Prove It!

by Susanne Matthews

  “When he answered the door, he was in a robe and his hair was wet. I know he could fake that, but he smelled of shampoo and soap. Secondly, he was genuinely surprised to see us and super friendly. He invited us in right away.”

  Liam frowned and chewed his lower lip. “Personally, I think the idea of a half-naked man inviting two teenage girls into his home is creepy on its own, but I get your point. He’d have to be some sort of sociopath to get rid of Erik and then entertain you as if nothing had happened.”

  “Exactly,” Mina agreed. “The coach has been like a bear with a toothache all year, and then he’s super-friendly—even offered us soda. I expected him to rant and rave, but just the opposite. Apparently, he’d been out fishing and had just got back. He’d caught a couple of bass, right, Hannah?”

  “Yes, and that bothered me at the time,” Hannah said, leaning forward in the chair. “Now that I think about it, his attitude was almost too good to be true. It could all have been staged—just like you said—and the fish in the sink would make sense. In fact, he must’ve been thrilled to see us since we can provide him with an excellent alibi. I couldn’t figure out why the mention of bass seemed strange, so I looked it up. From October to the end of March, you’re only allowed to catch one bass per day. I know Flower Lake is private, but I’m pretty sure the fish and game laws apply there, too. Now, either someone was out there fishing with him or he was volunteering that he’d done something illegal. I mean he’s lived in Maine for years. He has to know the law, right?”

  Liam pursed his lips. “So you’re thinking what? He admits to a minor crime to cover up a major one, like making Erik disappear? That could work, but I’m more inclined to think there was a second person there—one who went fishing with him and intercepted Erik. You did say the police believe whoever was driving that truck had an accomplice.”

  “When I think about it,” Hannah said, huffing out a breath, “I have to admit, he could’ve had someone upstairs, I mean I can’t be positive, but he certainly seemed to be alone. The main floor rooms were empty—I checked—but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t someone on the second floor or in the basement.”

  “Don’t forget the cabana, utility sheds, and boathouse,” Mina chimed in. “Mari says he’s cold. We watched the place from the minute Erik left us. No one came in or went out of that laneway, either. If Erik went to the door and no one answered, he might’ve gone around back to look around, but Coach Snow has a big, nasty-looking dog. We would’ve heard him barking if Erik or anyone else had gone into the yard.”

  “Not if the dog knew the person,” Liam objected.

  “True. Come to think of it, I didn’t see that animal today. Even if the coach had left him inside, we would’ve heard him barking. So, what are we going to do now?” Mina asked. “None of this makes sense, but the bottom line is that Erik went down that laneway, vanished, and we’re the ones who took him there.”

  “We have to tell the police everything we know,” Hannah said. “Papa and Mama won’t be happy with me, and neither will your parents. If the coach does have Erik, he could be anywhere by now, since we have no idea when he left his home or where he was going. The police can put out a traffic alert to find him, ping his phone, or create an APB.”

  “This is all my fault. I should never have agreed to take him to Flower Lake,” Mina said, her voice breaking.

  Liam could see she was trying hard not to cry.

  Hannah stood and pulled her cousin into her arms.

  “You’re not to blame. If we hadn’t driven him out there, I’m sure he would’ve found another way to get there. He was pretty determined. And if someone else had taken him, that person might not have come forward, and Erik would still be missing, but no one would know where to start looking for him. Whatever happened to him occurred on Coach Snow’s land. The backpack proves it.”

  Liam nodded. “I agree. Unfortunately, grabbing him was an irrational act. All Erik had was supposition and circumstantial evidence, a lot of it based on my faulty memory, which we both know a good lawyer could trash in court. Something Erik said or did touched a nerve. We have to figure out what that was. Dr. Miller explained how things I heard in my coma or in the nightmares I had could have become mixed in with my actual memories, but some things are too clear to be false. Since yesterday, I’ve been working on a timeline, filling in details as they come to me. While I’m sure there was only one set of footsteps, that doesn’t mean there couldn’t have been someone else in the truck. Earlier this morning, I remembered more about the person who walked over to me.”

  “What did you remember?” Hannah asked, eerily hanging on his every word.

  “I remember him, and what he was wearing, more clearly than ever before. The boots in particular stand out in my mind.”

  “You mean the cowboy boots?” Mina asked. “Erik mentioned those last week, thinking they would be rare around here and some big breakthrough, but there are dozens of people in Cedar Grove with cowboy boots. My dad has a pair, and I’ll bet yours does, too.”

  Liam nodded. “True, but not boots like the ones I saw, the ones that buried themselves in my side, and left me on the road like some piece of trash. I must’ve gotten a really good peripheral view of them. They had silver toecaps and a silver buckle. More importantly, they were new, and that means whoever bought them should be easy enough to track down.”

  He watched Hannah’s face as the implication sunk in.

  * * * *

  Hannah shuddered at the image of Liam lying on the road, a man viciously kicking him in the ribs, the blood-splattered, shiny toes of his boots glistening in the eerie half-light. She blew out the breath she’d been holding and scowled as his description blossomed in her mind, making her stomach churn.

  “A silver buckle?” Mina asked, her voice filled with doubt, erasing the gruesome image from Hannah’s mind.

  “I’ve seen boots with silver toe caps—my father’s boots have them, but buckles on cowboy boots are rare. Why would Erik be convinced Mr. Snow had a pair of those? They sound more like motorcycle boots, or something a rocker might wear, and now that we know the truck had Jersey plates...”

  “He didn’t know about the buckles, Mina. I didn’t mention them to him since I only remembered that detail this morning, but they were definitely cowboy boots. The leather was tooled, and the heels were silver, matching the toe caps. I must’ve watched him walk away from me, leaving me there, expecting me to die.” He chuckled bitterly. “Fooled him, didn’t I?”

  His voice was thick with emotion, most likely as the same brutal vision she’d seen replayed itself vividly in his mind. Taking a deep breath as if to steady himself, he winced. Papa had mentioned it could take months before the damage to his ribs repaired itself completely. She’d bruised hers in a fall off her horse a couple of years back and knew that agony only too well.

  “That’s not all,” Liam said, pulling her back to the conversation.

  She looked up and fixed her gaze on his.

  “The man knew me, Hannah; he knew about the notes, too. I can still hear his voice. ‘You were warned, kid.’ He claimed it wasn’t personal.”

  The hair’s on the back of Hannah’s neck stood on end.

  “Not personal?” she yelped, unable to keep the anger and horror out of her voice. “The man tried to kill you—almost succeeded. How much more personal can it get?”

  “If that’s his idea of an impersonal attack,” Mina added, “I’d hate to see him get personal.”

  “Seriously, I don’t think it’s what he intended. There was regret in his voice as if things had gotten out of hand.”

  “Do you remember anything else about it?” Mina asked, her eyebrows raised and nose wrinkled, displaying the disgust Hannah felt. “A Texas drawl maybe, or a Jersey accent?”

  “No, nothing like that, but the voice was familiar. It was low and gruff. I swear I’ve heard it before, but I can’t seem to place it.”

  “Could it have been Coach Snow’s voice?” Ha
nnah asked, pursing her lips.

  Liam shook his head. “I don’t think so, but I couldn’t say for sure. He hasn’t spoken that may times when I’ve been around. It isn’t someone from Ivy Hills, I’m sure of that.” He huffed out a breath. “Maybe I’m unconsciously making connections where none exist just to fill in the blanks in my memory. I want to find this guy so badly, I can taste it. There is one thing I can say for sure. He had a slight lisp. There was something he said that didn’t sound quite right. If I heard the voice again, I’d be able to identify him. I know it.”

  “Then it couldn’t be Coach Snow. He certainly doesn’t have any trouble pronouncing any of his letters, especially s.”

  “And you’re sure about the heels of those boots?” Mina asked again. “Silver heels are not only rare, they would be expensive. There can’t be many of them around.”

  “Positive. The boots were leather—not the cheap knock-off pleather, either. Every time I close my eyes, I see them. In fact, they are so clear in my mind now, I’ve been able to draw them. Let me get the sketches.”

  Hannah watched as Liam pivoted his wheelchair and moved across the room. She leaned back in her seat, wishing she hadn’t had any of the milk that now curdled in her nervous stomach. Things had just gone from bad to worse. Erik believed the driver had wanted Liam to die. Knowing his victim had survived must’ve infuriated the would-be murderer. If whatever Erik had said or done had been dangerous enough to get him kidnapped—or worse since she only had Mari’s weird connection to her brother as proof he was still alive—once word got out that Liam could identify his boots and his voice, the boy she cared for would be right back in the would-be killer’s sights. The man would have to finish what he’d started, or risk getting caught. That wouldn’t be good for any of them. She and Mina knew too much now, too.

  “Mina, we can’t tell anyone what Liam just told us,” Hannah said. “If the person finds out, he’ll come after Liam again, and if he knows we know...”

  Her cousin nodded. “Erik won’t stand a chance, that is assuming Mari’s right, and he’s still alive, but he won’t be the only one in danger. Anyone who’s been looking into this will be a threat.”

  Hannah closed her eyes and prayed whoever had torched the truck was long gone, but then that would mean giving up on Erik ... Why was everything suddenly so much more complicated?

  * * * *

  Liam wheeled himself over to the desk in the study area of the room and rummaged through the folder where he’d put sketches of what he remembered. He heard the whispers behind him. What were they discussing that they didn’t want him to know about?

  Showing these sketches to Hannah and Mina wasn’t the smartest thing to do. The more they knew about the case, the more danger they were in, but it was the only way he could help in the search for Erik. Once they fessed up to leaving him at the coach’s house, the police would have to accept Erik’s allegations, the ones they’d refused to look into, and while these sketches weren’t irrefutable proof, they were damn close. The key was finding the owner of the boots. Locating the drawing he wanted, he returned to the other side of the room and handed Hannah the sketch.

  He sighed. “It isn’t much since art isn’t my strong point, but I think you’ll get the idea.”

  Mina came over and stood behind Hannah, looking down at the sheet of paper in her cousin’s hand. She gasped and reached for the drawing.

  “I’ve seen those boots—or, at least boots just like them,” she said swallowing awkwardly.

  “Where did you see them?” he and Hannah asked at the same time.

  “If I knew where I’d seen them, don’t you think I would tell you?” she snapped, clearly upset with herself.

  “Calm down, Mina,” Hannah said. “Relax. I’m sure you’ll remember where you saw them if you give it time.” She turned to him. “Did Erik see this?”

  Liam shook his head, wishing he could press Mina, but knowing it probably wouldn’t help. “No. I just drew the sketch this morning before church.”

  “Did you mention any specific detail when you spoke to him on Thursday?”

  “Uh-uh. We didn’t talk about the boots. He’d been digging into the coach’s background with a little help from Craig Lowe and Sam Fitzroy. Xavier Lorenzo, the other guy he’d originally suspected, was helping him, too.”

  “The guy with the gambling problem?” Hannah asked. “How could he help?”

  “I know Craig got cut from the relay team and Fitz was the one with the grudge against you and your coach, but who’s Xavier? What gambling problem?” Mina asked, handing the sketch back to Hannah.

  “He’s one of the guys who writes articles for the school paper. After he got into trouble by betting on horse races and losing once too often, his father, an attaché with the Spanish government, managed to keep him out of rehab for his potential gambling addiction by sending him to Ivy Hills. Xavier has visions of being the next ace investigative reporter, like Woodward or Bernstein during the Nixon administration. He’s always sticking his nose into things, trying to ferret out the news. Erik talked to him about my accident last month. Ever since Fitz got caught bulking up, Xavier has been doing research on the whole ‘school boy’ use of anabolic steroids, and he’s convinced there’s someone supplying them not only to the guys at Ivy Hills, but to others in the area, including members of the basketball, football, and track teams at Central.”

  “You mean the rumors are true?” Mina asked, her eyebrows vanishing under her bangs.

  Liam nodded. “Unfortunately, in sports where size affects your position on the team or whether you even make the cut, the use of steroids has increased exponentially, despite the serious side effects. I reported Fitz because his temper was out of control, but roid rage isn’t the only problem. People don’t think size matters much in track. What they don’t realize is that power does. There’s a lot of pressure to perform and it can come from the guys themselves, coaches, doctors, even some parents. Hannah’s father had me on prednisone to reduce the inflammation in my chest after the accident. That’s a corticosteroid and it’s a banned drug.”

  “Why would my father have given you that?” she asked, horrified that Papa would’ve done such a thing.

  “Because it’s also the best way to treat the symptoms of the damage I suffered. Look, it isn’t as if I were going to compete next week. A couple of weeks after Fitz was caught, Coach Morrison made us all watch this video about the dangers of anabolic steroid use in teenagers. The video talked about this kid in Limpopo, a rugby player, who was suspended from sports for two years after testing positive for one of the banned substances. His father claimed that the school had encouraged the boy to juice. Xavier thought something like that might be happening here, but that wasn’t what he and Erik had talked about that night.”

  “I can imagine whoever is behind Xavier’s little exposé won’t be happy,” Hannah said. “But if they weren’t talking about that, what was it?”

  “I mentioned Xavier had made a little cash betting on my races last year, remember? Well attending Ivy Hills hasn’t done anything to stop him from feeding his addiction. He likes to play cards and bet on sports. While he was interviewing one of the players juicing—a person he refused to name, citing his First Amendment rights—the guy told him he’d heard rumors of heavy betting on the winner of this year’s New Horizon scholarship. Xavier looked into it; after all, he has his own sources in that area, and all of his ‘leads’ point to Coach Snow. That’s what they’ve been working on. The two of them have been hacking, hoping to research the coach’s background and any possible mob connections. I told Erik he was crazy, but you know him. Once he gets an idea, he’s like a dog with a bone. He’s a first class hacker, but he kept finding gaps and dead ends he hoped Xavier could help him with.”

  Hannah leaned back on the couch and rubbed her temples. “Erik mentioned the possibility that the coach had mob connections a couple of weeks ago because he’d lived in Boston ... What do you mean by gaps?”


  “How old would you say your coach is?”

  “I don’t know—maybe late thirties, early forties. His wife might be younger,” Hannah admitted, her brow furrowed. “Why do you ask?”

  “That’s what he figured, too, but when Erik did a birth records search for Peter Snow, using various dates in that age range, he couldn’t find anything. We did manage to find the record of his teaching credentials, but that’s it. It’s like he just materialized.”

  “Unless the guy’s a wizard, like Harry Potter, no one just appears,” Hannah stated.

  “Maybe he wasn’t born in the United States,” Mina volunteered. “You know, he could be Canadian or something. Don’t look at me like that, Hannah. It happens.”

  “Of course it does,” Hannah said, giving Mina that ‘duh’ look Liam found so amusing. “But people don’t just appear out of nowhere. Even if Mr. Snow wasn’t born in the United States, he has to have a past. There’s a paper trail somewhere.”

  Mina smacked herself on the forehead. “What am I thinking? Of course there is, and I have part of it. Coach Snow gave me pictures for the booth—photographs of his own track accomplishments and coaching awards.”

  “Why would he do that?” Liam asked.

  Hannah reddened. “Remember when I said we went up to the house to get Erik? We needed a reason to be there other than looking for him, so Mina and I concocted this plan to ask him about setting up a booth at the Christmas Fair. I sort of froze, but Mina stepped into the role as if she’d been born for the stage, and went all Jennifer Lawrence in The Hunger Games, going on and on with these wild ideas ... Long story short, we’re committed to a booth to drum up interest in the track program at Central.”

  “And don’t think I won’t expect you, Mari, and Ronje to help. We’re in this together.” Mina smiled at him. “The coach gave me a bunch of pictures. They’re in the car. I’ll go get them.” She stood and left the room.