by Patti Larsen
“I’m well aware of that,” Crew said. “But you have questions to answer to before I can make that determination. And fingerprints to be lifted to prove your innocence. Or your guilt.”
“And the second I’m proved innocent,” Evelyn snapped, back into full-on fury, “I’ll be suing you and this little crap hole town for false arrest!”
“Ma’am,” Crew said, “you’re not under arrest.”
“But I’m not free to go, so what does that tell me, Sheriff?”
She kind of had a point. But no one got to confirm that, not when Olivia suddenly burst through the front door, slamming it shut behind her, the sound of the gathered news media shouting at her for her attention barely muffled by the heavy wood.
“I understand,” she said, dark eyes narrowed, fully pulled together since yesterday’s meltdown, at least on the surface, “some evidence in the case has been found and a suspect is in custody?”
Crew hesitated. “Sort of,” he said. And winced.
I wouldn’t have wanted to be him at that moment while she pushed off from the door and stormed over to get in his face, but with the low and dangerous threatening that neither of the other two women tried on him.
“Sheriff Turner,” she said in a hissing growl, “I have been patient. But you are not only holding a famous star prisoner here, you are creating a slew of opportunities for our town to be threatened with lawsuits.”
Evelyn looked nastily pleased. So her little threat wasn’t a threat. She’d already been talking to a lawyer? Whoops.
“That is why,” Olivia turned away from Crew and addressed Evelyn and Stella, “I’ve made the decision to call in state police to help with this investigation.” Oh boy. They could poke their noses in if they wanted, but likely held off out of respect for Crew. Still, I bet they’d just been chomping at the bit to get their hands on this case. That had to be an ego blow for Crew. Though a private part of me—selfish to the core—wondered if it might be better if they did come take this off my hands and let life go back to normal.
Fee. Shame on you.
Bad vibes pay off, typically, and this time was no exception. Crew chose that moment to glance my way and spotted Pamela standing between me and Mom. Just before his already tense expression turned to flat out hell no. And, of course, at the exact same instant, Olivia chose to look our way, too, didn’t she?
Before either of them could lose their crap all over my foyer, however, Mom took a firm and decisive step forward and held up one hand for attention. Surprisingly, both the sheriff and the mayor closed their half opened mouths and listened as Mom spoke.
“Pamela is one of us,” she said. “And I would rather she reported the truth than those vultures out there churning up rumors and guesses while making Reading look bad.”
Both hesitated while Pamela spoke up.
“As it happens, Sheriff,” she said in a mild mannered tone that almost sounded amused. At Mom’s little show? Or this whole situation? “I have some information for you that might be helpful.”
Crew grunted something that might have been impolite but I didn’t catch it so I chose to think otherwise. Willow descended the staircase with Julian on her heels, Matt trailing after them while the sheriff gestured for Pamela to join him in the sitting room.
I motioned for Willow to join me but Olivia was already grasping her hand, gushing all over her.
“My deepest apologies for the accusations and the inconveniences of this horrible, horrible affair.” She was in full on politician mode and missed, in her enthusiasm, Willow’s mask descend in response. But I saw it settle, the way she went from real person to persona in a practiced moment. And that made me wonder all over again. Great actress, abusive spouse.
Damn it. She had the motive and opportunity. Did she plant that bottle and syringe in the third floor bathroom?
My speculation ended as Pamela exited the sitting room, heading past us with a shrug for me and a wink for Mom, disappearing into the kitchen and, I assumed, out to the hole in the fence that I had to make my priority today. Crew came to a serious halt in the center of the foyer, his attention focused on Willow in a way that brought Olivia’s next extravagant apology to a stuttering halt.
“Ms. Pink,” Crew said in that soft and questioning tone that told me she was his prime suspect, “why didn’t you tell me you’d filed for divorce?”
***
Chapter Twenty Six
Why did I feel betrayed? She never told me, despite ample opportunities. Not that she owed me any kind of explanation or even the time of day. But I had this weird impression she liked me, that we were kind of friends already. And friends told each other things like this, right?
Willow’s face settled into flat emptiness as she replied.
“I knew how it would look,” she said, holding Crew’s gaze and not looking in my direction at all. On purpose? Was she feeling guilty? “Besides, the divorce has nothing to do with it. I loved Skip, but he wasn’t the man I married. So you tell me, Sheriff. Why murder him if I planned on divorcing him anyway?”
“I can think of one thing in particular,” Crew said. “Times millions.”
She snorted, looked away at last, but her expression didn’t soften. “We had a prenup. Skip insisted. He was first draft pick before I ever went to L.A. and he had his millions before mine made a debut. Divorce meant neither of us got a cent of each other’s money.”
“But his death makes you beneficiary, I take it?” Crew didn’t sound convinced of his own line of questioning.
“Seriously, Sheriff,” Stella snapped. “Willow Pink is worth far more than Skip Anderson could ever hope to be and her star is still burning brightly. Why would she need to murder a failing football hero for his money? Ridiculous.”
I had to agree. And with the divorce in the works, killing him made no sense. Unless it was a crime of passion, a heat of the moment thing. Except filling a syringe and injecting it at a time she knew he was pretty close to overdosing on his own? That sounded like premeditation to me. But no, if he was that near the edge, why not just sweet talk him into taking enough to do the job? Why risk getting caught by doing it herself?
Questions and more questions.
“Did Skip know about the divorce?” I spoke up before I could stop myself and despite the softness of my tone everyone fell silent and turned to me, even Crew.
Willow nodded slowly. “He knew,” she said. “And he agreed not to fight me on it. So you see, Sheriff Turner, I have no motive whatsoever to kill the man I used to love.” She barked out a little laugh that made Petunia whine softly in response. “I was planning to accept my failure and the shame of my marriage’s end and walk away.” She spun, truly angry now, or so it seemed to me, storming halfway up the stairs before pausing to glare down at Crew. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to lie down.”
No one said anything, the gathering scattering instead, returning to their rooms or passing me and entering the dining room where Mom hurriedly began delivering food. Daisy had appeared when I wasn’t paying attention and helped her, keeping her head down and throwing me shy smiles but not speaking, either.
Great, a silent house. Just what I needed.
I turned to go back to the kitchen with Petunia when Matt almost bumped into me, our trajectories on course for impact. I squeaked then stopped as he smiled his apology, dark eyes still sad.
“Matt,” I said, “Willow told me about the accusations Skip made against you to the league.” Because preamble wasn’t on my menu of options this morning.
His face darkened and he choked a moment before he managed to inhale. But rather than yell at me he nodded. “It doesn’t matter now,” he said. “I’m so tired of all of it. Of Skip and trying to protect him while he spiraled out of control. That boy owed a lot of people for keeping him afloat and he paid us back by trying to destroy us.”
“You and Evelyn,” I said.
Matt sighed. “Yes.” His attitude shifted while he relaxed somewhat as if getting it ou
t there made things better. “Truth is, every coach has access to painkillers, Fee. It’s common practice to load up your players. These guys, they think they’re invincible, act like gladiators or something. And heaven forbid they show weakness or injury or miss a game. The competition for the starting lineup is so fierce any flicker of failure can be a death sentence.” He flinched at his choice of words. “Career wise, I mean.”
“So you were just doing your job.” I wasn’t in a position to judge him, but I did anyway.
“What else do you do with guys who think they need to laugh in the face of pain to be a hero?” He looked angry suddenly. “I was one of them, once upon a time, but I never made it past college ball. I never felt the pressure Skip did until I was standing beside him while he downed a handful of pills because his head hurt so bad he could barely stand. And I let him go out there, over and over again. I did what the team doctors told me to do and I’m ashamed to admit it. But I was scared for my job.”
“And yet he was turning you in for over plying him with painkillers.” Weird. But if his concussion was that bad, maybe Skip wasn’t thinking straight?
Matt seemed confused by my statement, anger fading. “That had nothing to do with it,” he said. “According to the complaint I received, I was under investigation because one of the kids Skip got kicked off the team committed suicide. And I was named in his goodbye world note.”
Huh. “Was Skip, too?”
Matt nodded, grim. “Bad press for him was a different thing all together, though. He could brush it off as competitiveness or sour grapes. But me? A minor coach brought on by the team star? Especially since I was named in a wrongful death suit by the family.”
I wondered if Pamela knew about that.
“The team got it suppressed,” he said, sounding sad at last. “Jason Hagan. That poor kid. I knew Skip was riding him, but I had no idea it was that bad. Until he was canned. And Skip laughed about it. When I heard Jason had offed himself, that was the first time I really hated the guy I used to idolize.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
“I had no reason to kill Skip,” Matt said at last, hands in his pockets, face dark with sorrow. “My career was over, regardless. And so was his. He didn’t get offered a new contract this year. So the writing was on the wall for all of us.”
“Including Evelyn,” I said.
Matt nodded, though reluctantly. “She didn’t do it, either.” That was a bit hasty and without conviction.
“Thanks, Matt,” I said. “Go have breakfast. It’ll all be over soon.”
I left him to enter the dining room on his own, aiming for the kitchen, hoping I was right but more confused by this entire mess than ever.
***
Chapter Twenty Seven
I expected Crew to be interrogating Evelyn, not to find that she’d snuck past me and into the kitchen, accepting a large cup of coffee from Mom with an eager look on her face.
“You make the best java I’ve had in years, Lucy,” she gushed to my mother, inhaling from the massive mug steaming under her nose. “I should steal you and take you back to L.A. with me.”
“You’ll have to fight me for her,” I said, joining them and taking a fresh cup myself.
Evelyn sank to a stool as if invited, eyes locked on me. I’d judged her from the moment I laid eyes on her as hard edged and pushy, and with good reason. But the woman behind that gaze seemed much more human to me now and instead of letting the opportunity pass me by, I sat with her as Daisy bustled into the kitchen and took plates from Mom before hurrying out again.
I guess Carter was busy guarding Willow. Oh well.
“Matt was telling you about the lawsuit, wasn’t he?” She didn’t beat around bushes. Evelyn tipped her mug twice and swallowed with gusto before speaking again. “You do know it’s all bull?”
“So Skip didn’t bully some kid off the team and that same kid didn’t kill himself and name Matt and Skip in the suicide note?” She wanted blunt? I could do blunt.
Mom hissed softly, turning to stare at me in angry shock while Evelyn shook her head.
“Of course, that part happened,” she said. “But the suit is crap.” Okay, if she said so. “It’s a tough business, not for the weak at heart. Those guys are giants in their own minds and if anyone tries to bring them down or shove them aside they take action. And that’s what Skip did.”
“Jason Hagan was challenging him?” Well, Willow did say Skip was aging out and from the sound of the lack of contract he was done with the team he’d just played for at least.
Evelyn nodded with vigor, her coffee sloshing as she did. “It was all Skip, I promise you that,” she said. “Matt might have turned a blind eye, certainly. So did all the coaches. But he was a bastard, that Skipper of ours. A real mean streak to him, concussion or not. I think the injury to his brain just brought out the real him rather than causing it.”
“You still repped him.” Not judging. Not. Judging.
She shrugged and made a wry face that brought out the wrinkles around her thin lips. “It’s the business, kiddo. He was a dick, but he could play football. And those boys aren’t paid to be nice.”
Right. She was totally right. And I needed to shake off this growing anger inside me if I was going to ask the questions I needed to ask without setting the wrong tone.
“So, this kid who died,” I said. “Who was he?”
“Just another wanna be,” Evelyn said. “Only he actually had what it took. Or I thought he did. Showed real promise. I almost approached Jason, would have if Skip hadn’t taken his talent as a personal affront and did his best to ruin the kid first.” She gulped some coffee, gaze in the distant past. “I’d seen him jealous before, but this was beyond. It was all Skip talked about. How Jason did this wrong and Jason couldn’t throw right, endlessly, on and on. Broken record stuff. And a sign he was cracking, in my opinion.”
How practical of her. “But you stayed with him?”
“What can I say,” she shrugged. “I’m a sucker for a paycheck.” At least she was honest about her job and her motives. That I could at least respect, if not what she actually did.
“So how did Skip get him booted?” She was being so forthcoming I wanted to keep her talking. Mom topped up her mug without a word and a nod for me while Evelyn seemed absorbed in the past again.
“Jason got a chance at starting lineup,” she said. “Announced at practice before game night. Skip’s place, no less. I thought his head would explode. Instead, that day, he hit the kid over and over again. Legally, totally inside the rules. But hard and relentless, you know? The last one was an utter train wreck. I’ve never seen anyone get laid out that hard and not get injured.”
“He purposely hurt his own teammate,” I said, knowing the shock and disbelief in my voice had to be heavy.
She nodded though, didn’t seem surprised by my reaction. “Not just once, not by accident. He systematically took that kid down until he couldn’t fight back then snapped him like a twig.”
Holy crap.
“Oh, best part though,” Evelyn said like none of this was a big deal in the long run of her career, “was the aftermath, right? Coaches are full of praise, put Skip back on the lineup because he made such a great example of what to avoid and what not to do on the field, like he’d done Jason a favor.” How disgusting was that? “Then Skip does the best buddy routine, takes the kid under his wing. And makes sure to push him so far into painkillers Jason can’t walk straight let alone catch a football. Ruined him while being an exemplary part of the team.”
My disgust for Skip Anderson ratcheted up about as high as it could have gone and then some, my stomach turning as I thought about purposely ruining someone like that all out of jealousy and utter evil.
“Kid lasted about a month after the accident,” Evelyn said. Winced at her choice of words and I wondered if that’s what everyone chose to call Skip’s attack to make themselves feel better about not doing anything to stop it. “And while I
get that maybe Jason might not have been tough enough, if the kid had been allowed to evolve I know he’d have been a star. Instead, Skip let him tie his own noose and hang himself with it. And laughed about it when Jason got canned. To his face. So the kid would know just who set him up to crash and burn.”
“You know,” Mom interrupted, voice mild—a warning like I’d never heard from her before, that sweetly level tone—“that kind of person might find themselves murdered for what they’d done.”
My mother was a genius.
And Evelyn seemed to agree. “You got it, Lu,” she said as if they were old friends. “If Jason was still alive, he’d be my prime suspect. But he’s been dead about six months. And the family settled not so long ago, for a crap ton of cash to shut them up.”
Didn’t mean it was over in their eyes, though, did it? “And your second choice?”
Evelyn looked uncomfortable. “Willow,” she finally whispered. “Damn that girl, she looks soft and sweet but she’s got a backbone like an iron bar and enough venom saved up to do it. I’m sure of it.”
“You defended her earlier,” I said.
Evelyn winced, downed her coffee, set the mug on the counter. “I did,” she said. “It’s my job. With Skip dead, the sheriff was right. She’s the beneficiary. Though money was never a motive. How he treated her? We all knew it was happening. And I have to live with the fact I didn’t do a thing to stop it.”
At last it appeared, the grief, the woman behind the snarky and heavy handed agent. For a moment I was sure she was going to break down and weep. Instead, she jerked herself together and stood, nodding to me, to Mom.
“I didn’t kill him,” she said. Shrugged. “If I did, I wouldn’t be damned stupid enough to leave the evidence where you could find it, I promise you that.” I didn’t doubt her. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll have some breakfast and try to figure out what to do now that my meal ticket is gone.”
