by Terry Shames
“Have you talked to any of the boys?”
A hopeful smile lights up her pretty face. “I’m so stupid! No, I didn’t. I should have called Waylon.”
I wait while she calls Waylon Foster, the assistant coach. But I can tell from her responses that Waylon doesn’t know Boone’s whereabouts. When she hangs up, she says, “Waylon told me to call Louis. If Boone is with any of the boys, Louis will know.”
A call to the quarterback yields the same results. And with that, I’m ready to get uneasy, too. I’m thinking about the attack on Boone. Nothing ever came of it, and everybody pretty much forgot about it after the boys won the next couple of games. “Do you think I could get a cup of coffee?”
She puts her hand to her mouth. “I’m so sorry, I should have asked if you’d like something.”
When I’ve got coffee settled in front of me, and Linda has sat back down, I say, “I’d like to talk to you about the night Boone was attacked. Were you here when he got home?”
She shivers. “You think his being gone has something to do with that?”
“No way of knowing just yet, but it could.”
“Yes, I was home that night. It scared me to death.”
“Tell me exactly what happened.”
“Well, Boone got a phone call and told me he had to go meet somebody.”
“What time was that?”
“It was late, about ten o’clock. We were getting ready for bed. I asked him why it couldn’t wait until morning.”
“He didn’t say who it was?”
She shakes her head. “I thought maybe it was one of the boys’ parents. That happens, you know. Usually it’s about grades, or if a parent thinks his son isn’t getting enough playing time. But they don’t usually call so late.”
“How long was he gone?”
“Forty-five minutes, an hour.”
“What did he tell you when he got home all banged up?”
“He looked terrible and I asked him where he’d been, but he said it didn’t matter. We argued, because I said if one of the boys’ dads attacked him, he had to tell the school. He said he’d taken care of it, and that was the end of it. I had to drive him to the clinic in Bobtail so they could take X-rays of his arm and clean him up, and we dropped the subject.”
Is it a coincidence that both the beating and Boone’s disappearance happened after Louis was benched at the end of a ballgame? Even though this game turned out all right, maybe somebody didn’t like Louis being taken out of the lineup. “Was Boone ever threatened by any of the parents?”
Linda’s mouth twists and her voice is bitter. “Only all the time. I know I’m the coach’s wife, and I shouldn’t say anything. I like football, but people take it way too seriously, if you ask me. But the threats aren’t about harming him physically. It’s usually that they’re going to see to it that Boone loses his job, or they’re going to yank their boy off the team, or they’re going to boycott. That kind of stuff.”
“Was Boone ever worried about any of it?”
“Not that he told me. He tried to be polite, but once or twice he blew up.”
“Anything recent?”
Linda hesitates. “After the loss to Bobtail, Louis’s mom just about blew a gasket. Boone was pretty upset about that.”
“His mom?”
“Yeah. Louis’s dad is a hard man, but he’s mostly hard on Louis. Louis’s mom is after Boone all the time.”
It sounds like I need to talk to Louis’s family. It’s also possible that the team wanted to teach the coach a lesson for taking Louis out of two games, so they cooked up some kind of prank. I get a mental image of Boone trudging back home after being left out in the country somewhere.
“Did he say whether Louis’s mom was upset last night?”
“We didn’t really talk about it. I was home before him. I always am. He comes back on the bus with the boys after an away game. And like I said, he was quiet when he got home.”
She pauses, her eyes locked onto mine. “Usually when he comes in, he’s hungry. I made chili for him, but he said he didn’t want anything. Then he went into his office—he calls it an office, it’s just our guest room with a desk there. And he shut the door.”
“And that’s not a regular thing?”
“He never does that. He hates paperwork, and only does it when he has to—and even then he usually leaves the door open. Last night he didn’t come out of the office for a long time, and when I knocked on the door he told me to go on to bed, that he’d be a while.”
“What time did he come to bed?”
“I don’t know. I woke up, but I didn’t look at the clock.”
“Do you mind if I take a look in his office? I might spot something that would give us a clue to where he went.”
“Please, please . . .” She gets up. “I’ll show you.”
We walk down the hallway. I say, “You know, it’s still possible he’s just running late. Does he usually call you when he’s going to be late?”
“No, he’s not very good about that. He loses track of time when he’s at practice.”
What strikes me first about the desk where Boone does his paperwork is how neat it is. I expected a coach to be messy. I tell Linda that, and she smiles. “He’s fussy that way. Always likes everything neat. He says it’s because high school boys are so messy that at home he needs things to be in their place.” She’s standing in the doorway with her arms crossed. I get the impression that she isn’t there to keep an eye on me so much as so to have company.
It’s strange going through another man’s desk drawers. There’s no point of reference to tell you if something is off, or if whatever looks unusual to you really is off, or if this is the way he always does things. Or if what looks normal to you is evidence of a problem.
Boone has a master calendar on the wall next to the desk, and he has made liberal use of it. Games are noted in pen, while extra practices, meetings, and appointments are in pencil. All the notations are clear. No baffling initials, no cryptic phrases to arouse suspicion. He had a doctor’s appointment two weeks ago, right after he was attacked. There’s a dentist’s appointment coming up next month. Monday he’s supposed to take his car in for service.
In one drawer I find a collection of newspaper cuttings describing the football games, large ones from the Jarrett Creek weekly newspaper, smaller ones from the San Antonio paper. On top of the cuttings is a memo sent out to all state coaches, reminding them to submit the names of players they deem worthy of all-star status.
On one corner of the desk there’s a stack of papers. I look them over and see that they are history tests that Boone needs to grade. A small town coach always has to put in time teaching a couple of classes, and Boone teaches Texas history. Unlike some coaches, he’s actually got a reputation for being a pretty good history teacher. Next to the tests is a tray containing bills. “You mind?” I ask Linda.
“Nothing to hide.”
The bills are the regular expenses—water, electricity, gas, house payment, car insurance, and TV and Internet service. There’s a second mortgage payment that appears to be a month overdue. And there’s a small bill for payments for another house. “What is this?”
“Fishing shack.” Her grimace is indulgent. “Nothing but a one-room cabin. The land is worth more than the house. It’s over by the lake. Boone keeps a little motorboat there that he can hitch up to the car. He uses it to fish out on the lake. This time of year Boone never goes to the shack, but during the summer before school starts he likes to take his buddies out there. Sometimes we have barbecues.”
“Could be he went out there with somebody and they had a little too much to drink . . .”
She shakes her head. “I drove out there right after dark, ready to give him hell. But it was closed up tight.”
I look through the bills again. Something tugged my attention the first time, and I’m trying to remember what it was. I stop at the TV and Internet bill. “Where does Boone keep his computer?”
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Linda straightens up and walks over to the desk. “It’s usually right here. Maybe he took it into the den, or maybe one of the kids has it. They share another computer and sometimes one of them will take Boone’s if they both want to use it at the same time.”
We look in the den, then the living room, but don’t find the computer. I sit on the sofa to wait while Linda goes off to ask her kids if they are using it. She comes back into the living room shaking her head. “They don’t have it.” Her daughter has followed her back down the hall. A young teenager, she’s dressed in pajamas with a pattern of Scottie dogs. She’s got her mother’s eyes, but is taller and is all arms and legs.
“Mommy, what’s going on?”
Linda puts her arm around her daughter’s waist. “Nothing, sweetie. Mr. Craddock just had a question and I thought maybe Daddy would have the information on his computer.”
“Where is Daddy?”
“He’s going to be home late. Go on back to bed now.”
The girl looks from her mother to me, and back. “You asked me earlier if I’d heard from Daddy. Why did you ask me if you knew he was going to be home late?”
Smart girl. Linda sighs. “Okay, Allie, I don’t know where your papa is, but I’m sure he’s fine.”
“But how do you know?” Panic edges into the girl’s voice. “Maybe those men who beat him up last time hurt him again.”
“No, baby, I’m sure he’s fine. He’s just gotten busy—you know how busy he is—and he’s just not home yet.”
“Allie.” I get up and walk over to the two of them. “You said ‘those men who beat him up.’ Do you know anything about them?”
The girl flushes and darts a glance at her mother. Linda frowns at her daughter. “Allie, do you know something you haven’t told me?”
Allie glares at me. “I don’t know anything.”
Linda grabs her daughter’s arm. “If you know who attacked your daddy, you have to tell!”
Allie wrenches her arm away and massages it. “I told you I don’t know anything!”
Linda puts her hand to her heart. “I promise you won’t get into trouble, but you need to tell me if you know more about it.”
Allie backs away, a few steps down the hallway. “You say I won’t get into trouble. But I will.”
“Allie, I don’t want to scare you, but it’s possible your daddy is in trouble. You need to tell anything you know. Please.” Linda has tears in her eyes. Her daughter’s eyes widen at the sight.
“It’s nothing, really.” She glances over at me and I give her the stern eye. She bites her lower lip and makes a little whimpering noise. “I was just . . . all right, I’ll tell you. The night Daddy got beaten up, I sneaked out with Liz.” She swallows and can’t look at her mother.
“Okay,” Linda keeps her voice even. “Let’s go sit down.” She walks to the sofa and her daughter reluctantly follows. Linda pats the sofa next to her, but the girl shakes her head. Linda looks up at her. “I don’t like that you sneaked out. You know that. But I promised I wouldn’t get mad, and I won’t. I won’t ever mention it again. Just tell us what happened.”
“We didn’t do anything. Liz had a fight with her grandmother—she lives with Liz and her folks. Liz was really mad. We just walked around.” She sits down in a chair facing her mother and nibbles at her thumbnail.
“It’s okay, sweetie. I know you wanted to be a friend. Just . . . next time, please tell me. I promise I’ll try to understand.”
I sit down so I can see both of them. “You saw who attacked your dad?” I say.
Allie nods. Her voice is tearful. “I was so scared. I was a block away. Daddy got out of the car. I hid so he wouldn’t see me.” She puts her hand to her mouth and gives a little sob. “And then these two men got out of a car across the street. Daddy put his hands up, like he thought they were going to hit him. Like this.” She throws her hands in front of her face. “They grabbed him, one on each side of him, and they all started walking down the street.” The girl is sobbing now.
“Maybe you can get her some water?” I say to Linda.
Linda jumps up and kisses her daughter’s forehead. “I’ll be right back.”
Allie pulls her legs up and wraps her arms around them as if to make herself as small as possible.
“Did you recognize the men?” I ask her.
She shakes her head.
“They weren’t from around here?”
“No!”
Linda comes back with the water and sits down on the arm of the chair next to her daughter and puts her arm around her shoulders.
“Try to remember what they looked like,” I say. “Were they taller or shorter than your dad?”
Allie looks up at Linda. “Mommy, are they going to hurt him again?”
“Sweetie, we don’t even know that this has anything to do with where your daddy is right now, but please answer Mr. Craddock’s question.”
The girl sips her water. She shivers and nestles up next to her mother. “They were about the same height as Daddy, but not as fat. I don’t mean fat,” she glances hastily at her mother. “I mean, just not as big.”
“Can you remember how they were dressed?”
“Just regular.” She cocks her head. “But I remember thinking they looked like they were from the city.”
“What made you think that?”
“They weren’t dressed in jeans and T-shirts. They had like the kind of pants men wear to church.”
“Khaki pants?” Linda interjects.
“That’s it. And button shirts. Short sleeves, but buttoned up.”
I smile at her. “You’re very observant. That helps me a lot. Hair color? Length of hair?”
“I guess it was just regular, because I don’t remember anything funny about either one.”
“How about the car they got out of?”
She shrugs. “Just a car. A dark car.”
“You’re doing great, Allie. Now, tell me what happened when they walked away. Did you hear anybody say anything?”
“Only Daddy. He said, ‘I did what you wanted.’ But I didn’t know what he meant.”
“And the men didn’t reply?”
“One of them laughed.” She squeezes her eyes shut. “And then they took him down the street.”
“When you say ‘down the street,’ what do you mean?”
Linda says, “The street ends about half a block down, and the lots there are overgrown.”
Having to comfort her daughter seems to have given Linda strength. “I need to get Allie settled down. You don’t have to stay.” I get up and she walks with me to the door. “We’ll be okay,” she says. She thanks me for coming. “It helped me steady myself.”
“Let’s talk in the morning. And call me if he comes home, no matter what time it is.”
I walk to my pickup, but I’m not ready to leave just yet. I drive to the end of the block, pull a flashlight out of my glove compartment and get out to look around. I don’t see any immediate signs of disturbance, but I’ll come back for a better look in the light of day.
In the morning, I go down to the pasture before daylight to take care of my cows. Linda didn’t call last night, and I have a feeling I’m going to be working overtime. There’s a nice nip in the air. It’s just turned October, a time of year when we get some crisp, clear days.
At eight o’clock I phone Linda. She says there’s still no word from Boone.
“It’s time to get the highway patrol involved.” She says Boone took her old Chevy and gives me a description. I tell her I’ll be right over.
I stop on the way to tell Loretta what’s going on and ask if she has some coffee cake or rolls I can take over to Linda. She’s already been up baking this morning and cuts half a coffee cake for me to take.
“Should I keep this quiet?” she says.
“No need to. Somebody might know something. If you hear anything you think is important, call me out at Boone and Linda’s.”
I park in the Eldridges
’ driveway behind a brand new Taurus with dealer plates. Looks like Eldridge didn’t waste any time replacing the motorcycle. The Taurus is a surprising choice for Boone, though, not as showy as his usual rides.
Dark circles under her eyes tell me Linda hasn’t slept much. But she has made the effort to put on makeup and is dressed in a skirt and blouse. She’s grateful for the coffee cake. “When Jimbo gets up, he’ll be starving and I don’t think I’m up to cooking this morning.”
Allie comes into the kitchen, still in her pajamas, her eyes bleary with sleep. “Did Daddy come home?”
“No, and you need to get ready for church.”
Allie screws her face up. “We can’t go to church with Daddy missing.”
“That’s exactly why we need to go to church, to pray for him.”
Her tone leaves no room for argument. Allie stomps out.
I tell Linda I’ll be back later to look in on her. I’ve got a few people I want to call on before they go off to church. But first I go back down to the end of the street. In daylight, I see that the lots down here aren’t deep, but they are overgrown. Ten minutes of poking around doesn’t turn up anything that might tell me more about what happened when Eldridge was beaten up.
Despite what Allie said about the two men, I haven’t abandoned the idea that Boone’s disappearance might mean he’s the victim of a nasty prank by football players who weren’t happy with Boone taking the quarterback out for the fourth quarter.
I don’t like having to confront Louis Cardoza’s father, especially first thing on Sunday morning. Hector Cardoza is a hard-working man, but he’s also a hardheaded man who takes everything personally. He owns the beer distributorship for the county, and he has gotten huffy with just about everybody he distributes to. Oscar Grant down at the Two Dog Bar got so aggravated with him that he stopped having Hector deliver his beer, and instead picks it up himself from a warehouse in Houston every month.
