Board to Death by C.J. Connor

Author:C.J. Connor
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2023-06-07T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

On Sunday, Ezra drove me to the address Mr. Newton gave us in my car. I was feeling a little too weak to drive—not physically, but emotionally. It was starting to occur to me that maybe going to a strange man’s home, when it was possible he either knew something about or was Clive’s killer, wasn’t my best-thought-out idea.

Clive’s brother lived in a wealthier Draper neighborhood half an hour outside downtown Salt Lake City. In Salt Lake County, housing prices tended to go up the higher you were on the side of the mountain and the harder it was to get to your home in the winter. Clive’s home was up a particularly unwieldy road, one that required a lot of concentration out of Ezra to drive up without tumbling down either side of it.

So it was clear, unfortunately for us, that Mr. Newton had money.

“Do you want me to come inside with you? I could be your Bootstrap Bill.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Pirates of the Caribbean,” I said. “Do they play Liar’s Dice in it?”

“They did,” said Ezra, “and Bootstrap Bill was the one who saved Will Turner’s life when he almost bet his soul. I can do that for you, too. If things go south, I can take the loss, and maybe he’ll still tell you something.”

I laughed before I could catch myself, more out of surprise. “I don’t need a Bootstrap Bill.”

Ezra raised an eyebrow. “Only a concierge, then?”

“All right. You can come in if you want, but I don’t know why you would.”

“Oh, Ben, don’t worry yourself. I’ve played Ace Attorney.”

“You’ve what?”

“It’s another detective game. You are an attorney, and you ask questions to murder suspects and solve the crimes. I do pretty well at it, too. I only have to look up cheats sometimes. Hang on!”

Ezra jogged around the side of the car and opened the passenger door.

“Thank you.”

Ezra rang the doorbell after we trudged up the driveway. After a few seconds, we heard a tinny voice come out of the speaker.

“Ben Rosencrantz? Here to claim your gauntlet?”

I gulped. “Yes, it is. How did you know?”

“Camera in the doorbell.”

I heard Ezra mutter under his breath, “James Bond–level bullsh—”

“I heard that,” said the doorbell. “Who is that, Ben? I didn’t say you could bring anyone.”

“That’s Ezra,” I said. “You remember him from the funeral, right? He’s my . . . friend?”

I glanced at Ezra. He nodded encouragingly.

The voice took a few moments to respond.

“I see. You’ve brought yourself a Watson. Shame neither of you seem to fill Sherlock’s shoes. He can come in, but he can’t play.”

“Fine by me,” I said.

Ezra groaned. “I haven’t played in so long. I was looking forward to it.”

“I’ll play it with you another time.”

“Really?”

“Sure,” I said hurriedly. “If you want. But right now, let’s just do what Mr. Newton—”

The doorknob turned, and behind the oak frame was Mr. Newton.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said, looking down his nose at us. “Metaphorically fancy, I mean. Is that a Hollister logo on your shirt? You could sell that as a vintage if it wasn’t worth pennies.

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