“It’s never random,” I said.
He stared at me blankly.
“Okay, it’s never entirely random.”
“So who did it?”
A man with a microphone announced that Elliot Sunderland had been named the most valuable player of the game, and the crowd erupted all over again. Coach Edwards and Coach Williams gave Elliot enormous bear hugs. Then Elliot found his dad and gave him an even bigger hug.
Father and son.
It was enough to break my heart.
Elliot finally released his dad and hobbled back to celebrate with his teammates.
I tapped Alex on the shoulder and pointed directly at Kevin Sunderland.
“It was him.”
“Congratulations, Mr. Sunderland,” said Sheriff Kramer.
Kevin’s cheeks were wet, and a smile was plastered on his face. “It’s all so unbelievable. I don’t think it’s really sunk in yet.”
“Your son is a really impressive football player,” Alex said.
Mr. Sunderland beamed. “Yes. He really is.”
“Does it make up for your own career?” I asked.
“Excuse me?”
“You know, when you played for Pleasant View in the fall of 1990.”
The light went out of Kevin Sunderland’s face. Except for his eyes. They were open wide. He was scared.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t go to Pleasant View.”
“Well, you’re not in the yearbook, I’ll grant you that. Of course, you didn’t know that when you stole it from the Mossbacks’ house. On the night you almost killed Arnie Duncan.”
“You’re crazy.”
“But I understand, I really do. The way Coach Mossback treated you… and then that day. Bad Man. What a horrible drill. A horrible thing to do to young people. Horrible for everyone, and even more horrible if you got chosen. Which you did. You were the weakest link. In the world of Randall Mossback’s Darwinian football, where the strongest survive and advance… you were the weakest link.”
“I don’t need to listen to this.”
Alex answered. Calm and sure. “Yes, Mr. Sunderland. I’m afraid you do.”
“So they taped you up to the goalposts,” I continued. “I’m guessing they taunted you while they did it. It had to have been unbearably humiliating. Especially for a teenager. Being called out by boys you thought were your teammates. Your friends. But you probably figure, hey, I can last an hour. Right? Except… that’s not what happened. An hour passed, and no one came. Two hours. Three. And then Coach Mossback saw you. I’m sure you asked him to cut you down. To let you go. But Coach Mossback was an animal. What did he do, Kevin?”
Kevin Sunderland’s jaw worked back and forth. His eyes were no longer filled with fear. Now they contained only rage. Pure rage.
“I’m guessing he laughed at you, for starters,” I said. “That’s the type of thing a bully would do. Revel in your weakness. In his power over you. And then… he left you. And you weren’t found until the next day. I can’t even imagine what that was like for you.”
“I can’t either,” said Alex.
“But what I do know, is if someone did that to me, I’d want to kill them. No matter how long I had to wait.”
Mandy Broderick appeared on my left.
“What’s going on here?” she said.
“We were just talking to Mr. Sunderland about a few things,” said Sheriff Kramer.
“Kevin, are you okay?” She stepped up close beside him.
He ignored her and kept his focus on me. “I didn’t kill him. I wouldn’t hurt anybody. That’s not who I am.”
“Mr. Sunderland,” said Alex, “if this really happened to you, it’s a very compelling motive for murder. In fact it’s probably good enough to get a search warrant for your house and your business. So why don’t you just tell us the truth?”
“Wait—you think Kevin killed Randy?” Mandy said.
No one responded to her.
“Mr. Sunderland,” continued Sheriff Kramer. “Can you account for your whereabouts last Saturday, say between noon and eight p.m.?”
Kevin’s face was blank, then suddenly it was as if something registered. “Saturday?”
“Yes. Between noon and eight p.m. Can you account for your whereabouts during that time?”
He straightened. “Yes. As a matter of fact I can.”
“Where were you?” Sheriff Kramer asked.
“Boise.”
“Boise?” I said.
“Yes, Boise.”
“Can anyone confirm that?” Alex asked.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I can’t say.”
Alex frowned. “Mr. Sunderland, we’re trying to establish your alibi in a murder investigation. You need to say.”
“Well, I can’t. Not yet. If you have evidence, arrest me. Otherwise, leave me alone. My son just won the biggest game of his life, and I’d like to go celebrate.”
Then Mandy and Kevin walked away together.
“You notice that?” I said.
“Yeah. They seem to have a bit of a connection.”
“No, not that. It didn’t hit me until just now. She calls Coach Mossback ‘Randy.’ She always calls him Randy.”
The block party on Main Street was one for the ages. I’d never seen anything in Hopeless like the game I’d just watched, yet somehow, this party had taken it to another level.
But I wasn’t in the mood to celebrate.
I was working.
I talked to everyone I could and as casually as I could, trying to find out two things. What kind of a guy was Kevin Sunderland, and what did people call Coach Mossback? And the answers I got back every time were the same.
Kevin Sunderland was a stand-up guy. Pillar of the community.
And Coach Mossback went by “Coach” or “Randall.” And that was it.
With the exception of two people who always called him Randy.
His wife.
And Mandy Broderick.
I just hadn’t noticed it until now.
Maybe Sheriff Kramer was right. Maybe I had just blindly accused Kevin Sunderland of something horrible that he would never do in a million years. Maybe the puzzle pieces fit together so well because I wanted them to fit.
And maybe Mandy Broderick hated Coach Mossback for a reason that I had never even considered.
I saw Bev Hamilton near the main food table, near the ice sculpture of the Lombardi Trophy. She was filling her plate with pulled pork sandwiches.
“Hey, Hope,” she said with half a mouthful. “Amazing night, isn’t it?”
“It is. But I need your help with something.”
“What kind of help?”
“Official help. I’m working on a story, and I get the feeling that you have a pretty good sense of what’s really going on around the school.”
That piqued her interest. “You mean gossip.”
“Yes.”
She smiled. “I suppose I’m plugged into the grapevine. What do you want to know?”
“You told me that Mandy Broderick was a bit of a flirt—that she found it easy to talk with men. And I was wondering if you ever heard about her and Coach Mossback?”
Bev’s mouth fell open, giving me a shot of pulled pork that I’d rather not have seen. She leaned in and whispered. “How did you know about that?”
“I have my sources. I just need confirmation.”
“Mandy swore me to secrecy. You can’t tell her I said anything.”
“I won’t.”
“And I don’t know much beyond what I saw at the Christmas party last year.”
“Which was what?”
“I told you there’s a lot of drinking at those things. Probably too much drinking. That includes me. I went to the bathroom but somehow took a left instead of taking a right, and before I knew it I was down a dark hallway and I heard something. I looked up and there was Coach Mossback and Mandy. You know… making out.”
“Nothing. I turned around and ran the other way. But later that night Mandy found me and made me promise I would never tell another living soul. And if you write an article about this, I will deny everything.”
“I’m not writing an article. I’m just trying to solve a puzzle. And you may have just given me the piece I needed.”
I found Kevin Sunderland and Mandy Broderick seated at a table, drinking a couple of beers.
“Now I know why you hated Coach Mossback so much,” I said to Mandy.
“Excuse me?”
“Because you liked him.”
“And you call yourself a journalist.” She shook her head. “To think I ever thought there was something special about you. How do you do it? Do you just spin a wheel and see what random things come up?”
“No, I’m just persistent and I don’t give up. And I noticed that there are only two people in the world who call Coach Mossback ‘Randy.’ One is his wife. The other is you. Don’t you think that’s odd?” I turned to Kevin. “What about you, Kevin? Do you think that’s odd?”
“It’s a name,” he said. “Who cares?
“Fair enough. It just a name. But it made me dig deeper. And I found out that you and ‘Randy’ were spotted making out at the Christmas party.”
“How do you know about that?”
“Like I said, persistent. And here’s the thing. You gave me all these reasons why you couldn’t stand Coach Mossback—and you left out the main one. For some reason, you were drawn to him. The two of you had a thing. And then you didn’t. Or so I assume.
“Did he say he was gonna leave his wife for you? That’s how it usually works. But they never do, do they? You were jealous. You hated him for how he was making you feel. You hated yourself for feeling it. So last Saturday, you killed him. And then you gave me your theory that it was actually Susan and Arnie to throw me off the scent.”
“You might be clinically insane,” Mandy said.
Sheriff Kramer came up beside me. “Actually she’s pretty brilliant, and she has a way of figuring this stuff out. So did you kill Coach Mossback, Ms. Broderick?”
She shook her head. “Of course not.”
“But you had a thing with him,” I said.
She hesitated. Looked around. Then looked at Kevin. He nodded as if to tell her something.
She turned back to me. “Yes. I did. Who cares?”
“Then I need to ask you again,” said Sheriff Kramer. “Can you account for your whereabouts last Saturday between noon and eight p.m.?”
And Mandy Broderick did a most unexpected thing.
She smiled.
“Yes. I can.”
Kevin Sunderland smiled as well. “And I can too.”
Then he reached over and grabbed Mandy by the hand.
“We didn’t want to say anything until we told Elliot, and we didn’t want to tell Elliot until after the game. Didn’t want to distract him. He lost his mother a few years ago, and I wasn’t sure how he’d react. But we just told him a few minutes ago, and he couldn’t have been happier. Anyway, I took Mandy to Boise last Saturday for an overnight. And we had a great time.”
Sheriff Kramer and I looked at each other.
“Wait,” I said. “You’re serious?”
Mandy smiled. “Completely. We had a wonderful time.”
“And can anyone confirm this?” asked Sheriff Kramer.
“Lots of people,” said Kevin. “I’m an accountant, so I keep every single receipt.” He pulled out his wallet, grabbed a handful of receipts, and handed them to Alex. “Go ahead and check for yourself. There’s everything from breakfast that morning to a fancy dinner that night. I’m sure you can find several people who remember us. In fact, take our picture just be sure. You see, Sheriff, we have absolutely nothing to hide.”
Chapter 33
Pastor Leif’s ten-o’clock service the next morning was like a scene from Night of the Living Dead. It seemed the entire town had celebrated the state championship on Main Street into the wee hours of the morning, and the day-after hangover was palpable. At one point, Granny fell asleep on Bess’s shoulder, and Dominic not only didn’t shoot any spitwads, he didn’t make a sound the entire service. I’m not certain, but I think even Pastor Leif dozed off. During his own sermon.
And I’ll be honest, though I wasn’t as exhausted or hung over as everyone else, I wasn’t paying much attention to Pastor Leif’s sermon either. I was stuck in my own head, replaying what had gone wrong.
One moment, I was certain Kevin Sunderland had done it. The next moment, I was certain it was Mandy Broderick. But if their alibis held up, which it looked like they would, then it couldn’t have been either one of them. Because Dr. Bridges was certain that Coach Mossback had been killed on Saturday afternoon, whereas they were an hour away on a romantic getaway in Boise.
I had to consider one other possibility. Maybe it really was a suicide after all. If Coach Mossback had let a kid be taped to a set of goalposts overnight, then he really was a bad man.
Is it possible that finally, after all these years, he realized it?
Probably not. More likely, somebody clever had somehow been playing me the entire time. The spouse is always the first person to suspect. She was a smart woman. Maybe she’d outmaneuvered me from the start.
And then there was Mason Hawes. He had an alibi for Friday night, but not for Saturday. At least, not one that I knew of yet. I would have to follow up on that.
I was still stuck in my head going over all these maybes when I ran into Sheriff Kramer right outside of church.
He smiled that easy smile. The one that made me a little weak and wobbly. And made me feel things I wasn’t quite ready to feel. Just not yet.
“Sorry,” I said. And I didn’t mean running into him.
He grabbed my arm in a firm but gentle way that made me not want him to let go. “For what it’s worth, I thought you were right.”
“You did?”
He nodded.
“So, I’m not a lunatic investigator throwing out theories like they’re candy?”
He smiled again. “Not this time. Listen, the alibis check out. That’s what I was doing before church. Mandy and Kevin were definitely in Boise all day on Saturday.”
“Which means they didn’t do it.”
Alex sighed. “I’m afraid not. In fact, I talked to Kevin Sunderland this morning. He wanted to make sure he was in the clear. That their alibis had checked out. Apparently, he and Mandy Broderick are going on another trip today and he just wanted to be sure they were free to go.”
“What did you say?”
“The same thing I’m telling you. That given their alibis, we have no reason to hold them. Either of them.”
The smell of Dial soap, Secret deodorant, and bourbon hit me from behind, and I spun around to see Granny and Bess, with Flo and Zeke behind them.
They didn’t look happy.
“We’ve got business with you, granddaughter.”
I got the distinct feeling I had walked onto the set of Deliverance.
“What kind of business?”
She shook her head. “Not around the sheriff. Just you. And us. And we do it down at Buck’s.”
Granny sat at one end of the large table in the middle of Buck’s Diner, and Stank and Cup sat at the other end. Bess was next to me, and Flo and Zeke were opposite us. Buck was standing nearby with his dishtowel slung over his shoulder, chewing on a toothpick, a silent sentinel for this strange meeting.
The bell clanged over the front door, and Dr. Bridges walked in. “Am I late?”
Granny pointed to the seat next to Zeke. “Just about to start, Doc.” She turned to me. “Well, Granddaughter, we’ve all been so busy and flustered with the events of the past week that something escaped our notice. But not Buck’s notice. And when he informed me earlier this morning, it all made sense.”
“What made sense?”
“Why you haven’t solved this murder y
et.”
I looked around at all the serious faces. “I’m not following.”
“Then let me make it clear. We have a traitor in our midst, Hope. And that traitor is you.”
“What?”
“Come on, Hope, we all know what you did! We, the members of the Buck’s Diner Murder Investigation Club, had an agreement. All murder investigations in this town start with us. Or I thought we had an agreement. Because according to Buck, you cheated on us.”
Everyone shook their heads in disgust. Everyone except for Dr. Bridges. He just looked confused.
“Buck told us that he thought it was cute when he saw you and Sheriff Kramer come into the diner for breakfast… until he found the bottle of ketchup lying on its side on the table. That’s when he knew.”
Uh-oh. I’d been caught.
“And what’s more, he said you used the big fat pancake. And the mustard. Yellow mustard.”
Gasps sounded from around the table.
“Are you all being serious here?”
“Serious as a heart attack, Granddaughter. And speaking of heart attacks, I’m quite certain I had a few during last night’s game, so I know of what I speak.”
“We had an understanding,” said Zeke coldly.
“Yes,” said Flo. “The Buck’s Diner Murder Investigation Club was our thing. And you sullied it with… Sheriff Kramer.”
“Wow,” I said. “I had no idea how much this meant to all of you. I really didn’t. So let me say this for the record, officially and unequivocally: I, Hope Walker, am sincerely sorry.”
“I feel like there was a little sass in that apology,” said Granny.
Stank nodded. “I detected a bit of sass myself.”
“Oh, come on!” I said. “Listen, I’m sorry. I’m sincerely, actually sorry. If you detect sass it’s because I come by it honestly. Granny practically invented sass. Now can we please eat? From the looks of it, you all could use the Hangover Special today.”
Granny twisted her mouth up at me. Then she slapped her hand on the table. “Hope’s right, Buck. Hangover Specials for everyone!”
Buck hustled to the kitchen and started barking orders at his short-order cook.
A Hopeless Game Page 20
