by Alison Stone
Roger Everett.
The birds suddenly stopped chirping and a cloud swept across the sun, casting a pall over the otherwise beautiful spring day. Christina shuddered, feeling as if the temperature had dropped considerably.
What was Roger Everett doing? Coaching the girls’ softball team? It wouldn’t be a stretch. He had been a star baseball player in high school.
She paused and tented her hand over her eyes to double-check what she was seeing. It was Roger. And it looked like his son, Matt, was assisting. In good conscience, Christina couldn’t stay quiet. But what was she supposed to do?
Then a crazy idea floated to mind. She’d call Dylan to bring her a sandwich. They could sit at the picnic table and watch practice. But she wouldn’t be able to stand watch over the girls forever. She’d have to contact the school.
Do something.
It would be just like a predator to put himself in a position to gain access to young women.
Christina fumbled for her phone and called Dylan, grateful he was already on his way to the diner for lunch. She told him to pick her up a sandwich and meet her at the ball diamonds. She’d explain later, but he needed to hurry.
Squaring her shoulders, Christina crossed the street and purposely walked behind the dugout. Her stomach sloshed with unspent adrenaline. What was she doing?
Roger did a double take when he saw her, then a slow smile curved the corners of his thin lips. “You want to take first?”
Christina hadn’t planned to say anything to Roger. She wanted to make it abundantly clear that she was watching him. Instead, the heat of anger flushed her face and got the best of her emotions. She turned and hooked her fingers on the chain-link fence separating them. Maybe it gave her a false sense of protection.
“Why is a busy guy like you coaching the girls’ softball team?”
He turned around to face her squarely. His lips moved as if to form a word, but then he seemed to back up and change direction. “I hear you treated my wife.”
Christina angled her head, slightly taken aback. She neither confirmed nor denied his statement.
“Linda has capable doctors in Buffalo. She doesn’t need a small-town doctor who treats cuts and scrapes for a living.” His smug expression was infuriating.
Christina swallowed hard and kept her emotions in check. “Your wife needs you. I hope you realize that.” Her words held far more meaning than he could possible comprehend.
“What is it you have against me?” He rolled his eyes in a mocking gesture. “Besides that silly misunderstanding we had years ago?” He lowered his voice, checking over his shoulder to find Matt standing across the field close to third base, holding a clipboard and talking to one of the players.
Her anger burned hot and she couldn’t think clearly.
“You better not hurt any of these girls.” The words flew out of her mouth before she had a chance to think about the ramifications. Then she unhooked her fingers from the chain link and pointed toward the field. The girls were focused on the next batter.
Roger’s hands flew up in a surrender gesture. “Now wait a minute. I’m a respected member of this community. How could you...?” He sputtered with rage. Then he took a step closer. Christina stepped back despite the fence separating them.
Roger took off his baseball cap, one whose bill was well worn. “The girls need me. I went to college on a baseball scholarship. I was a big deal.”
“So you thought.”
Roger gave her a half smile. “A lot of people in Apple Creek thought I was a big deal.”
Christina clamped her mouth shut.
“Do me a favor, Dr. Christina. You stay out of my life and I’ll stay out of yours. Deal? Because I have the power to cause a lot of problems if you don’t.”
Christina resisted the urge to shout, “Like what?” But she knew better than to underestimate a bully. Her pulse whooshed slowly through her veins, a steady no-no-no in her ears. Roger twisted his lips and glee glinted in his eyes. “What would little old Apple Creek do without their free healthcare clinic?”
It felt like someone had pulled the steel pole out of her spine, but she refused to back down. “You don’t have any power over me. Not anymore.”
“Hey, Dad.” Matt approached from behind, his gaze landing on Christina. “Can I hit a few? Maybe get the team focused on fielding practice?”
The harsh, angry lines immediately smoothed on Roger’s face as he turned to his son. “Sure, kiddo. Let’s do it.” He walked away from Christina and continued the practice as if nothing had transpired between them.
Christina scanned the small parking lot and prayed Dylan would hurry up and get here.
Dear Lord, please help me figure out how to handle this situation. I can’t risk Roger hurting one of these young women.
* * *
The intensity in Christina’s voice had Dylan racing over to the park. He barely had the patience to wait for her order of a turkey club sandwich, but he didn’t want her to go hungry. But he had lost his appetite. When he found Christina leaning against the picnic table with her arms tightly crossed, he didn’t need to ask her what was wrong. He saw firsthand that Roger Everett was at the park coaching the girls’ softball team.
“You’re doing surveillance on Roger?” Dylan asked, squinting toward where Roger stood on the sidelines.
“Apparently, Roger got himself a job coaching the girls’ softball team.”
“How is that possible?”
“Back in his high school days, Roger was a big-deal baseball player. Big deal for a small town. I guess since he’s back in town the school hired him to coach the girls’ team.” Christina pushed away from the picnic table and kicked at the dirt with pent-up frustration. “I can’t believe this. He’s put himself exactly in a position to harm young girls.”
“And your idea was to eat lunch and watch him?” Dylan tried to defuse the heavy situation with a hint of humor.
“It seemed like a good idea until I actually talked to Roger.” She shook her head, her jaw clenched as if she were grinding her teeth. “He’s the most arrogant person I’ve ever met. I think he thinks that because he was hot stuff in high school, he can come back here and is untouchable.”
“Usually, it’s the arrogant criminals who get caught.”
Christina reached into the white bag and pulled out a foam container. She looked up, a question in her eyes. “Didn’t you get yourself something to eat?”
“No, I’m fine.” He was too anxious to think about eating after Christina had called him.
She seemed to consider that a moment, then popped open the lid. He almost wished he’d grabbed something when the smell of bacon wafted in his direction. She picked at a piece of bacon poking out of the edge of her sandwich. “My brother’s quietly investigating Roger. It’s a weak case, but I know what he did to me and I can’t risk him doing it to one of these girls. Doing worse.”
Dylan sat on the picnic bench next to her, facing away from the table. He leaned his elbows on the rugged surface, forcing her to look at him. “What do you want to do?”
She chewed on a bite of her sandwich thoughtfully. “What are our options?”
“Sometimes past experience colors our outlook.” Dylan ran his hand across his chin. He had been blinded when it came to nailing the guys who killed his partner. He had almost killed an innocent when he set out for revenge for his partner’s death. Not justice. He didn’t want Christina to go down the same path.
“You sound like you’re talking from experience.”
Christina’s words snapped him out of his reverie.
Dylan shrugged. “I might have heard it on Dr. Phil once.” He wasn’t ready to open up to Christina about the nightmare that had led him away from the FBI. He didn’t want anger to cloud her judgment as it had his.
&
nbsp; They needed to proceed objectively.
Dylan closed his eyes briefly, assessing the situation. “If you want Roger put away, law enforcement needs to build a case. You can’t let your emotions get the best of you.”
Christina roughly flipped the foam lid down on her takeout container. “I agree.” She held out her open palm toward the girls playing softball. “But what do I do in the meantime? Wait to treat his next victim?”
“That doesn’t seem like an appealing option.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
Dylan shifted to see whatever had caught Christina’s attention. The softball team cleared the field and headed toward the gray van with the words Apple Creek Central School District painted on the side. This was worse than a cliché. A bunch of young ladies getting into a van with a creep.
Roger continued to talk with one of the girls as they passed. Only Matthew, Roger’s son, slowed down. “What do you have against my dad?”
“We’re having a little lunch here,” Dylan lied, feeling it was justified.
Matt crossed his arms and glared at Christina. “You were arguing with my dad. Not just today, but at my house.”
Christina held on to the edge of the picnic table, stood, pulling one leg, then the other over the bench. A war of indecision played across Christina’s face. “This is an adult matter.”
Roger’s son seemed to flinch.
Christina ran a hand over her mouth. “How’s your mom?”
Matt’s entire body language shifted from being a confident young man to a worried little boy. “She didn’t get out of bed this morning. My dad offered to take her to the hospital, but she said she didn’t want to go. She gets car sick.”
“Do you know where the Apple Creek clinic is? You can bring your mom to the clinic if she wants to come, right? She told me you have a license. That’s not too far to drive.”
Dylan wasn’t surprised by Christina’s compassion, even when it came to the wife of a man she apparently hated.
“Come on, son,” Roger called. “You’re making everyone wait.”
Matt tipped his head toward the van, as if to say, “I gotta go.” The teenager jogged away without a word or a backward glance.
Christina plopped back down on the bench next to Dylan, both of their backs propped up against the thin edge of the picnic table.
“What do you make of that? Do you think Matt knows what’s going on?” Christina got a faraway look as she watched the van pull away. “Do you think he knows his father’s a creep?”
“Sons want to look up to their fathers.” Dylan left it at that. He’d wanted more than anything to respect his own father, but the man had proven that not every father deserved a son’s admiration.
EIGHT
Georgia was proving to be invaluable at the clinic, which allowed Christina to go with Dylan to the high school the next afternoon.
Christina had a fine line on which to balance. She wanted to warn the school about Roger, yet she had no proof. Would Roger sue her for slander? She understood the seriousness of making accusations, something she as a physician had to worry about herself. Angry people said angry things.
But the well-being of the young girls won out over what might have been prudent. She thought about calling her brother, but decided taking the unofficial approach was better than getting the sheriff’s office involved because, again, she had no solid evidence against Roger, other than her own experience. And that incident was ripe for he said, she said.
Christina’s stomach knotted as they sat in the small waiting room outside Mrs. Acer’s office. Principal Acer had been the principal when Christina was a student at Apple Creek High School.
Christina felt like she was a student again, caught in indecision. She stared out the tall windows, watching black clouds gathering in the distance. There was something very apropos about that.
Christina wrapped her hand around her umbrella and lifted it slightly. “Good thing I grabbed my umbrella before I left home. Looks like, for once, the weather forecasters might be right.”
“Yeah,” Dylan said, his mood somber.
Christina leaned closer as they sat on the bench and bumped his shoulder. “This has to be done.” Roger coaching young women—little older than girls—was not a good idea.
He gave her a reassuring nod.
“Why, hello, Dr. Christina Jennings.” The distinguished fiftysomething principal appeared in the doorway with a surprised expression on her face.
“Principal Acer.” Christina stood. A strong sense of nostalgia washed over her and she had to resist the urge to pull this woman into a fierce hug. She had done much to shape Christina’s future. Principal Acer had been the one Christina bounced ideas off, since her own parents had spent her senior year expanding one of their business ventures into France. Or maybe Germany. Portugal? Inwardly she shook her head. Either way, Christina had learned to rely on other adults in her life.
Principal Acer held out her arms, warmth and welcome rolling off her in waves. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Dr. Jennings?” The woman always called her Dr. Jennings whenever they ran into each other at the diner or elsewhere in town. It was as if she had raised hundreds of young men and woman and cherished each of their successes, and tried hard not to harp on their failures.
“I hate to bother you. I know you’re gearing up for final exams and everything.”
Principal Acer glanced at the wall clock, the ubiquitous round white clock with black numbers. Christina wondered if there was a store that supplied these clocks to schools across the country. Yet she found many of her youngest patients couldn’t tell time when looking at a traditional clock.
“Come in.” Principal Acer paused and held her hand out to Dylan.
“Oh, how rude of me.” Christina stopped. “This is my friend, Dylan Hunter. He’s a professor at the university and on sabbatical from the FBI.”
The principal took his hand, a worried look crossing her features. “FBI? I hope you don’t have bad news for me.”
“Can we go into your office?” Christina asked, noticing the young secretary glanced at them with a look of curiosity. She didn’t know the woman, but feared the gossip that might spread like fire across dry wood if dropped in the wrong spot.
“Sure, sure.” The principal turned to the secretary. “Hold my calls.”
“Sure thing.”
The three of them went into the office. A large window overlooked the huge playground of the elementary school on the adjacent property. Christina vaguely remembered buying candy bars or something to support the PTA’s fundraising efforts for a new playground, pushing the whole kids-need-to-be-more-active-and-have-less-screen-time mantra that was generally a good idea. However, Christina wondered if anyone else saw the irony in selling candy bars. No matter, she enjoyed milk chocolate as much as the next person.
“Playground turned out nice,” Christina said, sitting in one of the two chairs facing the principal’s desk.
The older woman glanced out the window over her shoulder. “We’re grateful.” She smiled. “Maybe now the PTA parents can fundraise for a soundproof office. Have you ever heard fifty little children letting off steam at recess? It’s as if screaming is a release valve.” She shuddered at the memory of it. “There was a reason I chose to work in a high school. Can’t help that the elementary building is next door.”
“It’s wonderful they’re able to have recess,” Christina said, feeling like the polite conversation had dragged on perhaps a moment too long.
Principal Acer sat down and rested her elbows on her desk, obviously feeling the same way. “What brings you to Apple Creek High School?”
Christina glanced over at Dylan, grateful for his support.
“I understand you hired Roger Everett to coach the girls’ softball team.”
&nbs
p; “Yes...” The simply word hung out there like a question she feared the answer to.
“Do you do background checks on all your employees?” Dylan asked before the principal had a chance to say more. But even Christina understood a background check wouldn’t detect a crime if someone had gotten away with it.
Principal Acer squared her shoulders. “We fingerprint our employees. Require them to take Child Abuse and Violence Abuse workshops. It’s New York State policy. Anyone who works with the children in our schools has this required training.” She shuffled around a few papers. “The opening for the coaching position came up rather suddenly.” Her voice grew hesitant. “Coach Gaulbert had a family emergency. We were lucky Coach Everett happened to move back to town. His family is well respected in the community. The school board appointed him to the interim position unanimously.”
“Does this mean you didn’t run the required background checks?” Dylan asked, pointedly.
Goose bumps blanketed Christina’s arms as she waited for the principal to answer Dylan’s question. A small part of her felt like she was being disrespectful to her former principal. Sometimes it took time to shift from the teacher–student relationship to that of peers. Sitting on this side of the principal’s desk definitely put Christina at a disadvantage. Funny how a place—her eyes drifted to Dylan, who was focused on Principal Acer—or a person could immediately take you back to another time. Another place.
The deep lines around the principal’s mouth spoke more than her calm words. “I’d have to look in our files, but I’m sure everything’s in place. It’s merely a formality.”
Roger’s smug expression floated to mind. Christina couldn’t back down now. She scooted forward onto the edge of her chair. “Roger Everett is not a good fit to coach the girls’ softball team.” A hot wave of unease washed over her.
“What?” Principal Acer leaned back in the leather chair, which gave off a high-pitched screech.
