were rainbow trout lacquered to a shiny finish on plaques along the wall alongside dusty pennants from most of the Oregon colleges and a few well-known Midwestern universities. Nothing looked as if it had been changed in a couple of decades . . . maybe longer.

  None of it mattered, though, because people came for the food. The burgers were great, the French fries hot and greasy, the beer cold. They were shown through a few scattered tables toward the rear of the main room. The bar extended through another archway that led to a second room, where the decibel level seemed even higher. Occasionally there was a roar of noise, as if they were all betting on a game. Maybe they were.

  Luke pulled out a wooden captain’s chair for Andi at an oak table with a clear, glossy top, the result of layers of some kind of product that made the tables look as if they were encased in plastic. He sat down opposite her and ordered a beer, while Andi asked for a glass of Sprite.

  “You okay?” he questioned when the waiter left, the same query he’d hit her with when he’d picked her up.

  “I am.”

  “You’re not filling me with confidence,” he remarked.

  “Okay, I’m a little tired,” she confessed. A lot tired, actually. And achy. She worried that she was getting sick, worried what that meant for the baby.

  “We don’t have to stay.”

  “No, I’m ready for a burger.” This, too, was a lie, even though she’d been practically salivating for one earlier. She’d sort of lost her appetite. She probably shouldn’t have come out tonight, but she’d wanted to see him, which was a little crazy. He wasn’t interested in her, he was doing a job, and this was no time for her to be interested in anyone.

  They placed their burger orders and Luke leaned in close so she could hear him above the noise. “We’ll make it quick. Didn’t think about it being Saturday. People letting loose, watching
football.”

  Ah. That was what all the yelling was about.

  “Carter said he met with Blake Carrera,” she told him loudly. “Wants to sell him the Allencore parcel—ten cabins—that Wren Development bought.”

  “He wants to sell to the Carreras?” Luke asked, disbelieving.

  “He said we’re asset rich, cash poor, and we’re building the lodge so we need funds fast.”

  “What about a construction loan?”

  “That might be in the works, but Greg charged ahead without waiting.”

  “Can he do that?” Luke demanded.

  “Carter needs Emma’s and my signatures, so it’s not going to happen.”

  “Attagirl.” He smiled at her, and Andi’s pulse fluttered.

  The front door slammed open and Emma staggered in. For a moment Andi thought she was alone, but then she saw Ben was right behind her, albeit looking around the room rather than at his inebriated wife. His gaze fell on Andi with Luke and he stopped short in total lack of comprehension.

  “Oh, geez,” she muttered.

  “What?”

  “Emma just walked in and we’ve been spotted.”

  Ben tried to get Emma to head their way, but she was ordering at the bar and slapped her hand at him, silently telling him to shove off. Ben looked pissed, but he moved away from her and came up to their table.

  “’Lo, Andi. Didn’t expect to see you here,” he greeted her.

  “Hi, Ben. This is Luke Denton.” She turned to Luke, who thrust out a hand, which Ben shook. “Ben is Emma’s husband,” she explained. “And Emma’s over there at the bar, in the blue dress.”

  Luke’s gaze followed where she pointed. Emma was leaning over the bar, showing a lot of upper thigh. Her curly blond hair was held back with a thin black headband, but wisps were already springing free. The bartender slid her a clear drink—probably a vodka tonic—and she picked it up carefully and took a short sip, followed by a big gulp. And then she locked eyes with Andi.

  For a moment she looked like she wanted to run and hide, but then she sauntered over their way. Andi felt her stomach cramp and she slowly exhaled, telling herself to stop stressing.

  “Well, hi, you guys,” Emma greeted them, her eyes all over Luke. “Didn’t expect to see you here, Andi.”

  “Ditto.” She added another introduction. “Luke Denton, Emma Wren Mueller.”

  “Oh. You’re the one Andi hired,” Emma said.

  “That’s right.” Luke nodded.

  “If you can get the Carreras put away, more power to you,” she said.

  “That’s certainly the long-term goal,” Luke answered.

  She accepted that, taking a few more swallows, then turned to Andi. “I guess I left too early. Carter called and told me that he’d met with one of the Carreras and offered up the cottages. Like hell.”

  “He needs both of our signatures.”

  “We’re not getting in bed with them. Carter knows that.”

  “Apparently not,” Andi disagreed. She took another sip of her Sprite. Their burgers arrived and she felt her stomach seize. Oh no. She swallowed and asked Ben and Emma, “Are you two having dinner?”

  “Nah . . .” Emma said with an airy wave.

  “Yeah, we are,” Ben declared at the same moment.

  “Go ahead.” Emma shrugged and looked around. Her drink was empty.

  “We’re both going to eat,” Ben argued, but Emma had already gotten up from the table and was heading back to the bar. “Fuck,” he said softly between his teeth, then he threw back his chair and stalked after his wife.

  “Nope, not a good idea,” Luke said, gazing after him.

  There followed an argument between Emma and Ben that became louder by the minute. It finished with Ben grabbing her by the elbow and Emma furiously shaking him off. He leaned in and said a few words and then she shouldered her way past him and headed to the ladies’ room.

  “I think I’ll go, too,” Andi said, rising from her chair. She swayed on her feet and her head buzzed. Oh hell no. She wasn’t going to faint again, was she?

  Luke reached out a hand and steadied her. “What’s going on?”

  “I feel a little weird.” And crampy.

  His eyes searched hers, as if he knew she was holding back. “We’ll leave when you get back to the table.”

  “Okay.”

  Alarmed, Andi followed in Emma’s wake. What was wrong with her? When she entered the restroom she found Emma swaying on her feet in front of the mirror, glaring at her own reflection. Andi threw her a look.

  “He’s going to sell us out, y’know,” Emma said bitterly. “He’s always been a son of a bitch.”

  “Carter isn’t—” She inhaled sharply and bent over as a hard cramp suddenly racked her insides.

  “What’s wrong?” Emma asked, poising in the act of reapplying lipstick to her smudged mouth as Andi tried to straighten. Before she could stand up she was overcome by another cramp. Spots danced before her eyes and she put out a hand as she toppled forward. Oh God no. The baby. No!

  “Andi, you’re bleeding!” Emma declared in shock.

  Oh, please . . . please, God, no . . .

  Andi stared at the drops of red smeared on the tile floor in blank horror. She was seized by a cramp that doubled her up and Emma cried, “You need help! We need help! What’s wrong? Oh, God, what’s wrong?”

  “The baby,” Andi moaned as a gush of blood followed, and that was all she knew.

  Chapter Nine

  “. . . Em shoulda taken over that company,” Ben Mueller was saying, but Luke scarcely heard him.

  “Excuse me,” he said, standing.

  “Something I said?”

  “No, I just want to check on Andi and Emma.”

  “But they’re in the restroom . . .”

  Luke ignored him and headed toward the front of the bar, drawing a deep breath. Something was wrong with Andi and he didn’t feel like hanging out with Emma’s husband, who wanted to grouse about damn near everything and didn’t offer much to the conversation. He was anxious to get out of there. Anxious to get Andi home.

  He heard a loud, wrenching cry from the women’s room that no one else seemed to notice above the throbbing music and the general din. He was at the door in an instant, hesitating only a moment before throwing it open. What he saw nearly stopped his heart. Andi, out cold on the floor, a spreading stain of blood beneath her, while Emma stood above her, her mouth open in unvoiced horror, her cell phone unheeded in her limp hand.

  “Call nine-one-one,” Luke ordered.

  “I did,” she said, holding out the phone. A tinny voice was demanding, “What is the nature of your emergency?”

  “Put the phone to your ear!” he commanded. He watched as she lifted it in slow motion, as if it weighed too much. He reached over and took it from her, and she offered no resistance.

  “A woman is unconscious in the woman’s room,” he said into the phone. “Andi . . . Andrea Wren. She’s bleeding.”

  “She said, ‘the baby,’” Emma said, leaning against one of the sinks as if her legs were about to fail.

  “Sit down on the floor,” he told her, but she straightened and staggered over to one of the stalls.

  “She may be miscarrying,” he told the operator.

  She assured him help was on the way, and he clicked off just as the door opened and two young women stumbled in. Luke blocked their way and they blinked at him uncomprehendingly.

  “Use the men’s,” he told them tautly.

  “Huh?” the one with hair too black to be natural said. “What’re you doing here?”

  He hustled them out and closed the door behind him. “Emergency,” he said. One of the bartenders frowned at him and left his post. “Hey, buddy,” he started to say, but Luke cut him off.

  “Nine-one-one’s on the way. There’s an unconscious woman on the floor. My friend,” he added coldly, as the bartender tried to brush past him. “Man the door. I’ve got this,” he ordered, heading back
inside.

  “The hell you do. This is my brother’s bar!” He pushed Luke out of the way and stepped inside. One look and he spun on his heel, a little paler in the face. “Blood,” he said. Luke wanted to throttle him, but he pulled himself together and took a post at the door.

  Luke returned to Andi. Emma was in the stall, talking on her cell phone, saying, “I don’t, Carter. I don’t know! The ambulance is on its way, that’s all I know!”

  “Andi,” Luke whispered, getting on his knees. He ripped off his shirt and folded it under her head. His heart was beating so hard he felt like it was moving his skin.

  It was mere minutes, though it felt like forever before the EMTs were bringing in their gurney. By this time a small crowd had gathered outside the restroom, and Luke could see a blur of faces trying to look inside when the door was open.

  Emma came out of the stall, her makeup ruined. Her eyes were moist. She hiccupped and covered her mouth with her hands. “She’s pregnant?” she asked.

  “Yes.” He hoped she still was, but it didn’t look good.

  The EMTs carefully loaded her onto the collapsible gurney, then covered her and wheeled her out.

  Emma put a hand out to stop him as he followed them out, and he looked back at her impatiently. “Yours?” she asked.

  “I’ve known her less than a week. She said Greg’s the father.”

  She was poleaxed. “Greg?”

  He shook her off and followed after the EMTs. They told him they were going to Laurelton General and he headed for his truck. As he peeled out of Lacey’s parking lot he saw Ben and Emma’s faces in the crowd that had gathered outside to watch the ambulance pull away.

  * * *

  It was all a blur to Andi. She awoke at the hospital emergency room. “My baby,” she said, and then slipped away again. It was hours later that she found herself in a private room, an IV in her arm. The room was dimly lit and she sensed it was the middle of the night. No one had to tell her what had happened. She felt the loss already. Miserable, she put her face into her pillow and cried until blessed sleep, and whatever they were giving her, took her away again.

  Sunday dawned with gray light, and even though bright sunlight slipped inside, she still felt gray. The baby was gone. A few days of bright joy and hope and now it was gone. She could feel herself distancing herself from the pain, just as she had after Greg’s death, only this was worse: deeper, longer, harder. A coma of sorts, Trini told her when Andi surfaced again on late Sunday afternoon.