Fran Rizer - Callie Parrish 05 - Mother Hubbard Has a Corpse in the Cupboard by Fran Rizer Page A

He threw the next ball the same way, and it did the same thing.
    “Good job,” the agent said, and handed Tyrone a tiny stuffed bear about four inches tall from beneath the counter.
    “I thought I was gonna win one of those,” Tyrone complained and pointed toward the large prizes.
    “You can trade this in for a bigger one when you win again,” the agent said and held his open palm out to Tyrone. Patel once again put something in the man’s hand.
    Again, Tyrone landed both balls in the basket and they stayed. This time he received a stuffed dog about twelve inches high. “I thought you said I could win a big prize.”
    “You get one of each level, and then you trade them in for your choice of anything we got. Ready to win again?”
    “Why not?” Tyrone asked. I thought, Why not, indeed? It’s not your money.
    While Tyrone warmed up his throwing arm with some impressive exercises, Patel whispered to me, “The agent’s ‘throwing stock to the mark.’ Giving away little things called ‘slum prizes’ to keep the player interested. That’s called the ‘tiered prize system,’ where the payer keeps trading up hoping to get something really big. We’ll let this play out. Watch what happens.”
    Sure enough, Tyrone kept winning, and he kept trading in smaller prizes for bigger ones. The game agent had begun shout-outs to the by-passers, telling them to come watch this winner, and a large crowd gathered.
    After what seemed like forever and Tyrone trading in one prize after another, the agent made this big announcement to everyone that “This boy is going to play now for his choice of anything here!” People crowded around cheering Tyrone with shouts of, “Win it!”
    Tyrone threw exactly the way he’d done every time from the same place as before. Both balls landed in the basket and stayed causing the game agent to tell Tyrone, “Sorry, Dude, rim shots don’t count.”
    “What? I threw just like I did the other times.”
    “Yeah, but you leaned over the foul line.”
    “What foul line?” Patel interrupted.
    “Come on, Mr. Patel. Don’t start anything. You know how this works.”
    “I sure do, and I don’t appreciate your trying it with me standing here.” Both Patel’s tone and expression showed he meant business.
    Patel and the game agent had a whispered conversation, which ended with Tyrone walking away with an iPad. As we continued around the game circuit, I asked him, “Why did you want another iPad? Don’t you have one from the school? You told Rizzie it was in your locker.”
    “I didn’t want to tell her that I don’t have it anymore.” He looked at Patel. “Can I do that game?” and pointed toward an open tent with “SHOOT OUT THE RED STAR” on a large sign.
    “Sure. Let me talk to you about it first.”
    “Can we get something to eat while we talk and then play the game?” Tyrone asked.
    “Don’t see why not. Follow me.” Patel led us to a Mother Hubbard’s Beer Garden, but not the one where I’d found the body.
    “Since you’ve had dinner, let me recommend something that’s a cross between a meal and a dessert. Why don’t you have an Elvis Burger?”
    “What’s that?” Tyrone asked before I had a chance.
    “It’s a hamburger made on Krispy Kreme doughnuts instead of a bun. On that it has a burger and all the trimmings, including bacon and cheese.” He breathed in deeply and said the next words like a big announcement. “Plus peanut butter and fried bananas.”
    Immediately my mind went to Jane. Given the chance, she’d eat that.
    “No, thanks,” was my reply. Not for me.
    “I don’t know.” Tyrone’s expression clouded. “I’m not sure I’d want lettuce and tomato and onions on it. Could I get it without the vegetables but with peanut butter and bananas?”
    “No problem,” Patel assured him, and then called the server over and requested the special order Elvis Burger and root beer for Tyrone. I asked for fried mushrooms and a Diet Coke while Patel