A Hopeless Game

by Daniel Carson

  “Make it two white mochas today, Nick.”

  “You didn’t sleep very well last night did you, ma’am?”

  I promised under my breath that the next time he called me ma’am, I would rip that stupid beard off his stupid millennial face.

  “What makes you say that?” I managed to ask.

  “Happens with my mom all the time. She says it’s on account of all the hot flashes and the incontinence. Says those adult diapers have been a lifesaver though. You should try them.”

  I decided I would leave the beard on his stupid face. Instead, next time I saw Tommy Medola, I would tell him that Nick the Idiot Barista was the most important person in my life.

  I took my two coffees down to the sheriff’s office and waited. A few minutes later, Alex pulled up in his brown-and-white Bronco.

  He smiled when he saw me. Or maybe it was when he saw the coffee.

  “What’s the occasion?” he said, taking a cup.

  “I figure you’re probably so tired after your day of fun with Secret Agent Awesome that you could use some coffee.”

  He laughed. “I reject your sophomoric jab but accept the cup of coffee.” He took a sip and smiled. “So, Hope Walker. How did you manage to lose your phone on Moose Mountain?”

  A big part of me wanted to tell Alex the truth. He was, after all, the sheriff, and he was probably very good at protecting people. But there was another part of me that was worried about involving anybody else. That felt I had to figure this out myself.

  Plus… Alex had that other side. That irritating and controlling side. He would lecture me for having taken on a mob boss in the first place.

  “It’s not even worth going into,” I said.

  He eyed me suspiciously as he continued to sip his coffee. “Knowing you, I highly doubt that. So what’s up? Other than you seeing Dr. Bridges without giving me an update like I specifically asked you to.”

  “Hey, in my defense, I knew you were having a lot of fun and I didn’t want to interrupt.”

  “Always so thoughtful. Well I did manage to talk with Doc last evening. He thinks it might be murder. This sounds strange to say, but I bet you’re glad to hear that.”

  “I wouldn’t say I’m glad, exactly.”

  “Then why are you smiling?”

  “Because I have a hypothesis.”

  “That sounds weirdly official.”

  “More like scientific. And for the record, it’s not even my hypothesis. But we do need to test it.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  I opened the door to his truck. “How about you drive, I talk, and the two of us take another look at that crime scene.”

  Alex knocked on the Mossbacks’ door for a second time. Still no answer.

  “I’m telling you, she’s not here,” I said.

  “But the pimply-faced kid at the motel—”

  “Irwin, his name is Irwin. If I can remember that your girlfriend’s name is Special Agent Awesome, then you can remember that the love of my life is named Irwin.”

  “Pardon me. Irwin. He only mentioned Arnie Duncan checking in.”

  “Because, duh, I’m guessing the coach dropped Mrs. Mossback off in the back and then let her in. You know, it doesn’t look good to be seen down at the Eat and Slither when your husband’s body isn’t even cold yet. Face it, she’s not here.”

  “I assume you want to go in anyway,” Alex said.

  “It’s a crime scene… we don’t need a warrant.”

  “And what exactly are we looking for?” he asked.

  “Anything to suggest an affair between Mrs. Mossback and Coach Duncan. And, of course, anything to suggest that Duncan is the one who killed Randall Mossback.”

  Alex entered first, and I followed. In the entryway, he took a right into the great room. My first time through this house, I was wondering why a successful man like Coach Mossback might take his own life… but now I was looking at things differently. Asking myself a particular question. Was there some clue that Susan Mossback wanted her husband dead?

  I surveyed the formal sofa and upholstered armchair, both of which appeared to never have been used. Then I moved on to the green La-Z-Boy with a quilt draped over the arm. A selection of romance novels sat on a small shelf next to it. I presumed that this was where Susan sat, night after night. Except for weekends, of course.

  I looked at the single picture of the Mossbacks again—the one from their wedding day. Susan’s hair was curlier and blonder, and her figure suggested she might have been a cheerleader. In short, she was stunning. Randall wasn’t too shabby either. I could see why they fell for each other. And the two of them looked deliriously happy—as in most wedding pictures. But I wondered how long that happiness had lasted for the Mossbacks. Clearly not long enough.

  Alex was using tweezers to put something in a plastic bag.

  “Find something?” I asked.

  “Probably not, but I might as well collect fibers while I’m here. Who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  I moved from the great room to the kitchen. It was neat, orderly, and otherwise unremarkable. A small seating nook looked out onto a pretty back yard bordered by a stand of trees. On the counter, a coffee machine was flanked by a small wine stand full of cabernets and blends. I assumed that was Susan’s companion as she read her romance novels and her husband built his football plans. I opened the fridge to find two percent milk, eggs, lunch meat, apples, a variety of condiments, and some leftovers in Tupperware. Again, unremarkable.

  “Crack the case yet?” I hollered to Alex as I saw him making his way down the hall.

  “Yes, it’s the case of the very boring house with nothing remarkable at all,” he said.

  Exactly what I was thinking.

  I walked down the hall—Alex was in the bathroom, rummaging through the medicine cabinet—and passed two small bedrooms that looked like they’d never been used. I stopped when I reached the master bedroom. A four-poster, dark-stained, king-size bed overpowered every other stick of furniture in the room. It was neatly made with a simple dark blue comforter and two decorative pillows. Another romance novel lay open and face down on one nightstand. On the other nightstand was a copy of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition.

  The room had two closets, one on each side of the bed, and I opened the one on what clearly had been Randall Mossback’s side. It was a walk-in, with two rows of knit polo shirts, tons of balled-up socks, plenty of athletic shoes, lots of khaki pants and sweats… and no evidence whatsoever of formal wear.

  The man was a coach through and through.

  On the wall at the back of the closet, next to a full-length mirror, was a large poster of Muhammad Ali with an inspirational quote at the bottom. It was the famous photograph of Ali—Cassius Clay at the time—standing over Sonny Liston. He had just shocked the world by defeating the champion. I read the inspirational quote… and then I read it again. And that’s when it hit me.

  I ran out of the bedroom and found Alex finishing up in the bathroom.

  “You gotta come see this,” I said.

  I took Alex into the bedroom and showed him the poster.

  “It’s Muhammad Ali,” he said. “So what?”

  I tapped on the poster. “Read the quote.”

  Alex gave me a funny look, then he read it aloud. “I’m king of the world! I’m pretty! I am a bad man! I shook up the world!”

  Alex shrugged. “Uh… what am I missing?”

  I tapped the poster again. “I am a bad man. Now where have you heard that before?”

  Alex’s eyes went wide with understanding. “The suicide note!”

  “Yep. And since we thought it was a suicide, we were wondering what Coach Mossback did that was so bad. But now we know that every morning when he got ready for his day, he stood in front of this poster, and he read this inspirational quote.”

  Alex nodded. “Which means every day he said to himself….”

  “I am a bad man,” I said.

  “
But not bad being bad.”

  “But bad meaning great.”

  “I gotta admit… this is looking less and less like a suicide,” Alex said.

  “I agree. It’s still possible that Coach Mossback typed that note—as… I don’t know, a self-affirmation? Or someone else typed that note as a way of sending a message. Either way, it’s not a suicide note. This was murder.”

  Alex took a picture of the poster, then we headed back down the hall to the door that led to the basement. Alex flipped on the light and started down the stairs, and I followed a few steps behind.

  But he was only halfway down the stairs when he shouted, “Oh my God!” and raced down the rest of the way. I hurried after to see what was the matter—and gasped.

  A body lay sprawled out on the basement floor, with what looked like a nasty wound to the head.

  It was Arnie Duncan.

  Alex knelt beside the man, put his ear to Coach Duncan’s mouth, and pressed his fingers to the side of Coach Duncan’s throat. Then he looked up at me.

  “Hope, he’s still alive.”

  Chapter 21

  A fire truck and ambulance pulled up to the Mossbacks’ five minutes later, and I opened the door and stepped aside to let the paramedics jog past me. A hand waved to me from the fire truck and I squinted to see the goofy smiling face of Fireman Bob.

  He walked over. “Babe, there are easier ways to see me than to call in an emergency.”

  “But is there any more romantic way than clubbing some poor guy on the head just so you’d come running?”

  “You seriously attacked a guy just so I’m come running? That’s pretty hot.”

  “Yes, Fireman Bob, that’s exactly what I did. It’s so much easier than just swiping left or right.”

  He put out his fist for a fist bump. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

  I’m not a really big fist-bump person. I put it in the same category as chest bumps and butt slaps—the type of “bro code” language that I never wanted to fully understand. But this was Fireman Bob. If I didn’t return the gesture, he might very well just let his fist hang in midair for days. Possibly weeks. So I lightly touched my first to his.

  He acted like his hand exploded, complete with sound effects.

  Pretty soon the paramedics came up the stairs carrying Arnie Duncan on a stretcher. Fireman Bob squeezed by me to help, and together they carried him to the back of the ambulance.

  Alex and I got in his truck and followed them to the regional hospital near the college, then waited in the emergency room. We didn’t have to wait long. About twenty minutes later, a doctor poked his head out. “Sheriff?”

  “What’s the word, Doc?”

  “He took a nasty blow to the head and there’s no telling how long he was unconscious. He’s breathing, but barely… and his vitals are weak.”

  “Any brain damage?”

  “We don’t know. There could be, and there could also be bleeding in the brain, all of which would necessitate emergency surgery. But for now, we just monitor him closely, and we wait.”

  Alex called Katie to let her know what was going on, and I used the hospital phone to call Principal Booth.

  “You’re kidding me,” he said. “Arnie? I can’t believe it. I wondered why I hadn’t seen him today.”

  “When he didn’t show up for his classes.”

  “Actually we’ve got teachers covering his classes all week so he can prepare for the game. But still, I expect him to check in. Please tell me he’s going to live.”

  I told Principal Booth what the doctor had told us. That Arnie was in serious condition. That it was too early to tell on everything else. He needed support.

  I called Granny next.

  “You ever hear of a serial killer who goes around killing football coaches?” she asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Me neither, granddaughter. Do me a favor, Hope—catch whoever’s responsible for this and do it quickly. We’ve got a game to win on Saturday.”

  I had the impression that Granny was a bit more concerned about the football game than ol’ Arnie Duncan… but she was right. Whoever was behind this needed to be stopped, and fast.

  I grabbed a candy bar from the snack machine and puzzled it all through in my head. Alex and I had gone to the Mossback house that morning to test Mandy Broderick’s hypothesis that Susan Mossback and Arnie Duncan were involved—both with the murder of Randall Mossback, and with each other—and that Arnie had killed Coach Mossback while Susan was at her hotel. But instead we find Arnie Duncan alone in the basement, with a vicious blow to the head. What was he doing there? Who had done this to him? And what did it all mean?

  As I devoured that candy bar, one thing was certain. If Arnie didn’t make it… we might never know.

  I tested the known facts against Mandy’s hypothesis. Suppose for a moment that she was right—that Susan Mossback and Arnie Duncan had worked together to kill Coach Mossback. Then what might have happened? With the husband out of the way, did Arnie feel free to meet with Susan at her house? Did the lovers get into some kind of argument? And did Susan clobber him?

  But if so, why would she just leave his body there on the floor? In her own home?

  Alex got off the phone and walked over to me. He took a pen out of his pocket, grabbed my hand, and wrote a phone number on it.

  “I’ve gotta take care of something outside of town. Promise me you’ll call me with an update on Coach Duncan.”

  He was still holding on to my hand, and he was close. As close as he’d been that night on Katie’s couch when he leaned in. And because of that, I forgot how to form words.

  “Hope,” he said. “Promise me?”

  “Right. Of course. Definitely. Call Sheriff Kramer with update. Got it.”

  He smiled, and his green eyes danced, and I felt wobbly. Then, mercifully, he let go and left.

  And then I remembered that he had been my ride. I was now stranded at the hospital.

  I was going to need another candy bar.

  I was just getting off the hospital phone again, where I’d been updating Earl Denton on the events of the morning, when the other coaches from the Hopeless football team showed up.

  “Hi, Hope,” said Steve Williams. He was taller than the other coaches but otherwise looked the same. Goatee, bit of a gut, with sweatpants, a hoodie, and a Hopeless baseball cap completing the look.

  “Hi, Coach,” I said in response.

  “Please. Just Steve.”

  “Steve, then.”

  Coach Edwards stood beside him. He was shorter, stocky, and for the moment, clean-shaven, with a crew cut.”And I’m just Bruce,” he said. “Today anyway.”

  “I remember both of you.”

  “Is Arnie gonna be okay?” Bruce asked.

  “The doctor doesn’t know yet. But it sounds pretty serious.”

  Bruce ran his hand through his short brown hair. “What is going on here? First Randall, and now Arnie.”

  “I don’t know… but maybe you guys could help.”

  “How?” asked Bruce.

  “Would you mind answering some questions? Maybe fill in some blanks for me.”

  “Anything,” said Steve.

  “Yeah,” said Bruce. “Arnie’s a good guy, he didn’t deserve this. We’ll do anything to help.”

  “Then let’s start right there,” I said. “You mentioned Arnie was a good guy. That’s not something I’ve heard much about Coach Mossback.”

  Bruce shrugged. “Because he wasn’t a good guy. He was a great coach… but he wasn’t a good guy.”

  “And Bruce would know,” said Steve. “He was with Coach at his last stop.”

  “Crete City, right?”

  Bruce nodded.

  “If Coach Mossback wasn’t a good guy, why did you follow him to Hopeless?”

  “That’s simple. He’s the best coach I’ve ever seen. I’d like to run my own program someday, and I wanted to learn as much from him as I could. Just… not the bad stuff
.”

  “And what was the bad stuff?”

  “You know… just the general crappy way he treated most people.”

  “Even you?”

  “You think I got special treatment because I’ve known him longer than some? Ha. Fat chance.”

  “Word is you guys found Arnie at Coach Mossback’s house,” Steve said. “Do you know what he was doing there?”

  “That’s another thing I was hoping you guys could tell me.”

  They looked at each other and shrugged. “He didn’t say anything to us,” said Steve.

  Bruce nodded. “I can’t think of a reason for it, now that Coach Mossback is gone.”

  I wondered about this next piece, about how much information I should give out. But I needed help. I had to take a chance.

  “Can I be frank with both of you?” I asked, inching closer.

  “Sure.”

  “You can’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you. Can you keep a secret?”

  “Of course we can.”

  “Do you think there’s any chance that Arnie and Susan Mossback might have been… involved?”

  The two men exchanged nervous glances.

  “What makes you ask that?” Bruce said.

  I hesitated. Then I figured, what the hell. “Yesterday, a little after lunch, I saw Arnie pick up Susan at her house. I was talking to her at the time, and she was definitely dressed to impress. You know, impress a guy. So I followed them. They ended up at the Clap Back Motel.”

  “Crap,” said Steve. “I mean, we did wonder if something was going on between them two, but I was hoping there wasn’t.”

  “What made you wonder? Did Arnie ever talk about her?”

  “Not directly,” said Bruce, “but you could just tell the way he got around her. You know, he’d act kinda goofy when she was around. Hope, are you suggesting this has something to do with everything that’s going on?”

  “I don’t know that yet. But if Susan and Arnie were involved… then that does give them motive to get rid of Coach Mossback. With him out of the way, they can both move on.”