at stats, but he came up with something like less than three percent. At six o’clock he had a Skype chat with his development team, and they discussed the next episode of Saints and Sinners .
By bedtime, Luke was trying to think up a unique idea for a troll/bridge puzzle, and the crossword had been filed away in a mental TBD bin with things like picking up bread and buying Stephen King’s latest e-book for his iPad.
Until the next morning. Luke and Trevor returned from their morning hike to find the Examiner on the doorstep. This time it had an ominous and vaguely teasing presence, like a plot moment in a cheesy horror movie.
Luke’s heart rate sped up. He took it inside.
1 across – Two can play _ _ _ _
10 down – Made it up _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
11 across – Axe to grind _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
20 down – Blue-eyed _____ _ _ _ _ _
31 across – ___ as a button _ _ _ _
32 down – Greeting _ _ _ _ _
[game designer woodsman blond cute hello]
Okay, “cute” might or might not be part of the hidden message, but Luke was blond and he was cute, dammit.
He shivered as if a cold finger had stroked the back of his neck. There was absolutely no doubt the message was for him. Who was doing this?
On the third morning, Luke went for his walk early and was back home by seven. He watched through his peephole, spying on the open-air corridor outside his door in a vigil that was, frankly, damned boring. But at 7:20 a.m. a teenager appeared and lobbed a newspaper at Luke’s door like he was pitching the World Series.
Luke opened the door in a flash. “Hey! You!”
The boy turned and eyed Luke warily, as if he might dance a naked Macarena at any moment.
“I didn’t order this paper. Why are you leaving it?”
The kid pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “Luke Schumaker, 1750 Wilson Drive, apartment 31C?”
“That’s me.”
“You have a subscription. It started a few days ago.”
“Who signed me up for it?”
The kid shrugged. “Dunno. Call the paper, I guess.”
Luke did and was patched through to the newspaper’s subscription hotline. His daily delivery was a gift, paid in advance for three months. No, they couldn’t tell him who ordered it, because the gifter had checked the “anonymous” box. Company policy.
Luke hung up the phone. A slow grin spread over his face, and his gamer mind rubbed its hands together with villainous glee. Oh, this ? This was excellent . He ripped off a piece of notepaper and started making a plan.
There were two possibilities as Luke saw it. “A. Ecrivain” was either someone who lived in the complex or someone he’d met in town who was watching him. He couldn’t rule out women—he didn’t exactly wear a gay tattoo on his forehead. He drew a line down the paper. The left side he titled “The Woodsman” and the right one “Town.”
On The Woodsman list went:
Judy Miller— The complex manager was a fortysomething smoker with a voice like Harvey Fierstein. She said “ain’t” and “yous” a lot. Unlikely.
Mr. Morissey —The groundskeeper was in his fifties, weathered, married, and lumberjack straight. Probably not.
Phil —The maintenance man weighed three hundred pounds. He’d fixed Luke’s showerhead once, but when Luke cornered him for a chat outside 30A, Phil didn’t seem to recognize him. It was a big “no” to Phil, then.
His co-unit dwellers —They included a single mother who was always distracted, a young couple attending the university, and a grandmother who played tennis in hot-pink sweats. They could safely be ruled out.
Luke’s bedroom window overlooked the parking lot. He set up his laptop in there so he could keep an eye on the comers and goers.
A young woman with red hair and expensive suits lived in unit 28. She looked like Pippi Longstocking, if Pippi had grown up and gotten a law degree. She never glanced at his building. In 22B were Jock A and Jock B, who never emerged without sweats and a ball. Jock A had a girlfriend, and Jock B
By bedtime, Luke was trying to think up a unique idea for a troll/bridge puzzle, and the crossword had been filed away in a mental TBD bin with things like picking up bread and buying Stephen King’s latest e-book for his iPad.
Until the next morning. Luke and Trevor returned from their morning hike to find the Examiner on the doorstep. This time it had an ominous and vaguely teasing presence, like a plot moment in a cheesy horror movie.
Luke’s heart rate sped up. He took it inside.
1 across – Two can play _ _ _ _
10 down – Made it up _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
11 across – Axe to grind _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
20 down – Blue-eyed _____ _ _ _ _ _
31 across – ___ as a button _ _ _ _
32 down – Greeting _ _ _ _ _
[game designer woodsman blond cute hello]
Okay, “cute” might or might not be part of the hidden message, but Luke was blond and he was cute, dammit.
He shivered as if a cold finger had stroked the back of his neck. There was absolutely no doubt the message was for him. Who was doing this?
On the third morning, Luke went for his walk early and was back home by seven. He watched through his peephole, spying on the open-air corridor outside his door in a vigil that was, frankly, damned boring. But at 7:20 a.m. a teenager appeared and lobbed a newspaper at Luke’s door like he was pitching the World Series.
Luke opened the door in a flash. “Hey! You!”
The boy turned and eyed Luke warily, as if he might dance a naked Macarena at any moment.
“I didn’t order this paper. Why are you leaving it?”
The kid pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “Luke Schumaker, 1750 Wilson Drive, apartment 31C?”
“That’s me.”
“You have a subscription. It started a few days ago.”
“Who signed me up for it?”
The kid shrugged. “Dunno. Call the paper, I guess.”
Luke did and was patched through to the newspaper’s subscription hotline. His daily delivery was a gift, paid in advance for three months. No, they couldn’t tell him who ordered it, because the gifter had checked the “anonymous” box. Company policy.
Luke hung up the phone. A slow grin spread over his face, and his gamer mind rubbed its hands together with villainous glee. Oh, this ? This was excellent . He ripped off a piece of notepaper and started making a plan.
There were two possibilities as Luke saw it. “A. Ecrivain” was either someone who lived in the complex or someone he’d met in town who was watching him. He couldn’t rule out women—he didn’t exactly wear a gay tattoo on his forehead. He drew a line down the paper. The left side he titled “The Woodsman” and the right one “Town.”
On The Woodsman list went:
Judy Miller— The complex manager was a fortysomething smoker with a voice like Harvey Fierstein. She said “ain’t” and “yous” a lot. Unlikely.
Mr. Morissey —The groundskeeper was in his fifties, weathered, married, and lumberjack straight. Probably not.
Phil —The maintenance man weighed three hundred pounds. He’d fixed Luke’s showerhead once, but when Luke cornered him for a chat outside 30A, Phil didn’t seem to recognize him. It was a big “no” to Phil, then.
His co-unit dwellers —They included a single mother who was always distracted, a young couple attending the university, and a grandmother who played tennis in hot-pink sweats. They could safely be ruled out.
Luke’s bedroom window overlooked the parking lot. He set up his laptop in there so he could keep an eye on the comers and goers.
A young woman with red hair and expensive suits lived in unit 28. She looked like Pippi Longstocking, if Pippi had grown up and gotten a law degree. She never glanced at his building. In 22B were Jock A and Jock B, who never emerged without sweats and a ball. Jock A had a girlfriend, and Jock B
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