Deadly Little Games (11 page)

O
N THE RIDE BACK HOME
, I grab a pen and resume the puzzle that Adam fished from the trash. It doesn’t take me long to finish it. Once again, the clues are pretty simple to solve. I write the answers in one straight line and work to unscramble the message.

“What’s the verdict?” Kimmie asks, peering back at me.

I stare down at the jumble of words. “I can’t quite tell yet.”

“Give us a clue,” Wes says. “I love puzzles.”

“That’s because you are one,” Kimmie jokes.

I read them the list of words:
ARE, ALONE, YOU, NEVER, EYE, WATCHING, ALWAYS, AM
.

Not five seconds later, Wes has the whole thing figured out: “
YOU ARE NEVER ALONE, EYE AM ALWAYS WATCHING
!” he says, making his voice all deep and throaty.

“Wait, seriously?” I ask, completely bewildered by the idea that he’d be able to unravel the message so quickly.

I look at the individual words, making sure they’re all included, and that he didn’t add any extra.

“What can I say? I’m good at puzzles.”

“Are you good at
making
them, too?” Kimmie asks. “Because it’s a little scary how you were able to figure that out so fast.”

“Do you think it matters that the ‘eye’ in the puzzle is the noun and not the pronoun?” I ask them.

“Since when is it a requirement for psychos to be good in English?” Wes asks.

“Only
you
would know.” Kimmie glares at him.

“Plus, it’s a puzzle,” he says, ignoring her comment. “You have to expect a few quirks.”

“I don’t know,” I say, still staring at the words. “Maybe there’s some other message here. Maybe we need to try unscrambling it another way.”

“Such as ‘
EYE AM NEVER ALONE. YOU ARE ALWAYS WATCHING
,’” he suggests. “Or perhaps the ever-favorite ‘
YOU ARE NEVER WATCHING. EYE AM ALWAYS ALONE
.’”

Kimmie scoots farther away from him in her seat. “Okay, you really
are
starting to scare me.”

“I’m pretty sure you had it right the first time,” I say, flipping to the WATCH YOUR BACK puzzle and thinking how Ben had predicted the words.

I take a moment to study the paper the crosswords were done on. They’re bright white and of ample weight, making it clear the puzzles aren’t photocopies. I hold them up to my nose, curious to see if I can detect any scent.

“Um, what are you doing?” Wes asks, looking at me through his rearview mirror.

“They smell like candy,” I say.

“Well, they
were
in the garbage,” he points out. “At least, one of them was, and I could’ve sworn I spotted a Mr. Goodbar wrapper in there.”

“Why do you think this person would only give us a few of the puzzle clues?” I ask.

“Because they obviously want to string us along,” Wes says. “Feed us messages whenever they feel like it…keep us playing this stupid game.”

“You need to talk to Adam,” Kimmie says. “You need to tell him to take this seriously.”

“I agree,” I say, shoving the puzzles back into my pocket.

But first I need to talk to Ben.

As soon as Wes drops me off at home, I head up to my room to give Ben a call. He picks up right away, and I fill him in on what happened. “So, can you come over?” I ask, plopping down onto my bed. “I’d really like for you to try and sense something from the puzzles.”

“You know my senses aren’t always reliable with objects,” he says. “Plus, the crosswords have been in your pocket all this time. I’ll probably just sense you.”

“You could still give it a try,” I say, surprised at his hesitation.

It’s quiet on the line for several seconds, as if he’s trying to decide. “Can I call you later?” he asks. “My aunt wants me to have a look at the engine of her car.”

“I thought you were going to help me,” I say. “I thought we were a team.”

“I am. We
are
.”

“Then what’s with the brush-off?”

“It’s not a brush-off. I just have to go. Can I call you later?” he asks again.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say. My heart suddenly feels heavy. I tell him I’m going to bed, and then wish him a good night before hanging up. The phone clenched firmly against my chest, it rings just moments after we disconnect. “Having second thoughts?” I say.

“How did you know?” Adam asks.

“Oh, sorry.” I press my eyes shut. “I guess I was kind of expecting someone else.”

“Someone like Ben?”

“I’m glad you called,” I say, ignoring the question.

“Yeah,” he says. “Me, too. You kind of got me thinking, aka paranoid, and so I sifted through some of the piles of papers and stuff on my desk. I knew I’d gotten some more of those puzzles in the mail.”

“And?”

“I was right. I found two more.”

“Did you try to solve them?”

“That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about, but I think we should discuss it in person. I could come by and pick you up. We could go and grab a coffee or something.”

“No,” I demand. “Tell me now.”

“Well, the first puzzle I filled in didn’t really bother me too much,” he says. “It just said, ‘
YOU LIED TO ME
.’”

“And the second?” I ask, standing up, somehow already suspecting the answer.

“It said that I deserved to die.”

I
TELL MY PARENTS
that Adam’s picking me up and that we’re going to the Hayden College library to study together. Dad couldn’t be happier with the news. Once the star forward on his high school and college soccer teams, Dad has adored Adam—or at least, Adam’s former high school soccer stardom—ever since he first met him.

I grab my books and head out the door just as Adam’s ’70s Ford Bronco pulls in to the driveway, triggering the overhead sensor light. Ever since what happened last fall, my dad has made a feeble though still earnest attempt at safeguarding our place. He’s put stickers on all the windows and poked yard signs into the lawn, both of which claim that we have a security system (we don’t). He’s also installed motion-detector lights that go on and off pretty much whenever they feel like it.

“Thanks for coming out,” Adam says before opening the passenger-side door for me.

I climb inside. The interior smells like peppermint stick. “What about your meeting tonight with Piper?” I ask, suddenly remembering their marriage assignment.

“I think this is more important.”

I nod, noticing how good he looks in dark-washed jeans and a chest-hugging sweater.

It’s just the kind of thing Kimmie warned me about: “He’s totally going to get the wrong idea,” she said of our impromptu meeting tonight. I’d called her as soon as I got off the phone with him, as soon as I’d agreed to let him pick me up. “You know he’s going to use this as an opportunity to try and get back together with you.”

“I’m just trying to help him,” I told her. “I have no intention of anything shady.”

“Yes, but things happen, Ms. Chameleon. People are weak. Plus, how come you never mentioned how hot Adam is? I mean, honestly, that boy’s a scorcher.”

“This isn’t a date.”

“Oh,
no
? Have you told Ben that you’re going?”

“Ben’s too busy to care.”

“Would he care if Adam were lying to you about finding more crossword puzzles?”

“Um, what are you talking about?”

“Ever think this might be Adam’s way of bonding with you?” she asked. “Maybe he saw how concerned you were about him and thought pretending to have more puzzles was the ticket to getting your attention.”

“I don’t think that’s it.”

“But it’s possible,” she said, reminding me how Adam tricked me once before. “It’s also possible that—say, for the sake of argument, he
did
indeed find more puzzles—he’s merely faking his concern over them.”

“Seriously?” I asked, ever-awed by her corrupt and suspicious mind.

“Seriously
possible
,” she insisted.

Still, suspicious mind or not, by the end of our conversation, Kimmie finally agreed that it was a good idea I was going to meet him.

“So, where do you want to go?” Adam asks, turning to face me. His deep brown eyes match the color of his sweater.

“The library,” I say, assuming I’ll feel a tinge less guilty if we actually go along with the story I told my parents.

Adam doesn’t question the choice. He simply puts his car in drive and we arrive about fifteen minutes later.

The library is surprisingly full. Adam leads us through the stacks, mentioning how there are study rooms in the back where we can talk in private. He nods toward an open door, but before we even get there, someone calls out his name.

We turn to look. It’s Piper. She, Melissa, Janet, and Tray are sitting around a table, doing their homework. Janet waves, while Melissa shoots us a dirty look and Tray stays focused on his books, ignoring our existence.

“Busted,” Piper says, once we get to their table. Her arms are folded; she’s clearly ticked. “I thought you said you were too busy to work on our project.”

“I am. I
did,”
he says, flustered
.
“It’s sort of a long story.”

“One that obviously involves minors.” Melissa snickers. “Isn’t it past your bedtime, little girl?”

“Don’t be like that,” Adam says to her.

“Like what?” she snaps. “Don’t be a scammer like you? Don’t stand people up? Don’t lead people on?”

“I thought we were all going to move past this,” Adam says.

Melissa gets up and stomps off. Meanwhile, Tray has yet to even look up from his book.

“We’ll talk later, okay?” Adam says to Piper.

“How about I come by your place and show you what I’ve done on the project?” she says. “I could bring over some late-night snacks….”

“Sounds good,” he says. We head into a study room and shut the door behind us.

“
That
was intense,” I say, my back pressed against the door.

“No,” he argues. “
This
is intense.” He pulls a couple of folded pieces of paper from his jacket pocket and tosses them onto the table.

I take one, noting the familiar creamy texture of the paper, and the same sweet scent. Before I can open it up, there’s a knock on the door. Adam goes to answer it.

Melissa is there. “This study room is actually taken,” she says, shoving a sheet of paper in his face—what I’m assuming is a reservation form.

“Since when?” Adam asks. “We just got here.”

“Since about two minutes ago.” She points out the time on the sheet. “I just reserved it. Go complain at the circulation desk.” She pushes past us into the room and begins spreading all her things out on the table.

“Let’s go,” Adam says. He hands me the other crossword puzzle, and we leave, ending up back in his Bronco.

“I’m sorry,” he says, smacking the steering wheel. “I honestly don’t know what’s wrong with everybody.”

“You pissed them off. It’s not exactly rocket science.”

“I didn’t know Tray was interested in her. He could’ve said something. Plus, I broke things off as soon as I found out.”

“And now Melissa’s bitter because of it.”

“Whatever,” he says, staring up at the ceiling.

I pull the crossword puzzles out of my pocket. They look exactly like the others, with the
T
-shape in the far right corner and the
L
-shape at the lower left.

“Pretty freaky, huh?” he asks.

“To say the least.”

“So, I think you have some explaining to do.”

“Excuse me?”

“Come on, Camelia.” He turns toward me. “Ever since you called me, you’ve been hinting that something’s not right. It’s like you know something. So, what is it? Is it something you heard? Is it part of some game?”

I glance out the window, wondering what to tell him—what I can say that he’ll actually believe. “Let’s go someplace to talk.”

“You name it.”

Still parked in front of the library, I continue to look out the window, searching for a coffee shop or restaurant—someplace casual where we can go to discuss things. But it appears as if most of the surrounding buildings belong to the college.

“I know at least one place that’s private,” he says, starting the ignition. He pulls away from the curb, and in less than two minutes we’re in front of his apartment building. “Is this okay?”

“I guess,” I say, hoping I’m not making a mistake. My cell phone clutched in my hand, I enter the lobby with him, and we move up the stairs. There’s a tightening sensation inside my chest.

Adam swings open the door to his floor, and we start down the hallway to his apartment. But then I feel myself come to a sudden halt.

My hand flies over my mouth.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, before he actually sees it.

On his door.

In bright red letters.

The words
YOU DESERVE TO DIE
scream inside my head and nearly knock me to the ground.