Page 48 of The Game Is Afoot

“What a great guy!” Florence coos. “He works so hard!”

Even though we’re not touching, I can feel Corey stiffen on the other side of Pearl—it’s that invisible tether between us that has never seemed to go away, no matter how far apart we get. I want to squeeze his arm, to comfort him because I know it’s not easy hearing how these parents go on about Jack sometimes. But then I remember that I’m still mad at him.

“Um, Mommy?” Pearl has stopped in her tracks. “I thought we were playing soccer.”

“What do you mean? We are.” But as I follow her gaze, I can see where the confusion is. On Field B—on all the fields, actually—there are adult men racing across the grass, dodging and diving, yelling and grunting. All of them are wearing T-shirts in either lime green or pastel peach, representing two teams. I see a guy in green with linebacker shoulders tackle someone on the far end as he tries to get to something surrounded by orange traffic cones. On the other side, a man in peach falls to his knees and slaps the grass in fury while another whoops over his head, signaling in a wave of reinforcements.

They’re playing capture the flag.

Axel throws his bag of gear down. “Why are they on our field? This was not the plan!”

“We’re supposed to have these fields until the end of the season.” Hank runs his hands over his face, which has quickly turned stormy. “I’m gonna go talk to these guys. This isn’t right.”

“I don’t think that’s the best idea, bro,” Corey says, as one of the men in peach picks up a buff opposing player who nears their flag and tosses him like a paper ball.

Hank flinches and takes two steps back, probably imagining what they could do to him. Yeah, we don’t need to start a fight we’re definitely going to lose over anunofficial, just for our littles’ joysoccer game. I wonder why Dom didn’t bring these guys instead of his mower on Saturday. It would have been just as effective.

And oh—there’s Dom, right there in the middle, wearing a black-and-white-striped referee polo, surveying his adult recreational capture the flag kingdom. He seems to see me right when I notice him, and his whole body freezes. First he narrows his eyes in confusion, and I’m probably doing the same because why is he staring at me like that? He doesn’t know who I am, and I slipped away into the workout group before he got there on Tuesday…right? But as the chaos of his game continuesaround him, his face shifts into what looks like recognition and then an expression that’s unmistakable: anger.

“Maybe we should go to the park instead,” I say, quickly turning my back to him. “The kids just want to spend time together, right? So that might be better for them anyway. Just playing without the pressure of competition.”

“I don’t know…” Florence frowns, looking back at the game. Shewouldstroll right into guaranteed danger if it meant securing what was rightfully Axel’s. She could probably get at least a week’s worth of posts out of it.

“Wow, look at the way the light is hitting that swing set? Isn’t it beautiful? It would lookso goodin pictures.” Florence’s eyes brighten in delight as she looks to the playground on the far end of Brady Park, visions of Instagram Stories and Reels in her head. I’ve got her.

“I’ll text Jasmine.” I start taking large steps even farther from the field and Dom’s suspicious glare, giving everyone no choice but to follow me. Pearl is already bouncing with excitement over skipping soccer.

“Who else is coming, Florence?” I ask. “Can you tell them?”

She lets out a long sigh and shakes her head. “Not a lot of people confirmed. One of the moms was even mad about my email? Can you believe that?”

Yes, I can definitely believe that. And if we didn’t even have enough kids coming today to play a game, then why did she have us show up? Corey’s smirk lets me know he’s thinking the same.

“Oh look, there’s Bethany! She’s the Purple Platypuses’ team mom. Let me go tell her about the change of plans.” Florence plucks a squirming Marigold out of her carrier and hands her to Hank before trotting over to Bethany and her daughter in a purple jersey. I should have made that connection sooner. Of course she was going to be here. Maybe this is my chance to do somemore poking around, ask some subtle questions.What was Cole’s share in your supplement business, and how much more do you stand to earn now that he died?Okay, a little more subtle than that.

“Come on, Axel! Race you to the slide!” Pearl takes off and Axel stomps after her, pouting at the ground. I’m probably going to get a talking-to from Florence later about how unexpected competition hurts Axel’s heart.

Corey, maybe anticipating the same thing, jogs after them so Pearl doesn’t—god forbid!—try and play tag. And I’m left to walk alone with Hank and Marigold, who seems to be able to toddle along just fine on her own, even in the long white lace sack dress they have her in. Hank is wearing rolled-up tan jeans and a professionally distressed linen button-down with a wide-brimmed straw hat and Birkenstocks. They look like they’re coming from a photo shoot at one of those magazines for white millennials who only wear neutrals and have homesteads, not going to a Saturday morning soccer game.

“They found my prints, too.”

“What? I didn’t—” Iwasjust thinking I should find a casual way to bring up the investigation to one of my few, if unlikely, suspects, but did he read my mind?

He chuckles softly. “Flo told me that she saw Corey there, and—I wanted to make sure that you weren’t worrying. They’re just following protocol with all this.”

“I know,” I sigh. “But I’ll feel better once they move on from him, like…officially.”

And if they’re looking in Hank’s direction, taking his fingerprints, maybe that’ll happen sooner rather than later. Except,wait. A chill rushes over my skin despite the sunny February morning, my body moving ahead of my thoughts. He said theyfoundhis fingerprints, not that they were taking them. Why would Hank’s fingerprints be on that Capri-Sun pouch?

I’m not doing a great job of hiding my feelings, as usual, because he rushes to explain. “I offered to come in after Flo did, just to eliminate my prints. Because, you know, I always help her with snack.”

“Oh yeah?” I say, studying Marigold’s blond head so I don’t have to look at his face.

I don’t remember Hank helping with snack at games, but Iguessit could have happened this one time. He could be like so many dads, bringing up that one example of basic parenting forever to prove that they’re such an enlightened, equal partner. But it could be something else, too. He has a motive. He hated Cole. This unlikely suspect may be looking a little more likely…

“Did they interview you, too?” You’d think I would be better at the subtle thing at this point.

“I told him we weren’t each other’s biggest fans, if that’s what you’re asking,” he says, defensiveness making his voice rougher. “Doesn’t mean I was happy to see him go down like that, though. He didn’t recognize Axel’s potential, and that pissed me off, yeah, but it’s not like I’d wishdeathon someone because of that. Also, we don’t know if it was even murder—”

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