Foul Play (A Moose River Mystery Book 4)

by Jeff Shelby

We finished eating our dinner and the guys got up and headed for the pool tables in the bar. We’d been going to Tres Amigos for awhile now and as much I looked forward to the food, I was pretty sure Jake got more excited about the pool tables and the million flat screens showing sports in the bar. I never minded as it gave Brenda and me time to catch up.

  “I might need your help next week,” Brenda said, polishing off the last bite of her enchilada.

  “How so?”

  “Johnny’s gonna be gone and I’ve got about thirty things going at once,” she said. She ran a hand through her dark hair, a nervous habit when she was stressed. “So I might need your help getting Maddie to cheer practice, if you’re around.”

  “Of course,” I said. I licked the last of the salt off the rim of the margarita glass. “Just let me know when.”

  “I will,” she said, nodding. “I’d normally have her just miss since it’s only one practice, but our coach is kind of on fire because she thinks we actually have a chance to win the regional competition for the first time ever.”

  “Really?”

  Brenda nodded. “Yep. At least that’s what she’s saying. She’s kind of a loon, but she’s been pretty excited the last two days and she claims we have a legitimate shot. And if we were to win regionals, then we’d go on to the state tournament and that’s never happened. I’m skeptical, but she’s putting emphasis on the practices, so I hate to have Maddie miss.”

  I nodded. I didn’t know much about cheerleading because none of our girls had ever shown an interest in it. But her girls were huge into ballet and dance. They’d added in cheer to supplement some of their skills in dancing. I’d heard lots of horror stories about parents and other girls and coaches over the last couple of years and while I knew Brenda’s girls got some positive things out of it, I was glad we weren’t immersed in that world.

  “Though, I have to admit, I don’t feel very good about it,” Brenda said, frowning.

  “What do you mean? About cheerleading?”

  “About the competition,” she said. “And why our coach thinks we have a chance to win.”

  I wasn’t following. “Because you’re better this year?”

  “No. I mean, yeah, sure, we are. She’s done some good things with the girls and I’m pleased with Maddie’s progress.” She paused and reached for a chip in the half-empty basket. “But this one team, the Moose River Fusion? They’re a total powerhouse. Just really, really good. But our coach is all pumped up about our chances because the Fusion is going to be at a significant disadvantage. And that doesn’t feel too good to me.”

  “Oh wow. That’s not so cool, ” I said, wrinkling my nose. “Is someone hurt on their team? Or did someone quit?”

  She took a drink from her water glass and shook her head. “No, not exactly.”

  “Not exactly?”

  “So they have this girl, right?” Brenda explained. “She’s pretty amazing. We’ve seen her at a couple of competitions. She’s very pretty, she can jump through the roof and she’s a great dancer. She’s the kind of girl every coach would want to build a team around.”

  “Sure.”

  “And she can tumble,” Brenda said, her eyes widening. “I mean, tumble. I don’t know if she’s a gymnast or what, but this girl is really, really good. Like, you might not know anything about cheer, but if you saw this girl rip off one of her runs, you’d stop and watch and just know that she’s better than everyone else.”

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  “But, apparently, she’s not going to be at regionals,” Brenda said. “She won’t be with their team. And don’t get me wrong; her team is still good. But without her, they won’t be the same. They just won’t.”

  “So why won’t she be there?”

  “Actually, I’m kind of surprised you don’t already know about this,” she said. “The girl lives in Moose River and goes to Moose River High.”

  “Uh, so do a lot of people,” I said, picking up the nearly empty margarita glass. “And in case you haven’t noticed, there are no pom-poms in my house.”

  “Yeah, but it’s kind of a big deal,” Brenda said. She leaned across the table, her brown eyes wide. “She’s missing.”

  I held the glass to my lips and the hair on my neck stood up. “Missing?”

  Brenda nodded. “Missing.”

  I set the glass down on the table. “Are you talking about Amanda Pendleton?”

  Brenda smiled at me, a satisfied expression settling on her face. “See? You do know her.”

  EIGHT

  “Brenda have anything interesting to say tonight?” Jake asked, sliding beneath the covers.

  We’d finished dinner, picked up the kids and gotten them to bed. I’d been completely preoccupied with what Brenda had told me about Amanda Pendleton and I couldn’t remember a thing that was said on the drive home. I’d hustled them into bed so that I could finally share my news with Jake.

  Except now I was reluctant because of how he’d reacted the day before, offering me information on getting my investigator’s license.

  “Um, well, yeah,” I said slowly, climbing into bed next to him. The sheets were cold and goosebumps prickled on my skin. “But did Johnny have anything to say?”

  He chuckled and slid his arm under me, pulling me close. “Well, he went on a little more about his fear of corn mazes.”

  “That was hilarious.”

  “I think we should take him there for his birthday.”

  “He might have a heart attack.”

  “At the very least, a panic attack,” Jake said, still laughing. “And we could get it on video.”

  “You’re mean. What if you went in there and saw a clown?”

  His laughter died and he stared at me. “Okay, that’s not funny.”

  “I’m just saying...”

  “Clowns are different. Clowns are bad. Clowns are...evil.”

  As much as Johnny may have hated corn mazes, I was willing to be bet money that Jake hated clowns more. A red nose and floppy shoes were enough to cause him to break out in a cold sweat. He’d do anything to avoid them and he, too, would’ve suffered a panic attack if one showed up out of nowhere and tried to hand him a balloon animal or something.

  “Anyway,” Jake said, desperate to move off the subject of clowns. “What did Brenda have to say?”

  “I may help her get Maddie to cheer next week,” I said.

  “Oh, cool.” His tone wasn’t dismissive and he wasn’t just saying it to pretend like he was listening. I thought about Thornton, my ex, and all the times he’d muttered similar phrases during the course of our marriage. And how I’d known, without a doubt, that they had been platitudes, something to say to fill the silence and not an indication of him actually listening.

  “And I guess their cheer team is good this year,” I continued. “They have a chance to win the regional competition or something like that.”

  “How does one win a cheer competition?” he asked. “Isn’t everyone cheering for everyone else?”

  “I have no idea,” I said. I paused for a minute, wondering if I should tell him the rest. Part of me wanted to just keep quiet so he couldn’t tease me about the PI stuff. Who was I kidding? I couldn’t keep quiet about anything. “But guess what?”

  “What?”

  “The powerhouse team, the defending champions or whatever they are, the team that always wins the regionals? They’re missing their star...cheer person.”

  “Uh, okay.” Jake didn’t sound terribly concerned.

  “Want to take a guess as to who that star cheer person is?” I asked, propping my chin in my hand and my elbow in his chest.

  He looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “I have absolutely no idea.”

  “Actually, you do.”

  “No, I really don’t.”

  I twisted into him and threw my arm over his bare chest. “It’s Amanda Pendleton.”

  It took a moment for the name to register. “Snow White?”

  “The former
Snow White,” I corrected. “But, yes.”

  “She’s a cheerleader, too?” I couldn’t tell whether he was impressed or confused.

  “I guess.”

  “Hmm,” he said, pulling me closer to him. I breathed in the lingering scent of his aftershave. “Well, it’s a shame we can’t talk about that.”

  “What?”

  “I told you. I’m not talking about this stuff with you unless you start pursuing your investigator’s license.”

  I tried to push away from him. “Stop it.”

  “You stop it, Columbo.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “No one even knows who that is anymore.” We were only a year apart and I barely even knew who Columbo was. “How old are you, anyway?”

  “Old enough to know television private investigators,” he said. “And cool enough.”

  “Whatever,” I said, rolling my eyes. “But seriously – don’t you find all of this kind of weird?”

  “No. But seriously, I’m not talking about this with you.”

  I smacked him in the chest. “Are you serious? You want me to go get a badge and a gun and fight crime around Moose River?”

  “That makes you sound like a superhero,” he said, fighting a smile. “No, I don’t want that. But if you’re going to continue to stick your nose into the goofiness that goes on in this town, I feel like you should get paid for it. And like it or not, Daisy, you’re actually kind of good at it.”

  I stared at him. “I am?”

  “Let’s see,” he said, cutting his eyes at me. “You solved the mystery of the body in our basement. You solved the mystery of the body in the woods up at Windy Vista. And you figured out what happened to those computers at Prism.” He nodded. “Yeah, I’d say you’re pretty good at it.”

  He did have a point. I’d gone three for three with things that had fallen into our lives. I hadn’t intentionally become a detective, but circumstances had sort of forced me into action.

  But still.

  I just didn’t see myself as Daisy Savage, P.I.

  “I’m not good at it,” I told him. “I got lucky.”

  He shook his head. “No, you didn’t. Don’t be modest.” I grinned and he muttered under his breath, “I can’t believe I just said that.” He cleared his throat and continued. “Your curiosity was actually an asset. You asked the right questions of the right people at the right time. That’s a skill, not luck.”

  “Jake, I can’t get a job,” I said. “What about the kids?”

  “I’m not telling you to get a job,” he said. “That’s way down the road. I’m telling you to check out what it takes to get your license. That’s all.” He scooted down and nuzzled my neck. “If you’re going to keep snooping around, do it as a professional.”

  His lips on my neck were distracting and I tried to focus. “So if I read about what I have to do to be a private eye, I can tell you all my…” I sighed, trying to focus. “...all my theories about Amanda Pendleton?”

  “Yes,” he whispered, raining kisses on my skin. “You can tell me tomorrow.”

  I shivered and reached over to turn off the light.

  “I should tell you something else,” he murmured, pulling me close to him.

  I swallowed, my heart beating fast. “What?”

  “Solving crimes makes you even sexier than you already are.”

  I chuckled and pushed down under the sheets with him. “I knew you had an ulterior motive.”

  He hovered over me and smiled. “Let’s talk about motives and Amanda tomorrow, okay?”

  I wrapped my arms around him, glad the kids were heavy sleepers.

  “Tomorrow,” I whispered.

  NINE

  The next morning, I’d agreed to meet with Joanne Claussen to work off some of my volunteer hours. Every family involved in the Snow White production was required to put in at least fifteen hours of volunteer time in some capacity. Jake had done some set arranging and I’d sat at a booth at the grocery store selling tickets, so we were almost done. When I’d seen the request for someone to help with the programs go out on the email loop, I’d immediately responded. Finally, a job I could do from home.

  After Jake took Emily to school, I got the other three settling into their projects for the morning. Sophie and Grace were building models of igloos out of sugar cubes and Will was finishing the last of a series of study guide questions on To Kill A Mockingbird.

  “How long will you be gone?” Grace asked, pouting. She was still in her pajamas.

  “An hour, at most,” I told her.

  Sophie had a pile of sugar cubes carefully laid out in front of her. She had the basic shape of her igloo outlined in pencil on a blue piece of cardstock. Will reached across the table and grabbed a sugar cube and popped it in his mouth.

  “Hey,” she complained. “That’s the fifth one you’ve eaten!”

  Will grinned. “I know. They’re good. They’re like little bites of sugar.”

  “That’s because they are,” Grace said loudly. “Don’t you know anything??”

  “Enough,” I said. I pulled my sweatshirt over my head and grabbed the keys off the counter. “Will, stop eating their sugar. Girls, do as much as you can on your igloos. I can help when I get back.” I eyed both girls in their flannel pants and pajama tops. “And you both better be dressed by then, too.”

  Grace sighed. “We’re homeschooled, Mom. Isn’t staying in pajamas something we’re supposed to do?”

  “No,” I said firmly. “Dressed and teeth and hair brushed by the time I get back.” I turned to go, then stopped and spun back around. “And igloos mostly built, too.”

  Cream and Sugar was a relatively new coffee shop, nestled in a tiny house just north of downtown Moose River. The owners had spent a small fortune on renovating the turn of the century house and its ornate decor and plush furniture oozed Victorian charm. There were gilt-framed pictures on the walls, shelves showcasing delicate china and silk flowers draped across every horizontal surface.

  The shop was empty, save for the two employees behind the counter and a woman at a back table, hunched over a pile of colorful brochures. She looked up and I gave a half wave.

  She smiled. “Daisy?” she asked. “I’m Joanne.”

  We shook hands and I set my purse down in my chair. “Do you mind if I grab coffee?”

  “Of course,” she said. “Take your time.”

  I ordered a large coffee at the counter and while I poured creamer into the mug, I stole a glance at Joanne. I didn’t know her or her kids. She had long, curly brown hair, a round face and lots of wrinkles around her green eyes. She wore a crew necked Moose River High School sweatshirt and a baggy pair of mom jeans. An uncapped bottle of water sat next to the pile of brochures.

  I took my coffee over to the table, set my purse on the polished wood floor and sat down in the empty wing back chair. “Okay. Now I’ll be properly caffeinated.”

  She smiled and pointed at the water. “I’ve given it up. For the moment, anyway.”

  “I am pretty sure I would shrivel up and perish if I gave up coffee,” I said, clutching the warm mug in my hands. “It’s a food group for me.”

  Joanne laughed. “I hear you. But I managed to give up soda six months ago, so now I’m giving going caffeine free a run. We’ll see what happens.”

  “Good for you,” I said, sipping from the mug and not feeling even a little guilty about it. If she wanted to make her own life miserable by giving up the wonderful, delightful treat that coffee was, that was her business. I’d stop drinking coffee when I was dead and not a day before.

  “Thank you for volunteering for this,” Joanne said. “I didn’t know if anyone would be interested and it’s not really my forte, so I’m grateful for the help.”

  “Of course,” I said. “You’re actually the media director for the theater, right?”

  “Just for this play,” she corrected. “My son is playing a forest rabbit. At the time, I thought this sounded like an easy job.” She gave me a ruef
ul smile. “I was wrong.”

  “I’m sure,” I said. “I mean, I’m sure it’s a ton of work.”

  “Yes, it has been,” she said, nodding. She tugged on a curl, then twined it around her finger. “Eleanor has...lots of ideas about how to get the word out. And she wants every seat filled for each performance.” Her smile dimmed. “Not exactly an easy task.”

  “So what all do you have to do? As the media director?”

  “Anything related to media,” she answered. She held out her hand, tapping a finger as she rattled off her responsibilities. “I’m responsible for all publicity: hanging posters and writing press releases and contacting news outlets. Eleanor has asked me to seek out non-traditional outlets, too, to get the word out. I’m helping out with ticket sales, as well.” She gestured at the pile of brochures. “And I’m responsible for the performance programs.”

  “That’s a lot of volunteer hours,” I said, raising my eyebrows.

  She nodded. “It is. Apparently, it’s been a paid position in the past. But the old media director was fired and Eleanor decided it would be a volunteer position for each new production.” She managed a smile. “Which makes me the proverbial guinea pig.”

  “Yikes,” I said. I picked up one of the programs. “Can I take a look?”

  “Please,” she said, waving her hand at them. “These are all just programs from other area theaters, as well as older ones that Eleanor has done. I have no idea what I’m doing, so I thought I’d see what other people have out together. We pretty much have the latitude to do whatever we’d like.”

  I paged through the one I’d picked up, one for a Winnie The Pooh production. I picked up a couple of the others. They were fairly standard programs – in addition to scene information, there were ads, the cast list and bios, thank yous and a few photos.

  “I know this isn’t rocket science,” Joanne said. “But Eleanor has been...very assertive...in that she wants the performances packed.”

  “Always nice to have a full theater,” I said, setting down the brochures.

  “Well, yes,” Joanne said, her eyes flitting between me and the programs. “But I think she’d really like to see some increased...revenue.”