Page 7

Chapter 7

Elise

M y ears were still ringing thanks to Dylan’s “tunes.” Standing next to his hodgepodge of speakers, wires and extension cords, I tried not to focus on the muscles rippling across his bronzed back while he fiddled with the equipment.

Seriously, did the guy not own any t-shirts?

Pete approached us wearing his usual congenial smile. “Don’t forget to replenish your electrolytes and calories,” he said, pointing to the bottle of orange Gatorade by Dylan’s feet.

I rolled my eyes. Could he also remind the guy that sports drinks don’t absorb through osmosis so he should stop dumping them on himself and others?

Pete’s arm wrapped around my shoulders. “You ready for your first week of college?”

Searching for the right response, I puffed out a breath. “Kind of.”

Pete inhaled deeply. “I know how much you and your dad looked forward to this— you going to school at the same campus where he taught, maybe even takin’ some of his classes.”

My gaze dropped to my well-worn sneakers. Much of the dust and grime buried in the fabric had been picked up on runs Dad and I had taken in the mountains together. Those once sweet memories were now singed with bitterness. There was an acrid taste to the words I couldn’t say that stuck like peanut butter to the roof of my mouth.

If this was hard, I couldn’t imagine how bad the funeral on Friday was going to be.

“We had planned to meet up for lunch every day,” I finally choked out. “But I wasn’t going to take any of his art classes. My drawings never progressed past stick figures.” My lips twisted in a phony smile. Now would be a great time for one of Dylan’s lame jokes. I’d even settle for his obnoxious music if it changed the topic.

“That’s right; you’re more of a poet, like your mother.”

My cheeks burned at the mention of my poetry. Hopefully, Dylan hadn’t noticed the reference, or my embarrassment.

“In fact, you have your mother’s jaw and nose. Don’t know why I hadn’t noticed that before.”

I’d noticed it. I had every detail of her portrait Dad had painted memorized right down to the individual brush strokes.

“But from the eyes up, you’re all your dad.” It was true. We both had crystal blue irises that went dark at the rims.

Pete wiped a stray tear from his cheek. “Your dad ever tell you how they met?”

A million times.

“He and I were runnin’ together in college, and I’d asked your mom out on a date. We stopped by the track to grab somethin’ I’d left, and Dave was there runnin’ some extra laps. The two of them said hello, and that was it. After that, I was chopped liver to her. No matter that I was the fastest guy on the team.”

Why was Dylan watching me like that? I ignored his half smile and looked to Pete who had his head tilted upwards as if trying to keep more tears from falling.

“Well, I gotta go.” He thumped first mine and then Dylan’s back. “You keep this one out of trouble.” Pete gestured to Mr. Shirtless, then winked.

What was that supposed to mean?

The man’s purposeful strides took him to where Tara stood watching us. Together the two of them exited the track.

Beside me, Dylan gave a shudder. “Finally.”

“What, you don’t like Coach Pete?”

“No, the guy’s great, even if he is trying to kill me with his workouts. It’s Coach Tara.”

“What about her?”

He tossed his head back, clearing the aqua hair out of his eyes and gave me an appraising look. “Doesn’t she give you the heebie jeebies? I mean what kind of fifty-year-old walks around wearing belly shirts?”

I shrugged. For being in her fifties, the woman still had the build to be able to pull the look off.

“Well, you’re a girl, so you probably haven’t picked up on this, but let me clue you in. Tara sends out a vibe that says she’s more than interested in any guy healthy enough to stand on two feet within a fifty-mile radius. Even when I was still in high school and she was helping your dad coach, she would pout her lips and stick out her chest any time I tried to walk past her. It’s just gross.”

Another shudder racked Dylan. He shook his hands as if he were flinging toxic waste off his fingers.

“I don’t know. Maybe you’re right. I did think it was kind of weird when Dad took her on as an assistant coach mid-season last year. I could have sworn he’d mentioned her asking to come coach with him before, and he’d turned her down.”

“And then she hadn’t even been coaching at the high school level for a year before she was offered a job at the college. Doesn’t that seem strange to you?” Dylan looked to where the woman had just hopped into her jeep.

“What are you saying?”

Tara checked herself in the mirror before applying another layer of loud lipstick.

“U’mm… I’m not sure how to say this…but your dad was killed, and she’s someone who was close to him who seems awfully suspicious.”

Bile rose in my throat. The way Dad’s body had shown up all the way out in the mountains implied his murder hadn’t been random. And yet, considering any of his acquaintances as his killer felt so…wrong.

At that moment, Tara’s flame red vehicle shot across the nearly empty parking lot. Her tires squealed as she sped into the street, her platinum blonde ponytail billowing in the sudden rush of air.

A warm hand found mine. “Do you still think your dad was murdered?” The words were so hushed I barely registered them above the hum of traffic zooming past the school.

No response came, only memories of hollow eye sockets and a bony jaw that looked to be frozen mid-scream. Such a horrible replacement for the sweet mental images I had of cheering him across so many finish lines as he grinned with rivers of sweat trailing from his sweat band.

Why had I insisted on being the one to accompany the sheriff to Dad’s body? More importantly, how could anyone do that to him? He was honestly the nicest guy I’d ever met, my best friend. How could the person who did that live with themselves?

They deserved to be brought to justice, and maybe I could help make that happen.

No one knew Dad’s world like I did. All his friends, his running routes, where and when he went to be alone. No one was more qualified to find his murderer than me. Not even the police.

Another squeeze of my fingers reminded me of Dylan’s presence. His blue-green eyes wrinkled at the edges, a tentative smile playing on his lips. For someone so obsessed with nineties music and Gatorade, he could be extremely thoughtful.

“The reason I’m asking is because if you do think he was murdered, and you end up deciding to look into it, I want to help.”

My mouth gaped open as I searched for a nice way to tell him no when a movement behind him caught my attention. Principal Hodges, walked toward us carrying a small box brimming with jackets, ribbons, hats, and even a few racing bibs. As was usual for him during the summer, he was wearing skintight biking shorts, as well as a cycling jersey that said, “Never underestimate an old man with a bicycle.”

I pulled my hand out of Dylan’s grip before Hodges caught sight of our interlocked fingers.

“I’m glad you’re still here. I wanted to give you this before you left,” the principal said, sweat glistening off his balding head. “We went through the Cross-Country closet last week and found these.”

My throat tightened with emotion. I recognized most of the items in that box. I’d searched the house for them a few months after Dad’s disappearance, wanting to hang some of them in my room as a reminder of our shared running legacy.

Numbly, I extended my arms and took the surprisingly heavy box. It jangled with the sound of medals clanging together.

“Your dad was such a contribution to this school and community. I know you’re going to do a fabulous job in his place, but he will be sorely missed.” Principal Hodges cupped my elbow with his hand.

Curse it all, I did not want to cry right now. Not in front of the principal, and especially not in front of Dylan.

I cleared my throat and squawked out a thank you without making eye contact. Hopefully, he would sense my distress and keep this conversation short. And hopefully Bessey sprouted wings, learned to fly and took Grandma and I on a non-stop trip to Hawaii where we would spend our days lounging on the beach while servers brought us an endless supply of pina coladas.

The second option was far more likely.

“I still remember the day I first hired your dad to coach our rag-tag group of runners. That was way back before you were born, over twenty-five years ago.”

Please, no more memories. My heart had been pulverized enough for one day.

“Um, Principal Hodges, sir,” Dylan cut in. “I actually need to get going, and I have some stuff in my car to give to Elise. I hate to interrupt, but I need to steal her from you, if that’s alright.”

“Oh, that’s fine, my boy. I was just about to head out on a bike ride anyway.”

Should I warn him to hydrate and to avoid staying out too long in the heat? We were supposed to reach the high nineties today.

No, do not engage. Any response would be seen as an invitation to a lengthy one-sided conversation.

“Enjoy your ride.” Dylan tugged me in the direction of the parking lot, leaving his speakers where they stood. Following close behind, Bessey’s claws clicked against the pavement.

“How did you do that?” I asked when we were out of earshot. “I’ve never had a chat with Hodges that was less than thirty minutes.”

“The secret is to give short, clipped answers, avoid all eye contact, and think of an excuse as soon as humanly possible.”

“You only went to Clearfield High for one year before we graduated. How do you already know all about dealing with him when I’ve known him since I was in diapers, and I’m still trying to figure him out?”

He shrugged. “I have an aunt that will corner you and talk for hours if you let her. It’s a survival skill that can be helpful in many situations. And in case you’re wondering, no, I don’t have anything to give you. I just knew you needed an airtight excuse to be free of Hodges.”

“Well anyway, thanks. I’ve had enough trips down memory road for one day.”

“Yeah, I can tell.”

Reaching my car, I balanced the box with one hand while fishing my keys out of my pocket with the other. I unlocked the doors, then fiddled with the door handle until Dylan reached around me to open it. The bare skin of his chest brushed against my arm, leaving a trail of traitorous goosebumps everywhere he touched.

The instant he moved out of the way, I jammed the box into the back. Unfortunately, the top corner caught the doorframe, and all of the box’s contents spilled onto the asphalt, including Rose’s cupcake I’d set inside.

Groaning, I knelt and started gathering the items. Of course, Dylan crouched down and reached for the stuff as well. All Dad’s medals from decades of racing; I hoped they weren’t scratched, or the ribbons around them smudged from who knows what lurked on the ground of a high school parking lot.

“What’s this?” Dylan asked, flinging his head back to clear the blue hair from his eyes.

I glanced over. In his hands was an unlabeled manilla envelope with a single torn paper peeking out. Nothing strange about that. I took the envelope from him and slid the page out.

Things have changed. Meet me at 151 w Ochoa Drive, suite C. Come in the back entrance.

I gave a shudder.

“What does that mean, things have changed?” Dylan said from just behind me.

“I’m not sure.”

The bank records, the regular withdrawals. The increased amount. Then nothing.

Things have changed.

“Is that your dad’s handwriting?” he scooted closer.

“No, it definitely isn’t.”

Scrawled in a swooping kind of cursive, the words looked nothing like Dad’s neat print.

Pop, pop, crunch. I turned to catch Dylan gnawing on a fingernail, his eyes squinted in concentration.

“I think we should go to that address,” he eventually declared.

No, I should go to that address. Without you.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I think I’ll just hand this over to the police…” after I check this place out.

“Elise Sudbury, has anyone ever told you you’re a terrible liar?” He watched me with a wry grin. “You’re going there right now, and there’s no way I’m letting you go alone.”

Rather than argue, I hurried to gather the rest of Dad’s things. With the box full, I carefully set it in the backseat, then called for Bessey to climb in.

I hurried to open the driver door, and Dylan caught my arm. “Why are you trying to go at this alone?”

Gaping, I made the tactical error of looking into the guy’s bluish-green eyes. They seemed so earnest. Like there was more to his question. Did he notice the way I kept to myself and had almost no friends, outside of a group of elderly ladies?

Well, that wasn’t his business.

“I promise, I will take this straight to the police.”

Dad wouldn’t have approved of the lie, but what else was I supposed to do?

Dylan released my arm. “Alright,” he sighed.

Why did he sound so defeated? I’d seen the way girls fell by the dozens at his obnoxiously bright orange sneakers. Why did he care if I didn’t do the same?

I got halfway into the car with the guy still staring after me when I realized I’d left my favorite water bottle, along with my clipboard, back at the track. Drat.

Both Bessey and Dylan followed me on my way to the bleachers. As I gathered my things, he scrambled to grab what was left of his equipment. Impressively, he hefted all the gear in one huge armload, with power cords sticking out in every direction.

“You sure you don’t want any help with that?” I called.

The guy winked. “Nope, my muscles and I’ve got everything under control.”

“Oh barf,” I muttered.

Dylan wasn’t far behind when I yanked open my driver door and hurried to start the car. I needed to get out of here before he weaseled his way into joining me on my investigative trip.

My thigh itched from where the note brushed against it in my shorts pocket, a reminder of the potential answers and danger awaiting me. What was around Ochoa Drive? I typed the address into my phone. The location was eight minutes away. I put a finger to the screen to zoom in on the address, but Dylan had climbed into his car and was watching me from behind the steering wheel with an odd expression.

Offering him a nonchalant smile, I put my silver Honda Accord into reverse and drove through the exit. After two right turns and one left, I glanced into my rearview mirror to see a black car with a blue-headed driver behind me.

Ugh, of course Dylan was following me.

In fact, there was the blare of his speakers, penetrating through my completely closed windows.

Growling, I flipped on my blinker and turned into the nearest parking lot. Dylan eased his car into the slot beside mine and lowered his window. I lowered mine as well. Thankfully, he switched off his radio.

“What are you doing?” I growled.

“I should ask you the same question. The police station’s in the opposite direction.”

“Argh. You’re the most annoying human being on the planet!” I turned my gaze to the car’s gray ceiling.

Beside me, Dylan’s rumbling engine shut off. A door opened and closed, followed by footsteps.

Slowly, I turned my head to face the guy who had hunched to be eye level with me. He laid a forearm over the open window, his hand dangling into my car.

“Look Elise, there’s a couple of things. First, we should probably turn that note into the police before we do anything. Second, I want to know what’s at that address almost as much as you do. I can’t trump the father-daughter bond, but your dad was a great guy and a really great coach. I care about what happened to him. And third, I can’t let you do this alone. I have a little sister; she’s twelve. If she wanted to go off and do something crazy like this, then I hope there would be someone around who would watch out for her, even if she didn’t want them to.”

“I’m not your sister. And I’m not twelve.”

“True, but you deserve to have someone looking out for you just as much as she does. I think your dad would want that for you.”

“You have no idea what my dad would want.”

Dylan’s hand wrapped around my forearm. “Come on, Elise; let me do this. Don’t shut everyone out.”

I looked to where his warm fingers rested against my cool skin. Why couldn’t this guy just get the hint and leave me alone? And why did he keep touching me and making things complicated?

“If I say no, you’re just going to follow me, aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes I am.”

Glaring at him, I pressed the car’s unlock button. “Fine, but we’re going in my car and don’t do anything stupid.”

“I never do,” he called out, already headed around to the passenger door.

I rolled my eyes and cast a glance at Bessey whose tail was thwacking against the box beside her at the prospect of more humans to love on.

The first thing Dylan did after getting into his seat was reach for the radio.

I swatted his hand. “Oh no you don’t. I control the tunes in this car, and they will be both tolerable and played at a decent volume.”

“My tunes are always tolerable,” he argued.

I reversed my Honda and pulled out of the parking lot. “If by tolerable, you mean loud, and mindless enough to make every creature within a ten-mile radius flee in agony, then yes. Yes, they are.”