I didn’t like being called Princess. It might be okay for a father to call his daughter that, but in an adult it carried the implications of spoiled and high maintenance. “Why in the world would I need a pro name? I’m not a professional archer.”
My tone held a bit more force and snip than I intended, which made Minx smile wider.
“I saw you shooting yesterday. Honey said that you used to compete in college and then you took a job here. It’s only a matter of time. I’ve an eye for these things.” Minx sat forward and wiped her hands on her pants then started cleaning her arrows. She peeled the tiny plastic veins off along with the black tape that held them on.
“Did you see that in Honey?” I needed to take control of this conversation.
“Geez, Honey.” She stopped to look at me. “I heard you guys are throwing a celebration of life or something for her. How did you get sucked into that?”
I shrugged noncommittally, hoping that she wouldn’t ask for more details, then countered, “Not a fan?”
“Were you?” Minx didn’t even look up, but I could see a half smile on her face. Was it possible that she was being difficult on purpose? I looked at Mary then tipped my head in Minx’s direction.
As Mary and I silently communicated, Minx used a combination of acetone on a cotton ball and her thumbnail to work that double-sided tape off of the arrow shaft.
“Minx, I was just telling Di about the Summer Games and writing those articles about you guys. Yours was the most fun.”
Mary smiled at Minx with genuine warmth, and Minx returned it.
“Thanks, you did a great job on it. Though really it wasn’t much competition, was it? Honey had that whole team of people helping her, but even they couldn’t make her likable. Owley has no personality. That’s part of the reason I’m here. She has been in the range, watching videos of her competing against Honey in the Summer Games Elimination match for the past hour or two. Owley sitting there with those big, empty eyes watching, watching, watching. I was about to go mad.”
“I heard Honey had a lot of people supporting her.” I put finger quotes around supporting.
Minx snorted with a flash of amusement in her eyes.
“Right, supporting her.” She echoed my finger quotes. “People have gone into space with a smaller support crew. After the Summer Games team was selected in the fall we had a lot of team events to meet the coaches, familiarize ourselves with shooting together for the team event, publicity, etc. NOUSAA kept pushing team America, but Honey was all about Honey. She wanted to have her own personal photographer for every photo op, and we were always standing around waiting on someone.” Minx was focused on scrubbing the arrow.
I gave Mary a nod to encourage her. Minx was responding better to Mary than me. “I always wondered why she got so many stories done on her when you and Owley were better archers.”
“Simple—money. Mary, you and NOUSAA did a great job trying to support us, but you had six athletes, including the men. Honey just had more resources. Her publicist could get out more specialized information faster, and they had connections. And she didn’t believe in sharing the spotlight at all. She didn’t even pretend.”
“That sounds frustrating,” I said.
“Frustrating? It was infuriating.” Minx put down her arrows to look at me fully. “I had spent years shooting and training for this opportunity, and Honey turned it into a living nightmare. I was a background player in her play. Do you know that she brought an analyst in to assess her competition, including us? Originally, she told all of us that the analyst was looking at other countries. But we’re archers, not basketball or football players. Everyone has the same game plan: aim at the middle, and try to hit the middle. Sure, some people are weaker in the rain or wind, but unless we invented weather control, what good would it do to know that? Then it came out that the analyst was also looking at Owley and me. Looking for weaknesses. The team manager about flipped out. They kicked everyone out of the camp and all future training camps except the athletes and one personal coach each. It was glorious.”
Mary leaned forward. “How did I not know this?”
Minx grabbed the alcohol to swab down the now-clean arrows and prep them for new vanes. “They kept it pretty quiet and asked us as a favor not to say anything. I plan to be around for a long time and could use some favors in my pocket. That was the root of Honey’s problem; she never thought long term.”
That reminded me of the phrase that Mary had highlighted in the memoir. I tried to catch Mary’s eyes, but she was ahead of me. “I heard somewhere that Honey thought this was her only shot at making a Summer Games team. Like she had to make the most of it.”
“Yes, exactly. The Summer Games only come around once every four years, and she only made the team this year because better archers couldn’t.” She gave Mary a tight, thin smile. “She never loved archery like most archers do. I love competing, practicing, hanging with other archers, talking about equipment, competition, or archers, and just being at the range. It’s like a second home to me. But Honey wasn’t interested in any of that. She saw archery as a stepping stone to something bigger or better.”
For once I had something I could add to the conversation. “You know I went to college with her? When she joined the archery team, she said she chose archery because it was the easiest sport to pick up and be world class at. That really rubbed people wrong. We loved archery and obsessed about it every second, but she acted like it was so easy that even an idiot could do it.”
Minx gave me a smile, and for a moment I thought we shared an understanding. Then she opened her mouth. “If you loved archery so much in college, why did you leave?”
An uncomfortable, at least for me, silence descended on the room. I tried to stutter out my go-to response. “Oh, you know how life gets in the way and stuff.” I avoided her eyes.
Minx squinted at me and started to reply. “Oh come on, what does that even—”
Mary cut her off. “What did Honey think the Summer Games was a stepping stone to?”
Minx looked at me then Mary then back to me. She rolled her eyes then finally turned back to Mary. “Fame? Fortune? A rich husband? She was sure that she would become famous, like that reality show she mentioned yesterday. She figured that she was like those ice skaters, snowboarders, or even the speed skater that hosts a game show. She would dance with the stars or be on a variety of celebrity shows. She was a total nut job if she thought archery was going to make her famous. Archery is awesome, but we are a long way from being considered celebrities.”
Mary tilted her head to the side. “So she wanted to have a reality show about her shooting archery?”
“No, she wanted a reality show instead of shooting archery.” Minx was fletching her arrows by carefully placing double-sided tape on pencil lines she had drawn on the arrows then attaching thin plastic vanes to the tape and pressing down firmly. “She was always talking about her future plans. Television, inspirational speaking, maybe a few coaching seminars. None of us really cared; we were focused on the Summer Games and competition. She was always blah blah blah, but I got pretty good at tuning her out.”
“Did she bug Owley, too?” Mary got up to grab a small bottle of glue to hand to Minx, who put a drop on the leading edge of each fletching.
“Yes, but kind of opposite of me. If Honey got on my nerves about stuff, I would just tell her to shut up, then I would just move on. Owley never said anything to Honey, and things would fester. I never noticed Honey when I was shooting; I was in my own little world. Owley, on the other hand, would complain to me if Honey stood to close to her on the line or mumbled under her breath. I told her to say something to Honey, but she wouldn’t. Sometimes I would tell Honey to back off for her, but I’m not the archery police.”
“What was Bruce like? I didn’t realize that he used to be Honey’s coach until Mary told me this morning. I only know him as a coworker.” I ventured back into the conversation on what I hoped was a safe topic.
/> “What do you think of him?” She threw back the question at me and cocked an eyebrow. She kept making these digs at me, but this time I could answer in fullness.
“He seems nice enough. Other than saying hi in the hallways or nodding at meals, I have only really encountered him twice. The first was a meeting where he explained his responsibilities at the center and what he needed from me. He was distracted and snapped a few times. The other time was yesterday at the coaches’ training. I didn’t talk to him.”
I thought about what I had seen while waiting to pick out a bow. “Are he and Owley close? Did he have a falling out with Honey? I saw him talking to Owley privately and snapping at Honey.”
Minx gave her arrows one last spin then set them on the coffee table.
“Finally, you are adding something to this conversation, Princess. I don’t know what was going on with Honey and Bruce. Bruce is a cool guy, always polite to me even though we never worked together. He seemed to do his best for Honey while not stepping on anyone’s toes, unlike a lot of coaches. But at the Summer Games, he and Honey must have had a falling out. Right after Honey and Owley’s match, he disappeared and I didn’t see him again. Honey didn’t seem to care. We asked where he went, and she said he was a stick in the mud and left.”
I chewed on that thought. What could have happened during the match to cause such a rift between the two?
“My arrows are all done. Have you guys eaten? Let’s go grab some food.” Minx stood up. It sounded deceptively like a question but with the forcefulness of a command.
We hadn’t eaten since breakfast. “Sure, but let me change. I fell asleep in my clothing, again, and I feel gross.”
***
I grabbed some stuff and went into the bathroom to run a washcloth over my face and skin. The whole process helped me to feel fully awake and ready. Moo followed me in the bathroom and wedged his face into the sink to drink from the faucet. When he was sated, he stepped back and swiped his mouth across my pants, leaving an immense wet spot. “Oh, Moo.”
I shooed him out of the bathroom and went to change into drop pants. I took a few seconds to drop my parents a message on the computer, with only the vaguest of details. I would have to call them soon to tell them the whole story once I knew the whole story.
I stepped into the middle room to tell Mary and Minx I was ready but was startled to see Moo standing in the middle of the room with a black T-shirt on. Emblazoned across his back was the iconic Batman logo.
Mary was standing proudly behind him. “It’s Batdog.”
Minx snorted from the couch.
I looked at them then back at Moo. “Where did you get that?”
“It’s mine.”
I rolled my eyes. “Take it off him, and let’s get going.”
Mary rushed over and ran her hands over the shirt. “No, it stays. He likes it.”
“I’m not sure I’m ready to be the type of lady who dresses her dog.” I stared at Moo dubiously, but he pranced around the room. Suddenly, he lifted to nose to the sky and let out an extended “woo” while dancing. He pounced onto the floor, his paws straight out and wide, his chest brushing the floor while his rump waggled back and forth high in the air.
Minx got up and opened the door, and Moo hopped up to rush out. “Batdog has made his decision. Y’all coming or not?”
With a shrug, I followed them out. Mary grabbed her notebook and tablet, then we headed to the center across the parking lot.
***
The cafeteria was off limits to Moo, but just next to it was a more casual seating area separated by a half wall with tables and booths for eating or hanging out. This area was open all day, even when the cafeteria was closed. Of course, right now, the cafeteria was unlocked while the staff was gone. Someone had hung up a sign saying “Celebration of Honey’s life and career 6:00 p.m. Liquor provided.” I went to grab a sandwich then joined Mary and Minx. They had spread out in a booth, legs crossed on the long seats. I sat at a nearby table after grabbing the tablet and notebook from next to Mary.
I bit into my sandwich and turned open the page, angling myself so Minx couldn’t see the page. Minx and Mary were discussing next year’s archery season and which events were required for National Rankings and debating the value of the Field and Indoor national tournaments.
Mary took a bite of her sandwich and started talking around it. “How can you not love Indoor Nationals? It’s just you and your bow. No wind, no weather, no excuses. It really is pure archery.”
“Ew, gross, how about not talking with your mouth open, you pig.” Minx laughed and threw a wadded-up napkin at Mary. “Indoor archery is cool, but even one bad arrow throws you out of the race. Plus, there is no challenge. Field archery, on the other hand has everything: hills, estimating distances, rocks that destroy arrows if you miss, trees partially obscuring your view, uneven footing, and it always rains. Plus, you are out in nature—what can beat that?”
“What am I? A bear? What do I care about being out in nature?”
They were happily wrapped in their own discussion. I shifted my attention to the notebook and tablet. We had accomplished nothing so far except to confirm that Tiger was a flirt, Minx was not my fan, Owley had nice shoes, and Moo was on a slippery slope of cosplay. I looked over the list and ran through the conversations we had already had, trying to piece out everything that was said and if any of it was more important than we had first thought.
“So, what’s next?” I looked up at Mary. Minx must have already left, as we were alone.
“I don’t know. This is nothing like the TV shows.” I flopped my head down on the table.
“Di?” Mary’s hand gently patted my shoulder. “Are you feeling a bit tired?”
I closed my eyes against the cool tabletop, and the couple of hours from last night and the couple-hour nap late this morning added up to a couple of couples, definitely not a full night’s sleep. I sat up and scrubbed my face.
“Yeah, and my brain is kinda mushy. I know we need to talk to Bruce about whatever happened with Honey at the Summer Games and whatever happened here when he took Owley into the hallway after snapping at Honey. Plus whatever you found in the memoir. And… whatever.” I was babbling. I got up and did some stretches, hoping the movement would wake up my sluggish mind.
Mary pulled out a chair and started looking through her notes.
“I wanted to tell you earlier about a section I read in the memoir. Most of her notes about the Summer Games were who she met that was famous, interviews and photo ops she had or compliments she got. In fact, the qualifying round had very little details until the last arrow. Here is what it said: ‘I knew that if I got a seven or worse on this final arrow that I would have to shoot against Owley. I could feel the wind on my skin and the sun on my face. I raised the bow, and right as I shot, a gust of wind lifted the arrow and it hit a six. I tried to stay happy, but I am just devastated.’ See?”
I did a couple of jumping jacks, thinking about what she shared. “I don’t see much other than the fact that she needed an amazing editor. ‘I am just devastated’? Way to hop around tenses.”
“That’s part of the problem. She wasn’t devastated, then or now. We did an interview afterwards, and she was so happy. I don’t think she was that great of an actor. In that interview she said she must have bumped the sight, nothing about the wind. Plus, have you heard anything about her that makes you think she really cared about her teammates?”
I stopped mid-jumping jack to think through everything I knew about Honey. “You’re right. So I guess she was lying to sound more sympathetic? She didn’t seem to have that much self-awareness.” I bent over to touch my toes and let the blood flow to my brain.
“It’s possible, but you missed the other part that’s important. ‘I knew that if I got a seven or worse on this final arrow that I would have to shoot against Owley.’ How did she know that a seven or worse was what she needed?” Mary carefully wrote out two questions in her notebook. “Was Honey de
vastated?” and “Did she know she needed a 7 or worse?”
“Could she have added that later to be dramatic? You said she embellished all the stories.” Moo started pawing at my dangling arms, so I sat down to scratch his ears.
“I looked back through the article I wrote for the Summer Games, and there was a quote from her saying that her first words to Bruce when stepping off the line was something like ‘I’m shooting against Owley tomorrow.’”
I shrugged my shoulders. “So she knew right then. I don’t get what the big deal is. She would just have to… wait, how would she know?”
“Thank you, you finally caught up. I have no idea how she knew all that. They have live score updates but only after each end of six arrows. But she would need to be making a bracket while watching her standings and Owley’s standings. Someone would need to watch all the arrows that final end, keep track of the score. There is just no way that I can think of that she could do all of that alone.”
“And why?” Moo rolled on his back, and I gave his gigantic belly a rub. “Why all that work just to go against Owley?”
“She got national coverage. They could only really cover one match live, and since there were two US competitors in the same match it was a guarantee that she would be on TV.”
“Plus, she won,” I added.
“She did, and that was a huge upset. Honey shot her average despite a cold, but Owley was a mess. She was all over the target, she was letting down all the time, which isn’t typical for her, and she was in tears by the end. It wasn’t Owley’s best performance.”
“Could Honey have caused that? Paid off Owley? Put something in her water? Something? It would all fit perfectly.”
Mary perked up. “It would. Owley could totally have killed Honey if that was true. Who could blame her?”
I wiped my hands on my pants, knocking off the black-and-white dog’s hair on my dark jeans, and stood up. “How do we prove it?”
Mary pointed out the two questions she had written in her notebook. “Let’s start by proving that she purposefully sandbagged in the qualifications to go against Owley. Bruce was the only other person there.”
Death on the Range: Target Practice Mysteries 1 Page 6
