Erica Spindler - Killer Takes All

“So remember, only one will be left standing at the end of the game.” Alice paused for effect, moving her gaze among them. “Which of you will it be?”

Stacy felt herself being drawn into the scenario. She looked at each of her fellows, wondering who would be the one to save the world. Wanting to be the one, but determined to put the safety of all before her own heroic immortality.

Alice continued. “Your success, or defeat, is determined by your choices, your skills and the roll of the dice.”

“Explain,” Spencer said.

“We play with a 20-sided dice. Rolling a twenty is a critical hit, a one a critical miss.”

“Meaning?”

“A critical hit means your spell, move or whatever, was more effective than intended. For example, if you want to stop a monster’s advance and you get a critical hit, you’ll not just stop him but blow him to smithereens. A critical miss is just the opposite. The monster doesn’t just hurt you, he tears you into pieces, which he then eats and burps up for the next hour.”

“Lovely image,” Spencer murmured.

“What about something in between?” Stacy asked. “Say an eight?”

“The GM is God, remember? He decides how successful your action is.”

“Any other questions?”

There weren’t, and the teenager looked at each of them, expression serious. “A last word of caution. Choose wisely. Work together. The White Rabbit is wily indeed. Are we ready to begin?”

They all looked at Stacy. “You’re our leader. Are we ready?”

“Yes-it’s time to begin.”

The minutes passed quickly and it didn’t take long for them to get the hang of it, Stacy realized. She had to admit, it was enjoyable. And powerful. The scenario sucked her in and she no longer thought of her fellow players by their real identities but as their characters. The psychological pull was great, and Stacy understood why RPGs frightened many parents. And why Billie had said they were too powerful for people with a fragile grasp on reality.

They confronted the Mad Hatter, who critically wounded da Vinci before Alice had killed him with her crossbow. Nero had been trapped in the White Rabbit’s shrinking house, and they’d been forced to leave him behind.

Now they faced the most formidable foe to date: a caterpillar larger than all of them put together. He smoked a pipe; its curling green smoke a deadly poison to all it came in contact with.

Da Vinci offered an antidote potion. In his weakened state, less than a critical hit would kill him.

The game master prepared to roll. Kay appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Excuse me. Leo?”

Her voice trembled. The inventor looked up, smile dying on his lips. Stacy turned. Kay was as pale as a ghost. She seemed to be hanging on to the door frame to keep from toppling over.

Leo got to his feet. “My God, Kay. What’s wrong?”

The adults followed Leo to his feet. Stacy glanced at Alice. She sat frozen, staring at her mother.

“Come see… It’s-” She brought a hand to her mouth; Stacy saw that it shook. “Your office.”

“My office?” Leo said. “What-”

“Mrs. Maitlin found…she called me.”

“Leo,” Stacy said softly, touching his arm, “your daughter.”

He looked at Alice, as if just remembering her presence. “You stay,” he ordered.

“But, Dad-”

“Not a word. You stay.”

Stacy frowned. She wasn’t a parent, but it seemed a little more sensitivity might be in order. The teenager was obviously frightened.

They exited the kitchen. The housekeeper hovered outside Leo’s office door. She looked as shaken up as Kay.

Stacy glanced toward the foyer. Word that something was happening must have spread, because Troy stood in the doorway.

He looked her way. He wore mirrored sunglasses, which she always found disconcerting. She disliked not being able to see another’s eyes, but instead to see herself reflected back at her.

Freud would have had a field day with that.

“Stacy? Coming?”

That came from Leo. She tore her gaze from the driver. “Yes.”

Stacy followed Spencer and his partner into the office. Leo trailed behind her.

On the gleaming wooden floor the shape of a heart had been drawn. Inside it lay two oversize playing cards, the kind magicians and kids’ birthday clowns sometimes used, the Five and Seven of Spades. Both had been torn in half.

Beneath the heart, the intruder had scrawled a message.

The roses are red now.

Saturday, March 12, 2005

4:30 p.m.

Spencer cleared the room. He ordered everyone to stay on the premises, including Kay and Leo.

He studied the scrawled message.

The roses are red now.

Judging by the fluid, uneven quality of the letters, Spencer judged the message to have been written with a paintbrush, dipped into paint or some other liquid.

He didn’t know for certain what it meant, but he had a pretty damn good idea.

Somebody, very probably, was dead.

“That blood?” Tony asked, referring to the substance used to write the message.

Spencer squatted and touched the W , then brought his finger to his nose. Earthy. Distinct. Not like paint. He nodded to his partner even as he rubbed it between his fingers, checking the viscosity.

“I’m thinking. See the way the color is darkening as it dries?”

“Could be animal blood,” Tony offered.

Could be. But his guess was no, it wasn’t.

“Get the techs over here, ASAP. I want this tested and in evidence. And I want the place dusted for prints.”

He turned. Stacy stood in the doorway. She motioned toward the message. “You saw a sketch for this, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

She frowned. “You’re thinking the playing cards are dead.”

“I have no proof-”

“We’re not talking proof. In the story Alice in Wonderland, Alice happens upon two playing cards, the Five and Seven of Spades, painting white roses red. Based on the pattern set with the dormouse that would mean that whoever represents these characters is dead.”

He didn’t reply. They both knew he didn’t need to. Of course that’s what he thought.

“If our artist is the killer, why leave the playing cards instead of the real deal?”

“Obviously, the drawing didn’t find its way into our perp’s hands. Because we got to Pogo first.”

Tony snapped his cell phone shut and crossed to Spencer. He spoke low, so only Spencer could hear. “If it is blood, the deoxidization process will help us narrow down the time this was done.”

Spencer nodded. “That’ll help us eliminate certain persons.”

“Exactly.”

“You want to question? Or should I?” Spencer asked.

“It’s your show, Slick. Go for it.”

They exited the office and crossed to Kay and Leo. They sat on the bottom stair, Leo’s arm around his ex-wife’s shoulder.

“I need to ask you a few questions. Are you up to that?”

She nodded. “I’ll try.”

Spencer opened his spiral notebook. “Who had access to the house today?”

“Who didn’t?” She dragged a hand through her hair. “This place is like Grand Central Station, even on a Saturday.”

“Could you be more specific?”

“Sure.” She let out a long breath. “The family. You, your partner and Stacy. The full-time staff, Mrs. Maitlin and Troy. The yardman was here this morning as well. Barry.”

“How about Clark?”

“He’s off on the weekends.”

“Who else?”

She rattled off a list of people who had been in and out during the course of the day. Her personal trainer and manicurist. Postman had delivered. FedEx, too.