Thirteen

“It’s ridiculous,” said Simon Taylor.

Ms. Washburn had not suggested we call her estranged husband for more information about Swords and Sorcerers, but since he had established himself as our resident expert on the subject, it seemed only logical that we get in touch with him concerning the new information Ms. Washburn had discovered regarding the die I had found at the scene of Richard Handy’s murder.

“What makes that more ridiculous than any other superstition?” I asked. I found myself feeling mildly angry with Simon Taylor, although I could not think of a particular offense he had aimed at me. Other than once when on the phone he had said he didn’t like me.

The speakerphone option on our office phone was not working perfectly, so there was a one-second delay between the time I finished speaking and the time Simon responded. I was momentarily confused as to whether he was thinking about the question in depth.

“I thought you were going to ask what makes it more ridiculous than anything else in S and S,” he said.

“I do not judge people based on their preference in recreational activities,” I assured him. I was not certain that had sounded the way I’d intended, but my experience has been negative when I have tried to rectify such perceived situations.

“I appreciate that,” Simon answered. “But getting back to your question, the idea of a cursed die is just a little too far for virtually every S and S player I know. We’re not delusional and we know perfectly well that this is a fantasy activity. Nobody I’ve ever met believes in wizards and elves.”

“What about Roy McCloskey?” Ms. Washburn asked. Her smile bordered on mischievous.

Simon’s voice sounded equally amused. “Roy doesn’t count.”

I refrained from asking about Roy McCloskey, because it seemed he didn’t count. “How would such an item gain that kind of reputation? Is there any evidence that anyone besides Richard Handy has ever died violently while carrying that particular type of die?”

It was Ms. Washburn and not her husband who responded. “According to this website, three other people have been found dead either by suicide or homicide while holding that die, which they call a Tenduline. It is made by one company in Mentor, Ohio, and only on a very limited basis. You really had to look for it to find one, and you couldn’t straight order it—you had to request it specifically. Even the price isn’t listed, which leads me to believe it’s pretty expensive. Richard Handy must have really wanted that item very badly.”

“Assuming it was Richard’s,” I pointed out. “It is still quite possible the die belonged to Tyler or to an as-yet-unknown third party.”

“That’s true,” Ms. Washburn answered. “But I’m betting it was Richard’s. It had rolled just to the point where it might be if it was in his hand when he was shot.” I had thought Ms. Washburn was not even stealing a glance in the direction of the dairy display when I assessed the crime scene, but she works hard at not letting her emotions get in the way of her performance at Questions Answered. She must have forced herself to look.

“I don’t dispute the idea that it is possible,” I told her. “I’m suggesting we not jump to conclusions before we have—”

“—a sufficient amount of data. Yes, I know,” Ms. Washburn said.

Simon Taylor’s voice came through the speakerphone. “I don’t want to intrude,” he said with emphasis, “but is my part of this conversation over?”

Ms. Washburn scowled a bit.

“One last question,” I said.

“You say that a lot,” Simon interjected. I did not respond to that.

Instead, I simply continued as if he had not spoken. “Is the die itself valuable? Is it possible someone would kill Richard in an attempt to take possession of it?”

This time I think Simon really was thinking his answer through before responding. Ms. Washburn’s hand went to her chin and stroked it, a gesture I had seen her husband perform when we were at his apartment.

“I’ve never heard of any S and S item being so valuable it would be worth killing someone for,” he said after a moment. “Some people do get awfully caught up in the game, but if I had to generalize, I’d say most players are about as nonviolent a bunch as you could imagine.”

“Thank you,” I said. “You have been most helpful.”

“You do always talk like that, don’t you?” Simon asked.

I was about to answer, but Ms. Washburn responded first. “Be nice, Simon.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll see you later.” He disconnected the call.

I looked at Ms. Washburn. “I’m bringing him a couple of things from the house,” she said. “It’s not a big deal. And we said we weren’t going to discuss my marriage, Samuel.”

“We agreed we would not discuss your divorce,” I pointed out. “Besides, I have said nothing on the subject at all.”

Ms. Washburn’s eyes rolled in a gesture of either sarcasm or disbelief; I am not certain. “I can barely hear myself think over your not saying anything on the subject,” she said.

I did not understand that comment and felt it was best to refocus our attention on the question at hand. “Have any of the websites Simon e-mailed to you given us any additional information on the Tenduline?”

“The only thing I can say for certain about it is that it’s very rare,” she answered, looking at her screen. “As far as I can tell, there are fewer than twenty of them in the world that are exactly like this one.” She looked at the die on the desk in front of her. It was still secured in a plastic sandwich bag. She picked up the bag and looked at the die. “How could this thing cause so much trouble?” she asked.

“We have seen stranger things happen,” I reminded her.

“Yeah, but at least I understood those.” She stood up. “Do you want a ride home for lunch?” she asked.

I had checked the time on my iPhone one minute before to reassure myself the phone was still in my possession. It was 11:46 a.m. “I am not due until twelve thirty,” I said. “Is there a reason you need to leave now?”

“I want to go back to my house and get the things I’ll be bringing Simon later,” she answered. “Is that a problem?”

I considered the question. It was not a problem for Ms. Washburn to leave at this time. It was not really a problem for me to arrive at my home approximately thirty minutes early for lunch, although it was somewhat disconcerting for me to vary that seriously from my routine. If Ms. Washburn was asking whether there was a problem with her retrieving articles from her home to return to her estranged husband, however, that would be a more complex question.

“Are you going to reconcile with Simon?” I asked.

Ms. Washburn looked as if she had been punched in the stomach with moderate force. She let out a breath quickly, almost a grunt, and her nostrils flared. Her eyes did not have their usual friendly softness to them.

“I thought I made it clear, Samuel. I’m not going to discuss my marriage with you.”

It was now obvious I had misinterpreted her question about the problem, but it would be irrational to pretend I had not expressed some concern about her private life. Even if we agreed, as Ms. Washburn sometimes suggests, that “it never happened,” the fact was that it had happened and there was nothing that could change that reality.

“I misunderstood,” I said by way of explanation. “But I am somewhat puzzled by your sudden change of attitude toward Simon.”

Ms. Washburn’s voice came slowly, as if with effort. She did not raise her voice, which would have been a clear indication that she was angry. Instead, she spoke slowly and in low tones. I was not familiar with that sound from her, which made concentrating difficult. I tried to decode the tone rather than to listen to the words, but I heard them and filed them away for later reference.

A few moments later I realized she had said, “I’m going to leave now.” But by the time I had played the message back in my head, Ms. Washburn had walked out the office door. I could see her get into her car and back out of the parking space. I wondered if she meant she was leaving for lunch, or leaving Questions Answered forever.

I did the only thing I could do under the circumstances. I called my mother and asked for a ride home.