No Saving Throw

by Kristin McFarland

  “Stop!” I shouted, slower to react, and shoved my way through the crowd. Someone stepped on my heels as I moved forward. I staggered into Mr. Bowen, who held me up, looking shocked.

  I’d missed the first hit: Nick was bleeding from a cut in his eyebrow. He wiped at it angrily as Jordan released him. Paige rushed to his side with a wordless cry.

  Cody staggered to his feet. He wiped his mouth with the back of one hand. It came away bloody, and the sight of the red streak under the store lights seem to further incite his temper. “You did this to yourself.” His eyes never left Nick’s face. “Both of you.”

  “You’re sick,” Paige said. “This is all your fault.”

  “What are you talking about?” Mrs. Bowen cried. Tears ran freely down her face. “What do you three know?”

  Bay’s partner, Allison, put an arm around the other woman’s shoulders. Wes’s dad reached for Nick, but Nick jerked his shoulder away from him.

  “What’s going on?” Craig asked, his voice low under the uproar.

  I turned. He was standing at my shoulder. I hadn’t realized he had followed me in—he must have been the one crowding me. “I have no idea. Paige and Nick are suspects. Maybe.”

  “Really? Paige? My assistant, Paige?” His eyes widened.

  “I know.” I raised my voice, shouting into the crowd. “What’s going on here?” I asked, echoing his question.

  “He had the nerve to show his face here, that’s what,” Nick said. He jerked his chin at Cody. “Asshole.”

  “You’re the one with nerve,” Cody sneered. “Everyone knows you two killed Wes. The cops are just waiting for a warrant.”

  “They won’t get one,” Paige said. “We didn’t do it.”

  “You’re accusing us?” Nick said. “When you—”

  Cody lunged for him. Jordan caught him again.

  “Enough!” I shouted.

  At the register, the mini gong sounded, ear-splitting as thunder in the confined space. Everyone in the crowd flinched, and Cody slowed long enough for Jordan to drag him out of the crowd, murmuring threats in his ear. Mr. Bowen had hold of Nick again, though Paige’s expression said she wouldn’t mind hitting Cody herself. I looked up and saw Bay, white-faced, the striker in her hand.

  “Enough,” I repeated. “This is supposed to be a memorial for Wes, not some sick kangaroo court.”

  “I think,” Mrs. Bowen said, her voice trembling. She licked her lips and tried again. “I think we’d better call it a night, Autumn.”

  I nodded. So much for my grand heal-the-wound plans for this party. It had gone from awkward gathering to guilt-fest. “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “It’s not your fault,” Mr. Bowen said. He had released Nick. Around him, the other guests looked sheepish, as if ashamed of themselves for relishing in the drama. One by one, they began to trail out, many with backward glances of sympathy and poorly concealed curiosity. I let them go without a fight.

  For Wes, for me, for all of us, the party was over.

  14

  THE POLICE ARRESTED NICK and Paige early the next morning. The local news station sent a reporter to watch them take Nick, and they replayed the footage on the eleven o’clock news, but I’d shut off the TV, not needing to see a friend shoved headfirst into a cop car. Again.

  At noon, my stepmom brought me a latte and a bowl of sliced cantaloupe with yogurt. When I answered the door in my Wonder Woman bathrobe, Audrey gave me a sympathetic grimace and a careful hug, one hand held wide around me to keep from spilling the to-go coffees she had in a fast-food tray.

  “Hi,” she said. “I heard about last night. I thought you might want to see a friendly face.”

  I followed her down my front hallway to the kitchen. She made herself right at home, putting dirty dishes in the sink, hunting out a clean plate and spoon, and serving the cantaloupe and yogurt to me at my own table as if I were still fifteen and headed off to zero hour marching band. She ignored the time, ignored my messy kitchen, ignored the fact that I was at home, wearing my pajamas, in the middle of a Wednesday.

  “Were you really cleaning icing out of your carpet in the store at midnight last night?” she asked, putting my latte—now in a real mug—in front of me.

  “Yep,” I said. I dug the spoon into the yogurt and took a big bite. “How’d you hear?” I asked around my mouthful.

  “Alice called me from City Hall this morning. I guess Donald was telling the Economic Development Commission people this morning.”

  “Oh.” I made a face at the cantaloupe. “Naturally.”

  “He said the police had to go and break up a fight.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Those two they arrested—they were your customers?” She asked, but it wasn’t a question. Dark eyes shining with concern, she perched on the chair opposite me, coffee in her hands.

  I nodded. “Friends, too. Paige especially. She’s a sweet girl.”

  She nodded. “I’m sorry.”

  I pushed my breakfast away, suddenly nauseous. “How’d it happen?

  Audrey shrugged. “The boy fought a little, but I gathered from what I heard on the radio that the arrest was a long time coming. They said the police found a new piece of evidence that made it pretty clear.”

  “A new piece of evidence? Did they say what?”

  “No. Your father said the police wouldn’t have told the reporters.” She gave me a small, tight smile. “I knew you’d ask.”

  “You know me well.” I gave up on all pretense of unconcern and lowered my head to the smooth, cold surface of my kitchen table.

  Audrey patted the back of my head. “I’m sorry, hon.”

  “Was I stupid to try?”

  She didn’t ask what I meant. “No. You always have to try. And I know those kids mean more to you than anything else in the world.”

  I rolled my head to look at her, one cheek smashed flat against the wood. “Do you think I’m a slacker?” I asked.

  “No.” She didn’t hesitate, but a line appeared between her brows, and she smoothed her hand down the exposed side of my face. “Why would you ask that?”

  I shrugged, scooting my face up and down the table. “I flunked out of the grant thing. I couldn’t keep the store open. And I can’t prove that some of my customers aren’t killers, even when I know they’re innocent.”

  “Do you actually know?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you had to try. And you should keep trying.”

  I sat up. “Why? They’ve been arrested. There’s ‘new evidence.’ No one cares what I think, and if I keep going, I’ll probably get arrested myself or at least get put out of business permanently.”

  “You won’t go out of business.” She smiled wryly. “My firm does your taxes, so I’ve seen your profit margins. You definitely won’t go out of business.”

  “So what should I do?” I asked. I was whining, and we both knew it, but sometimes whining was part of my process. I needed to do it, so I could move on.

  “How should I know?”

  I sat up. “You always know what to do.” I smiled as I said it, so she would know I was kidding.

  “Your problems are a little bigger than they were in high school,” Audrey said. “If you were having tax trouble, or you needed to have someone audited, I could help out.”

  I snorted. “No. None of those problems, thank goodness.” Those were about the only problems I didn’t have—though I would if I had to keep my business closed for much more than a week.

  “Well, what sort of help do you need?”

  “I could use a new landlord, to start,” I said. “Maybe a more forgiving public perception of gamers. An excellent criminal defense attorney to get Nick and Paige out of trouble. Come to think of it, I’d better have a lawyer for myself in case the cops still want to say I’m an accomplice.” I paused, drumming my fingers on the table. “And some sort of evidence that someone else killed Wes. Preferably Meghan.”
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  “Meghan?” Audrey said. “How on earth did you cook that up?”

  “Oh, she heard Nick and Paige arguing with Wes the night he died. Paige works for Craig, and she was afraid Meghan would point to her as a suspect. Which, evidently she did. But apparently some of the LARPers, including Wes, heard Meghan and Craig arguing that night, too.”

  “Not a good night for interpersonal relations.”

  “Clearly not.” I toyed with my coffee, and some of it sloshed out onto my kitchen table. I blotted it with the sleeve of my robe before Audrey could get up and hunt out some paper napkins from my pantry. “Anyway, Meghan was there, and she had motivation. You know how she hates for people to see her off-kilter. And then the vandalism. I guess I’m more worried that she’s trying to frame me for some of it, or at least direct enough suspicion my way to get me kicked out of the grant competition. Which she did. I guess she wins again. I couldn’t even get anyone but my employees to suspect her.”

  “You don’t have much to go on,” Audrey said doubtfully. “Would she even have the upper body strength to move a fully grown man, let alone a dead one?”

  “Probably not. She would have needed an accomplice—but I have one of those figured out, too.” I reached for my yogurt again, taking the spoon in one hand. I pointed at Audrey with it. “Donald.”

  “Donald. Your landlord.” When I nodded, Audrey smiled. “You just want to think it’s the people causing problems for you.”

  “No! I swear, Donald was there that night, too. And we have no idea when he left or anything—his story doesn’t add up. The security guard said Donald left when Craig did, but Craig said that wasn’t true, that Donald went down to the basement after Craig left.”

  “Why would he have killed the boy?” Audrey asked. She loved solving mysteries more than the eponymous monster loved cookies, and I had given her a puzzle. I could always count on her, more than anyone else, to help me with my problems.

  I pointed with the spoon again. “I don’t know.” I let it drop into the bowl with a clatter.

  “What was he doing with Craig?”

  “Talking real estate, I guess.” I made a vaguely confused gesture with my now-free hand. “Something about comparable properties with green upgrades.”

  “That’s odd.”

  “Not really, Craig will talk real estate with anything that sits still long enough.”

  “No, I mean, it’s odd that Donald was asking about it,” Audrey said. “He’s not doing well financially.”

  “Are you serious?”

  She bit her lip. “I really shouldn’t—”

  “Audrey, come on.”

  “Fine.” She sighed and put her elbows on the table, rolling her cup between her palms. “My firm has been auditing him—he owed a lot of money for taxes, and I guess he wanted to see if he could come up with a better financial plan to keep it down next year. But it’s not something a financial plan will help—there are just too many empty spaces in that building, and there’s not enough cash coming in to keep it afloat. That’s probably why he let you pursue the grant, actually. Any injection would help, and your proposed changes would lower his bills, right? I think he was hoping for it to happen.”

  “Why convince me to drop out, then, if he needed the money?”

  “I have no idea. I told him your plans would help him out tremendously, and he seemed pretty receptive to the idea.”

  I frowned. “That is so weird. I wonder—”

  “What?”

  I shook my head. “It’s pretty far-fetched. But what if, somehow, Meghan’s remodeling plans would get the money to the building sooner? Like, if Meghan got it, Donald could use the money to pay his bills or something.”

  “That would be fraud.” Audrey took a calm sip of her coffee, unmoved by my suggestion that her client might commit a crime to stay in business.

  “And worth killing someone over?” I couldn’t keep the note of excitement from my voice.

  “I think you’re reaching, honey. You have no evidence that Meghan and Donald are—colluding.”

  “No, but maybe Wes did,” I said. “He was in the building with Meghan and Donald that night. When I overheard them, the day my store was vandalized, Paige and Nick said something about him knowing some information I would care about. And Meghan and Craig were arguing, too, something about Craig not doing something she needed. Getting the grant, even if it was rigged, even if it meant giving the money to Donald, would be in her best interest.” In my excitement, I scooted my chair across the kitchen floor with a loud screech. I stood, making my bathrobe flutter around me. “All the pieces fit—Wes overheard, and he told Paige and Nick. Now Meghan and Donald are framing them and getting me out of the way in the process!”

  Audrey looked alarmed. “Slow down, Autumn,” she said. “I just said he needed money.”

  “But I already had all the other clues! This is the thing that ties it all together. I’ll bet you anything that Wes overheard Meghan and Craig talking about her plans with Donald. Craig went to talk to Donald, Meghan found out that Wes had been listening, she got word to Donald, so Donald doubled back when he walked Craig out, and then they killed Wes and made it look like one of the gamers did it. That has to be what happened.” I fumbled in my bathrobe pockets. “I have to call Jordan.”

  “Wait, wait. You have zero evidence of any of this—how did Meghan contact Donald? Wouldn’t the police have a record of that? Why haven’t the couple who got arrested come forward if they know about the collusion?”

  “Well, Meghan has set them up, hasn’t she? She and Donald look squeaky clean, and it would just seem like they’re trying to get themselves off the hook by accusing the woman who gave evidence that they were fighting with Wes.”

  “Why wouldn’t they have told you? You’re their friend.”

  “Well . . .” I paused. That one was tough. They knew I wanted to prove they didn’t do it. Why would they keep information like this a secret? Then it occurred to me. “Paige works for Craig—she would be worried about losing her job!”

  “Going to prison for murder is a bit worse than losing a part-time job as a secretary at a real estate agency. And that doesn’t explain why they were there the day your store was vandalized.”

  “Maybe they were just . . . there,” I said lamely.

  “Maybe. But if you want to get the police to believe this, you’ll have to answer those questions. And that’s not even the biggest hole in your story. You have no proof whatsoever that Meghan and Donald were colluding to get the grant awarded to her.”

  “Donald’s on the committee—he’d be able to do it.”

  “That’s not evidence.”

  “No. But I could find evidence.”

  “I don’t think you should go evidence-hunting, especially knowing the police wanted to arrest you for interfering with their investigation. And for helping their suspects.” She spoke as if this was a completely normal situation for me, like, “Oh, Autumn got detention again!” It was part of why I loved her so much. Nothing fazed her. I beamed at her, even as she continued trying to talk me out of my grand plans for Paige and Nick’s redemption. “You should just call Jordan,” she said. “Tell her your theory, and she can look into Donald and Meghan’s phone records, or whatever she has to do.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  I walked her out at the end of her lunch break, toying with my cell phone. Like perfectly arranged dominoes, all the elements of the conspiracy tumbled into place, one after another. If Wes had stumbled into this mess unwittingly, I could see how bewildered and angry he must have been—he would have gone to tell someone, to do something, but Meghan or Donald had found him first. I wondered if Meghan had been the one to stab him—anything to stop him from running. And then another wound to make it look like a vampire bite, and a trip over the balcony to seal the deal.

  I shivered. I hated Meghan, and it was hard to like Donald, but it was a long leap between petty h
igh school feud and vengeful murder scheme. This might even stretch the limits of Jordan’s belief, though I knew I could trust her to hear me out.

  But I did not dial her number.

  She was my best friend, my greatest ally, the smartest woman I knew. But she was a cop, too, and there was no way she could approve of what I wanted to do. As a cop, she needed evidence and warrants and all those legal things that would slow down even the most intrepid of Scooby-wannabes. No, what I needed were people who were creative, motivated, open-minded, and dedicated to following a narrative to its bitter end.

  I needed the LARPers again.

  15

  BAY AND ALLISON MET me that afternoon at Independence Square Mall, José and Olivia in tow. Allison looked excited—she didn’t often hang out with our crowd, which was why I’d requested her presence. Hector, dutiful child, had a lab on Wednesdays and, with his wish to pin the murder on Cody, was not the most promising candidate for entrapping Meghan and Donald.

  “What’s the plan, boss?” Bay asked.

  We sat around one of the little tables on the bottom level, the fountain’s cheerful babble muffling our voices.

  “Well, we need to get into the office of Chic and the office of our landlord, Donald.” I glanced at José and Olivia to try and gauge how the prospect of breaking and entering would fit into their preferred hobby list. Neither of them seemed fazed, so I kept going. “We’ll need people that aren’t familiar to Meghan and Donald—that’s why Allison is here.”

  She nodded eagerly, tucking her blonde hair behind one ear to reveal dangling spiral helix earrings. Bay gave her a nervous look, as if her girlfriend’s enthusiasm for a life of crime had taken her by surprise. “What do you want me to do?” Allison asked.

  “Well, I thought we’d tackle Donald’s office first. He’s here, so the door is open, but he’s in a meeting with someone on the fourth floor. We’ll need you to distract his secretary so that we can get in and out without being seen.”