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  Roll for Initiative

  A Bailey Knight Mystery

  Elle Downing

  Copyright © 2019 by Elle Downing

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  To Mom, Dad, and Kelly

  Who nurtured my love of writing from day one

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  About the Author

  1

  The Golden Shore High School Tabletop Gaming Club only has fifteen minutes left, and my group of dungeon raiders aren’t doing so well. Their healer is down, the tank is on his last leg, and the mage is in the enemy’s crosshairs.

  We’re in the high school media center, all of the tables taken by groups playing different games—board games, card games, tabletop roleplaying games—all of them enjoyed by the student members of our club.

  I’m sitting behind my gaming screen, watching my next player start her turn.

  “OK. OK.” Carrie, the student playing the mage, has her hands in her hair, staring at the battle map and trying to find something to use from her spell list.

  “What do you do?” I must look like a power-crazed puppeteer, pulling the strings of the monsters I make my players face.

  “I cast fireball!” She winces, looking to me for any sign. I nod, and she gathers up eight six-sided dice.

  “Don’t hit me!” Her twin brother, Mark, points to his miniature on the battle map, laying on its side. He’s the healer who fell during the monster’s last turn. “You’ll make me fail two Life Checks!”

  “I still have space to move,” Carrie says. “I’ll stand over here and shoot a fireball.”

  “All right,” I say as she places her miniature. “Roll dice for damage.”

  An outcry at the table beside ours catches my attention. History teacher Lincoln Fletcher—Link, to his friends—is hanging his head in shame as a student cleans him out of every last dollar he has. Such was the risk in that particular real estate game.

  “Better luck next time, Mr. Fletcher.”

  “I’ll remember that for tomorrow’s pop quiz.” Link laughs at the student’s complete and utter look of shock. “I’m kidding.” He undoes the thin hair tie and runs his fingers across his scalp, his shoulder-length hair loose and wavy. “I promise. Just a joke.” But he raises his eyebrows as he ties his ponytail. “This time.”

  The kid laughs, the sound nervous, before packing up the game.

  Carrie counts up considerable damage, her dice mostly fours and fives. “Ten…twenty…nine…thirty-two points of damage.”

  Her friends cheer, but I keep my face stoic. I nearly crack a smile as their sounds of joy falter. “With a flash of fire, covering the fiend and the space around him…” They are enraptured, leaning forward and watching with unblinking eyes. “Flames climb up his bloody and bruised body.” I put my hand on the miniature of the monster. “And you watch him fall!”

  They cheer again, with the monster now lying on the battle map, defeated.

  “Shove a healing potion in my mouth!” Mark cries.

  “I’ve got one.” Martin, the tank, rolls the dice assigned for his potion. “Nine points of healing.”

  “With the foe defeated,” I say, “you tend to the wounds of your healer…and that’s where we’ll stop for today.”

  “Aw, no!”

  “Miss Knight!”

  I cackle. “What awaits you? Find out next week!”

  We bag up the dice and character miniatures and slip the character sheets into the club binder. Everything goes into a plastic bin, ready to take back to my classroom.

  I love Thursdays. Students come and sit with their gaming groups, sometimes playing the RPG we just finished, sometimes slinging cards of magical spells at opponents, sometimes playing the classic board games we all grew up with. While it is a great way for the students to make friends, it also helps them de-stress.

  My students like to call themselves Knights of the Gaming Table, a play on my last name, which has a better ring to it than The Tabletop Gaming Club.

  “My door is unlocked,” I say as Mark has the bin in his hands. “Put it on one of the desks, and I’ll pack up. Come back here when you’re done.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He leaves the media center as one battle card game concludes.

  “Wow, that was a close one” one student says as he gathers up his cards, arranging them back into his deck box.

  Link comes up beside me. “It’s good to see attendance like this so early in the school year. My headcount was twenty-two students.” He crosses his arms and leans over, whispering, “Have you given them a science problem yet?”

  “Next week. I’m working on a chemistry puzzle with Dr. Eckart.”

  Dr. Eckart is our chemistry teacher and one of the coolest people in the department. She loves the idea of building a chemical puzzle for the students to solve, especially since all three of my players are in her class. Perfect.

  Mark returns, and I start the closing announcements before dismissing everyone. The media center doors open, and in comes the vice principal, Aaron Hill, with a middle-aged man. Probably a parent here for pick-up. The man fidgets with the cuffs of his sport coat, a glimmer of sweat at his hairline. It’s hot and humid outside—hello, Florida in September…or in any month of the year, really—but the way his fingers twitch at the fabric makes him look nervous.

  Martin stands up. “What’s my dad doing here?”

  Mr. Hill is looking around the room. “Martin O’Neal?”

  Martin shrugs into his backpack and goes up to his father. “Where’s mom?”

  “She’s stuck at work,” his dad says. I see the resemblance between them—the same eyes, forehead, and hair.

  Martin doesn’t question that. “Later, guys.” He waves to us, as Mark and Carrie are standing with me by the gaming table. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Don’t forget to look over your study guide,” Link reminds him.

  The rest of the club slowly leaves as their rides come and go.

  The late afternoon sun is still bright, the air humid and heavy, but the warmth is pleasant for a few seconds, taking off the chill of the media center’s overworked air conditioner. It’s the weirdest feeling, like the top layer of your skin is defrosting. But the pleasantness doesn’t last long. At least there’s a breeze coming off the water.

  Up ahead, Mark and Carrie are waiting on the curb as a dark sedan turns into the parking lot. It flashes red and blue lights fixed behind the front grill and blips a siren.

  “Uncle Callum,” Carrie groans.

  Inside the car, Detective Callum Baldwin is grinning. A transplant from Dallas when he was sixteen, Callum and I are both Golden Shore High School alum. And, yes, both of us found our way back after college.

  I can still remember seeing them after all those years, shopping in the grocery store for a lunch at his sister’s. He’d grown up, but he stayed the same in the best possible way, with his easy-going sm
ile and sense of humor. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that the flame from sixteen years ago isn’t even a little bit rekindled. But he and I have always been friends, and friendship is precious.

  Callum stops the car and rolls his window down, the sunlight catching his eyes. “How’d you guys do?” He waves at me as I approach. “Did you convince the thief to tell you where to find his boss?”

  Mark points a thumb at his sister. “She threatened to burn his house down.”

  “I have to play to my alignment. I wasn’t actually gonna do it. But I did bring down a gigantic monster.”

  “They’re doing great,” I say. “How’s Cathy?”

  “Busy,” he says. “But baby sister’s new business is almost ready for the grand opening. Which reminds me, she’s having a sandwich tasting on Saturday. She’d love it if you came.”

  “Absolutely. Count me in.”

  A silver car pulls in, taking the nearest empty space, and out climbs Ashley O’Neal.

  Martin’s mom.

  But Martin isn’t here. His dad took him. His dad also said that Ashley was stuck at work.

  Oh no. Cue ice-cold panic.

  “Hiya, Miss Knight,” Ashley says, looking from me to Callum and giving him a wave, too. “You guys let out already?”

  “Yeah.” I didn’t wait before adding, “Martin’s dad was just here.”

  “Kurt was here?”

  The panicked look on Ashley’s face cements the uneasy feeling in my own gut. Oh no. “He just picked Martin up.”

  As the words leave my mouth, Ashley is already on her phone, her fingers working fast as she calls Kurt and puts the phone to her ear. The line rings before Kurt’s voice comes on.

  “Hi, it’s Kurt. Leave a message.”

  “He’s not answering.” Ashley hangs up and works fast through her phone menu. “Let me see where Martin is.”

  Callum gets out of the car. “Is something wrong?”

  “Kurt and I have divorced,” Ashley explains. “It was made official a couple of months ago.”

  “He said you were stuck at work,” I say.

  Our vice principal came in with Kurt and let him take Martin off of school grounds. Legally, then, everything on our end was all right. There was nothing we could do to stop Kurt from taking Martin, but Ashley’s hands are shaking, and my insides feel jittery. Something is wrong.

  “What was he thinking?” Ashley tries calling Kurt again. “Why now? There are no custody issues. Martin’s old enough to decide. We’re both close enough to the school.” She doesn’t have to tell us all this, but saying the words probably help her reason through Kurt’s intentions.

  “Did Martin’s phone ping?” Callum asks.

  “No.” Ashley’s lips quiver.

  “Do you think Martin’s at Kurt’s place?” I ask.

  “Maybe?”

  “I’d be happy to go with you.” I jingle my car keys. “Want me to drive?”

  “No. Driving will help me stay calm.”

  I don’t understand that. If anything, driving would make me more nervous. It’s one more thing to worry about, on top of everything else.

  “Would you like a police escort?” Callum gestures toward the squad car. “I get the feeling there’s more here than a simple misunderstanding.”

  “No. That shouldn’t be necessary.” But she doesn’t elaborate about Callum’s suspicion.

  “I’ll send someone to drive by,” he says, “to make sure everything’s OK.”

  “I’ll follow you,” I say to Ashley. “You don’t have to go alone. Where does he live?”

  “Shoreline Apartments,” she says to the both of us. “Shoreline Drive, Apartment 307.”

  “On it.” Callum aims a thumb toward the squad car. “I’m going to take these guys home.” He looks at me and adds, “Call me.”

  “I will.” I climb into my car as Ashley gets into hers, and I wait for her to back out. Pat Benatar is playing on the radio, singing about heartbreakers and dream-takers, but I keep the volume down in case Ashley or Callum call.

  Ashley must be thinking a thousand things, with the secrecy behind Martin’s pickup. Is Martin OK? Is he worried or even aware that this is going on?

  What a mess.

  2

  Ashley drives faster than the speed limit, and I watch traffic closely as I try to keep up. She even rolls through a couple of stop signs.

  “Don’t get pulled over,” I chant. “Don’t get pulled over. Don’t get pulled over.”

  The apartment complex is a ten-minute drive from the school. Ashley pulls up to the gate and punches in the code. What did she push—173? Does the pound sign come first? Oh well. I drive really close to her car to make it in time before the gate closes.

  My cell phone rings. I follow Ashley through the gate and make a slow curve before I answer. “Hello?”

  “Are you there yet?” It’s Callum, and he sounds worried.

  “We’re pulling up to the building now. Have you already sent a patrol car?”

  “It’s coming. Want me to stay on the phone?”

  “No, but I’ll call you the second anything big happens.”

  “OK.”

  I know he doesn’t want to hang up, but this is an eventual powder-keg waiting to explode. Having my cell phone glued to my ear isn’t going to help.

  I park close to Ashley’s car as she’s already climbing out and powerwalking toward the stairs. She has her phone to her ear again, and she growls in frustration as she brings it back down.

  “He’s still not answering.” She starts climbing up the stairs. I’m jogging to catch up. Wow, I’m out of shape.

  When we reach apartment 307, Ashley’s fist pounds on the door. “Kurt? Martin? It’s Mom.”

  “Open the door, Dad.” Martin sounds frustrated. No doubt he’s freaked out.

  Kurt swings the door open. He’s still clammy, sweat gleaming at his hairline.

  Ashley rushes in without bothering for an invitation. “What the hell were you thinking?!” She looks at Martin, who’s sitting on the couch watching TV. She forces herself to calm down before she asks, in a level voice, “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah.” Martin glances from one parent to another. “What’s going on? Dad said you were stuck at work.”

  “Everything’s OK,” she says, but her eyes say something different. She glares at Kurt, her pupils pinpricks against her irises. Red lasers are going to shoot out of them any second now. “Would you mind waiting outside with Miss Knight?”

  Martin gets up wordlessly and comes outside. He closes the door behind him, crossing his arms and looking down at his feet, like he’s ashamed of something.

  “Divorce sucks,” he says, “but I don’t want to talk about it. I was having a good day until this happened.”

  Kurt and Ashley’s voices grow louder. Martin adjusts his arms tighter around himself. I try to think of something, anything, to say that isn’t about this. “You did a great job during the boss fight today.”

  “I really look forward to our club,” he says. “It helps get my mind off this stuff.”

  “Did your dad tell you why he picked you up today?”

  He shakes his head. “Just that he wanted to see me.”

  “Have you spoken to the school counselor?”

  He shakes his head again.

  “Mr. Sanders used to work for the Department of Children and Families. There’s nothing you could say that he hasn’t already heard.”

  Martin shrugs. “I guess.”

  This is eating Martin alive, so I keep on talking. Even though I tend to ramble when I’m nervous, I feel a special pull to try to make him feel better. “I know I’m probably talking too much, but I know how you feel.”

  At this, he looks at me with disbelief in his eyes.

  “Seriously,” I say. “My parents divorced when I was eleven. Alternating holidays, trips with Dad every other weekend. It was a lot, especially when he moved to St. Petersburg for work. A million things were going
through my head. Why us? Was it something I did? Did Mom kick him out, or did Dad just want to leave?”

  “Did you ever find out why?”

  I nod. “My parents loved each other, but they didn’t work as a married couple. They also married young. Sometimes that happens, and it had absolutely nothing to do with me or my sister.”

  “You have a sister?”

  “Yeah, Anna. She’s in Europe right now, seeing the world. I’m glad I had her with me through that.”

  “Yeah. It’s hard when I’m the only child.”

  “Have you confided with your friends at school?”

  “Yeah, some.”

  The door opens, and Ashley steps out. “I’m sorry, Martin. I got scared.”

  “It’s OK, Mom.”

  “You can come with me or you can stay here if you want to, honey. Just give me a call when you get to school.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  It hurts to see how uncomfortable Martin is, knowing that he can’t make either parent happy—that’s how I saw it, at least, when I was in his shoes.

  I look over my shoulder at Kurt, who is leaning in the doorway, hands on his pockets. He’s angry, but there’s sadness there too. He’s not trying to stop them.

  “I’m sorry, Ash,” he says. “I mean it.”

  “I am too, Kurt.”

  “Bye, son. Love you.”

  “Love you, Dad.”

  I walk out behind Ashley and Martin and go to the driver’s side of my car.

  “Thanks for coming with me,” she says.

  “Of course.”

  A police car comes into view. The driver pulls around and gives us a wave, which we return. She continues on, going slowly, watching the buildings and parking lot.

  I climb into the car and wait for Ashley to back out before I do. When I’m on the road, I unlock my phone and get to Callum’s contact. My car, Nancy Sinatra, is a bit too old for built-in Bluetooth, but I’m devoted to her.