Stiff Competition

by Annelise Ryan

  “I have room at the house, but I don’t use my archery equipment anymore so there isn’t much need to have it close by.”

  “What made you give it up?” I ask. “Based on what we found on the Internet, at one time you were quite the master with your bow and arrows.”

  He looks away, staring off down the row of storage units, and shrugs. “I just lost interest in it.”

  He’s lying; I’m certain of it. “I’m thinking the reason you gave it up is because of whatever neuromuscular disease you have. You can’t do it anymore, can you?”

  Morton looks back at me with a shocked expression.

  “What is it, Parkinson’s?”

  “How the hell . . .” Morton mutters. He is staring at me like I’m either the devil incarnate or the second coming of Christ. I can’t tell if it’s fear or awe on his face. Maybe it’s both. I realize Hurley is staring at me with much the same expression.

  “He has a tremor,” I explain to Hurley. “I saw it back at the house, and I saw it here when he was trying to undo the lock on the unit. Plus there’s the way he walks. I’m guessing it’s Parkinson’s disease.” I turn and give Morton a questioning look.

  He nods slowly, a sad expression on his face.

  “How long have you known?” I ask him.

  “Two years. It has progressed quite rapidly since then and I’ve had to up my medication doses pretty regularly. The doctors tell me that’s not a good sign and they want to do some kind of experimental surgery, implant something in my brain that they think will help control the tremors. But my insurance won’t cover it. Being self-employed all these years, my insurance costs have been huge so I’ve always had the minimal coverage. Besides, the procedure is considered experimental. I’m trying to save up enough money to pay for it. That’s one of the reasons I’ve been so angry at Lars for stealing my business.”

  I lower the camera and turn it off. “So you gave up the archery because you lost your ability to do it well.”

  Morton scoffs. “I’ve lost my ability to do it at all. I don’t have the strength anymore, and my aim is . . . well . . . it’s precarious at best.” His face screws up like he’s about to cry and he turns away for a few seconds, gathering his emotions. “You don’t understand how much that meant to me,” he says over his shoulder. “All my life I’ve been made fun of because of my size, and I was never very good at anything. I got average grades in school, I sucked at sports, I sucked at dating. But archery . . . that was something I got good at. That was something I could do better than anyone else. And now I’ve lost that, too.”

  I look over at Hurley and nod toward our car, indicating that I want to talk to him in private. “Hang tight, Morton,” I say, and then I head for the car with Hurley on my heels. When we reach the car I turn to Hurley and speak in a low voice. “I realize he seems to have motive and disliked Lars quite a bit, and I can’t say for sure that he didn’t do this. But I think the likelihood is so slim as to be almost nonexistent. That tremor he has is so severe he wouldn’t be able to hit much of anything he aims at. That’s not to say that he couldn’t have accidentally fired an arrow that just happened to hit Sanderson, but that’s a long shot at best and would make it an accidental death.”

  Hurley nods. “I see your point, but I’m still concerned about the missing archery equipment. If Morton didn’t fire that arrow, it doesn’t mean his equipment wasn’t used. The fact that it’s missing seems auspicious. It could be our murder weapon. We need to find it.”

  I nod and we return to where Morton is standing. His eyes are a bit red, but he appears to have his emotions in check, at least for now.

  Hurley clears his throat and says, “Mr. Morton, Lars Sanderson was murdered this morning with an arrow, so you can see why we are interested in your equipment. And given your competitive, litigious, and antagonistic relationship with Mr. Sanderson, I’m sure you can see why we are interested in you and your whereabouts. However, in light of this latest revelation about your . . . um . . . disorder, I’m less interested in you as a suspect for now. Your equipment, however, remains high on my list, for reasons I’m sure you can understand.”

  Morton nods but says nothing.

  “We need to find your missing equipment. And I want to start by ruling out your home as one of the places it might be. So can we please go back to your house and take a look through it to make sure it isn’t there?”

  Again Morton nods. Without another word, he heads for his car and settles in behind the wheel. Hurley and I get back into our car and follow Morton home.

  “I kind of feel sorry for the guy,” I say as Hurley drives. “I loathed him in the beginning, but after that sad little speech back there, I feel like a heel. Clearly he was bullied as a kid and it’s damaged his psyche. That kind of stuff scares me when I think about raising a kid.”

  “Lots of people get bullied as kids,” Hurley says. “It’s a sad fact of life.”

  “What if it happens to Matthew?”

  Hurley looks over at me and smiles. “You’re getting a little ahead of yourself, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe, but I don’t think it’s ever too early to start thinking about this stuff.”

  “The important thing is to prepare your kids and make them feel loved and worthwhile, so that they don’t take it too seriously when other kids say hurtful things.”

  “Has Emily had to deal with any of that stuff at school? It’s got to be hard for her as the new kid on the block, especially in a small town like this one where so many of the kids know one another.”

  “She hasn’t said anything to me about it,” Hurley says with a frown. “But then, I’m not sure she would.”

  “Have you talked to her teachers at all?”

  Hurley shakes his head and shoots me a guilty look. “I haven’t had a reason to. She’s been doing okay as far as her grades and her schoolwork are concerned. She won’t be making the honor roll, but she’s passing.”

  “It still might be helpful to talk to them to get their take on her behavior and mental status.”

  “I suppose it couldn’t hurt. I’ll try to set something up soon.”

  “We should do it together. I think I’m a big part of her problem, or at least what she perceives as her problem, and maybe her teachers can shed some light on how we can best deal with things.”

  We arrive back at Morton’s house, so we table the discussion for now. Hurley places a call to the station to see who’s available to help us search Morton’s house. As luck would have it—my bad luck, that is—Charlie is currently free and she offers to come out and handle the filming duties. We also get Junior Feller, who will not only assist with this search but give us an update on his visit to the Quik-E-Mart convenience store.

  We follow Morton inside his house and station him in the living room. Charlie arrives a minute or two later, and while we’re waiting for Junior to show up, Hurley, Charlie, and I search the main floor, including the kitchen, a dining room, the coat closet, and a family room. We also check out the shed in back of the house, but all we find there is a snowmobile, an all-terrain vehicle, a riding lawnmower, and a bunch of bags of fertilizer. With Charlie present, Hurley and I are free to search and take notes since she can handle the filming, so the process moves along quickly since there aren’t that many places in the house where one could hide a bow and a bunch of arrows, not to mention the targets and hay bales Morton claims are also missing.

  By the time we’re done with the first floor, Junior and his entourage arrive. After Hurley gives the newcomers a quick briefing, the officers and Charlie head upstairs to continue the search. “Don’t forget to check the attic area,” Junior hollers after them. He then turns to us and says, “I’ll check out the basement and then we’ll head outside and do the garage. But first, let me tell you what I found out at the convenience store. The cashier’s name is Brandon Sveum, and he works every weekday morning at the Quik-E-Mart. He told me this guy named Mike—that’s all he knows of the name—came up to him t
o check out and mentioned a conversation he overheard in the next aisle between the two guys who had just left the store. Mike said the two guys were talking in low voices, and one was telling the other about a body he saw in Cooper’s Woods earlier this morning. The guy who saw the body told the other guy that he didn’t want to get tied up with some tedious investigation and lose some prime hunting time, so he didn’t report it to anyone, figuring someone else would stumble over the body eventually and report it. So it sounds like this first guy was pretty close to the body, close enough to know that Sanderson was dead and how he was killed. Apparently he mentioned the arrow in the neck. So either he’s a key witness, or he’s our killer.”

  “I don’t suppose you got a name,” Hurley asks.

  Junior smiles. “Of course I did. The cameras at the store showed both guys and I recognized our body whisperer. It’s George Haas.”

  I know George Haas because I went to school with him. His middle name is Samuel and if you say his name real fast, using just his middle initial, it sounds like George’s ass. Back in our school days, this was quickly converted to horse’s ass, which is what George was known as through graduation, a ceremony he barely qualified to attend. George was never the sharpest tool in the shed, but he was a hell of a football player. His teachers tutored him and kept him after school, spending hours trying to get him barely passing grades so he could stay on the football team. It was a group effort that got George through school and graduation. Unfortunately, three days after graduation, George blew out his knee, blew off part of one foot, and lost three of the fingers on one hand trying to get rid of some pesky gophers in his garden. At least that’s the official story he gave the cops, though there are many in town who suspect it’s a cover story. There’s a longstanding rumor that the Haas family operated a still on their farm years ago that produced some of the best moonshine in the county. There has been some speculation that they’re still cooking the stuff—or maybe something worse—though there’s never been any direct evidence of it that I know of. Still, I’m not too surprised that George doesn’t want to attract the attention of the local police over something like a dead body.

  “It looks like we need to have a chat with Mr. Haas,” Hurley says. “Maybe we should do that before we chat with any of Lars’s girlfriends to see if he can shed any new light on the situation.”

  In response, my stomach churns loudly.

  “Maybe we should grab some lunch first,” Hurley adds with a wink.

  “Good idea. This breast-feeding stuff does give me a big appetite.”

  No one says anything to this, but I realize that both Junior’s and Hurley’s eyes have shifted to my chest. I clear my throat and arch my brows at them, and it seems to work. Suddenly they’re both looking at something else. Then Junior excuses himself to go help with the search effort.

  Hurley says, “Let’s eat at my place, if that’s okay. I want to check to see if Emily is there. I’m a little concerned that she isn’t answering my calls or texts. In the past when she’s pulled these disappearing acts, she’s always responded to my calls or messages. But today she isn’t doing either.”

  “I thought you were going to ignore her.”

  He gives me a sheepish smile. “I haven’t mastered that ploy just yet.”

  “Okay,” I say with a nod, though I have to admit I’m not keen on having to deal with the surly teenager. I’d much rather go to my place and get in a little cuddle time with my son. Then again, lunch at Hurley’s might lead to a little cuddle time with Hurley, which is a perk in and of itself. “Let me call Dom and check on Matthew first.”

  I step aside to place the call and Dom answers on the first ring. “Hey, Mattie.”

  “How’s my boy doing?”

  “He’s napping at the moment, but so far he’s having a great day. He’s a bundle of smiles and I’ve discovered he’s a huge fan of both patty-cake and peekaboo.”

  There is a childlike quality to Dom’s voice as he says this that makes me smile. I miss Matthew like crazy, but it’s nice to know he’s in good hands. I update Dom on my day, and tell him I’m going to take him up on his offer of some extra time later so I can visit Barbara and get my hair done. “Assuming the offer still stands,” I say, not wanting to be too presumptive.

  “It does, and I think it’s a great idea!” Dom says with an unexpected level of excitement. I wonder if it’s because he’s excited at the prospect of spending more time with Matthew, or because he’s relieved I’m finally going to try and make myself look halfway human again. I thank him, tell him to call me if anything comes up, and then head back to Hurley, who has been corralled by Charlie.

  “Ready?” I say to Hurley, eager to break up the two of them.

  He nods, says, “Thanks, Charlie,” and gives her a squeeze on her shoulder. Then he turns and heads for the door. I follow behind, dying to know why he thanked Charlie, but reluctant to ask. I don’t want to come across as a jealous, insecure, needy partner with Hurley.

  Even if I am one.

  Stupid hormones.

  Chapter 10

  I needn’t have worried about dealing with Emily because she isn’t home when we arrive at Hurley’s house. And after checking out all the rooms, including Emily’s bedroom, which looks like a cyclone has blown through it, it doesn’t appear that she stopped here on her way to somewhere else.

  “Her book bag isn’t here,” Hurley says, looking a tad worried. “If she had stopped by the house, she would have dumped the book bag off before going anywhere else. It’s the first thing she does when she comes in the door. She always drops it right there in the foyer.”

  “Maybe she’s back at the school by now.”

  Hurley frowns and shakes his head. “She typically sends me a text once she returns.”

  “Maybe she’s only telling you she returned when she’s actually still skipping out.”

  “No, I’ve always called the school to verify.”

  “Do you think she might be at Johnny’s house?”

  Hurley shakes his head. “Doubt it. That’s the first place I used to look when this first started happening, but they were never there. The boyfriend’s mom operates a day care out of the house so I don’t think they’d find much privacy there.”

  “Then where do they go?”

  Hurley looks frustrated, exasperated, and annoyed. “I don’t know,” he says irritably. “A few times she told me they went to McDonald’s or some other fast food place to eat because the school food sucks. So I offered to pack a lunch for her, but then she said only losers bring a bag lunch to school. Other times she told me they just drove around, or went to a store to buy a few things. When I remind her that she’s supposed to be in school during those times, she tells me that she only skips certain classes, the ones she knows she can do well in even if she isn’t there all the time.” He pauses and sighs. “And her grades bear that out so far. Like I said before, she may not be on the honor roll, but her grades are okay, mostly Bs and Cs.”

  “I suppose it’s possible they’re shopping or driving around, but I’m willing to bet they’re doing something else entirely.” I’m hesitant to voice what I’m thinking—Hurley looks upset enough as it is—but he gives me a questioning look so I go ahead and say it. “I bet she and Johnny are parking somewhere and making out, maybe even having sex.”

  Hurley’s eyebrows draw down into a disapproving V. “Why would you think that?”

  “Well, duh. She’s a teenage girl with hormones, and he’s a teenage guy with hormones and a car. Surely your memory of those years can’t be that bad, Hurley.”

  He frowns and his eyes take on a faraway look that tells me he’s tripping down memory lane. “I don’t think she’d do that,” he says after a moment, shaking his head. But the look on his face tells me he isn’t convinced.

  “Have you asked her if she’s sexually active?”

  “No,” Hurley answers quickly. His cheeks take on a rosy hue. “She’s too young. And we don’t . . . I don�
��t . . . our relationship isn’t like that yet.”

  I give him an exasperated look. “Your relationship with her has to be like that, Hurley. You can’t just look the other way and pretend these things don’t happen. If she has a boyfriend, odds are she’s either thinking about having sex or she’s already done it. Have you talked to her about safe sex and birth control?”

  Hurley shakes his head. “That was her mother’s job.”

  “It’s your job now. You need to at least find out what she’s been told, if anything. Did Kate talk to her about it?”

  “I don’t know,” Hurley says, mowing his hands through his hair. “The subject never came up when Kate was living here. And later on she was so drugged up most of the time that we never really talked much. Plus I never spent time with her unless Emily was there, so we didn’t have any opportunities to talk about Emily in private. I doubt that sort of thing was on her mind much there at the end anyway.”

  “Then you need to talk to Emily.”

  “I don’t know how,” he grumbles, throwing his hands up. “I figured I had another year or two before it became an issue.”

  “Well, if her hormones are anything like mine were at her age, that ship has sailed. And I think you know what a boy Johnny Chester’s age is all about.”

  Hurley lets out an exasperated sigh. He heads for the kitchen and starts assembling the ingredients for the grilled cheese sandwiches we decided to have for lunch on the drive over. I follow him and settle in at the kitchen table, knowing that there will be no hanky-panky or even cuddle time between us this afternoon, not after the discussion we just had.

  “You know, I grew up without a father the same way Emily did,” I say as Hurley preps our sandwiches. “Though I tried to hide it, my father’s lack of presence in my life was something that made me feel like an outsider, like I was lacking somehow or wasn’t good enough. I can’t help but wonder how I would have reacted if he’d suddenly popped into my life the way you popped into Emily’s, with another family in the making. When I was in high school I felt really envious of the girls who had fathers, and even though most of them bitched about how their parents would restrict their activities and ground them for stuff all the time, I could tell they felt secure in the love they got from their fathers. I wanted that feeling more than I wanted anything else. I think that’s why I made some of the dumb choices I did when it came to boyfriends.”