Chapter 22 Hat Tricks
Hat Tricks
It’s a bit after two in the afternoon on Saturday when I step into my condo. Katie is on the couch, under a blanket. She hits pause on the documentary she’s watching and turns to look at me.
“Hey,” she greets.
“Hey. What are you watching today?” I ask. There’s a guy on the screen lining up a slim-looking rifle to take a shot at a herd of elephants.
“The Secret Life of Elephants. They’re trying to put a radio collar on one of the elephants. It doesn’t work, though.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve seen it before. I was just killing time until you got home and we could start our Halloweentown marathon.”
“Okay, good. Let me drop my bag in my room. I’ll be back in a few,” I tell her with a grin.
I spent the night with Mark, and the bag I’m carrying now is only an overnight bag—not the trash bag full of costumes I was wearing during last night’s activities, which is still in my trunk.
I’d like to get rid of that bag sooner rather than later, but I didn’t want to throw it into the dumpsters at my office.
I’ve never gone there to throw trash away on a Saturday.
It would be suspicious if I were to suddenly do so.
And I don’t want to put it into the condo’s dumpsters—those won’t be emptied until Wednesday.
Dropping it into some random person’s trash is a risk I’m unwilling to take, so it’ll have to sit in my trunk until Monday, unless I can figure out some other way to get rid of it.
“You’re home earlier than I figured you would be,” Katie says, pausing the documentary again when I reenter the living room and drop onto the couch beside her.
“Mark had to work. Practice, I guess. It didn’t make sense to stay at his place longer when I’d have to leave for our movie marathon before he got back anyway,” I explain, not bothering to mention that he was hoping I’d spend the night.
I declined, both because I had preexisting plans with Katie and because if he finds out about Brandon tonight—which seems likely—I’m not sure it’d be a good idea for me to be around.
They have a game tomorrow. Mark mentioned getting together afterward since I said no to tonight.
Tomorrow is Sunday, which means their game takes place earlier than normal.
We’ll see if getting together actually happens, though.
I expect that when Brandon doesn’t show up for practice this afternoon, they won’t take any chances given recent events.
Either they’ll call in a welfare check immediately, or someone from the team will go to his house and do it themselves. Maybe both.
When they find his body, it’ll be obvious that he was murdered.
I want Rhys Steichen and Garret Fischer wondering if they’re next.
I want them to be afraid. I want them to regret the things they’ve done.
It’s stupid because as soon as they realize they’re being actively hunted, it’s going to make killing them harder, but I don’t care.
I’ll figure it out. Somehow, someway. Marjorie was right about that.
Finding Brandon might make the police reconsider the circumstances of Matt Davidson’s death.
But if they’ve already ruled his manner of death as accidental, even if they decide to give it a second look, the most they’re likely to do is change it to undetermined.
And even that… who knows? Bureaucracy is slow and unwieldy.
Either way, the Doomsday Clock that’s been hanging above my head since all this started is currently about one second away from midnight—midnight being the moment that Mark starts to become suspicious of me and my involvement with the deaths of his players.
I don’t have long. If I’m lucky, I’ll be able to kill Rhys Steichen before that happens.
Mark likes me as much as I like him, which means he won’t want to think I’ve been murdering his players.
But eventually he will. He’s not an idiot.
I’ve been telling myself we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, but if I’m being honest, I’m not sure there will be a ‘we’ after that point. Or even a bridge.
“What do you think about having dinner with Mark on Wednesday?” I ask Katie, picking up the remote from where she set it on the coffee table.
Katie glances at her phone, checking her tutoring schedule, I assume. “Yeah, Wednesday works. Here?”
“Up to you.”
“Yeah. We’ll do it here. We can get takeout, and you can show him where you live. I’m sure he’s dying to see it,” she replies with an edge to her tone that tells me she hasn’t entirely forgiven me.
“I gave him a video tour a few weeks ago when you were out,” I say as I select Halloweentown from the menu and press play.
“How does that work?” Katie asks, and I pause the movie.
“What?”
“Him traveling?” she provides.
“He gets on a plane and goes places…?” I say, confused. “How does traveling ever work?”
“No, Alyssa,” she says, exasperation heavy in her voice as she turns to stare at me. “He’s gone like half the time, right?”
“Not that much, but close,” I agree.
“So, what do you guys do? Is it like a ton of phone sex? Video sex? How does that work?”
I burst out laughing.
“Please!” Katie says over the roar of my laughter. “Like you wouldn’t ask me the exact same question if our positions were reversed?”
I wipe the tears from my cheeks. She’s right. I totally would. “No. I mean, we’ve tried it a couple of times but… have you ever had phone sex?” I ask.
“Yes, it’s the worst! Like the absolute worst!”
“Yes! Exactly!” I agree. “No woman has ever gotten off on phone sex, and you won’t convince me otherwise.
Video sex is even worse! Suddenly you’re concerned about whether the camera is positioned right and how you look and…
Yeah. No. If anything, it just made me more frustrated.
After the second time, I told him I’d rather wait until he came back. ”
“And he was okay with that?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Just wondering.”
“Are you done wondering? Or are we going to play Twenty Questions about my sex life?”
“Nope. I’m done,” she says. “You can start the movie. For now.”
I snort as I press play, and a jack-o’-lantern dominates the screen.
It’s a bit after six, and we’re about ten minutes into Halloweentown High with a bowl of popcorn on the couch between us when Katie springs forward and grabs the remote, pausing the movie.
“Holy shit! He’s dead, Alyssa! Brandon Miller is dead, too!” she shouts, waving her phone at me. It’s too far away to make out any details, though. “They’re saying he was murdered sometime last night! They found his body a couple of hours ago!”
“By who?” I ask.
“It doesn’t say. All it says is: ‘Police are treating the death as a homicide. The investigation is ongoing. Authorities have scheduled a press conference for noon tomorrow. More details are expected to be released then.’”
I raise my eyebrows. A press conference. I should’ve seen that coming. “Damn,” I murmur, not knowing what else to say. I’m sure they don’t know anything. Most likely, the press conference will simply be to ask the public for help, and the public doesn’t know anything either.
“It’s a hat trick! October is my new favorite month!” she states, beaming.
I laugh. “One less creep in the world is always a good thing, and I’m ecstatic he’s dead, but would you hate me if I sent Mark a text quick?”
“No. Go ahead! I’m going to get some ice cream! Want some?”
“Sure,” I agree as I type out Hey, I heard about Brandon Miller. Let me know if you want to talk, and send it. My message doesn’t show as read though, and eventually I set my phone down, wondering if it’s already started—if he’s already suspicious.
“Hello?” I say as I answer my phone. It’s almost ten.
“Hey Alyssa,” Mark says, sounding exhausted.
“Hey. I heard the news. I’m sorry. For you. Not that he died,” I clarify. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah. Sorry it’s late. There was a lot going on with the team’s lawyers and the media spokespeople. I just got out of there.”
“No. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. It’s not that late. What’s going on?”
“Nothing right now. The police want to question all the players again, and the ownership is increasing security at the arena.”
“Why? Do they still suspect someone on the team?” I ask. I doubt they do. There’s no way I’ll be that lucky twice.
“I have no idea. I don’t think they have any clue what’s going on. The players want personal security at this point, and the owners and the legal department were demanding the police supply it, but—and I quote—‘Portland Police Bureau is not responsible for supplying private security.’”
“Are they going to hire bodyguards then?” I ask, hoping the answer is ‘no’ because some rent-a-cops could really throw a wrench into my plans.
“I don’t know,” Mark says. “Probably. The police were only there to question everyone again. The lawyers got them to agree to hold off on that until Monday, but…”
“You’re worried you’re going to lose tomorrow?”
“It’s hard to imagine another outcome. We could really use a win,” he says with a loud exhale. “I’m going to have to find someone from the AHL to bring up,” he mutters.
“The AHL?”
“It doesn’t matter. Anyway, I know you’re busy tonight, but I was hoping you might come by tomorrow after the game.”
“Yeah, that sounds good. I’m having dinner with Jeanette and Katie tomorrow, so I’ll come over after that. Oh. Also…” I trail off. This timing sucks. It’s my fault it sucks, but still.
“Also?” Mark prods.
I sigh. “I know it’s not a great time, so if you want to reschedule, we can, but Katie agreed to dinner on Wednesday.
She’s officially invited you over, and we’ll order some takeout or something.
If you want.” I hate bringing Katie up during this conversation.
It seems like there’s a good chance it’ll only make him suspect me that much sooner, but there’s not a lot I can do about it at this point.
I have to keep acting as if everything is normal.
“Yes. There’s no way in hell I’m going to pass up the chance to see your place.”