“I’d like that, too. Of course, we’ll have to keep it our own little secret. Your mom and dad wouldn’t understand. The other girls on the team would be jealous.”
“Okay,” she mouthed the words, or at least she tried to.
“Good. Then from here on out, Avis, you’ll be my special friend. We’ll have lots of fun. I guarantee it.”
She couldn’t remember what she said. Suddenly she didn’t care who had killed Bethany Daws; she didn’t even care about being Kayla’s friend. All she wanted was to get away from this man’s hands and voice and hot, damp breath. She sat as still as she could, desperately hoping he would just put her back in her own seat, then she felt his hands slip under her T-shirt. At that moment, she panicked. Struggling to free herself from his embrace, she sprawled between both seats, trying to reach for the door when she felt the baseball cap topple off her head.
“Oh!” she cried. “I need that!” Frantically she made a grab for the cap. She couldn’t let him see it; if he did, he would certainly kill her just as he’d killed Bethany.
He groaned, surprised, as her elbow dug into the top of his shoulder. “What the hell?” she heard him say as he shifted in the driver’s seat. “Here, I can help—” he began.
“That’s okay,” she said, too loudly. “I’ve got it.”
The cap lay upside down on the backseat, the tape recorder wheels still spinning. As she felt him turning, she made a desperate grab for it. Her fingers curled around the brim and she planted it back on her head, keeping one hand on it as she plopped down in the passenger seat.
“There,” she said, gasping as if she’d caught a line drive at third base. “I got it.”
For a long moment, he just looked at her. “I had no idea you were such a Panthers fan,” he finally said as he rebuckled his seat belt.
“It’s my dad’s cap,” she explained, breathless. “I promised I’d take good care of it.”
He gave her a tight smile. “You’re taking care of a lot of things this summer, aren’t you?”
She didn’t know what to say, so she just sat back in the seat. He reached over and gave her thigh a promissory squeeze, but he did not touch her anywhere else. Already she felt sullied and ashamed. She wanted nothing more than to go home and wash his slobber from her neck, the feel of his hands from her skin. He started the car and they drove on to practice in a tense bubble of silence, Avis saying a silent prayer of thanks that Coach Keener had not seen what her father’s cap concealed.
39
Keener drove to the softball field in a hot delirium. Avis was taping him! With a minicassette taped inside her damn cap! While he’d been holding her on his lap, his fingers just inches from her sweet little breasts, hidden wheels had been turning his words into magnetic signals that could end his life as profoundly as a bullet to his brain. And for what reason? Until today he’d never touched her with anything other than coach-like concern. He even thought she liked him—certainly she liked riding in his Lexus, and being driven to the games as if she were an important member of the team.
Kayla Daws! She must have put her up to it! He’d noticed that the other girls had been giving Kayla a wide berth since Bethany’s murder, so she’d hooked up with this little hayseed from Greenville. But why had they set him up? Had Bethany hidden her tapes with Kayla? If so, then why hadn’t Kayla given them to the cops? Or handed them over to her father? He’d seen Glenn just this morning. The man had greeted him warmly and thanked him for the grief therapy for him and his family. If Daws suspected a tenth of what had gone on between him and Bethany, he would have curled his big ham hands into fists and beat him to death on the spot.
He sneaked a glance at Avis. She sat small on the seat, her knees tight together, one hand trying to casually hold that ridiculous cap on her head. So much for his new Tracy Foster. The kid was scared shitless. Her skin looked like waxed paper, and he could see a blue vein in her neck, quivering with her pulse. Suddenly he remembered something her father had said. She keeps her nose buried in a book—mysteries, mostly. With Kayla as her new pal, Avis must have decided to impress the girl by turning real life into a game of Clue. Instead of Colonel Mustard in the kitchen with a knife, it was Coach Keener, in the bedroom, with a fucking tomahawk. Nonsense, of course. But why were they trying to set him up with tapes?
The answer smacked Deke like a jolt of electricity. Bethany must have given Kayla the tapes, but they must not have quite enough to hang him with, yet. That was it! They needed more proof. A good tape of him and Avis would make a poor tape of him and Bethany infinitely more believable, so the two girls had set out to trap him. Avis had been the point man because she’d been clever enough to recognize that he was interested in her in a very different way from the others on the team. Jesus! Little hayseed is smarter than she looks!
Now he had to figure out what to do. He could, of course, just reach over, swipe the cap off her head, and be done with it. But that would tip his hand, and either drive the two of them underground to think up worse mischief or send them immediately to the cops with what tapes they had. No, better to cut off the lead runner first. If he could neutralize Avis right now, he could take care of Kayla later. It would, of course, be tragic to lose two members of the Keener family in such quick succession but, hey, shit happens.
He drove on, concentrating on slowing his breathing, trying to mute the thudding in his ears and return the world back to its normal colors. By the time he’d turned the trees from a sick red-gray into a marginal green, he had a plan. And a good one, too. He would have to be careful, but the most incriminating tape would be gone forever. Of course, Avis would die, but maybe she deserved to die. Little girls shouldn’t snoop, particularly on people to whom they owed so much.
Whistling, he pulled off the road and into the parking lot of a convenience store, taking the first step in what was going to be the rest of Avis Martin’s extremely brief life.
“You want anything?” he asked her cheerfully, breaking the thick silence that had enveloped the car. “I’m going to get some chewing gum.”
“No, thanks. I brought some water.” She held up a clear purple water bottle. He noticed that her hand was trembling.
He eased back into his old smile. “You sure? My treat?”
“I’m sure.” She kept her eyes straight ahead, apparently afraid to even look at him.
“Then I’ll be right back.” He walked into the store, bought a pack of gum, then stood a moment at the magazine racks. He wanted to let her calm down, alone. He needed her to be off guard, to think he hadn’t seen the tape. His little red meltdown notwithstanding, if he could just play dumb and convince her that this was just another ball practice, everything would be okay.
He left the store, stuffed a stick of gum in his mouth, and got back in the car. “Here.” He offered her some, his own hand no steadier than hers. “This keeps your mouth from getting dry when you’re on the field.”
By the time they reached the park, the rest of the team was warming up. Glenn Daws was shagging pop flies to right field. Kayla stood at first base, looking not at the ball but at the parking lot, watching to see who was coming in. Deke saw her face brighten when Avis got out of his car, and he realized that whatever else he did during practice, he must keep those two apart. If Avis got the chance to slip Kayla that tape, his game would be over forever.
“Hotshot, you’re already such a good player, how about you help me today?” he suggested as he pulled a clipboard from the backseat. “I need to turn in some paperwork to the league office. Maybe you could stay here and help me fill out all these forms.”
Avis looked longingly at the ball field, but said nothing.
“I promise I’ll make it up to you.” He grinned. If you only knew how.
She shrugged, still holding the cap on her head, apparently catching on that she had no choice but to continue her charade of dutiful player. “What do you want me to do?”
“Just sit here with me. And double-check these forms as
I fill them out.”
They sat side by side in the dugout while Glenn Daws ran the practice. Deke filled out ridiculous forms that listed the name, address, and position played by each girl, then Avis scanned names she barely knew and addresses she didn’t recognize to make sure they were correct. He drew the process out as long as he could. Fielding practice was over long before they finished.
“Gosh,” he said as the team lined up for a water break. “I thought we’d be through by now. I’ll try and work faster.”
She squirmed beside him, but made no protest. He watched from beneath his brows as Kayla came up to the water cooler, then tiptoed over to where they sat, shy as a deer.
“Hi, Avis, hi, Coach Keener,” she said hesitantly. “Aren’t you two going to play tonight?”
“We will in a little while.” He smiled up at her. “I had to fill out these forms. Avis volunteered to help.”
He watched Kayla as she looked at her friend, desperate to glean answers to questions she could not ask. Did he make the same moves on you that he did on my sister? Did you tape him while he did it? Avis looked up at her, but before she could communicate anything back, Deke tossed his clipboard on the bench and stood.
“Okay, Avis. We can finish this later. Let’s go play ball.” Grinning, he put his arms around both their shoulders and walked onto the field. The other little girls swarmed around him like an army of termites attending their queen.
“All right,” he said, still keeping Kayla and Avis on either side of him. “You guys got in some pretty good fielding practice, so let’s divide into teams and have a little scrimmage. Number off. Kayla and Avis are going to be captains. Evens are on Kayla’s team, odds on Avis’s.”
He smiled as the girls counted off. As opposing captains, Kayla and Avis would still not get a chance to talk, and since Avis usually played third base, he could station himself behind her, as third-base coach. It would be interesting to see if the little twit could play third base and still keep that cap on her head.
For an hour he watched them play, carefully reviewing the rest of his plan. Though he cheered at their hits and groaned at their errors, he couldn’t have said what the score was or even who was at bat. Avis held his full attention. She was all he could see; her death was all he could envision. As their scrimmage ended in a tie, he was sweating as if he’d just coached the Yankees through the seventh game of the World Series.
“Okay,” he said, out of breath as his team once again gathered around him. “That was pretty good. Now I want all of you to go home, get some rest, and come back tomorrow night ready to play the Thompson Tigers.”
“If we win will you take us out for pizza?” asked Jeanette Peacock as the others giggled.
He gave her a solemn nod, although he knew that would not happen. They were going to have to forfeit tomorrow’s game. Amazingly, the Keener Kats would suffer another tragic loss. The girls would, of course, be too heartbroken to play, but he was the only one who knew that now. “Absolutely, Jeannette.” He grinned as he put his arm lightly around Avis’s shoulders. “You guys win, and we’ll party all night.”
They leaned in close, gave their traditional Keener Kat war whoop, then scattered back to their waiting parents. Only Avis and Kayla stayed behind, Kayla reluctantly helping her father gather up the bats, while Avis was stuck with Deke for her ride home.
“Coach Keener, if you’ve got stuff to do, I could ride home with Kayla. I’m sure my mother wouldn’t mind.” Her voice was piping as a bird’s.
“Why, Avis, you aren’t telling me that you don’t want to ride with me anymore, are you?” He looked at her, feigning hurt. “I thought you and I were pals.”
“Oh, no,” she said, again lifting one hand to keep the cap on her head. “I just thought it might save you some time.”
“I’ve got all the time in the world for you, honey,” he said, waving at Glenn Daws as he gently guided the girl back to his car. “You want to go get something to eat?” he asked brightly. He needed to get her away from Kayla, fast. “A burger and some fries?”
“No, thanks,” she said. “I’m not hungry.”
“Suit yourself, then.” He clicked his remote. The car unlocked its doors, turned on its running lights. He held his breath. He knew that any moment she could change her mind and bolt toward Kayla, but she kept walking toward his car. When she climbed into the passenger seat and buckled her seatbelt, he knew he was home free.
Quickly, he climbed in beside her and locked the door. “Okay,” he said, still working hard at being good old Coach Keener. “I’ve just got one little errand to run, then I’ll have you home before you know it.”
“What kind of errand?” She turned and looked at him with wide eyes.
“No big deal. I’ve just got to run over to my house and pick up some blueprints.” She fingered the door handle. “It won’t take a minute,” he assured her. “Here.” He flipped out his cell phone. “Call your folks. Tell them where we’re going, and that you’ll be just a little bit later than you expected. We wouldn’t want them to worry, would we?”
She looked at him a moment, then punched in her own number. As he steered the car out of the parking lot, he listened to the message she left on her parents’ answering machine.
“Mom, this is Avis. I’m going with Coach Keener to run an errand at his house, but he’s going to bring me home right after that.” She hesitated a moment, as if trying to decide what to say next, but as he pulled out onto the highway, he heard her opt for the noncommittal, “I’ll talk to you later, then. Bye.”
She handed the phone back to him. He smiled. So sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Martin. It’s going to be a bit of a while before you talk to your Avis again. A bit of a while, for sure.
40
Mary put the top down on her convertible and drove back to town fast, letting the evening breeze ripple through her hair. She’d had a long visit with Hugh that had ended in him fixing her an early dinner of corned beef sandwiches and cold potato salad. Though the old man teared up when she told him, gently, that Ravenel had some fairly serious doubts about Ridge’s case, he eagerly agreed to testify on Ridge’s behalf, promising he would leave his infamous temper behind when he took the stand.
“Fer luck,” Hugh said, handing Mary a silver Celtic cross and a plaid woolen tie as she got in her car. “Ridge doesn’t know anything about the Church or tartan plaids, but maybe Patrick and Bridget will protect him, just the same.”
“Patrick and Bridget?” asked Mary, confused.
“The holy saints of Ireland, girl,” replied Hugh. “Don’t you know that?”
“I just forgot.” Mary gave an ironic smile, thinking that Patrick and Bridget had better protect Ridge, because Mary and Sam weren’t doing such a bang-up job. After all her legwork, she’d come to two conclusions: first, that whoever had molested all those girls had killed Bethany Daws; second, that the murderer was either Glenn Daws or someone closely connected to Keener Construction. She knew that the killer was still out there. Had her job with Turpin worked out, she could have brought him to justice with a phalanx of judges and detectives and cops. As it stood now, she could do nothing except help Ravenel get Ridge off a murder rap. And even if they did luck out and get the boy life instead of the needle, the end result would be the same: Ridge Standingdeer would wither behind bars. It would be a less cruel and unusual punishment just to hang him on the courthouse lawn.
She pushed the little car up to eighty as she sped back to town. She hadn’t heard from Jonathan in what seemed like forever. When last they talked, he’d met with his boss and Lily had finally spent a night in her own room. Though he said he missed her, he sounded excited about his work, happy that Lily had already joined a daily play group. Guess it’s working out, she thought wistfully. Too bad it couldn’t have worked out on this side of the mountains, with me.
With the light fading fast, she pulled up in front of her office. A group of men were spilling out of the Baptist Church while Sylvia Goins was hurrying
to get in her Jeep, for once without her beloved Ruben.
Maybe those two have broken up, too, thought Mary, sighing. Maybe August is just hard on couples here in Pisgah County.
She went up to her office to find the message light blinking on her answering machine. Hoping that it might be Jonathan, she hurried over to it without bothering to turn on the light. After she punched the PLAY button, a thunderous voice blasted out. She’d turned the thing up after Ravenel’s whisper of a message and had apparently gone overboard. Wincing, she turned down the volume, and sat on the edge of her desk to listen.
“This is Kayla Daws again. You’ve got to help us. Coach Keener has taken Avis to his house. I think he might be going to kill her. Please call me as soon as you get this.”
“Huh?” Frowning, Mary pressed the REPLAY button. The same high breathy voice repeated the message. It was a girl, presumably Bethany Daws’ little sister, either playing a monstrous phone prank or truly in trouble. But who was Avis? And how did Deke figure into everything?
She walked over and turned on the overhead light. On the floor lay a thick white envelope.
She leaned over, wondering if this was some stupid missive from Ravenel, but someone had addressed the bulging envelope in round, almost childish printing: “To Mary Crow, Ridge Standingdeer’s Lawyer.” Inside she found three tiny cassette tapes and a letter written in the same schoolgirl hand.
Dear Ms. Crow,
Please listen to these tapes (particularly the one with the red label.) They prove that Ridge Standingdeer did not kill my sister. Avis Martin and I think that Coach Keener did. He was molesting her. We are going to try and trap him. Please call me at 555-9782, but don’t tell my dad who you are.
Yours truly,
Kayla Elizabeth Daws
Mary stood there, astonished. Bethany Daws’ sister was accusing Deke Keener of her murder? She and somebody named Avis Martin were going to trap him? She turned the letter over, hoping for further explanation, but the page was blank.
Legacy of Masks Page 31
