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Chapter One
“What am I going to do about Pip?” Wren Winters plucked her blue tokens from the game board and dropped them into a small plastic bag. Her gaming group sat at their usual table at the Cardboard Sheep, Hollow’s Way’s premiere—and only—board game store for their weekly Thursday night game session. They had just finished playing Horologium, a crunchy Euro-style game about building an astronomical clock that Charlie Reynolds had selected . . . and, unsurprisingly, won. A few other gamers played in the back room or browsed the many aisles of games, occasionally asking Wren or Charlie for assistance.
“The Allensborough Games Convention is four days long. That’s too long to leave her alone by herself with just some extra food. She gets needy even if I’m away at work longer than normal.” The group had spent the last few months planning to attend the gaming convention, buying their tickets, and planning out their schedules, but now that the event was next week, the trip was suddenly a reality and not merely wishful thinking. And Wren needed a solution to her cat care problem. Fast.
“Needy or ‘knead-y’?” Charlie quipped and mimicked the rhythmic motion of a cat’s paws on the table in front of them.
Wren rolled her eyes at the bad pun, shaking her head. “Both honestly.”
“You’ve never traveled since you’ve had her?” Esther Chambers asked, checking her phone. She snapped a photo of the complicated board and tapped out a message, her polished pink fingernails deftly running over the screen. She often logged the group’s plays on social media, tagging the store’s profile page to help promote the #flgs, or “friendly local game store.”
“Not since Marcus.” Wren sealed the plastic baggie and tossed it into the game box with a shrug. Marcus Winters had passed away in a car crash nearly two years ago, leaving Wren to manage the Cardboard Sheep and their only fur-baby, Pip, by herself. Over that time, Wren had carried on with the store, even adding to their customer base, thanks to Charlie and the support of her friends.
“Oh, right.” Esther winced, her cheeks reddening to match her pink hair. She reluctantly put down her phone and began clearing up her own player mat, returning wooden cubes and chits to their respective piles.
“Maybe Anne wouldn’t mind stopping in?” Jo Martin suggested, busily sorting gear, cog, and spring tokens to put away neatly. “She’s always posting photos of her own animals in between updates of what she’s got fresh in the bakery.” The Outrageous! Bakery was a Hollow’s Way hot spot, and its owner, Anne Outhwaite, often stopped by the Cardboard Sheep looking for the latest game to buy her teenage son, Luke, or sharing extra goodies with the gamers. “Or maybe Luke? I’m sure he’d love a chance to make some extra cash. Kinda like babysitting.”
“Oh, that’s a good idea.” Wren took out her phone and composed a text to Anne, careful not to make it sound too desperate. She hit send and continued cleaning up her board, sorting the numerous tokens of the complex game.
“If Luke can’t, there’s always those pet-sitter sites,” Esther suggested. She took a long pull of her iced coffee, despite the snow eddying outside the shop. “Like online dating, but for your cat.”
Wren looked dubiously at Esther, her brows pinched together. “I don’t think I could trust a stranger with Pip. Or let them in my house, frankly.” She shivered at the thought and pulled down the sleeves of her “Ewe’re the best!” hoodie, with a frolicking white sheep embossed on the front.
“I could hook up one of those fur-baby cameras like a nanny cam at your house. That way you could watch Pip even while you’re here in the store.” Charlie finished clearing up their own board and started organizing the remaining components, removing specific cards from the deck to randomize the setup for next time. It wasn’t clear if Jo or Esther would be eager for another playthrough of the complicated Euro-style game anytime soon, but Wren admired Charlie’s optimism.
“Unless you can also build a robot that feeds her and gives her pets while we’re away at the con, I’m not sure that will be enough.” Wren laughed, tossing a sealed bag of wooden cubes into the game box. She imagined that, given enough time, Charlie could do just that—flexing their engineering skills. “But do you think you could set up a camera?” she asked, hope lilting her voice. She often worried about Pip, wondering if the cat was lonely. She imagined her sometimes trilling throughout the house, searching for anyone to cuddle up with. But then Wren would come home to find Pip in the same curled-up position on the back of the couch where she had left her, as though the cat had merely slept the entire day, undisturbed. Only the empty treat bowl in the kitchen told a different story . . .
Charlie pointed up to the corner of the store, where a small camera perched from the ceiling. “No different than the ones I did here.” They shrugged. “I’m on it, boss.”
Wren tried not to think about the unfortunate circumstances that had precipitated the need for security cameras at the Cardboard Sheep.
Thank goodness Charlie had installed them, or else . . .
She pushed away the intrusive thought, swooping up the game board from the table and folding it neatly away. If only she could so easily compress and store the bad memories that sometimes took over her mind.
“Well, that’s something at least,” she said at last. “Being able to see Pip while we’re away would put my mind at ease.”
“Easy peasy,” Charlie said, pushing the lid of the game box down with a satisfying squelch of cardboard. “What’s next?”
“We could always try out your game.” Esther held her face in her hands, coquettishly beaming at Charlie. She batted her eyelids that were dramatically adorned with pink sparkly eyeshadow. “The one you’re going to workshop at the con. Showing it to strangers before us, your faithful friends.” She pouted playfully, her mouth drawn down into a mock puppy face.
“When have you had time to develop a game?” Jo asked incredulously. She still wore her mint-green scrub pants from her nursing shift at the hospital, and she stretched her neck left and right, rubbing at a knot in her shoulder. Her long, dark hair was held back with a thick, maroon headband, and small gold hoops graced her ears.
“I took an elective class last spring on game design. It’s something I’ve been toying around with on and off.” They shrugged as if it were no big deal and scanned the nearby shelves for another game to play, squinting as they read through the titles.
“In all their spare time,” Wren joked with a wink. She could tell from the way Charlie wound their hoodie cord around their finger, coiling the string between index finger and thumb that they didn’t want to talk about their game anymore. “What about something quick and lightweight before we call it a night?” she asked, changing the conversation. She stifled a yawn and checked her watch, noting the late hour.
The gaming group finished out the night with Biblio-file, a small flip and write game about collecting rare books. Esther won handily and chalked up her success to her librarian expertise, and the others agreed. Her ruthless strategy of culling the lower-scoring books as rarer books emerged had dominated the game. As they compared final boards, tiny golf pencils in hand, Wren’s phone dinged.
“Anne says she and Luke are on board for Pip duty.” She typed back a quick thanks, suggesting they meet up the next day to figure out the details. “That’s a relief. For a minute I thought I might have to bail on you all.”
“We would never let you do that. We need you there.” Jo double-checked her math on her sheet and circled her final score, the same number she had arrived at the first time.
“Of course we do. You’re driving!” Esther smirked mercurially before logging the play of Biblio-file in her gaming profile online.
“Ha, ha, very funny.” A customer waved good night and opened the door, letting in a cool draft that wound through the shop. Wren tugged her sleeves down, slipping her thumbs through the thumbholes at the cuffs for extra warmth. A chill zigzagged its way up her spine, and she shuddered. “Yes, I’m chauffeuring you all up to the con. Any special requests for the ride?”
“Ooh, maybe Anne can make us something delicious for our road trip.” Charlie had moved over to the café area of the game store and was cleaning up the last of the dark roast coffee they had brewed earlier. “And I’ll take drink orders for the drive up. We’ll need extra energy for the road.” The Flavor Text Café had been Charlie’s brilliant addition to the Cardboard Sheep, a way to increase foot traffic and keep gamers caffeinated and sated while they played for hours on end. Though Wren had been reluctant at first, afraid of the added responsibility and potential mess, she had to admit the café was a great success.
“Are you going to bring . . .” Jo looked over at the counter, where a metal cane leaned against the glass case that housed specialty items and rare collectible cards.
“I guess I have to.” Wren shrugged, tossing the tiny pencils and score sheets back into the Biblio-file box. “Doctor’s orders and whatnot.” Over the last few months, her rheumatoid arthritis had flared, and the doctor had recommended that she start using a cane when walking long distances to take some of the pressure off her joints. But Wren had been reluctant to integrate the assistive device into her day, often forgetting it or leaving it behind. She had tried walking to the store with it a few times, refusing to give up her routine, but hated how slow and awkward it made her. She was unsure when to move the mobility device ahead of her and how to synchronize her gait with it. A few times she had accidentally kicked the cane out of her grasp, sending it skittering across the sidewalk in front of her. Jo, a skilled nurse with seemingly unending patience, had reassured her that it would take time to get used to, but Wren wasn’t sure she wanted to get used to it.
“It might be helpful,” Esther said cheerfully. “The convention center is huge. We’ll probably be walking a lot.”
“On hard surfaces that won’t be very giving on your joints. Better take it,” Jo agreed, her voice slipping into her medical professional tone.
“All right, all right, I’ll take it.” Wren scooped up the book-themed cards and put them away in the square box. She glared at the cane, wishing she hadn’t left it out for the others to spot.
Just what I need.
On Wednesday morning, Wren went through her checklist three times before finally feeling like she had done everything she needed to for the trip. She had packed and repacked her bag, once again ignoring the cane standing in the corner by the front door. Pip had helpfully crawled into the small suitcase, kneading the pile of clothes to perfection before curling up for a nap. Not wanting to disturb her, Wren snapped a photo of the sleeping cat to share with her friends—“Cutest stowaway ever?”—before busying herself with the rest of her to-do list.
Charlie had come by over the weekend and installed a nanny camera in the living room so that she could check in on Pip as needed, accessing the feed through an app on her phone. Now, she pulled up the footage, ensuring the camera was positioned correctly so she could see Pip in her usual spots—the back of the couch, the end table nearest the window to stalk and chitter at a bird or squirrel outside, and the patch of carpet where often a sunbeam made for a conveniently warm napping spot. Charlie had even positioned it just right so Wren could just make out Pip’s food dish in the kitchen in the distance. She stepped into the frame of the camera and smirked as she saw herself on her phone’s screen, looking down at her phone.
“Well, that’s not weird at all,” she mumbled, uneasy at the sight of herself.
Clicking out of the app with a shudder at the thought of being constantly surveilled, she returned to the kitchen counter, where she had left out a large envelope. She knew its contents inside and out, like the rules of a game she had played a hundred times—one program for the Allensborough Games Convention, a watch, a few game promos, and some unused ticket stubs.
A few months before, Detective Gwen Greene had informed her that, after re-examining the case file of Marcus’s car crash, she had determined that his death had not been accidental after all. The detective hadn’t explained all the details to her fully, something about the impact angle and location and the vehicle’s final resting position on the median. She had promised that she’d continue looking into the case, working with the Allensborough Police Department to mark it as an open file. “But don’t get your hopes up . . .” the detective had warned, her mocha-colored eyes unusually sympathetic.
“We make our own hope, right, Pip?”
The cat trilled at her name, sleepily lifting her head, her almond-shaped eyes mere slits. She yawned and stretched one large paw outward before covering her face with it and snuggling back down into the suitcase splayed open on the couch.
Wren unclasped the metal fastener on the envelope, took out the program from two years earlier, when Marcus had attended, and slipped it into her crossover bag. She pulled out her checklist once more and reviewed what was left to be done. In the living room, a large plastic storage box sat in the corner, dust caking its lid. On the side in black permanent marker were the words Holiday Decorations. She had lugged the box up from the basement but hadn’t had a chance yet to sort through the lights and the assorted knickknacks she sometimes decorated with. If she waited much longer, the holidays would be over. Many of the houses in her neighborhood had put up their decorations long before Thanksgiving.
Wren grinned at the memory of the strings of white twinkle lights that once graced her porch all year-round several years ago. “Economical and sustainable!” Marcus had insisted. “They can last all winter . . . and spring . . . and the rest of the year. Who says we have to only be festive in December?”
“Festive might be a stretch,” Wren had ribbed, pointing to the plain, white bulbs.
Now, she pushed the box to the side and out of the way. She had considered asking for Charlie’s help to string the lights along the porch, their long arms and non-arthritic body making it an easier task for them. But after they had already hooked up the cat camera, she hadn’t wanted to ask for another favor. She’d manage it, she told herself. After the con. There would still be time. After all, it was only the first week in December. There was still lots of time to be merry and bright. Wasn’t there?
“We’re on our own timeline, right, Pip? Slow and steady, even if it does take us until next year.”
Pip curled upside down, exposing her white belly, her paws bent in front of her like an otter on its back.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
A few hours later, Wren had finally extricated Pip from her suitcase, loaded her hatchback, and texted the gaming group chain to expect her imminent arrival at their respective abodes.
Charlie had posted a sign on the Cardboard Sheep’s door and on their social media pages, informing patrons that the shop would be closed for the rest of the week. “Sorry we’ll miss ewe! Gone gaming.”
With everyone and their belongings safely stowed away, they set off.
“I made us a playlist for the ride,” Esther announced, scrolling through the many songs on her phone.
“Please tell me there’s something on there other than polka and K-pop?” Jo begged, a grimace tugging at her mouth. “I can’t take an endless string of sad boi songs.” Esther’s musical taste could be a bit eclectic, drawing from inspirations far and wide, including whatever the student workers at the Holloway College library were in to these days.
“Don’t worry.” Wren leaned over to Jo. “I packed earplugs.” She patted the outside pocket of her purse and winked.
“There’s something for everyone,” Esther promised. She took a long pull from the iced coffee Charlie had concocted, her pale-pink lips leaving lipstick marks on her straw. “Delicious, as always. My compliments to the chef.” She held up the drink, cheering on Charlie.
“If you think that’s good, wait until you see this. Anne made us ‘Road to Victory’ muffins for the trip.” They opened a white cardboard box to show off the plump, cinnamon crumble-topped treats. “It’s a play on her Morning Glory recipe. Just for us.”
“Clever!” Jo nodded in approval. She sipped at the hot chai latte that Charlie had prepared. “Mmm, it’ll go well with this cardamom explosion you crafted for me.”
“Those look amazing.” Esther took a muffin, cradling it on her lap in the backseat.
“Napkins!” Wren reminded, eyeing Esther in the rearview mirror as she merged onto the highway.
Charlie held out a large stack for the others to take. “We know, we know,” they groaned and sat back, stretching out their long legs as much as possible in the cramped backseat.
“All set with Pip?” Jo daintily peeled a piece of crumble topping from her muffin and chewed it thoughtfully. She spread a napkin across her lap, covering her black yoga pants.
“I gave Anne the rundown over the weekend and told her where my spare key was. She was worried Luke might lose it if I just gave it to her, so we decided keeping it there was a better idea.” She sipped from her tumbler of black coffee and placed it carefully back in the cupholder next to her.
“And how many times have you already checked the cat camera since you left the house?” Esther arched her eyebrows playfully and popped a fluffy lump of muffin in her mouth.
Wren’s face flushed and she bit her lip. “Just . . . three or four times. Once when I picked up each of you and then again at the gas station.” She grimaced, her nose scrunching up as she set the cruise control and leaned back in her seat. “I—I have a problem, don’t I?”
“Mayyyyybeee . . .” Esther drew out the word before tossing another morsel of muffin into her mouth.
“You just care about her. And us. That’s not a problem. It’s a blessing,” Jo insisted, shooting Esther a withering glare over her shoulder.
And a curse . . .
End of Excerpt
