Wicked Games (Hartley Grace Featherstone Mysteries Book 3) by Gemma Halliday (best e reader for manga txt) 📗

the last one was of him, his mom, and a man who was probably his father. They all must have been taken at least five years ago. Tyler was younger, smiling, and looking happy. Looking nothing like the guy currently dying of mortification in the corner.

When Mrs. McGowen was done checking her food, she turned to us and said, "I am making Mr. McGowen's favorite meal. Beef stew with homemade rolls and a chocolate torte."

Tyler rolled his eyes.

I thought it sounded delish. Especially when I knew my mom was making veggie loaf and faux mac and cheese. That I'd have to eat next to Raley. And Chase.

The last thought made my stomach roll despite the chocolaty aromas wafting toward me.

"So what are you kids up to today?" Mrs. McGowen asked.

Chase, Sam, and I exchanged glances. We'd barely told Tyler why we were here. What were we supposed to say? We came to question your son about his involvement with a dead guy?

"Those are some outfits," she noted before we'd had a chance to answer the first question.

"We were at Gamer Con," I said and turned to Tyler to watch his reaction.

Unfortunately he was looking at his feet.

"Isn't that where that man died?" She turned to Tyler. "The one you worked for last summer?"

Tyler just nodded, eyes still on the floor.

"Horrible." Mrs. McGowen shook her head. "I'm surprised it's still open."

"They shut it down for a day while the crime scene was processed," I explained. "But it's back open today, and they added an extra day onto the end tomorrow."

"I see. Do you three…I'm sorry, what are your names?" she asked. The more she spoke, the more she reminded me of Mom. Her innocent sounding questions were starting to take on an edge, as if she had an ulterior motive for asking. Or maybe she was just highly suspicious by nature.

"I'm Hartley, that is Sam, and this is Chase," I said.

"I don't remember Tyler mentioning any of you before."

That would be because he hadn't.

Luckily before I was forced to answer and reveal how I hadn't even known her son existed thirty minutes ago, Tyler's loud sigh echoed around the room.

Mrs. McGowan quirked her right eyebrow at him. "Tyler, use your words, please." Her tone definitely had SMother to it.

He snapped his head up and pinned her with a look. "Can you please stop this torture so we can go to my room?"

"Okay, fine," she said and blinked innocently several times. "Go along and hang out."

Tyler stormed past her through the kitchen archway.

"But keep the door open, Ty. You know the rules about girls."

"Mom!" Tyler whined, sounding more like a two-year-old than a high school freshman.

"It was nice to meet you," I said to his mom.

She gave a smile that was one part welcoming and two parts suspicion. She might have lived in a candy-colored world, but she had good instincts.

Tyler led us down a short hallway into a bedroom that was the polar opposite to the rest of the house—dark walls, dark bedding, and dark colored furniture. It also didn't seem to have a floor. Clothing, old crinkled snack bags, and empty soda cans covered it. I was afraid to walk in, in case I hurt something of value. Like myself, by twisting an ankle.

Game posters covered every square inch of wall space, and there was even one taped to a rear window. While I might have guessed him to be a game enthusiast by his choice of internship, I hadn't expected this level of commitment. A twin-sized bed was pushed up against a wall, and a desk with two monitors sat on the other side of the narrow room. His dresser drawers were all slightly open, and various articles of clothing—socks, T-shirts, boxers (I quickly averted my eyes)—draped over the sides.

How did a person live like this? How did that polite, torte baking woman allow it to happen?

"So, you're a freshman at Herbert Hoover High?" Sam asked. She was standing by his door. She'd barely entered the room and almost looked a bit scared, as if she wondered if she'd need a tetanus shot first.

Tyler shrugged. "Yeah. So?"

"So how did you get an internship with Connor Simon?" Sam asked. I had a feeling she was only partly asking for the story and partly for her own summer plans.

Tyler shrugged again—it seemed to be his go-to move—and sat on his bed, between a pizza box and a stiff grungy sweatshirt that looked like it hadn't seen a washing machine in months. "I've been at ID Tech every summer since I was seven." He glanced up at Chase and me. "You know, the coding camp?"

I shook my head. The only camp I'd ever been to had been soccer camp, which had ended with a broken arm after running into a goal post and two very bruised shins from all the other girls who had taken soccer way more seriously than I had.

"It's held at Stanford," he clarified.

Sam sighed. "Figures."

"Anyway, I knew the software pretty well that Connor was using for his latest game, so he hired me."

"And what game was that?" Chase asked, jumping on the opening. "The latest one he was working on?"

"I-I can't remember." Tyler's eyes went down to the floor. Or, where I was pretty sure a floor should be.

"You can't remember what game you worked on?" I pressed.

"It was one of those goddess ones."

"They're all goddess ones," Sam pointed out. "Which goddess one did Connor have you working on?"

"What does it matter?" Tyler's head popped up, the dark defiant look we'd first encountered at the front door back again.

"It matters because someone is claiming that Connor started developing Athena's Quest last summer," I said.

Tyler frowned, something changing behind his eyes. "Who's claiming that?"