A Game of Murder (10 page)

Like a Slinky released from a child’s grip, the line at the counter stopped growing and began to shrink as Lorna and Hope filled orders. After she served the last customer, Hope filled a glass with water and joined Faith at the table. “Sorry to make you wait.”

Faith raised her cup. “As long as I have coffee in my mug, I can wait a very long time.” She took another sip. “What have you got for me?”

Hope pushed a strand of hair back from her forehead. “Not much, I’m afraid. No performances this month. I wanted Cody Butcher to play again, but he got a better offer.” She pursed her lips.

“Better offer?” Faith had picked up Cody’s website after he performed at the Prickly Pear a few months back. He was from out of town and possessed impressive credentials, but she hadn’t thought the singer-songwriter commanded a huge fee for a performance.

Hope nodded. “With Cody, I’d have to cover travel expenses to compete with other venues or jobs closer to home for him. You know I don’t pay much and, even so, concerts usually lose money unless people order food as well as coffee. He apologized for canceling, but I understand. He has to eat, too.”

“What about some of the local musicians?”

A cloud shadowed Hope’s face. She picked at the corner of her placemat with a fingernail. “No one was available.”

Something was wrong. Usually musicians were clamoring for a weekly spot at the Prickly Pear. “No one?”

Hope sighed. “I’m afraid the Prickly Pear has become known as the café that serves poison with its food.”

“Surely not to everyone? Your morning coffee business still seems to be booming.”

“Yeah, but I’m not exactly turning people away at lunch time. Actually, I spend half of the lunch hour cleaning empty tables.”

Faith glanced at Lorna, who was refilling the pastry case. She wondered if dismissing Lorna, the police detective’s prime suspect, would improve Hope’s business. Shame washed through her. It wasn’t Lorna’s fault business had fallen off. Unless, of course, it was. She didn’t want to believe Lorna capable of murder, but she couldn’t be eliminated either. Even if Lorna was innocent, customers might stay away because of their suspicions. But Hope wasn’t the kind to let an employee go because of suspicions.

The sound of the front door opening drew Faith’s attention from Lorna to the new arrival. Much to her surprise, Cathy, Mira’s friend, entered and headed directly for the counter.

“Hi, Cathy,” Lorna said. “How are you doing?”

“I’ve been better.” Cathy fingered one of the buttons on the multi-colored tunic she wore over a pair of purple leggings.

Faith glanced at Hope, saw she was also following the conversation.

“Can I get you a drink? Something to eat?” Lorna asked.

Cathy shook her head. “Actually, I was hoping for information. I’ve been calling all over today, trying to find a place to hold a memorial service for Mira. No one wants to conduct one for someone who wasn’t a member of their congregation. Or at least a believer.”

Lorna looked surprised. “Isn’t that something her family should arrange?”

Cathy bit her lower lip. “They’re not going to. They’re just going to have her cremated, but no service or ceremony or anything. Her mother’s Catholic, and her father’s Jewish. Since Jews believe children should be raised in the mother’s religion, Mira was raised Catholic. But the Catholic church won’t have anything to do with her because… you know.” She focused her eyes on the floor. “But I think I should do something for her friends. Even if some of them really weren’t her friends.”

“I dunno,” Lorna said. “I doubt my church would be willing to have a memorial service for her either.”

“What about Desert Water?” Hope said. “I’m sure Pastor John could come up with a nice service.”

Cathy turned toward Hope, her face displaying a combination of anguish and wary optimism. “What kind of church is Desert Water?” she asked.

“It’s a non-denominational Christian church. We welcome everyone, even if they are different from traditional believers.”

“Even someone like Mira?” Cathy asked, still uncertain.

“Even someone like Mira,” Hope said. “Would you like me to call Pastor John and ask him? I’m sure he’ll agree to do it. I can have him call you.”

“You’re sure?” Cathy asked.

“Ninety-nine point nine nine percent.” Hope smiled.

“I’m so grateful. Thank you.” She wrote her phone number on a slip of paper and handed it to Hope before leaving the café.

The three women watched the door close behind her.

“What was the big problem?” Faith asked. It seemed odd that the church Mira was raised in wouldn’t accommodate a grieving family.

“You didn’t pick up on that at the meeting?” Lorna asked. When Faith shook her head, she added, “Mira was gay.”

“But…” Faith leaned back and stared at the ceiling while she tried to figure things out. She’d been sure Cathy and Adam were a couple. Could she have read their relationship wrong? After a few seconds, she returned her gaze to Lorna. “But does that mean Cathy…”

Lorna shrugged. “Cathy hasn’t quite sorted out her sexuality. Personally, I think she’s bisexual. Does that matter?” The last she asked Hope.

“Not to me,” Hope said. “And I don’t think it matters to Pastor John.”

Lorna looked at Faith, asked the question with her eyes.

Faith shook her head. Who people loved was their own business. But love triangles often gave murder a motive.

John helped himself to a glass of fruit punch and a chocolate chip cookie from the table set up in Fellowship Hall. Unlike most memorials at Desert Water Christian Church, this one included a limited supply of food. Which didn’t matter since it also included a limited supply of attendees.

Only Cathy, who had arranged the service; Lorna, Faith’s friend; and Adam had come forward during the ceremony to say anything.

The memorial was odd in other ways. After speaking with Cathy, he discovered although raised Catholic, Mira’s beliefs tended to be more Wiccan than anything else. His ingenuity had been stretched as he walked the line between traditional texts and references to other beliefs about life and death. Cathy brought a bouquet of white flowers, added a pair of white candles flanking Mira’s photograph. No favorite hymns to sing, in fact, no music at all. As a result, the service lasted barely twenty minutes.

Cathy, noticing him standing next to the food table, headed toward him. “Thank you so much, Pastor Menard. It was a lovely service, especially given the short notice and unusual circumstances.”

“Pastor John,” he gently corrected. “I’m glad you found it appropriate.”

“Very. I doubt Mira could have had a better one if she’d planned it herself.” She stood awkwardly, as if now that she’d said her piece, she wasn’t sure what to say next—or how to escape.

“How did these people know Mira?” John asked, trying to make her feel more at ease.

Cathy scanned the hall full of geeks. “From the gaming club. Except for Earl, of course.” She gestured toward an older man leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the room. “He was her boss at the bar on Fourth Avenue where she waitressed. I probably ought to talk to him. I don’t think he knows anyone else here.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” John agreed, letting her leave gracefully.

He surveyed the room, thinking he might do a bit of recruiting for the congregation. Most of the crowd looked young, the age of students at the University of Arizona or not long past graduation, but one or two appeared a few years older. A man with reddish brown hair long enough to reach his shoulders stood off to the side, alone. His large lump of a nose drew so much attention to itself John had trouble seeing the rest of his face. John started crossing the room without consciously making a decision the man would be his first target.

“Good afternoon. I’m Pastor John.” He held out his hand, which the man took in a firm grip.

“Stan Odwarzka.” He gave John’s hand a perfunctory shake.

The residual dampness from Stan’s grasp clung to John’s hand, making him want to wipe it on his pants, but instead he held it down by his side, fingers spread, with the hope his hand would dry quickly. “Were you a friend of Mira’s?”

“I knew her. I’m not sure I’d call myself a friend.”

That seemed to be the case for Mira. Other than Cathy, she didn’t have friends. An ache started in his chest in empathy for the lonely, persecuted woman.

“I see you’ve mounted solar panels on your roof,” Stan said.

Ah! A topic!
John smiled. “Yes, we did. I’m very much in favor of conservation and reusable resources.”

“So am I. It’s one of the reasons I decided to live in Civano. I haven’t paid an electric bill in years. Last year I installed a gray water system to feed the drip irrigation.”

One of the younger men drifted up behind Stan and hovered, listening to the conversation. His face was a drawing in charcoal pencil with a scruffy mustache, soul patch, and beard that fringed his chin. He wore a long-sleeved shirt, odd for Tucson, but perhaps he considered the shirt appropriate for a memorial in a church. John smiled at him, an invitation to join them. The young man looked away, studied the posters and announcements taped to the wall.

“Faith lives in Civano,” John said.

Stan’s brows lifted, and a hint of a smile appeared on his lips as he glanced over to where Faith stood with Lorna, Cathy, and Adam. “Good for her. I’ll have to look for her at some of the community events.”

John doubted Faith went to community events, but he’d mention her neighbor to her in case she wanted to get to know him. An idea suddenly came to John. “How much do you know about solar panels?”

“A little.” Stan’s lips turned up in a wry smile. “I’m an electrical engineer.”

“Oh. Oh!” John loved it when a plan came together. God’s plan. One more confirmation God never failed his people. “The church is building an Earthship out off X9 Ranch Road in Vail. It’s slow going because we don’t have a lot of money or enough expertise. I wonder if you’d be open to advising us on buying and putting up the solar panels.”

“Sure. After the comp, though. Until I finish my game, that’s how I’m spending all my spare time.”

The lurker stopped gazing at the wall and spun around to face them. “You don’t really think you have a chance of winning?”

“As much chance as anyone does, Paul,” Stan said, annoyed.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” John interjected, hoping to head off the imminent argument. “I’m Pastor John Menard.” He held out his hand toward Paul.

Paul stared down at it as if John had offered him a dead fish, slimy and decaying, then promptly ignored the hand and went back to confronting Stan. “Not this year. This year is my year.”

“Whatever. We’ll see how the judging comes out.” Stan turned his back on Paul, who stared at it for a few seconds, then stormed off toward an extremely obese young man and started lecturing him. By the expression on the fat man’s face, Paul wasn’t being any more diplomatic toward him than he had been toward Stan.

“After the competition would be fine,” John said. “That’s only a month away, right?”

Stan nodded. “Are you building a real Earthship?”

“Not exactly. I didn’t buy the plans from the place in New Mexico, but I studied a lot of alternatives and techniques. We’ve got the outside walls up—all built of tires packed with dirt—and the interior rooms framed out. We’ve got cisterns in place to catch rainwater. And last weekend, we installed a composting toilet.” He couldn’t help the pride he felt over that accomplishment from showing in his voice.

“Cool. Are you going to live out there?”

John shook his head. “Not right away.” He glanced over at Faith and thought maybe never if she wouldn’t go along with him. “I’m building it as a place to hold church retreats with small groups, to disconnect from civilization for a few days and commune with God.”

“Sounds interesting. Will you be limiting retreats to church members or can anyone come?” Stan looked genuinely interested.

John made up his answer on the fly. “I think there could be opportunities for groups of non-members to use the tire house.” And defray some of the cost. “At the rate we’re going, though, it will be a while before anyone can spend a weekend there. Which is why I’m interested in getting solar panels up and running. TEP doesn’t service that part of the desert.” John grinned.

“Let me give you a call after the comp,” Stan said. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and poked at the screen. “What’s your phone number?”

Adam, the one who had spoken at the service, wandered toward the refreshment table and refilled his paper cup with punch. Thinking the young man must be one of Mira’s few real friends and might need consolation, John approached him. He filled his own punch cup as if that had been his reason for coming to the table.

“You gave a nice statement at the memorial,” John said by way of a conversation starter.

“Thanks. Basically it was what I wrote for my blog post this week.” Adam sipped his punch.

“Sounds like you blog regularly.” John knew about blogs, of course, but didn’t read many of them.

Adam gave him one of those indulgent smiles you give to a child who doesn’t know any better. “I do. It’s more of a column, you know, like a newspaper column. I report on the gaming industry twice a week.” The smile collapsed and sadness masked his face. “In a way, it’s my fault Mira is dead.”

John’s mouth fell open. Did Adam mean he killed her—or something else? John hoped it was something else. He made his voice sound casual. “How is that?”

“I wrote a review of her game a month ago. I review new games on a regular basis because I enjoy playing them. I covered two things in that blog: Twine as a development system and Mira’s unique take on what defines a game.”

John was lost. He had no idea what Twine was and, in his simple mind, the definition of a game was fairly apparent. His confusion must have shown on his face.

“See, in her game, Mira explored the meaning of love and sexual identity. You play a character named Pat, which can be either a male or female name. The player’s choices determine which gender you are. And, if you make an inconsistent choice, the game questions your decision and makes you think about things differently.” Adam’s words came in a rush, and his face lit up with his enthusiasm.