Wicked Games (Hartley Grace Featherstone Mysteries Book 3)

like it's safe."
"I do," Raley agreed. "Now, let's get to that lasagna. I'm starving."
The joke was on him. I was pretty sure he'd still be starving after the vegan version.
*   *   *
"It wasn't that bad," Sam said an hour later as she sat cross-legged on my bedspread, texting Kyle all about our day. "I mean, the sauce was good."
I shrugged. "I guess if you closed your eyes, you could kinda pretend the noodles were real."
"And the cake was delicious," Sam added.
I had to concede that point to Raley. I'd had two slices.
Luckily between Sam as a buffer and food as a great reason not to talk, I'd been able to make it through dinner without incurring too many more of Mom's looks or watching Raley get too comfortable in my home. After cake, Sam and I had declined their invitation to watch a movie with them, and we'd escaped to my room. Where we'd spent the last half hour going over what we'd learned about Connor Simon and typing up a draft of a story on my laptop.
Unfortunately, it was a short draft, as I realized we didn't have a whole lot more than we had yesterday. While we'd had the opportunity to talk to both Connor's girlfriend and former partner, what we'd walked away with was a lot of speculation and questions. And still no real idea who had killed the gamer or why.
"Do you think Raley talked to Phoebe Lyons?" Sam asked, setting her phone down and reading my notes over my shoulder.
I shrugged. "I don't know. We know he did talk to Sophia, though. She said he was at her apartment."
"But did he question her as a witness or suspect?" Sam asked. "You heard what Raley said earlier. He couldn't comment on suspects in the investigation. Which means he has suspects."
I bit my lip. "I wonder who they are."
"If only he'd tell us," Sam said, cupping her chin in her hands.
"Or we were psychic."
"Or we could get a look at his case notes."
I turned to Sam. "Actually, that last one isn't a bad idea."
Sam lifted her chin off her hands. "You think he'd let us look at his notes?"
"Well, maybe not let, but I know he writes them down old-school in a little notebook. He had it with him at the con right after Connor died."
Sam nodded. "That's right. I saw him put it in the pocket of his blazer before he talked to you. You think it's still there?"
"Maybe. He wasn't wearing a jacket at dinner. He must have taken it off when he got here," I said.
We both looked at my closed bedroom door, contemplating the possibility that downstairs in my house right now, hanging on my coatrack, might be the key to who had killed Connor Simon. What had Chase told me? I had the inside story. I had to take advantage of that.
"Let's go check it out," I decided.
"I'm right behind you," Sam agreed.
We stepped into the hallway, softly clicked my door shut, and listened for sounds of chatter, the TV, or (oh, please, no) smooching.
Someone screamed, something slammed, then another scream. It was just the movie.
We crept down the stairs, and just before the bottom step, I spotted Mom and Raley on the sofa. He had his arm around her shoulders, his head close to hers. He was whispering in her ear, and I so did not want to know what he was saying that was making her giggle in response.
I had second thoughts about just turning around and forgetting the whole thing. But if I didn't get this story, it was one more failed opportunity to pad my currently very lean college application. If I didn't fatten it up, I wouldn't have a hope of getting into a four-year college. I'd be stuck living at home, which meant just that many more nights of seeing Mom and Raley on the sofa together. Or worse.
So, I sucked it up.
My eyes scanned the hooks by the front door for any sign of Raley's jacket. Nada. I tried to remember if I'd seen it in the kitchen earlier. If so, I'd have to walk right past them to get it. Not great.
Raley leaned over to kiss Mom's cheek, and before my body viscerally reacted by convulsing on the stairs, I spotted his plaid sports coat slung over the back of an armchair beside the sofa.
Yes!
But, of course it was right next to the lovebirds.
"Do you see it?" Sam whispered behind me while I concocted a plan. Or a scheme. Depending on how you looked at it.
I nodded and pointed to the jacket.
"How are you going to get it?" she asked.
"I could maybe crawl behind the sofa and grab it from behind the chair without them seeing me," I whispered back.
"And then what? He's going to see if his jacket starts moving," she said.
Sam had a good point. Darn.
"I'm going to need a distraction."
"Good idea."
I gave her a pointed look.
"Who, me?" Sam said, her eyes going wide even as her head started shaking in the negative.
I gave her an imploring smile and clasped my hands together in a pleading motion. "Just go into the kitchen and make some noise or something. Just long enough for me to search the jacket pockets. Okay?"
I didn't wait for an answer, turning to descend. But she grabbed the back of my shirt, holding me hostage.
"What if he arrests me?" she hissed.
I gave her a look. "For what? Dropping a fork?"
She seemed to see the logic in that, but I wasn't certain she'd move off the steps after me, so I turned to give her a pep talk. "Put your phone on silent and text me if you need inspiration." I