Chapter Seven

The news about the unfortunate climber who had met his death in the mountains got only a brief spot on the radio that morning. The body had been discovered late the previous afternoon and had made the late-evening broadcasts in more detail. Guinevere poured herself another cup of coffee and listened to the radio spot alone. Zac was long gone. He’d wolfed down a few bites of cereal, kissed her in an absent yet possessive manner that should have annoyed her, and let himself out the front door. When the door closed, Guinevere was very much alone. The apartment, which usually seemed so cozy, felt unaccountably empty this morning.

It was obvious that whatever the night had meant to Zac, the morning had brought something more interesting: a new angle to the case on which he had been working. Apparently the call to work ranked higher than a discussion of an embryonic “relationship.”

People to see, questions to ask. Business as usual.

Guinevere considered the folly of letting stray frogs spend the night, and then she started paying more attention to the radio. It would be, the announcer said soberly, several hours before the crew sent to retrieve the body would have it freed from the deep ravine. Initial identification had been made when a climber had scrambled down the jagged rock face and found Cal’s wallet.

Guinevere raised the miniblinds again so that she could look across the street into the artist’s studio and wondered about Cal Bender.

The man had been a loner as far as she knew. Larry had said he had no close family. It seemed that Larry had been Cal’s only real friend, and that relationship had been primarily a business partnership. Bender hadn’t been as outgoing or communicative as Larry was, so he hadn’t enjoyed the easy, chatty friendship Larry had with the rest of the staff. But their joint interests and ambitions had drawn the two young men together, and their ability to communicate with computers had become the important factor in their association.

Guinevere thought of Larry and wondered if he’d heard the news. On a burst of empathy she reached for the phone and dialed his number. There was no answer. He’d probably spent the night working on Elf Hunt and had unplugged the phone so he could sleep in this morning.

The phone burbled just as Guinevere replaced the receiver, and she picked it up again. Her sister’s voice greeted her.

“Hi, Carla, how are you feeling this morning?” Instantly she regretted the automatic words. That was always a risky question around Carla.

“All right, I guess.” The lack of drama behind the response was surprising. Carla sounded almost uninterested in an inquiry she normally reacted to with grim detail. “I called to see if you’ve been to the office.”

“I hardly recognized it.” Guinevere smiled. “You’ve really made some changes. I’ve never seen the place so organized.”

“It’s a mess.” Carla was adamant.

“It is?”

“There’s a lot more to be done there, Gwen. If you don’t get a handle on those client files, you’re going to screw things up for yourself at income tax time.”

Guinevere shifted uneasily in her chair and reached for her coffee mug. That sort of threat always had a traumatic impact on a small businessperson. “I thought I had everything in order.”

“The whole setup is inefficient and amateurish.”

For some reason that struck Guinevere to the quick. “Amateurish! I worked for hours setting up those files.”

“Well, you should have hired a professional.”

“A professional what? Professional file setter-upper? I didn’t know there was such a being.” Guinevere realized she was starting to get defensive.

“Calm down, Gwen. I’m only telling you this for your own good.”

In a blinding flash of light Guinevere suddenly acknowledged what an about-face this was. She had been the one giving Carla lectures “for her own good” for months. Now the tables were reversed. “I appreciate the advice, Carla,” she said stiffly, “but I don’t see what—”

“Look, if you want, I can start going into the office on a regular basis for a few days. I could at least put things in order for you and show you how to run a good filing system.”

Guinevere wondered if she was hearing correctly. “You could?”

“It’s not as if I have a lot else to do.”

“No, I guess not.” Guinevere felt taken aback. “Well, I would certainly appreciate your help. I know I’ve let things get behind this past week while I’ve been handling that job at StarrTech.”

“Gwen, that office was in trouble long before you went to work at StarrTech. We’re not talking about a few unfiled items here. We’re talking a basically poor filing system design. Filing is fundamental to a well-run office, Gwen. You’re a decent typist, and you can answer phones, but that’s about your limit. Filing is an art.”

“I hadn’t realized—”

“It’s time you did.”

“Yes.” Guinevere felt humble. “It’s very nice of you to offer to help, Carla.”

“I’ll start Monday.”

“Uh, thanks.”

It was only after Carla hung up the phone that Guinevere realized they hadn’t discussed Valium deprivation or Dr. Estabrook’s inadequacies.

Carla’s words had left a load of worry and an odd form of guilt on Guinevere’s shoulders. Or perhaps she was just feeling restless because she’d been abandoned by her lover before eight o’clock in the morning. Sometimes it was hard to identify the source of one’s unease, Guinevere decided. Sometimes one didn’t want to identify the source. Too many questions arose, questions such as whether or not last night had been a one-night stand or the start of a relationship.

Feeling pressed, with a need to do something, anything, Guinevere made the decision to go on into the office. After she’d dressed in a pair of jeans and a pumpkin-colored pullover sweater, she dialed Larry Hixon’s number one more time. Still no answer.

At various points in the morning Guinevere continued to try Larry’s number. She didn’t know just when she actually began to worry about the lack of response, but sometime after lunch she sat back in her swivel chair and drummed her nails on the desk.

Perhaps Larry had already heard the news about Cal and had gone off by himself to think for a while. Or perhaps he was up but back at work on Elf Hunt and had forgotten to plug in his phone. Maybe he’d had a date the previous evening and had decided to spend the night. Heaven knew there were men these days who were not above wheedling their way between a woman’s clean sheets and then blithely taking off in the morning without anything more than an absentminded farewell kiss. Back to business as usual.

It occurred to Guinevere that she was personalizing the issue.

She spun her chair around so that she could look out the window. The offices across the street on First Avenue were dark and silent this morning. Everyone else in the neighborhood appeared to be home enjoying the weekend.

Maybe Larry had taken off somewhere for the weekend. She wondered if he would have mentioned such a trip to Carla. Out of curiosity she dialed her sister’s number. Carla answered on the second ring.

“Larry? No, I haven’t talked to him since yesterday morning. He called to see how I was doing running Camelot Services for you. Sweet guy.”

Guinevere blinked at the implication that her sister had been doing anything more for Camelot Services than simply baby-sitting the phone. Then she forced herself to calm down. She had been on the verge of getting defensive again. “I just wondered if he’d said anything to you about going out of town this weekend.”

“Nope. As a matter of fact, we talked about getting together Sunday afternoon for a picnic. It depends on whether Larry can finish playing that game of his. He seems totally committed to getting through it. I think it’s become a challenge or something.”

Or something. “Thanks, Carla. I’ll talk to you later.” Guinevere hung up the phone thoughtfully.

Carla was right. All indications were that Larry Hixon wouldn’t abandon his computer until he’d hammered his way through the altered version of Elf Hunt. So why wasn’t he answering his phone?

And what if Cal’s death were something other than an accident?

Cal and Larry had been partners.

The vague disquiet that had been floating around the edges of her mind all morning drove Guinevere restlessly to her feet. She paced the small office once and then dialed Zac’s number. It was no surprise that there wasn’t an answer. After all, she thought irritably, he had questions to ask and people to see. The big-time investigator hot on the trail of discovery.

Reaching for her red wool jacket, Guinevere made up her mind. She stalked out of the office, locked the door carefully, and then went out onto First Avenue. Striding briskly through Pioneer Square, she sidestepped a few panhandlers and made her way into her apartment garage. She fished the Laser’s keys out of her purse. It was a short drive to the Wallingford district, and she knew she would feel better if she actually saw Larry sitting hunched over his computer with his cell phone beside him.

Just as she had on her first visit, Guinevere parked her car in front of Larry’s house, and just as on her first visit she got the impression as she went up the walk that there was no one home.

She reminded herself of how her imagination had gone into overtime on her first visit and how ridiculous she’d felt when she’d walked through Larry’s silent house and found him sleeping on the bed. Tentatively she knocked on the front door. There was no response.

Guinevere walked along the porch a few steps and tried to peer in through the window. The aging drapes had been drawn shut, however, and she couldn’t catch even a glimpse of the interior. Guinevere trotted down the porch steps and went around to the back of the house. Her nerves were coming alive exactly as they had that evening she’d gone into Cal Bender’s house, and she felt the adrenaline surge through her veins. She was also beginning to feel distinctly scared.

There were a hundred logical explanations for Larry’s absence. But there had been a hundred logical explanations for Cal’s absence too. And the answer in that case had been the one illogical explanation nobody had considered: death.

Guinevere shivered and stood on tiptoe to peek into the bathroom window. This sort of thing could get her arrested. Looking at your artistic neighbor across the street from a second-story window was one thing. Peeping into a man’s bathroom window out in a quiet residential neighborhood was another.

She couldn’t see any shadows moving behind the fogged glass. Guinevere continued around the house. The back door was also locked, but Guinevere remembered how Zac had almost used a credit card to open Cal Bender’s back door. She wondered how tricky an operation that was.

She flipped open her shoulder bag and dug out her prized charge card. It read “Camelot Services” in impressive gold letters. Guinevere hoped the bank wouldn’t revoke it if it found out she was using the card in such a devious fashion. Glancing over her shoulder to make certain no one could see her, she slipped the card into the crack between the door and its frame.

After a few anxious minutes of jiggling and prodding she gave up. Whatever the trick with the credit card was, apparently it wasn’t something you could pick up on your own in the field. It took some training and expertise.

With a sigh of defeat Guinevere started back around the house. She was crossing in front of the kitchen window when she realized it was partially open. She halted abruptly and wondered if it was also locked. It didn’t appear to be.

Once again Guinevere glanced furtively over her shoulder, and then she tentatively tried to raise the kitchen window. It gave easily. For a moment she simply stood staring at it. All she had to do was crawl through the opening and she would be inside Larry’s house.

The urge for answers overcame her usually sound judgment. Guinevere hoisted herself up onto the ledge and then fumbled her way through the window. A moment later she found herself on the counter beside the kitchen sink.

“Larry?”

The house seemed unnaturally dark. She supposed computer types throve in darkness. It was better for reading computer screens. She wandered down the hall into the living room. In the gloom caused by the drawn drapes she could see that there was no sign of anyone’s being home. The place was cave-dark.

She stepped over to the computer and glanced down at the desk as she flipped on the light. The surface was much less neat than she remembered it. Larry had apparently spilled a little tea or cola and hadn’t bothered to wipe it up before it dried. Not only had it stained the wood, but it had also spotted several sheets of paper and a magazine.

It took a few seconds before Guinevere realized that the stains on the desk weren’t quite the right color for tea.

Her stomach tightened as she traced a fingertip over one dried pool. It wasn’t sticky the way cola would be.

It didn’t take a great deal of intuition to realize exactly what had caused the stains.

Women saw a lot of blood over the course of their lives. They cut themselves shaving their legs; they dealt with the monthly changes in their bodies; they patched up the wounds of little kids who fell out of trees. They knew blood when they saw it.

***

Zac took another swallow of the weak metallic-tasting coffee the waitress was pouring with a lavish hand and watched Russ Elfstrom work his way energetically through a moat of french fries that surrounded a hamburger. Zac thought fleetingly of the large breakfast he’d planned on enjoying with Guinevere before the news of Bender’s death had intruded. So far he hadn’t had a bite. He wondered what Gwen had done all morning. She’d probably had both breakfast and lunch by now.

“So everyone’s convinced it really is just an accident?” Elfstrom paused to spread more mustard on his burger. A half-smoked cigarette smoldered in the ashtray beside his plate. “No signs of what the media likes to call foul play?”

“According to what I can find out, the authorities are treating it as exactly what it looks like: a climbing accident. They’ll know more when they get the body out of the ravine and into a coroner’s lab, but no one I talked to is expecting to find anything suspicious.”

“Did you tell anyone why you were asking the questions?”

“Of course not. I just said I was making some inquiries on behalf of some friends who were concerned.” Zac grimaced. “It’s tough setting up new contacts in the right places, Russ. It’s a whole new game here in the States. One has to establish a ‘professional’ relationship with the authorities. It was easier when the ‘professional relationship’ consisted of a fistful of U.S. currency handed over in some dark alley.”

“That tried-and-true method would probably work fairly well in a lot of places here at home.” Russ arched one shaggy brow as he put down his burger and reached for the cigarette. He looked cynical.

Zac thought of the men he had talked to this morning. They had been serious, intelligent, and highly professional in their attitude toward their work. They had been polite but not overly helpful. They were more concerned with getting their jobs done than with accommodating him. Zac tried to imagine what would have happened if he’d offered one of them a bribe for more information. He had a hunch the offer wouldn’t have gone down well at all. “I don’t think so. At least not with the kind of people I talked to today.”

“Well, you found out what you needed to know. Everyone is sure Bender met his death while climbing some rocks.”

“Gwen said she’d never heard of Cal Bender’s doing any rock climbing,” Zac said slowly. “And she said Larry was his closest friend. If Cal had taken off to do some serious hiking, why didn’t he mention it to Larry?”

“Or ask Larry to go with him?” Elfstrom screwed up his face in the way he always did when he was thinking. The constant, underlying urgency in the man seemed always to need some outlet. “She’s right, you know. Bender and Hixon were buddies. They did a lot of things together. And they know the StarrTech computers inside out.”

“You think Bender was involved in the missing shipments, don’t you?”

Elfstrom’s small mouth crooked wryly. “Yeah. It fits with the facts. He could have manipulated the shipping programs easily enough, and he disappeared about the time I realized something was going on.”

“But he’s dead, Russ. In a climbing accident. Why would a man on the run take the time to go rock climbing?”

Elfstrom looked at Zac. “No good reason I can think of. If it were me and I thought things were getting uncomfortably hot, I would have headed for Mexico.”

“Unless, of course, you had a partner who didn’t want you skipping town.” Zac thought of all the directions his mind had gone last night when he’d been sitting in Guinevere’s apartment, trying to get the pieces of the puzzle in place.

“Yeah, a partner who didn’t appreciate his business associate’s getting cold feet could be a problem.”

“He might take his friend on a little rock-climbing expedition and leave him behind in a ravine. One guy told me this morning that it was just a fluke they found Bender’s body. No one had reported him missing, and no one knew he had gone climbing. This time of year one could expect snow almost any day. Once the snow starts in those mountains, it will last all season. That body might not have appeared until next summer.”

“What are you getting at, Zac?” Elfstrom waited with the patience of a man who had waited more than once for his friend’s conclusions.

“Everyone keeps saying Hixon was Bender’s best friend, his only friend.”

Elfstrom shrugged. “It’s the truth as far as I know.”

Zac thought about Elf Hunt. “If Bender and Hixon had been involved with something illegal, they’d manage everything through a computer, wouldn’t they?”

“It would be logical. It’s the kind of thing they would know best. Guinevere Jones hasn’t given you any information about Larry Hixon?”

“Not much,” Zac said.

“I’m not surprised. She liked Bender and Hixon, Zac. And they liked her.”

“Everyone in the office seems to have liked her.”

“Yeah, but I’ll tell you something. I don’t think she could have pulled off her little scam with StarrTech’s benefits program without someone’s help. And I think Bender and Hixon liked her well enough to help her.”

Zac felt a coldness in his stomach. He tried to ignore it. “Even if they did, what’s that got to do with the missing shipments?”

“You tell me, Zac.” Elfstrom shook his head sadly. “I suppose you’re sleeping with her?”

Zac forced a smile. “You think my judgment might be impaired if I were?”

Elfstrom stared at him thoughtfully. “No,” he said finally. “I don’t think it would be. Not for long at any rate. You never let anything distract you for long, not when you’ve got a job to do. You know what they used to say about you in-house back when we worked for the company?”

“I’m not sure I want to hear it.”

“They called you the Glacier.”

“Oh, Christ.”

“Slow-moving at times but unstoppable. And in the end everything gets covered.”

“Not the most flattering image in the world.” Maybe it was the unpleasantness of the glacier image. Whatever the cause, Zac’s stomach felt even colder.

“I’ve got to tell you, Zac, the more I think about it, the more I’m sure Jones must have had help on her trip through the computer. And if she got that help from either Hixon or Bender, she must have been pretty close to one or both of them. Maybe she was sleeping with one of them.”

Zac had a sudden, sickening memory of Guinevere’s head bent intently near Larry Hixon’s the afternoon he’d walked into the little pub. “Close enough for them to have told her what they were doing with missing shipments of StarrTech equipment? I doubt it, Russ.” But she’d been close enough to one or both of them to be told about Elf Hunt. But she’d said that was no big deal. Everyone else in the office, except management, knew about Elf Hunt. Or so she’d said.

Zac forced himself to consider the possibility that Gwen had lied to him. People who lied about one thing tended to lie about others. He had to remember that she’d fleeced StarrTech to the tune of ten thousand dollars.

But she’d had her reasons, he told himself violently. She’d been seeking retribution on behalf of her sister. The motive had been revenge, a kind of freelance justice, not larceny. That thought led to another. He shook off his uncertainties and looked at Russ Elfstrom.

“Any chance of reaching Hampton Starr? I think he ought to know what’s happening.”

Elfstrom dismissed the possibility with a grimace. “Afraid not. According to what I heard, he left last night for another of his not-so-secret rendezvous on the coast. He didn’t tell anyone which resort he’d chosen. That man goes through women like they were chocolates. Gobble one up and throw away the wrapper.”

Zac remembered the figure of the king in Elf Hunt. It was the king who had been guarding the treasure in the new version of the game. Why had Cal Bender decided to change that key player’s role? Larry Hixon hadn’t wanted to rest until he’d figured out the answer to that question. Because the answer might provide information on something more crucial than a game?

It always came back to Elf Hunt. There was no reason why it should, but there was also no denying that the damn game seemed to appear at every corner Zac turned in this investigation. The game and Guinevere Jones.

Zac stood up and scrounged in his pocket for some change. Russ Elfstrom looked up inquiringly. “Going someplace?”

“There are some more people to see. I’d better be on my way. We glaciers move exceedingly slowly, but we try to keep going. I’ll call you later, Russ, and update you.”

“Going back to your office?”

Zac shook his head. “No, I’ll be out of touch for the next few hours. If you find out anything or if you figure out where Starr is, leave a message on my cell phone.”

“Right.” Elfstrom smiled grimly. “Good hunting, Zac.”

Zac nodded shortly, remembering how many times Russ Elfstrom had said those same words during the years they’d been together at the company. Making certain he’d left enough for a minimal tip, Zac turned and walked out through the café.

His car was parked at the curb. The red violation flag in the meter popped up as he walked toward the Buick. A cruising meter attendant several yards down the street saw the flag at the same time. Zac told himself he would not run. He had time. All he had to do was lengthen his stride a bit in order to beat the meter attendant, who was gunning her three-wheeled motorized cart. He could hear the little engine straining mightily. The thought of having to pay the fine out of Free Enterprise’s petty cash fund inspired Zac. His pace quickened into something suspiciously close to a trot. He reached the Buick and had the door open three seconds before the meter attendant braked to a halt. Quickly Zac turned the key in the ignition and waved briefly before pulling out onto the street.

The meter attendant glared after him, a small shark deprived of the whale on which it had intended to prey.

The small victory did nothing to lighten Zac’s mood. He cruised slowly toward Pioneer Square. It seemed important to see Guinevere and ask his questions face to face.

What good would that do? he wondered. She could easily lie to him. How would he know? If she’d been lying all along and he’d been unable to detect it, what would cue him into the truth today? How badly would his judgment be affected by the fact that he’d shared her bed last night?

In the past he would have agreed with Russ. He was capable of separating his passion from his logic. But after spending the night with Guinevere Jones, he was no longer so certain. She had been the essence of feminine warmth and softness last night, taking him into her with an eagerness that had made him feel like a conqueror. She had been real and vital in his arms. There had been an intrinsic honesty in her passion. He couldn’t believe now that her excitement had been anything but genuine. Or was it that his ego wanted to believe in her response?

The fact that he had to ask the question at all alarmed him. He should have known; in the old days he would have known whether it was his ego rather than logic dictating his reactions.

He needed to see her, Zac realized. He had to pin her down and get some answers. In the beginning he had promised himself that he could ride the tiger that was Guinevere Jones. Now he had to admit he may have been overconfident.

It took him several trips around the block to find a parking place near Guinevere’s apartment. It was early afternoon, and the Pioneer Square shops and restaurants were doing a brisk business. There was a home show in the Kingdome just down the street that was drawing even more people than usual into the area. He had been lucky to find any place at all in which to park.

At the locked apartment building entrance Zac pressed the button for Guinevere’s apartment and waited in suspended silence for the response. When there was no answer, he frowned and tried again.

The apartment building door swung open at that moment, and two laughing young women stepped out onto the sidewalk. They paid no attention to Zac, who was standing with his finger pressed on the intercom button. Surreptitiously he stuck out his foot and caught the door just before it closed again. He stayed where he was, pretending to listen to the intercom until the two young women were out of sight. Then he opened the door and let himself inside the lobby.

Having taken the stairs two at a time, he arrived a few seconds later at Guinevere’s door. Knocking got no more response than the intercom had gotten, however. Zac forced himself to face the fact that she wasn’t home.

Then he began to wonder just where she had gone. He pulled out his cell phone and called the offices of Camelot Services. When there was no answer there, he dug Carla Jones’s number out of information and tried it.

Carla answered almost at once. “Oh, hello, Zac . . . Yes, of course, I remember you. You were with Guinevere the other evening at the pub.”

“I’m trying to find her, Carla. We were supposed to have lunch together. Any idea where she might have gone?”

“She called me from the office just a few minutes ago.”

“Well, she’s not there now.”

“I think she said something about trying to get hold of Larry. She was worried about how he’d take the news of his friend’s death. She’d been trying to call him all morning and hadn’t been able to reach him. I wonder if she would have just tried driving out to Wallingford,” Carla said musingly.

“Thanks, Carla. I’ll check.” Zac had to unclench his fingers from the receiver as he replaced the phone. Wallingford and Larry Hixon and Elf Hunt. And Guinevere.

A muttered oath slipped between his teeth as he reached the Buick. The tense coldness in his stomach was worse than ever. He wondered if small businesspeople kept supplies of antacid tablets on hand and whether or not they could be charged off as legitimate business expenses.

The Laser was parked on the street in front of Hixon’s house. Zac found a place behind it, switched off the engine, and sat for a moment behind the wheel. One question was answered. Guinevere was here. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answers to the rest of his questions.

It took an effort of will to climb out of the Buick and walk up the front steps. His fist hesitated for an instant, and then he knocked loudly on the door. Glaciers just kept moving and dogs just kept gnawing on their bones. It was the way his world worked. The only way he knew how to work.

She opened the door on his second knock, and it seemed to Zac as he stood staring down at her that her eyes had never seemed so wide or so nearly green. She stood there, silent and still, looking up at him. And then she stepped forward and threw her arms around his waist, burying her face against his shirt.

“Zac, thank God you’re here. I’ve been so scared.”

He couldn’t keep his arms from going around her, but his voice seemed harsh, even to his own ears as he answered. “Yeah, that’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about, Gwen.”