Chapter 1
I sat down on a bench to catch my breath for a minute. I was certainly getting my exercise today, rushing all over town placing clues hither and yon, trying to plan a last minute scavenger hunt in between my newborn's frequent feedings. Labor Day weekend always meant a scavenger hunt for my best friends. We'd taken turns planning the hunt every year since college so that everyone got to play 4 years out of 5. This year was my turn. Well, mine and Jonathon's. My husband was great at lots of things, but this particular type of creativity wasn't his strong suit so I had free reign over the clues.
Last year the hunt started in University City and took 12 hours. That year, we were speeding over interstates as far north as Lewis and Clark State Park and as far southwest as Eureka, MO. This was not a fun thing to do while secretly pregnant, I assure you.
Instead of having a huge 12 hour event where all the teams would go through multiple tanks of gasoline covering the entire metro area and spanning two states, this year I was planning a mostly walking treasure hunt confined to Kirkwood, the town where Jonathon and I lived with our new daughter, Maggie.
Kirkwood is a great little town. It is technically a suburb, but it doesn't look or feel like one. It's certainly in the St. Louis metropolitan area, but it's a very self-contained little city with its own distinct identity and a small-town feel. I love this place, and planning this year's hunt had been fun, even on the nearly sleepless new-parent schedule I was operating on these days.
After walking around town scoping things out for an hour, Jonathon and I stopped in at a deli to grab some sandwiches, feed the baby, and work out some of the details for some clues. The deli was right next door to the Fantasy Shoppe, geek paradise. As usual, we couldn't resist dropping in.
The shop door said, "Welcome, Lords and Ladies," as it always did, but that's where the resemblance to normal ended. Inside the store was a mess. Comics and board games were strewn across the floor, and there were large stacks of computer games and trading cards on every horizontal surface. It was oddly quiet. There was no one behind the counter, no one on the phone, no one stocking shelves. After sharing a look, we headed back toward the back of the store.
True geeks knew that the black curtain at the back of the store hid not a storeroom, but a game room. All the merchandise was actually kept on the sales floor and the precious real estate in the back of the store was used for Magic tournaments, Dungeons & Dragons night, and other such mystical events. I couldn't get into the fantasy role playing world, but I found it oddly fascinating. We had friends who were doctors and rocket scientists who were into this sort of thing, and we just drifted on the periphery of that life, too geeky ourselves to pass judgment.
There was certainly something going on behind the curtain. As we drew closer, we heard raised voices, someone crying, and it sounded like someone was slamming boxes around. A woman's voice said, "What are we going to do?" We've promoted this thing like it's the second coming. We’ve got hundreds – thousands! – of people expecting the game on Tuesday and we've got nothing!" It sounded like Tami, an assistant manager that I'd met in the store several times.
A man's voice responded bitterly, "Oh, we've got something, all right. We've got thousands of colorful, high quality cardboard boxes filled with illustrated booklets that cost us our life savings to print. We just don't have the freaking game!" That sounded like her stoner co-assistant manager, whose name I'd never bothered to learn.
Paul and I shared a horrified glance. We might not be true gamers, but even we knew that The Fantasy Shoppe was sponsoring the release of this year's most anticipated new computer game, Spirit Scheme II. Spirit Scheme had been the biggest game of the year two years ago and had breathed new life into the game industry. All the hype suggested that the sequel was going to be even better. And due to some unusual arrangement between the game designer and The Fantasy Shoppe, the Shoppe had the honor of coordinating the release. The game was going to hit Kirkwood a week before it was available anywhere else in the nation. Local bed and breakfasts were over-run with college kids in jeans and sweatshirts, laptops plugged into floral-papered walls, waiting for their chance to get their hands on the game before their roommates back home. If the game wasn't here, where was it? This could totally ruin an independent little business like The Fantasy Shoppe.
"Where in the world can Divinity be? She's never been out of touch for this long. She's off-line and she's not answering her cell phone, either. I am totally freaking out. She took the beta copies back last week and promised us the replicated final copies by yesterday. What are we going to do?!"
"Maybe you're right and Divinity really is a "she". After all, it would be just like a girl to flake out like this at the last minute. Girls can never be trusted in business." He sounded like he was needling his co-worker on purpose, but it still made my blood boil.
I was about to throw a nearby sculpture of Isengard through the black curtain when the woman responded again, giving my temper time to cool off a bit. "Oh, shut up, you ignorant hick. This distribution deal was my brain child from the beginning and if I didn't cover for your slacker ass, we'd have gone out of business years ago. Get on your computer and see if you can find a copy of the beta version. If we can debug . . . "
Jonathon tapped me on the arm and we quietly backed away from the back room and out of the store. I lifted my eyebrows at him. He shrugged and headed home to start customizing some maps for tomorrow's competition, while Maggie and I set out to place a few of the clues.
Since the library was close to the Fantasy Shoppe, I decided to start there. And since the baby fat wasn't disappearing as quickly as I'd have liked it to, I was walking. A woman was standing on the steps outside the library, watching me approach. As a Midwesterner, I'm not used to that much direct scrutiny (we tend to have this whole privacy thing) and so even though there was nothing overtly creepy about her I was a little uncomfortable. She was wearing a long peasant skirt and sweater and had her shiny, long hair braided. As I made my way up the steps she met me with a warm smile and shook my hand.
"Hi, I'm Amanda. Do you live around here?"
"Er, yes. Is this a save the library petition?" I'd thought of a decidedly non-creepy excuse for this apparently unavoidable interaction. I took my hand back and wondered if she'd be horribly offended if I pulled a wet one out of the diaper bag. I hated touching people, especially now that I had a baby and was at all times just this side of panicked of passing along stranger germs.
"Nope, no petition. Do you go to church?"
Sigh. "Yes, we belong to a local church and are very happy there."
"Really? Which one?"
"Kirkwood First Presbyterian." Was it my imagination or was she actually pursing her lips in disapproval? In this political climate, who openly disapproves of church? Was this some sort of misguided pagan recruiting experiment?
"I'm a Disciple from the St. Louis Church of Christ. We'd love to have you and your family come worship with us one Sunday."
"Well, thank you, but we really are very happy at our current church. I'm meeting my husband inside, so if you'll excuse me . . . ?"
"What a lovely baby you have! A girl? You know, we have a moms and daughters group that meets on Tuesday mornings at the church. No pressure. You don't have to be a member to participate. It's just a group of moms and girls who get together to talk, eat cookies, that sort of thing. I have a flyer . . . here it is! Please say you'll come!"
"Thank you very much for the invitation. I'll try to stop by this week." Anything to get past her and inside the library. As the door closed behind me, I breathed a sigh of relief. Presbyterians are decidedly bad at evangelism. In-your-face religion tended to sort of freak me out. I was more of a slip into the balcony late churchgoer. I sang with gusto if not skill, and then made a short stop in the fellowship hall for a cookie and the two to three minutes of small talk that I was capable of before bolting for the door.
Unfortunately, now I was stuck inside the library until the Disciple outside left. I sat down at a work table to work on a complicated clue, hoping that Maggie's walk-induced nap would last long enough that we didn't end up causing a scene before we could leave.
Last year the hunt started in University City and took 12 hours. That year, we were speeding over interstates as far north as Lewis and Clark State Park and as far southwest as Eureka, MO. This was not a fun thing to do while secretly pregnant, I assure you.
Instead of having a huge 12 hour event where all the teams would go through multiple tanks of gasoline covering the entire metro area and spanning two states, this year I was planning a mostly walking treasure hunt confined to Kirkwood, the town where Jonathon and I lived with our new daughter, Maggie.
Kirkwood is a great little town. It is technically a suburb, but it doesn't look or feel like one. It's certainly in the St. Louis metropolitan area, but it's a very self-contained little city with its own distinct identity and a small-town feel. I love this place, and planning this year's hunt had been fun, even on the nearly sleepless new-parent schedule I was operating on these days.
After walking around town scoping things out for an hour, Jonathon and I stopped in at a deli to grab some sandwiches, feed the baby, and work out some of the details for some clues. The deli was right next door to the Fantasy Shoppe, geek paradise. As usual, we couldn't resist dropping in.
The shop door said, "Welcome, Lords and Ladies," as it always did, but that's where the resemblance to normal ended. Inside the store was a mess. Comics and board games were strewn across the floor, and there were large stacks of computer games and trading cards on every horizontal surface. It was oddly quiet. There was no one behind the counter, no one on the phone, no one stocking shelves. After sharing a look, we headed back toward the back of the store.
True geeks knew that the black curtain at the back of the store hid not a storeroom, but a game room. All the merchandise was actually kept on the sales floor and the precious real estate in the back of the store was used for Magic tournaments, Dungeons & Dragons night, and other such mystical events. I couldn't get into the fantasy role playing world, but I found it oddly fascinating. We had friends who were doctors and rocket scientists who were into this sort of thing, and we just drifted on the periphery of that life, too geeky ourselves to pass judgment.
There was certainly something going on behind the curtain. As we drew closer, we heard raised voices, someone crying, and it sounded like someone was slamming boxes around. A woman's voice said, "What are we going to do?" We've promoted this thing like it's the second coming. We’ve got hundreds – thousands! – of people expecting the game on Tuesday and we've got nothing!" It sounded like Tami, an assistant manager that I'd met in the store several times.
A man's voice responded bitterly, "Oh, we've got something, all right. We've got thousands of colorful, high quality cardboard boxes filled with illustrated booklets that cost us our life savings to print. We just don't have the freaking game!" That sounded like her stoner co-assistant manager, whose name I'd never bothered to learn.
Paul and I shared a horrified glance. We might not be true gamers, but even we knew that The Fantasy Shoppe was sponsoring the release of this year's most anticipated new computer game, Spirit Scheme II. Spirit Scheme had been the biggest game of the year two years ago and had breathed new life into the game industry. All the hype suggested that the sequel was going to be even better. And due to some unusual arrangement between the game designer and The Fantasy Shoppe, the Shoppe had the honor of coordinating the release. The game was going to hit Kirkwood a week before it was available anywhere else in the nation. Local bed and breakfasts were over-run with college kids in jeans and sweatshirts, laptops plugged into floral-papered walls, waiting for their chance to get their hands on the game before their roommates back home. If the game wasn't here, where was it? This could totally ruin an independent little business like The Fantasy Shoppe.
"Where in the world can Divinity be? She's never been out of touch for this long. She's off-line and she's not answering her cell phone, either. I am totally freaking out. She took the beta copies back last week and promised us the replicated final copies by yesterday. What are we going to do?!"
"Maybe you're right and Divinity really is a "she". After all, it would be just like a girl to flake out like this at the last minute. Girls can never be trusted in business." He sounded like he was needling his co-worker on purpose, but it still made my blood boil.
I was about to throw a nearby sculpture of Isengard through the black curtain when the woman responded again, giving my temper time to cool off a bit. "Oh, shut up, you ignorant hick. This distribution deal was my brain child from the beginning and if I didn't cover for your slacker ass, we'd have gone out of business years ago. Get on your computer and see if you can find a copy of the beta version. If we can debug . . . "
Jonathon tapped me on the arm and we quietly backed away from the back room and out of the store. I lifted my eyebrows at him. He shrugged and headed home to start customizing some maps for tomorrow's competition, while Maggie and I set out to place a few of the clues.
Since the library was close to the Fantasy Shoppe, I decided to start there. And since the baby fat wasn't disappearing as quickly as I'd have liked it to, I was walking. A woman was standing on the steps outside the library, watching me approach. As a Midwesterner, I'm not used to that much direct scrutiny (we tend to have this whole privacy thing) and so even though there was nothing overtly creepy about her I was a little uncomfortable. She was wearing a long peasant skirt and sweater and had her shiny, long hair braided. As I made my way up the steps she met me with a warm smile and shook my hand.
"Hi, I'm Amanda. Do you live around here?"
"Er, yes. Is this a save the library petition?" I'd thought of a decidedly non-creepy excuse for this apparently unavoidable interaction. I took my hand back and wondered if she'd be horribly offended if I pulled a wet one out of the diaper bag. I hated touching people, especially now that I had a baby and was at all times just this side of panicked of passing along stranger germs.
"Nope, no petition. Do you go to church?"
Sigh. "Yes, we belong to a local church and are very happy there."
"Really? Which one?"
"Kirkwood First Presbyterian." Was it my imagination or was she actually pursing her lips in disapproval? In this political climate, who openly disapproves of church? Was this some sort of misguided pagan recruiting experiment?
"I'm a Disciple from the St. Louis Church of Christ. We'd love to have you and your family come worship with us one Sunday."
"Well, thank you, but we really are very happy at our current church. I'm meeting my husband inside, so if you'll excuse me . . . ?"
"What a lovely baby you have! A girl? You know, we have a moms and daughters group that meets on Tuesday mornings at the church. No pressure. You don't have to be a member to participate. It's just a group of moms and girls who get together to talk, eat cookies, that sort of thing. I have a flyer . . . here it is! Please say you'll come!"
"Thank you very much for the invitation. I'll try to stop by this week." Anything to get past her and inside the library. As the door closed behind me, I breathed a sigh of relief. Presbyterians are decidedly bad at evangelism. In-your-face religion tended to sort of freak me out. I was more of a slip into the balcony late churchgoer. I sang with gusto if not skill, and then made a short stop in the fellowship hall for a cookie and the two to three minutes of small talk that I was capable of before bolting for the door.
Unfortunately, now I was stuck inside the library until the Disciple outside left. I sat down at a work table to work on a complicated clue, hoping that Maggie's walk-induced nap would last long enough that we didn't end up causing a scene before we could leave.
© 2004 by Sarahlynn at 1:31 AM
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