Page 23

Chapter 23

Elise

W hat a road trip. I should have left Bessey at home with Grandma. Dylan said it would be fine to bring her, but Bernice had zero tolerance for animals…or for heat. While she grumbled about dog hair, I pulled Bessey onto my lap to act as a shield against the frigid air blasting through the vents in Dylan’s car.

When he’d first suggested this trip to Los Angeles to talk to Coach Carter, I’d turned him down. Then, I’d discovered that Tara was conveniently out of town, and no matter what I tried, Jean wouldn’t let me get anywhere near Clive to ask clarifying questions. There was always Pete, but I had a feeling that Dad’s former coach held more answers than any of the others. So, after learning that Dylan had a meet in Los Angeles this weekend, the same area where Coach Carter lived, I reluctantly agreed to his offer.

Now, here we were, crammed in a freezing car, listening to Elvis Presley sing “Can’t Help Falling in Love” while Bernice complained about politics and the upcoming election. The original plan hadn’t involved bringing her along, but I guess she accompanied Dylan often when he traveled for races and couldn’t be convinced to stay home.

“Grannie,” Dylan said when she finally paused for a breath. “What if we told you that Dave Sudbury’s death wasn’t an accident?”

“I’d say you’re darn tootin.”

“And what if we were going to make a stop while we’re in LA to find out more about what actually happened to him?”

The woman stared at her grandson with her sparse gray eyebrows raised. Her silence alone was enough of an indication that she was intrigued. Dylan was smart to be playing to her insatiable curiosity for gossip if he wanted to make a bargain that would keep her from telling the world, and most especially his dad, about what we were going to reveal.

“If we let you in on what we’ve discovered, can you promise to keep it a secret long enough for us to uncover the truth and find the murderer?” I chimed in.

Folding her arms, the woman eyed us both with suspicion. “Why haven’t you brought it to the police? It seems reckless for a couple of kids to be chasing a murderer.”

“We’ve tried,” Dylan said. “Detective Jerkface blew Elise off when she told him we had a lead. They’ve closed the case and don’t care what we have to say.”

Bernice tapped her brightly colored joggers with her manicured nails as she thought. “You two could use some adult supervision if you’re going to go stirring up a hornet's nest. I guess I can keep things quiet as long as you promise to be careful, and you also have to promise to back off if things start to seem too dangerous.”

Technically, both Dylan and I were adults, but if that angle made Bernice feel better and kept her quiet, then it worked for me.

“Deal.” Dylan reached across the center console to shake his grandma’s hand. “Now you’re not going to like this, but the big secret is that most of the people on Kelly’s old team were doping, including Kelly.” Wincing, he waited for Bernice’s reaction.

“You mean to tell me they were all doing drugs? How does a person win a race when they’re three sheets to the wind?”

Don’t laugh. Now was not the appropriate time to laugh.

“It’s not like that, Grannie. They were using meds that help your blood make more red blood cells. Those are the ones that carry oxygen to your muscles. So basically, the drug brought more oxygen to their muscles, helping them run faster for longer.”

“Well, that’s cheating if I ever heard of it,” she huffed. “If the drug affected their blood, did it also affect their hearts?”

“Sometimes. I looked it up, and the drug they were using has been known to cause heart attacks.” Even though his voice was even, Dylan’s brows were drawn as he hunched over the steering wheel.

“It’s that coach of theirs, isn’t it? Carter’s his name. I bet he’s behind all of this. You know, he never returned a single phone call or letter. Just pretended like we didn’t exist, even though our baby girl dropped dead on his watch. Just ignored us.

“I tell you that man’s as guilty as sin. I have half a mind to march right up to his fancy-pants house and tell him what a weasel he is.”

“It’s interesting you should say that because we’re going to pay him a visit today,” I said.

“Let me at him.” Bernice’s fists were raised.

“As much as I’d love to see you kick this guy’s butt, I don’t think we'll get a lot of helpful information out of him that way,” I shivered and repositioned Bessey to cover more of my exposed legs and arms.

“The goal is to get him to share as much info as possible with us, and if he is Dave’s killer, or has some tie to his death, then we’ll nail him,” Dylan added.

“And if we can prove he has some responsibility in Kelly’s death, we can get him for that as well.” Bernice tapped her lips, pondering.

Dylan and I exchanged a look. Wasn’t there some kind of a limitation on how many years after a death someone could be convicted of the victim’s murder?

“Can we use a tape recorder or a phone to catch what he says?” Bernice had a mischievous smirk.

“I like the way you’re thinking, but unfortunately, no,” I answered. “California has some strict laws on recording conversations, and one of them is that both parties have to be aware and consent to being recorded. If he knows we’re recording him, he’ll be suspicious.”

“Tell me what we have to do to nail this sucker then.” She rubbed her hands together eagerly.

“Grannie, I have to say I like this side of you. I feel like we should go toilet paper someone’s house together or something after this.”.

She chuckled. “I got into plenty of trouble back in the day.”

Dylan laid a hand on her shoulder. “Tell me more. I feel so close to you right now.”

“Nothing doing. If your parents found out I encouraged more rebellious behavior out of you, they would have my hide.”

Dylan gave her a pout.

“I know this sounds crazy but we’re pretending to be there to get a photo of his dog, as well as to interview him about her,” I said.

“You’re telling me I have to pretend to like his mutt? What, is it famous or something?”

“Kind of. Its breed is the national dog of Peru, and it’s super rare,” Dylan answered. “When we did an internet search on this guy, we found him featured in a magazine article with his dog, and I have to warn you, the thing looks a little creepy.”

Bernice raised a brow. “How creepy are we talking here?”

“You’ll see,” Dylan hedged.

“We knew we had to find a way to talk to him without arousing his suspicions, and this seemed like the best option,” I added. “We hadn’t planned on you coming, or we might have thought of something different. I know how you feel about dogs. Would you rather wait somewhere while we talk to him?”

“Not on your life. I’ll kiss his ugly mutt if that’s what it takes to find out what happened to Kelly and Dave. Now what’s the plan?”

“Hello, Mr. Carter. I’m Dahlia from the Pawfully Yours magazine. We spoke earlier on the phone.” I extended my hand to the grumpy curmudgeon covered in chip crumbs standing before us on the swanky tiled doorstep.

He shook my hand with orange fingers before rubbing the residue on his once black hoodie.

“Come on in,” he said in a gravelly voice.

Bernice, Dylan and I followed him through the marble floored entryway into a spacious living room furnished with white couches and plush rugs. The floor to ceiling windows that made up the far wall gave a view of a pool surrounded by palm trees and complete with an impressive waterfall.

At the sound of our footsteps, a yipping creature resembling a naked werewolf in miniature came bounding into the room. Bernice sucked in a breath at the sight of the thing, which she quickly covered with a cough.

“Who’s a good girl?” Carter croaked as the dog jumped and barked around all of our legs.

Beneath the hideous pooch, a puddle formed.

“Let me grab a paper towel. I’ll be right back.”

While Carter trundled off to find something to clean up the mess, we all took a few steps back.

“Give me strength,” Bernice muttered to the heavens as the dog jumped against her legs.

“I thought that dog was ugly in the pictures, but seeing it in person, it looks like it crawled straight out of my nightmares,” whispered Dylan.

Snarling like that, with its lips curled in defiance added to the fresh out of the crypt effect. It was a good thing Rose and her older sister who was on Dylan’s team had agreed to take Bessey while they visited with family for a few hours, or she would have gotten super protective, and this would have spiraled quickly.

“Here we are.” All barely five feet of Coach Carter knelt on the ground wiping at the urine while his 'good girl' leapt all over him, tugging at his almost non-existent hair.

Had he not trained this creature at all?

After throwing the dirty paper towels away, the man waddled past us and took a seat on the nearest pristine looking couch, a sheen of sweat now showing on his nearly bald head. His little terror quickly joined him, curling up in a demented lump of skin and bone at his side.

Were we supposed to follow?

Seeing Carter look expectantly at us through his wide rimmed glasses, I forced myself to walk toward the opposite sofa rather than challenge his condescending attitude. We needed the guy’s cooperation, which meant I had to play nice, at least for now.

“Mr. Carter, this is my associate, Dylan Drake, and my assistant, Beatrice Fitzgerald,” I said in my sweetest tone once we all were seated. “Now tell me about this magnificent dog of yours.”

Bernice gave a loud cough.

Ready with pen and paper to jot down his answers, I worked to keep my gaze focused on the man’s bearded face rather than on the wall covered with autographed photos of runners.

Was Dad there somewhere?

“This little lady is Izzy,” he said, patting the dog. She snarled at him, and he jerked his hand away. Since his little nightmare had moved into the space where his arm had been, the hand hovered awkwardly before he settled for resting it behind his head. “She keeps all of us on our toes.”

The dog gave Carter a sidelong glance before turning her demonic attention back to us. Though she didn’t actually growl, she pulled her lips back to reveal a row of menacing teeth. If there was such a thing as a society of undead dogs, this beast would have been their undisputed freakish leader.

I pretended to jot down some notes while stealing a look at the rows and rows of photographs. One I recognized as a shot taken of Pete during the 1996 Olympics.

“I had to fly all the way down to Peru to find this little girl. Couldn’t get any in the US. I’d say she’s the only Peruvian hairless in all of California.”

“She’s one of a kind,” Bernice squawked, eyeing the dog with obvious disgust.

“She sure is.” Carter gave a grin full of gray, chipped teeth.

“I’ve heard these dogs require special care. Can you tell me what that’s like?” I asked.

“Izzy’s skin needs a lot of extra TLC since she only has that little bit of fur.” Carter pointed at the Einstein-like tuft of white fur sprouting from the creature’s otherwise black pointed head. “I give her a good rub down every day with jojoba oil. Hang on, and I’ll show you.”

Before we could argue, the man rose and shuffled out of the room. Izzy plopped down from the sofa and came to stand directly in front of us, her beady eyes boring holes into our very souls.

“I feel so cold,” Dylan murmured.

Bernice clawed her way to the edge of the couch to get away from the thing, and I was tempted to do the same. Fortunately, Carter returned just as his precious monster began growling.

“Here it is, organic jojoba oil. Only the best for my baby.”

Izzy perked an ear at the voice, but otherwise, she didn’t move. Didn’t break eye contact.

“Would one of you like to give it a try?” Carter offered.

Bernice whimpered while Dylan shook his head.

“I’d like to observe how you do it,” I said.

“Izzy, treats.”

At that, the devil dog turned and trotted to her owner. He scooped her up, and she bit into his arm.

“Ouch, that hurts,” he said in a sing-sing tone, though his face held real pain.

Not until he offered her a treat from his pocket did the creature let his arm go. Carter squeezed a small amount of clear liquid into his hand from the bottle, and gingerly rubbed it on the dog. Blood dripped from his forearm onto his pant leg as he worked the oil into the blackish-gray wrinkled skin. Both of his arms were covered in fang-shaped scars.

“And you do this every day?” Bernice asked, as if she could read my thoughts.

Izzy gave Carter’s fingers a nip. “Yep. If she’s going to be in the sun, we have to put sunscreen on her as well.”

“You say we. Does your wife help you with Izzy?” I asked.

“My wife left me years ago. Can you believe it; who wouldn’t want all of this?” He spread his arms wide, indicating the lavish house.

Demon dog startled at the sudden movement and snarled at him.

“I guess married life never really suited me, at least not while I was still working. I was married to the job, you know?”

“What job was that?” Dylan asked.

“I coached the Cross-Country and Track team at Cal State Del Ray. Did a darn good job too. See all those runners?” Carter nodded to the wall of photos. “Those are all my stars.”

Finally I had a chance to look at the pictures without worrying about falling prey to that thing.

Dad was there. Second row down and two from the left. He wore an exhausted smile as his chest broke through the thin line of tape stretched across a finish line. A sweatband held back his Mel Gibson hair, and he wore a uniform with the words “Del Ray” printed across it.

“Were they any good?” Dylan asked, covering for my moment of distraction.

“Are you kidding?” Carter stood, and his dog slid to the floor with a satisfying yip. “We took nationals multiple times for both boys and girls.”

The creature sank her teeth into his heel, and he jumped back.

“Izzy, I’m trying to have a conversation.”

Barking, Demon Dog made another lunge for his leg. Carter caught her and lifted the skeletal pooch into his arms, careful to keep his hands out of reach of her fangs. She wriggled and snarled, snapping at the air.

“National Champs, huh?” Dylan asked, his tone incredulous.

“That’s right. We…”

Izzy’s teeth found skin.

“Stop it, you diva!”

When his pampered terror didn’t let go, he stomped to the sliding glass door, pried her jaws open with his free hand, and sent her skidding across the veranda.

Bernice applauded, and Carter gave her a quizzical look.

Clearing her throat, she said, “We at the Pawfully Yours magazine believe discipline is an important part of every dog’s development.”

Blood dripped from the man’s hand. “I’ll be right back.

Two malevolent eyes glinted at us from the other side of the glass.

“That thing needs an exorcism,” Bernice whispered.

When Carter returned with his hand wrapped in a blood-soaked towel, his dog pounded angry paws on the door.

“Mercy.” Bernice jumped, reaching for her throat.

Ignoring the flustered woman, Carter walked to the center of the picture display. “You see that? That’s four years of domination for both the men and the women.” He pointed to eight team photographs with a younger and slimmer version of himself alongside his teams.

Two of the photos were familiar since Dad had identical copies among his things.

“How’d you manage that?” Dylan asked.

The man spread his arms wide. “I’m an excellent coach, that’s how.”

And a cheating dirtbag.

Bernice squeezed Dylan’s forearm with a white knuckled grip. She probably wanted to walk over and belt the guy.

“I heard your relationship with your team wasn’t that great,” I said.

Carter narrowed his eyes. “Oh really? And where’d you hear that from?”

“A reliable source that would rather not be named. They also told me that you didn’t get along with Kelly Harper, the girl you coached that died after crossing the finish line at a meet.”

“I’d like to know who this ‘reliable source’ of yours is.”

At the same time as Carter stalked toward us, Izzy’s paws thundered against the glass door. All three of us jumped.

“Kelly Harper was a spoiled brat who didn’t know how to follow directions.” Both Bernice and Dylan gasped. “She thought she could coach better than I could. She’d even sass me during workouts, in front of the whole team. Talent or not, I was about to cut her loose, and then she up and died. If that girl hadn’t been so mule-headed, she might still be alive.”

Bernice jumped to her feet. “You’re the one responsible for Kelly’s death, not her! What kind of a coach pushes drugs on their athletes? It’s the most irresponsible thing I’ve ever heard of.”

Carter's eyes bulged. “You’re not from any magazine, are you? You just came here to dig up dirt on me. Get out or I’ll call the police.”

“And tell them what, that we found out about your doping racket you ran at Del Ray, and how you gave Kelly the drugs that killed her?” Dylan moved to stand as a shield between Carter and Bernice, glaring down at the man. “Why don’t we call the press as well, and you can make a statement? It would save us the time of having to tell them.”

After a few seconds, Carter wiped a hand over his weary expression. “Alright,” he sighed. “What’s it going to take to make this go away? You want money, right?”

“Actually, we just want answers,” I said.

Was that the right thing to say? In all of our planning, we hadn’t anticipated letting this man know that we were aware of his secrets.

“Oh really, and what answers are those?”

“About Dave Sudbury.”

At the sound of Dad’s name, his eyes widened just slightly.

“What about him?”

“I’m assuming you heard that he died.”

“I did.” Carter repositioned the towel. “He’s not the first of my athletes to kick the bucket.”

“Obviously,” Bernice snapped.

“Listen, lady…” Carter’s voice trailed off, and he narrowed his eyes. “Wait a minute, you’re Kelly’s Mom, aren’t you? I recognize you and that wig of yours from her funeral.”

“You mean the one you slithered out of early, like a guilty snake?” she huffed.

“You and your idiot son were a thorn in my side for years. All those letters and complaints to me and the school. You want to know the truth? Your daughter killed herself. That’s right. She wouldn’t listen to a dang thing that anyone told her, including how to dose her meds. She pushed it too far, took too much. That’s what did her in. If you want someone to blame for your daughter's death, go take a look in a mirror. You’re the one who raised such a stubborn kid. I tried to give her advice, and she didn’t want to have anything to do with it.”

Bernice stepped toward the man, her joggers swishing. He deserved a good pummeling, and she looked ready to give it to him.

“Wait.” I hurried to block Bernice’s path. I still had some questions that needed answering.

In response to the commotion, Izzy resumed pounding on the glass, the nose echoing off the marble floors.

“Do you want to take her outside while we talk for a minute?” I asked Dylan.

Shaking his head, he grasped his grandma’s arm. “No way am I leaving you alone with him. We’ll stay right here while you ask what you need to. Carter, no more insults or we’ll go straight to the police.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t argue. Both Bernice and Dylan returned to their seats, though they sat on the edge.

I wheeled to face the balding man who sat scowling at us all. “Dave Sudbury. How close did you maintain contact with him after he graduated?”

“Not very. I heard he coached at a high school somewhere down south. Waste of talent, that one. He was at least as capable of making it to the Olympics as Pete and Clive.” Carter’s eyes wandered to the extra large photo of Pete sprinting down a track wearing a USA jersey with Clive close behind. The same picture hung in the student center at the college, as well as Clive’s supermarket.

“This is a pretty posh house, and we all know housing prices in California are ridiculous. How do you pay for all this?” I asked.

“I paid for this place fair and square.”

Outside, Izzy howled at her owner’s raised voice. “Shut up, Izzy!” he bellowed.

“Being the coach of a national championship team means you got paid well, especially once the other universities came calling. The school paid a pretty penny to keep me around. Then there were the advertisements and infomercials, not to mention I was an assistant coach at the ‘96 Olympics. Let’s just say I’ve done well for myself.” The man’s smug grin was sickening.

“I don’t buy it. I looked up how much it cost you to buy this place, and I still don’t think that’s enough income to cover it. You would need to have more avenues of revenue. What about blackmail?”

Carter snorted. “What, like I blackmailed those kids about the drugs I’d given them? That wouldn’t make any sense.”

He was right. If the doping came to light, he had way more to lose than any of his athletes, especially since he could be considered responsible for Kelly’s death, which he was, no matter what lies he told himself.

Kelly’s death.

“Was Dave Sudbury close to Kelly when she died?” I adjusted my stance so I could see both Bernice and Carter.

“Actually, yes,” Bernice was the one to answer. “She and Clive had recently broken up, and Kelly was pretty upset about it. The four of them, Kelly, Dave, Pete and Clive, had been friends before that, and Dave continued that friendship even after things didn’t work out with Clive.”

Bernice lowered her voice and looked at her hands. “One night, I came to tell Kelly dinner was ready and caught them kissing on the porch swing.”

My jaw dropped and so did Dylan’s.

“That was before your dad met your mom, of course,” Bernice hurried to add.

“Ah, it all makes sense now. You’re Sudbury’s kid.”

Drat, now this possible murderer knew who two of the three of us were.

“Who else was Kelly close to?”

Carter threw his good hand in the air. “Don’t ask me. My athlete’s personal lives were none of my concern.”

“She was friends with a Tara.” Puckering her face like she’d bit into a sour grape, or one of Dylan’s Warheads, Bernice continued, “A rude girl, that one. She expected us to feed her any time she came without so much as a thank you, had no table manners, and even tried to steal each of Kelly’s old boyfriends. Mind you, Clive had no interest in someone so loud and pushy, but that didn’t stop her from trying.”

“That sounds about right,” Dylan muttered.

I turned back to Carter. “You said Kelly took too much of her meds. How did she get those medications anyway?”

The answer was obvious, but I wanted to hear him say it.

His face a little pale, he answered, “I was just helping them to access their body’s own power to perform. That’s not so wrong.”

“Oh please.” Bernice rolled her eyes. “Don’t pretend you’re some saint. What you did was not only illegal, but unconscionable, and you know it.”

From outside came a mournful howl that caught all of us off guard.

“She’s calling for her undead minions,” Dylan moaned with wide eyes.

Even Carter watched the soulless denizen of the dead glaring through the door with unease. The guy must sleep with one eye open at night.

“You said you helped the runners access their body’s own power. Does that mean you were the one supplying them with the drugs?” I asked.

The man stood. “Uh-uh, if you think I’m going to give you more ammunition to use against me, you’re dead wrong. I’m sorry for your losses, but this interview is over.”

None of us moved to follow as he shuffled toward the entrance.

“I’m just wondering how you do it,” I said. “How have you kept this secret for so long? Do you threaten or bribe people? Maybe both.”

Turning back, Carter met my challenging gaze with one of his own. “Keep pushing and you’ll find out. We’re done here. You have no evidence of any of this beyond your informant who won’t dare to go on record as having anything to do with any kind of doping.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I have my ways.”

“What if I told you I can prove that you killed Dave Sudbury because he was ready to go to the police and tell them about the drugs and what they did to Kelly, what you did to her?” My voice quavered. Hopefully, it didn’t give away the lie.

His eyes narrowing almost to slits, Carter folded a blood-soaked arm over his good one and huffed. “You’re blowing smoke. Get out before I sick Izzy on you.”

At that, both Bernice and Dylan hopped up. Of course, Carter didn’t walk us to the door, just watched through narrowed eyes to make sure we left.

Once the door was closed, Bernice harrumphed. “Horrible man. I’m going straight to the police. Should we try the Rancho Invitado department, or Los Angeles since that’s where he lives?”

“Not Rancho Invitado,” Dylan and I said in unison.

Detective Jerkface would be about as helpful as a turtle with a broken leg.

“Honestly, I don’t know if anyone’s going to be willing to look into a death that happened thirty-years ago and was ruled a heart attack, not unless we have substantial evidence that there was more going on,” I said.

Sighing, Bernice leaned into Dylan as we walked.

“Don’t worry, Grannie. We’ll find a way to nail the guy.”

As long as he doesn’t nail us first. Considering there was a good chance he killed Dad, I should have been more careful with how I’d spoken to the man. We all should have been more careful. Hopefully, I wouldn’t wake up to find a salivating Izzy perched on my bed, ready to rip me to shreds tonight.