Cheddar Off Dead (17 page)

“Or it could in fact have been related to the crime, but then when we made a point of telling several different groups that I witnessed nothing, maybe someone figured he could back off. I might have looked whoever this is right in the face—do you realize that? Whoever was driving that car. And if they saw me stare at them with no recognition, then they know I'm not a threat.”

“Okay—so there are two theories that should make you feel a little better.”

“I'll feel best of all when they catch the driver
and
the sniper, which Parker has promised he will do by Christmas.”

Wendy sniffed. “Now that's confidence.”

“Or wishful thinking.” I looked back out the window.
“This looks like really good packing snow. How safe do you think we would be if we made a snowman in my backyard?”

Wendy shrugged. “It's enclosed, so I would say very safe.”

“We can pretend that he's Parson Brown. ‘He'll say “Are you married,” we'll say “No, man,”'” I sang.

Wendy didn't let me down—she sang the rest of the line, and then said, “You're on. Let me get my waterproof gloves.”

We bundled up and went into the yard, where the snow still fell in magical drifts, and Mick pranced around, biting at snowflakes. For the first time since I'd met Brad Whitefield, I laughed out loud.

*   *   *

Haven was lit in silver and blue, and a large green wreath with a silver bow dominated the front door. Wendy and I, slightly exhausted from the strenuous building of a seven-foot snowman (Wendy used a ladder to put on the giant head), welcomed the sight of Haven's fragrant foyer and polished counter. We found even more satisfaction when Esther ushered us through the door that led to their personal quarters behind the business—a lovely house that was now fragrant with pine and Esther's baking.

“Sit down, sit down,” Esther said. “I'll bring you something to eat.”

“Don't be silly,” I said. “We're just here to talk to Mark, and you should relax and drink eggnog, or wassail, or something festive.”

“I will—with you! Let me know when you finish with Mark, and we'll have a nice chat.” Esther disappeared into her kitchen, and Mark came loping in. He was tall and thin,
like Jim, but he had a head of copious chestnut hair that Jim lacked. His face was narrow and handsome in an intellectual way.

“Hey, Mark.”

“Hey, Lilah.” His eyes flicked to Wendy, curious. I introduced her, and Mark shook her hand. “So—you're like a bodyguard?”

“Pretty much,” Wendy said. “So far, the easiest job I've ever done.”

“Cool,” Mark said, sitting in a chair across from us. “You need to talk to me about Brad, Mom says.”

Esther skimmed back in holding a gold tray, on which she had slices of one of her special treats—caramelized onion squares topped with goat and blue cheeses, along with a chafing dish full of Swedish meatballs. “Don't say a word, Lilah—these are just some extras we made for an event yesterday, and we ended up not needing them. Mark, keep your paws off until the ladies have eaten.” She set out some little plates that matched the tray.

“Unfair, Mother. Can't you see I'm thin as a rail and in need of food?”

“You eat all day. Okay, I was never here.” She whisked back out as Wendy and I goggled at the food.

“That smells amazing,” Wendy said.

“You go first.”

She did, helping herself to several of the little pizza squares and five meatballs.

I took an equally generous amount, since I suddenly couldn't remember when I'd eaten last. Mark waited, as instructed. “Listen, Lilah—Mom tells me that you were there—when Brad got shot.”

“Yes.”

Mark's face was grave. “I'm sorry to hear that. I just wanted to know—did he suffer?”

“I don't think so. He was immediately unconscious. I don't think he ever knew what happened. He seemed to be focused on something that—the person—had taken away from him. He never sounded afraid.”

“Huh.” He leaned back in his chair and pushed at a meatball with a toothpick.

“You were pretty good friends?”

He nodded. “Which is weird, because I never was the type to hang out with the actors. You know, in high school and stuff. The thespian crowd always seemed weird to me, and I hung with the computer geeks. But Brad and I happened to meet once at a comic convention—about five years ago—and we just hit it off. Then we found out that we liked a lot of the same shows, and the same games. I discovered this game called
Kingdoms
—”

“
Kingdoms
!” I said. “He had something on his phone the day that I met him—I saw the word
Kingdom
. That must have been it. It had pretty pictures.”

“Yeah, that's it. Anyway, I invited Brad into my realm, and then we started spending time together.”

Wendy and I exchanged a glance. “What does that mean—invited him into your realm?”

Mark's face grew more animated. “
Kingdoms
is a game that requires multiple players—it's a virtual community. In it you create your own kingdom—hence the name. It's vaguely medieval, but it's meant to be an experience out of time. It's more about power and relationships.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Brad loved it. He started out as a visitor to my kingdom, but of course the goal is to build a kingdom of your own and then develop alliances with other kingdoms. Brad was a genius, not just at constructing kingdoms, but at creating characters.”

“I thought the characters were real people.”

“They are, a lot of them, but you can also create fictional characters who live in your kingdom. It becomes quite complex, because sometimes you're not sure whether you're interacting with a real person or a fictional construct.”

Wendy looked blank. “So why would you want to do it?”

Mark leaned forward. “It's the ultimate challenge. It tests your ability to create, but also relies on your skills in strategy, negotiation, compromise. The important thing to note is that these relationships are real—as real as your day-to-day interactions. You can become immersed in the game.”

I shook my head. “How did Brad find the time? He was in a Shakespearean play. He had a wife. He had other obligations.”

Mark grinned. “Brad was one of those people who didn't need a lot of sleep. We did a lot of our kingdom building at two, three in the morning. Sometimes all night long.”

“When do
you
sleep?”

“I have weird hours. A lot of times I work the three to eleven shift, so at midnight I'm just getting home and ready to relax.”

“So weird to me,” I said. “So you basically did your ‘kingdom building' when everyone else was asleep.”

“Yeah. I can tell you think I'm just some nerd who wastes time on the computer, but you'd have to understand
Kingdoms
. The people who are really good at it—like Brad was—are artists. They create worlds, and the detail of those worlds is incredible.”

Wendy stabbed another meatball. “Do you name these kingdoms?”

“Yeah. Mine is called Hlidskjalf. I borrowed it from Norse mythology—it's the seat of Odin, from which he can view all realms. I figured that was a great way to go in
Kingdoms
.”

I was marveling at Mark's imagination, and I told him so. He shook his head. “I'm pretty good, but the game has kind of lost its luster since Brad stopped playing. He was the best. Wait—I can show you some of his work.”

He jumped up, left the room, and returned a minute later with a laptop. “Let me just get into the game screen here. Okay—this is the
Kingdoms
main page.”

“Wow.” It was beautiful—the word
Kingdoms
seemingly woven into a tapestry of great intricacy—filled with knights and battles and lovely women with long, flowing hair, and unicorns and tigers and ships at sea and running horses and castles and shining swords and mysterious, robed beings . . . all in rich color and detail.

“Yeah—that's just the intro page.” He clicked a few things, and then turned the screen toward us. “This is my kingdom—Hlidskjalf.”

Before us was a compelling scene, dominated by the color blue. A castle loomed high in the clouds, and around it was azure sky and tossing cerulean waves. As we watched, a man walked out of the castle, wearing kingly robes, but also a chest plate of armor. “That's Godall,” he said. “He's my avatar, and the king of Hlidskjalf.”

“So if people are playing this game, they can click on your kingdom and interact with you.”

“Yes.”

“How many players know that Godall is really you, Mark?”

He shrugged. “A handful. The rest just know him as Godall.”

“What was Brad's name?”

“He was Thrivven. And his kingdom was called GrandIsle.”

“Ah.”

“You had to see my page to appreciate Brad's. Hang on—I was always so amazed by his creations I took screenshots of a bunch of them. But I'll show you his home page first.”

“Oh man,” said Wendy. It was indeed breathtaking—Brad's vision of GrandIsle was colorful, beautiful, and so real that it seemed like a glimpse of heaven. His castle sat on an island lined with the verdure of trees and tall grasses; beyond this could be glimpsed the blue of an unknown sea. The castle itself was many stories tall, with turrets and balconies on which smaller details could be viewed—from knights in the battlements to flowers in the windows to the small cat walking along a parapet. As we watched, a man stepped out onto the largest balcony and looked around at his kingdom.

“That's Thrivven,” Mark said.

“How is he moving around if Brad is—?”

“That Thrivven icon is always walking around.”

“But when Brad was playing this game—if you went inside, you could talk with him, interact with him?”

“Yes. That's the essence of the game.”

Wendy pointed. “Why would he put himself on an island if this is about battles? He's an easy target.”

Mark shook his head. “It's not so much about physical battles as it is about interactions. There's a lot of dialogue in
Kingdoms
.”

I had noticed something else—a woman who had emerged on an adjoining balcony and was gazing across at the man. “Who's that?”

Mark smiled. “That's Amoura. She's Thrivven's lover.”

“Not his queen?”

“No—that's his queen.” He pointed at a distant balcony, where a woman stood facing the sea. Wendy and I must have looked disapproving, because Mark said, “It's not like having real affairs. In
Kingdoms
, you want to form alliances; it doesn't matter whether or not they're sexual. Every alliance is a chance to win. Anyway, let me show you some of the screenshots I made of his best stuff.”

He clicked around for a while, then turned the screen to us. Now we were looking at a close-up of a room in Thrivven's castle. It was rich with furs and oil paintings, as well as a wealth of wooden furniture, ornately carved. One of the paintings was clearly a portrait of Shakespeare. In another, a stag lapped at a gurgling brook. Sunlight streamed in the eastern wall through stained glass windows. “Wow,” Wendy and I said in unison.

“Here's another one. This is Thrivven and Amoura having one of their illicit meetings.”

This, too, was a close-up, which allowed one to see the nobly handsome visage of Thrivven and the pale skin and long, tumbling hair of Amoura. They were joining hands
and gazing into each other's eyes. In the background, another man, in a black garment with a red silk necklace, looked on with an envious expression. “Oh God,” I said.

“What?” Mark tore his eyes away from the screen and looked at me.

“Amoura is a real person, right? Not just a fictional creation?”

“No, she's real. I've interacted with her. In fact, she and I just attended Thrivven's funeral together last night. We had a ceremony for him, on a cliff that overlooks the sea.” Mark shook his head, and I felt his genuine grief.

“But his avatar remains?” Wendy said. “That seems tacky. The game makers should shut down his page.”

Mark shrugged. “We like seeing it. It gives him an eternal life.”

I pointed at Amoura. “So she came back? She's still involved in
Kingdoms
?”

“Yeah. Amoura's very talented. She's hooked, just like the rest of us.”

Esther came back in with eggnog. “That's not spiked, is it?” I joked.

“No, no. Just plain old eggnog. How's it going in here?”

“Mark's been telling us all about
Kingdoms
. What a fascinating virtual experience. Really—it's like a new art form. Your son is very talented.”

“He always was,” said Esther fondly, sitting on the arm of her son's chair and riffling his hair.

She and Mark started reminiscing about something from his childhood, and I murmured to Wendy, “I need to call Parker. I know who Amoura is, and she was Brad's lover in real life.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I'm sure.”

It was perhaps just a coincidence that Amoura looked rather similar to Isabel Beauchamp; but it couldn't be coincidental that both Thrivven and Amoura had worn iron-gray rings on the smallest fingers of their right
hands.

W
e chatted with Esther and Mark for half an hour or so, then I told them we had to leave. “But thank you so much, Mark, for telling me about Brad and showing me his talent. What an amazing man.”

“He was. And a good friend.”

“But I'm not clear on something. How was it that you are the one who told Dave Brent to hire Brad as the JFK Santa? How do you know Dave Brent?”

“Through my mom,” Mark said.

I looked at Esther, who smiled at me. “Dave and I went to school together,” she said. “Besides, Lilah, this is Pine Haven. Everyone has a connection to everyone else—haven't you noticed that?”

I had. “Thanks again,” I said, grabbing the coat that Wendy had retrieved for me from Esther's little coat tree.
“Hey, Mark. In that screenshot of Thrivven and Amoura—there's another knight, or king, or something, in the background. Who was he? Why would Brad have put him into the picture?”

“That was Count Fury. Brad didn't put him in there; it was a screen grab of the actual game in progress. Count Fury usually liked to try to invade the private meetings of Amoura and Thrivven.”

“But you did, too. You were able to see it, to take a screenshot.”

“That's only because Thrivven had invited me, and a few other people. He and Amoura had been about to make an announcement. Right after that, though, he had to confront Fury and have a private conference with him. I don't know what that was about. Private conferences are conducted in a separate screen.”

“Do you know who Fury is?”

“No. He didn't play very well—he's not a super popular character, and he doesn't have many alliances.”

“So did they end up making an announcement?”

“Yeah. I had thought it would be that King Thrivven was leaving his wife and marrying Amoura, but that wasn't it. They were just announcing that the two of them were taking a journey together to an island near GrandIsle. It was called Idyllia.”

Wendy and I exchanged a wry glance. “Do you know if the queen of GrandIsle was real? That is—assuming she represented Cleo Whitefield—did Cleo ever play the game?”

“The queen was just a fictional construct. She never moved from that little parapet. She was just a reminder of
the king's main family alliance. In the game, he married the queen because she brought him important trade agreements with the Kingdom of Tharliss.”

“Mark, I think the police are going to want to see this game. Esther—do you mind if I ask Parker to come over?”

Esther gave me a sparkly eyed glance. “Not at all. I'd love to get another look at him.”

I handed my coat back to Wendy. “Do you call him, or do I?”

“You do it. I already bugged him once today.”

I took out my cell and wandered into Esther's hallway, then dialed Parker from a shadowy, Christmas tree–scented corner.

“Parker.”

“Jay.”

“Hey, partner.” His voice was warm and affectionate, so much so that my stomach started doing weird things. “Do you have anything good for me today?”

I was briefly tempted to make a comment filled with innuendo, but it wasn't the time or the place. “Yeah—Brad Whitefield and Isabel Beauchamp were having an affair. And it was she who was going to be accompanying him to Hawaii, not his wife.”

There was a pause, and then Parker said, “Okay—how do we know this?”

“Trust me—you're going to want to see this for yourself.”

*   *   *

As always, Parker seemed to defy time and speed limits. He arrived at around five o'clock, and we ushered him straight to Mark and the computer. Mark ran through his
spiel again, explaining
Kingdoms
. Esther managed to hold a plate of food under Parker while he listened, and Parker proceeded to devour Esther's delicacies with his mouth while he took in the screen before him.

After a while he started firing questions at Mark, some of which, I was proud to note, were the same questions I'd asked. Wendy noticed, too, and gave me a thumbs-up. I really liked Wendy.

Finally Parker sat back, stretched, and looked at me. “You're brilliant,” he said.

“What?”

“You noticed the rings long ago. We never would have noted them here if you hadn't seen them on the actual people. That's crucial, Lilah.”

Wendy gave me another furtive thumbs-up.

Parker was solemn. “Despite all of this evidence, though, we can't prove any of it.”

“There was something else,” I said, remembering. I turned to Wendy. “Do you remember that when we all had lunch at the pub, Cleo said that she and Brad had been planning to go to Hawaii? Right then Isabel spilled her water, and everyone was distracted, and we didn't talk about it again.”

“That's true,” Wendy said. “You think Isabel did it on purpose, as a distraction?”

“Or because she couldn't bear to hear another woman talking about her vacation.”

“Aw, man,” Mark said. “I didn't know all of this. I must be the dumbest person in the world.”

I swung back to him. “You're telling me you didn't know Brad was having an affair?”

Mark shrugged. “Well—no. Cleo was my friend, too, and Brad really loved her. Sometimes the three of us would go out for pizza. She called me when she heard about Brad. I was trying to calm her down for an hour.”

“Okay. What about Amoura?” I said.

He shook his head. “You don't understand the game. Lovers in the game aren't necessarily lovers. They're alliances. I mean, it's true, you could fall in love with an alliance, the same way a person could fall in love with an e-mail pen pal or something. I never really thought of Amoura as a real lover. I just figured it was a friend of Brad's who wanted in on the game somehow. Brad had so many friends. I'm not kidding—like hundreds of them. He had so much charisma.”

Mark faced the three of us, his expression earnest, and saw our skepticism. Then he bowed. “Oh man. I need to spend more time with real human beings.”

“I thought you had a girlfriend,” I said.

“I do. But I met her in
Kingdoms
, and we—do a lot of our interacting there,” he said.

“You have . . . met her in real life, haven't you?” I asked.

Mark and Esther laughed. “Yeah. Mom's met her, too.”

“Her name is Rebecca. She's lovely,” Esther said.

Parker was looking impatient, which was his specialty. “I actually spoke to Isabel Beauchamp today. She denied any involvement with Brad Whitefield, aside from being in a play with him.”

“She's lying,” I said.

“Looks that way,” Parker said to the room in general. Then he turned to me. “You figured this out. Want to be there when I question her again? I could use your knowledge of all this.”

This was new. Parker inviting me inside some police work? I was both shocked and flattered. “Yeah, I do.”

I had one more question for Mark, though. “Wait—when you talked to Cleo—did she seem to know about Isabel?”

“What? No—
I
didn't even know about Isabel. I only knew her as Amoura.”

“So you don't think she knew that Brad was having an affair?”

“No. But I suppose other people could have known. I mean, you figured it out.”

This made Parker look thoughtful. He took one more of Esther's hors d'oeuvres, shoved it into his mouth, and chewed with an appreciative expression. “Thank you. I didn't have time to eat much today,” he said. Poor Parker. He never seemed to eat while he was working on a case.

We bid farewell to Esther and Mark (Jim was still mysteriously missing, and I suspected Christmas shopping) and made our way to the door.

In the driveway, Parker turned to Wendy. “You were in on this good police work, too, and you've been doing a great job as Lilah's protection. You're absolutely welcome to sit in on this interview, or you can have some well-earned home time.”

I couldn't read anything in Wendy's expression, but I sensed calculation, and on my behalf. “You know what? I'd love some home time. I appreciate it. Just call when you need me to return to Lilah's. Meanwhile I can have dinner with family.”

“Sure thing,” Parker said. “Lilah? We have some work to do.”