A Hopeless Game Read online

  A Hopeless Game

  A Hope Walker Mystery Book Four

  Daniel Carson

  Copyright © 2019 Daniel Carson

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Daniel Carson Books

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photography, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written consent from the publisher and author, except in the instance of quotes for reviews. No part of this book may be uploaded without the permission of the publisher and author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is originally published.

  This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, actual events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters and names are products of the authors imagination and used fictitiously.

  The publisher and author acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book.

  Cover Design by Alchemy Book Covers

  Formatting by Polgarus Studio

  Editing by David Gatewood

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Dear Reader: A Note From Daniel Carson

  Chapter 1

  As it turned out, the Lucky Charms underwear were an unfortunate choice.

  My run through the weird but picturesque town of Hopeless, Idaho, had been eventful in all the worst sorts of ways. I was whistled at by a group of pimply-faced pre-pubescent boys, was chased by a demonic labradoodle, and finished the five miles by tripping over a sprinkler head and landing face-first in a big pile of wet leaves. At least, I really hoped they were leaves.

  So when I returned to my apartment, feeling sore and cranky and wanting to do nothing but relax, I changed my clothes. Rummaging through a box of my stuff that Granny had kept, I found some of my high school clothes—sweatpants, sweatshirt, even underwear. Sure, none of it fit quite like it had when I was sixteen, but on the plus side, everything was slightly worn through in the way that everything truly comfortable is.

  And then, during the night, the temperature dropped and the furnace roared to life. And I kicked off my blanket and removed my sweatshirt and sweatpants.

  Which would have been just fine.

  If not for the smoke.

  I’m one of those women who, once asleep, is fully committed to staying asleep. I can ignore loud noises, horrible smells, even the acute pain of an overinflated bladder. And apparently, I can also ignore smoke.

  Which was what I did on this particular night.

  But fire is a different story. And when I saw a bright flicker through my closed eyelids, I bolted upright. Orange flames blazed seemingly right outside my window.

  The building next door was on fire.

  After that, everything hit me at once. The sound of the sirens. The smell of smoke. And my door flying open to reveal a large figure in thick black boots, khaki coveralls with bright yellow reflector stripes, and a red helmet that framed the kind of rough and chiseled face you’d expect from a firefighter.

  “What are you doing?” he shouted.

  Firefighters apparently didn’t understand the concept of sleeping.

  “Getting a jump start on my taxes,” I said. What did he think I was doing?

  He threw his hands out to his sides. “Don’t you know there’s a fire?”

  This fireman was not the sharpest axe in the shed.

  “I concentrate better when it’s hard to breathe.”

  I climbed out of bed expecting this guy to finally get the joke, but I don’t think he was the joke-getting type. He charged toward me, picked me up with one arm, and threw me over his shoulder.

  “Now’s not the time to do your taxes, lady!”

  Before I could object, the brute carried me down the stairs and through the bar. Part of me was happy to have a big strong man whisk me to safety. Part of me was curious if this big strong man was really dumb enough to believe I’d been doing my taxes. But when he carried me out into the middle of Main Street in nothing but my underwear, the bulk of me was simply horrified.

  Half of our town had assembled to watch the fire. And one by one, they turned toward me like human dominos. Eyes first, smiles second. I was still on this guy’s shoulders, my posterior was prominently exposed to the world, and I was suddenly more fascinating than a burning building.

  It was the underwear.

  The sixteen-year-old underwear.

  The Lucky Charms underwear.

  My lunkheaded hero finally set me down facing the crowd, allowing all the world to get a better look at the smiling leprechaun on the front of my underwear, pointing at a marshmallow rainbow that began at a rather unfortunate spot. The rainbow wrapped around to my backside, where a pot of gold—a very large and very stretched-out pot of gold—was pictured.

  It hadn’t always been so stretched out.

  A lot of things hadn’t always been so stretched out.

  I’m sure the sixteen-year-old version of me had her reasons for buying this underwear. But now, with seemingly every eye in Hopeless fixed on me, I had no idea what those reasons could possibly have been.

  And then my hero finally took a good look at me too. And I took a good look at him. It turned out that, in addition to being large and well-muscled, he was also quite good-looking. Which made it all the more embarrassing when he laughed, winked, and said, “Nice underwear.”

  But then he did a kind thing. He took off his fireman’s jacket and draped it over my shoulders so that it wrapped around me and covered me up.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “All in a day’s work. Listen, I’ve got to go put out this fire, but I’m thinking the two of us should go on a date tonight.”

  That was unexpected. And inappropriate. And decidedly… flattering. If my cheeks weren’t already red from embarrassment, they would be reddening now.

  “You’re asking me out on a date in the middle of a fire?”

  “I don’t kid around about dates.”

  “But… I don’t even know your name.”

  “Fireman Bob.” He winked. “And Lucky Charms is my favorite cereal, which makes you a pretty cool chick in my book. Pick you up around six. Try to be done with your taxes by then.”

  And without waiting for an answer, he charged back toward the fire.

  After three different people asked me if they really were magically delicious, I decided it was best to make my way to the back of the crowd, where Fireman Bob’s coat and I could be alone in our shame. I sat on a bench and looked up at the smoking remains of The Watering Can, the flower shop that had stood next to the Library ever since I could remember. The fire was pretty well controlled now, but I was sure the damage was severe. I just hoped that M
r. Tanaka, the owner, had gotten out okay. He had lived alone in an apartment over the shop ever since his wife died, way back before I was even born, and as far as I knew, his beloved roses, tulips, and tiger lilies were about his only family left.

  My fears were put to rest when I spotted Alex Kramer, the sheriff of Hopeless— a frustrating man who was also more than a little handsome—escorting Mr. Tanaka toward the back of an ambulance. Though the florist was moving slowly and appeared stunned, he didn’t seem injured. A paramedic took his blood pressure, and it looked like Alex was asking Mr. Tanaka a few questions, but the old man said nothing, just stared vacantly at his ruined building.

  A familiar howling cackle sounded behind me, and I turned to see Granny lumbering my way. Though she was in her early eighties and carried a life’s worth of memories on her face, she wore a bright blue Boise State Football sweatshirt pretty much everywhere she went.

  Not that I was in a position to critique anyone’s choice of attire at the moment.

  “Been here no more than five minutes and I hear my granddaughter’s some sort of exhibitionist.”

  “I’m not an exhibitionist. I’m wearing underwear.”

  Granny shrugged. “That’s not the story that’s going around. My mechanic just asked if the bar was turning into a nudist colony. Leave it to my granddaughter to offend a grease monkey.”

  “Had I known I was going to be carried out of my apartment in the middle of the night, I would have worn something more tasteful. Cocoa Pebbles, perhaps. Probably in a size that actually fits.” I pointed past her. “Is the bar okay?”

  Granny waved a hand. “Fire didn’t touch it.”

  “What about the smoke?”

  “It’ll take a while to air out, but we can just pretend it’s the seventies again, when everyone smoked. You know, the good old days.”

  “Everyone smoking was ‘the good old days’?”

  “Hey, interest rates were high, clothes were terrible, and the Bee Gees were considered good music… so yeah, I think the nicotine clouds are the best selling point for the era.”

  “Hey, Granny!”

  We turned to see a dark-haired man approaching. He wore gray sweatpants and a royal-blue Hopeless High sweatshirt that stretched over his good-sized belly. I recognized Coach Duncan immediately. He was one of the high school’s football coaches and he occasionally came into Granny’s bar.

  “What brings you down here?” Granny asked.

  Coach Duncan shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep, saw the smoke while I was walking the dog, so I drove down here to see what was going on.”

  “It’s a fire, Coach. That’s what’s usually what’s going on when you see smoke. But forget about that. Is the team ready?”

  The man nodded solemnly. “Honestly? I think we’re gonna do pretty well.”

  Granny made a face. “Don’t jinx it. Hopeless High hasn’t beaten Prairie View in twenty-five years. And we have never, ever made it to the state finals. So don’t you dare go jinxing it.”

  Coach Duncan put his palms out in a sign of surrender. “A solid point, Granny. But Coach Mossback’s plan is brilliant as usual, and the boys are locked in. Plus, we’ve got Elliot Sunderland. We’re ready.”

  Granny slapped Coach Duncan on the back like she was one of the boys. “That’s what I like to hear.”

  “And how about you?” Coach Duncan asked. “Elliot’s dad said you’re doing an afterparty here. With this fire, will you be ready?”

  “You get the victory, and there’s no way we’re not gonna celebrate. We’ll have the party right here on Main Street if we have to.”

  While Granny and Coach Duncan talked, I took another look at Mr. Tanaka. He had apparently shaken off his shock, as he was now on his feet and shouting angrily at one of the firefighters. Sheriff Kramer stood next to him, trying to calm him down. I jogged over to see what was going on.

  Sheriff Kramer raised an eyebrow when he saw my fireman’s coat above bare legs. He stepped over to me. “Do I want to ask?”

  “I’m covering up sugary cereal undergarments. You know, the usual. What’s going on with Mr. Tanaka?”

  Alex hesitated, then shook his head and answered the question. “It would appear Chief Albrecht here comes from the Hope Walker School of Investigation.”

  I understood. “You mean to say he accused Mr. Tanaka of something criminal, with little to no actual proof?”

  “You guessed it.”

  I frowned. “He can’t do that. That’s my thing.”

  “It’s cute that you think it’s something to be proud of.”

  “If you think that’s cute, you should see my leprechaun.”

  Before I could make things any more awkward, at that moment Mr. Tanaka stormed off and Chief Albrecht walked over to join us. Alex introduced us.

  “Chief, this is Hope Walker. She’s been a great asset to the sheriff’s office on a number of investigations. You mind bringing her up to speed?”

  The chief eyed me cautiously then nodded slightly as some sort of a greeting. “It’s simple,” he said in a nasal voice that I disliked immediately. “When we arrive on the scene of a fire, in addition to containing the fire, we start to look for evidence about where the fire started and what might have caused it. We’ll do a more thorough assessment later, but in this situation, I was able to figure it out pretty quickly. This here was a fast fire.”

  “A fast fire?” I said. “What does that mean?”

  “Suffice it to say, a fast fire ain’t normal. Ain’t normal at all. And in my experience, it means only one thing.” He turned to look toward Mr. Tanaka. “Arson.”

  Chapter 2

  At nine o’clock that morning, Granny, Bess, and I went back over to the Watering Can, where Mr. Tanaka was dragging the charred remains of a table out the front door. Granny walked right up to him and grabbed him by both shoulders.

  “Henry Tanaka, you and I have been neighbors for close to forty years. You may have terrible taste in beer, but you’ve been there for me more times than I can count. We’ll do whatever we can to get you back on your feet.”

  Mr. Tanaka looked down at the ground for a long moment. Then he looked back up. “Thank you, Granny.”

  We worked without saying much for the next hour. Items that were too far gone got thrown in a dumpster that Granny had ordered be dropped off at the curb. Items that could possibly be salvaged were set to one side. Sadly, all the plants fell in the first category—they’d been reduced to little more than charred stalks.

  Throughout it all, Mr. Tanaka moved like he was in the middle of a very bad dream. I wasn’t sure what evidence Chief Albrecht had against Mr. Tanaka, but I knew there was no way the shopkeeper could have done this. The man was devastated.

  It was late morning when Sheriff Kramer pulled up in his truck.

  “You here on official business, Sheriff?” I asked.

  He pulled a pair of gloves from his back pocket and put them on. “I’m here to help.”

  “Good. I thought after what Chief Albrecht said last night…”

  “That I was here to arrest Mr. Tanaka?”

  “I wondered.”

  “Thankfully, Chief Albrecht has no authority to make arrests.”

  “But you do.”

  “The chief will go through the evidence with me later, but unless he’s got a video of Mr. Tanaka setting the fire, I probably won’t be making any arrests. The insurance company will send in their own arson investigator, and if they think it’s suspicious, then I’ll make a call to the state fire marshal. But I very much doubt it will come to that.”

  “Pretty trusting for a sheriff.”

  He looked at me for a moment, his green eyes taking the measure of me.

  “Some people have questioned my level of trust as of late.”

  I ignored the comment.

  Alex and I walked over to a large timber. He grabbed one end and I grabbed the other.

  “So,” he said as we lifted it. “Word on the street is you and Fireman Bo
b have a hot date tonight.”

  I almost dropped my end. “What?”

  Together we threw the timber into the dumpster.

  “Relax. Apparently, he asked you in front of half the town last night.”

  “I thought it was all part of a bad dream.”

  He cracked a smile. “I also heard about the underwear.”

  I felt my cheeks redden. “The underwear part of the story is accurate. But I’m pretty sure I didn’t agree to a date with Fireman Bob.”

  “He did save your life. Sounds like the least you can do is give the guy a date.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “Are you saying you want me to go on a date with him?”

  Alex’s smile vanished. “I’m not saying that.”

  “Oh. So I can’t go on a date with him?”

  Now it was his turn to flush. “Hope, you’re a grown woman. You can do whatever you want to do.”

  “And what about you?” I asked.

  “What about me?”

  “Do you ‘do whatever you want’ with Very Special Agent Vargas?”

  “Rebecca?”

  “Is there another Special Agent Vargas I should know about?”

  Alex put his hands on his hips. “Hope, there is no me and Special Agent Vargas.”

  “I’ve met the woman, Alex. She’s gorgeous. And in case you forgot, the two of you were serious. And not like five years ago. Like six months ago.”

  “More like nine months.”

  I threw my hands in the air. “Well that changes everything.”

  “Hope, I don’t know how to explain this to you.”

  “Honestly, at this point, you don’t owe me an explanation. I’ve seen that Special Agent Vargas has been in town a lot lately. I don’t need it spelled out for me.”

  He closed the distance between us. “She’s been here working on that counterfeit case.” His eyes were locked on mine. Not dancing anymore, but fiery and intense.

  Before I could respond, another voice entered the conversation.

  “Am I interrupting something?”

  The shrill voice startled me, and I jumped a bit as I turned toward the sound—only to be greeted by the unwelcome face of Wilma Jenkins, mayor of Hopeless, the head of a local real estate empire, and the woman who had somehow become my nemesis in the couple of months since I’d returned home.