out why. We had already agreed on this part. We were satisfied with the basic strategy of the game. Gwen, he wouldn’t have done this without a reason. Something’s wrong. I mean really wrong. Either that or he’s going to change Elf Hunt and market it all by himself. He wouldn’t do that, would he, Gwen?”
“Cut you out? No, Larry,” she said quietly. “I don’t think he would do that. Can you tell me exactly what it is he’s done to the game?”
“You’ll have to see it for yourself. It’s hard to explain. He’s messed with it. For God’s sake, I can’t figure out why!”
A tiny flare of apprehension and excitement came to life in Guinevere’s stomach. She remembered what Zac had said about adrenaline rushes. This was crazy, totally illogical. But she couldn’t stop herself from saying the next few words.
“I’ll be right over, Larry. I’d like to see exactly what Cal’s done to your game.”
Chapter Five
Guinevere found the house in the Wallingford district without too much trouble. She had never been to Larry’s home before, but his directions over the phone had been given with a programmer’s flair for accuracy. As she parked her small Laser on the street in front, she was mildly surprised to see that Larry’s yard didn’t appear as overgrown and weed-invaded as Cal’s. But then Larry had always been the neater one at work.
It was hard to read the number on the front of the house because the porch light wasn’t on. Neither was any other light, Guinevere realized as she walked up the shadowed cement path. It reminded her of the dark solitude of Cal Bender’s house.
At the bottom porch step Guinevere came to a halt and frowned at the unlit structure ahead of her. It was nearly ten o’clock. Surely Larry would have some light on in the house. Granted, he might have forgotten to turn on the porch light or it might have burned out, but when you were expecting company, you had some illumination. Larry didn’t appear to have turned on so much as a bathroom or kitchen light.
She had been in a rush since leaving her apartment. It had taken time to dig the Laser out of the apartment garage. She drove it rarely in the city, and it took awhile to warm it up. But it hadn’t been more than half an hour since Larry had called. Why was everything looking so dark and abandoned?
A shot of chilled uncertainty went through Guinevere as she stood gazing up at the vacant porch. Memories of entering Cal Bender’s empty house returned along with the knowledge that this sort of thing was easier to handle when Zac was along.
Guinevere took a deep breath and administered a short, pithy lecture on the subject of logic and keeping one’s imagination under control. Then she boldly started up the wooden steps. Larry had called her only a short while ago. He must be inside.
The door swung open easily enough, and for the first time she saw light. It was the eerie glow of a computer screen in the corner, and it did nothing to reassure Guinevere. The small living room appeared to be empty. She groped for a light switch.
“Larry?” Her voice startled her by sounding unusually husky. She cleared her throat and called again. “Larry? Where are you?”
The overhead light revealed a reasonably neat version of a bachelor’s living room. Larry was definitely not as sloppy as his would-be business partner. Here the tons of computer magazines were filed in bookcases, and the Twinkie wrappers were deposited in or near the trash can. Guinevere didn’t even see any stray laundry lying on the worn hardwood floor.
There was no sign of Larry. The trickle of unease Guinevere was feeling metamorphosed into the first prickles of genuine fear. She was strongly tempted to back out the way she had entered, get in the Laser, and drive back to the safety of her own apartment. From there she could call Zac. Entering lonely, unlit houses was his idea of a hot evening, not hers.
But an innate sense of practicality sent her
“Cut you out? No, Larry,” she said quietly. “I don’t think he would do that. Can you tell me exactly what it is he’s done to the game?”
“You’ll have to see it for yourself. It’s hard to explain. He’s messed with it. For God’s sake, I can’t figure out why!”
A tiny flare of apprehension and excitement came to life in Guinevere’s stomach. She remembered what Zac had said about adrenaline rushes. This was crazy, totally illogical. But she couldn’t stop herself from saying the next few words.
“I’ll be right over, Larry. I’d like to see exactly what Cal’s done to your game.”
Chapter Five
Guinevere found the house in the Wallingford district without too much trouble. She had never been to Larry’s home before, but his directions over the phone had been given with a programmer’s flair for accuracy. As she parked her small Laser on the street in front, she was mildly surprised to see that Larry’s yard didn’t appear as overgrown and weed-invaded as Cal’s. But then Larry had always been the neater one at work.
It was hard to read the number on the front of the house because the porch light wasn’t on. Neither was any other light, Guinevere realized as she walked up the shadowed cement path. It reminded her of the dark solitude of Cal Bender’s house.
At the bottom porch step Guinevere came to a halt and frowned at the unlit structure ahead of her. It was nearly ten o’clock. Surely Larry would have some light on in the house. Granted, he might have forgotten to turn on the porch light or it might have burned out, but when you were expecting company, you had some illumination. Larry didn’t appear to have turned on so much as a bathroom or kitchen light.
She had been in a rush since leaving her apartment. It had taken time to dig the Laser out of the apartment garage. She drove it rarely in the city, and it took awhile to warm it up. But it hadn’t been more than half an hour since Larry had called. Why was everything looking so dark and abandoned?
A shot of chilled uncertainty went through Guinevere as she stood gazing up at the vacant porch. Memories of entering Cal Bender’s empty house returned along with the knowledge that this sort of thing was easier to handle when Zac was along.
Guinevere took a deep breath and administered a short, pithy lecture on the subject of logic and keeping one’s imagination under control. Then she boldly started up the wooden steps. Larry had called her only a short while ago. He must be inside.
The door swung open easily enough, and for the first time she saw light. It was the eerie glow of a computer screen in the corner, and it did nothing to reassure Guinevere. The small living room appeared to be empty. She groped for a light switch.
“Larry?” Her voice startled her by sounding unusually husky. She cleared her throat and called again. “Larry? Where are you?”
The overhead light revealed a reasonably neat version of a bachelor’s living room. Larry was definitely not as sloppy as his would-be business partner. Here the tons of computer magazines were filed in bookcases, and the Twinkie wrappers were deposited in or near the trash can. Guinevere didn’t even see any stray laundry lying on the worn hardwood floor.
There was no sign of Larry. The trickle of unease Guinevere was feeling metamorphosed into the first prickles of genuine fear. She was strongly tempted to back out the way she had entered, get in the Laser, and drive back to the safety of her own apartment. From there she could call Zac. Entering lonely, unlit houses was his idea of a hot evening, not hers.
But an innate sense of practicality sent her
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