Running on Envy

by Felicity Nisbet

  “Not really. They mostly talked about running and girls.” He smiled sheepishly at Holly.

  “Any cute guys?” she asked.

  “I don’t know what girls consider cute, but there sure were a lot of them flirting with Rob.”

  “Who’s Rob?”

  “The captain of the team.”

  “You said you’re training with them on Monday?”

  Josh laughed. “Yeah, you can come along if you want.”

  I wasn’t sure I liked her motive, especially since my beautiful daughter had been so focused on dance through her high school years that she basically had ignored boys, but I supposed it was inevitable. Better she find one she liked in Washington than Connecticut, even if it did mean she would be spending less time with me. But then, that might have been her intention.

  “So, other than educating yourself to which boys are the cutest,” Charlie said. “Did you learn anything else?”

  “There wasn’t much gossip going on, except about girls and who liked who and who’s sleep—” He stopped himself, glanced at Holly, then me, and I knew he would not be finishing that sentence. “Uh, and the coaches. They talk about the coaches a lot. They really like the assistant coach, Coach Anders, I think it is.”

  “Is the head coach always that grumpy? Coach West?” I was relieved to have moved on to another subject.

  “Yeah, the guys were talking about that. It sounds like he’s in a bad place right now.”

  “Why is that?” Charlie asked.

  “His wife is on him all the time. At least that’s what Rob thinks.”

  “For what?”

  “She wants to move. I guess her family’s in the Midwest and she wants to go home and start a family of her own kind of thing.”

  Was I that far off at guessing his age? “I thought he was in his forties. At least.”

  “Yeah, but it sounds like they’re having trouble getting pregnant. She claims it’s the stress from living in a big city.”

  Having trouble getting pregnant? My mind was reeling. When I looked at MacGregor and Charlie, I knew theirs were as well.

  “I’m on it.” MacGregor pressed a number into his cell. He would be calling the athletic director and getting as much information as he could.

  “So do they think he’s going to move?” Charlie asked Josh.

  “Sounds like it. Maybe at the end of the semester.”

  After MacGregor hung up his cell, the three of us looked at each other. It appeared that our work for the day was far from done.

  Charlie grabbed a notebook from the antique desk in the entry and jotted down some information. He took the coach’s information from MacGregor and handed him the names and addresses of the three “sick” runners. “You and Jenny talk to the lads. They’re all living on campus in dorms. I’ll pay the coach a visit. This time on official business.”

  “You’ll tell him he’s a suspect?” I asked.

  “Och, no. I’ll tell him his lads are, and I’ll ask him to keep an eye and ear out.”

  “How will that help?” Josh asked. “If he’s guilty, it’ll just make him be real careful around you.”

  “Precisely. And I will be observing that. And, he will be certain to point us in any direction he can, as long as it’s away from the runner. I’ll put one of my men on him as well, in case he has a private meeting with any of the lads.”

  “Can we help with anything?” Matt offered.

  “Not unless you want to go along with Josh to the practice tomorrow, as his older brother,” Charlie said.

  “Sure, why not. I’ll keep Josh out of mischief and those college boys away from my little sis.”

  I glanced over at Holly who suddenly looked about twelve years old again. It must have been the familiar gesture of sticking her tongue out at her big brother. Or maybe it was the pony tail she’d thrown her hair into when it kept falling in her face while she was struggling to swallow Charlie’s tea.

  I really did not want to go over to the college campus right now to interview three students. I glanced up at MacGregor. “I’ve got it,” he said, once again reading my mind.

  I nodded. “Thank you.”

  Charlie cocked his head to the side, only slightly doubtful that MacGregor could handle this on his own. But then he winked at me and I knew he understood.

  “Do you want to do something, Holly? Maybe go shopping?” One of my most dreaded activities, but always a sure bet with my daughter.

  “I thought you were going to talk to these kids in the dorm.” Obviously she had missed the exchange of body language between Charlie, MacGregor, and me.

  “Mac will do it. I’d like to spend time with you.”

  She sighed and stood up and started toward the hallway that led to her bedroom. “Maybe later. I thought I’d go see Courtney.”

  Courtney was her best friend from high school, and I knew for a fact that she wasn’t in town. She and her family had gone skiing for the weekend.

  “Well then, I guess I’ll go check out some college boys,” I said as I swallowed the hurt and scolded myself for feeling it.

  And here I was feeling guilty for not spending time with my daughter. I needn’t have worried. Clearly she did not want to spend time with me.

  Matt gave me a sympathetic wink and came over to hug me once Holly had disappeared down the hall, leaving only her lilac scent behind.

  “It’ll get better, Mom.”

  I hoped he was right and that “better” happened before my daughter flew back to the East Coast in a week.

  Chapter 8

  Three different dorms, three different personalities. Brad Warner—smug, cocky, and extremely handsome. We didn’t bother with a phony reason for being there.

  “We’re investigating the kidnapping,” I said. “We need to ask you some questions.”

  “Cops have already questioned me. All of us. They’ve practically taken over our campus.”

  He was leaning against the door jamb as if that would deter us from entering his dorm room that looked as if a tornado had picked it up, twirled it around, and set it back down—on its side. But that was nothing compared to the odor. It reeked of stale alcohol, the kind that sweats through the pores of a drunk, slumbering body.

  MacGregor stepped past me, and being a good six inches taller and several pounds heavier than the boy, Brad Warner wisely stepped back. “We’ll be questioning you as well.”

  Brad gestured toward his shambles of a room. “Here?”

  “We’ve seen messy dorm rooms before,” I assured him. Just none that had smelled that foul.

  “Okay, as long as you don’t mess with anything.” He had a wry smile on his face, and I wondered if there was more to the boy than superficial good looks. I sensed a need to cover up insecurity with arrogance.

  “I’ll try to resist folding your clothes and putting them away,” I said as I entered the room, also resisting the urge to pinch my nose closed.

  “You’re with the police too?” he thought to ask.

  “Private investigators,” MacGregor answered.

  A smug expression emerged. “Then I don’t have to answer your questions, do I?” A pre-law student? I wondered.

  I smiled my most enchanting smile. It was an exercise Charlie had made all of his students repeat many times in front of a mirror. Facial expressions and body language were powerful tools in the PI business, he had insisted. They not only gave us insight into the subject’s feelings and thoughts, but they provided us a weapon of our own.

  “Nope, you sure don’t.” My smile wavered only slightly. “But your reluctance to, might elevate you to the top of our list of suspects.”

  He shoved his black bangs away from his forehead, revealing a few beads of sweat that were starting to form.

  A broad smile on his face, MacGregor jumped into the bad cop role easily. “And if you prefer not to, we’ll have the cops haul your arse downtown where we’ll all question you together.”

  Brad blew out a breath, and I caught
a disgusting whiff of stale alcohol. I turned away and swallowed hard against the nausea, very grateful I had never confronted that odor when I’d entered my children’s rooms during their high school years. Maybe I should make some early morning drop-in calls to Matthew’s dorm. No. Matt was too sensible. He rarely subjected his body to red meat. He wouldn’t drink so much that his room reeked and his pores sweated alcohol. He cared too much about his health. He was an athlete. I glanced up at the runner across the room from me. At least I would allow myself to indulge in the luxury of parental denial for a while longer.

  “Maybe I should call an attorney,” he mumbled.

  “Go ahead,” MacGregor said. “If it makes you feel more comfortable, by all means. And if there’s a reason you need one.”

  Brad shook his head. “No. No reason. What did you want to ask me?”

  “Why you missed the college fair today.”

  “Partied a little too much last night.”

  Clearly. At least as determined by his red eyes and disheveled appearance and the odor that was still threatening to cause a tornado in my stomach.

  MacGregor asked him what time he had returned home, with whom he had been partying, and where he’d been the morning of the kidnapping. He only stumbled over the last question. But that could have been because he believed that was the only question that mattered. He didn’t realize that they all mattered. Part of our reason for being there was to determine his motivation for getting so drunk that he couldn’t make it to his track demonstration. A girl? Partying after exams? Alcoholic tendencies? Or guilt? He claimed it was celebrating after exams. For some reason I believed him. The innocent demeanor that appeared after the arrogance had subsided? Possibly.

  “Like I told the cops, I was sleeping,” he said.

  “Was your roommate here?”

  “No. He spent the night with his girlfriend.”

  “So, no alibi.”

  “No alibi.”

  “What distance do you run?” A question MacGregor still felt compelled to ask as we were still waiting to receive a detailed list of runners and their activities from the athletic director.

  “Hunh? Why do you care about that?”

  “Just curious.”

  “Fifteen hundred meters.”

  MacGregor nodded and glanced over at me, and after reading my body language which undoubtedly conveyed the upheaval in my stomach, said, “Okay, then. We may be back.”

  The boy frowned, then shrugged as if it made no difference one way or the other. I heard the sigh of relief after we’d stepped across the threshold. But then I wondered if the sound had emanated from my own body.

  “Are you okay, McNair?”

  “Now I am. Please tell me the next one is in a different dorm.”

  “Why?”

  “So I can go outside and breathe some fresh air before entering another boy’s dorm room.”

  MacGregor glanced down at his notes. “You’re in luck. So what did you make of Brad Warner?”

  “I think he’s a college kid who drinks too much.”

  “Did he seem to be covering up something?”

  “Only that he doesn’t have the confidence he likes to pretend to have. I don’t think he’s our runner.”

  “But we won’t rule him out yet?”

  “No, not yet.” At least not if we heeded any of Charlie’s lessons. We dared not rule out anyone. Not even the parents of the baby, despite all three of us believing in their innocence. Not until we solved this and brought Ally home.

  Next was Drew Reed. Quiet, subdued, polite. Nervous.

  More than suspecting guilt, it made me want to protect him from all of this. It took him five minutes to open the door. He was getting dressed, he claimed. Judging from the opening and closing of drawers, he was telling the truth. Or maybe he cared enough to put away the clothes that were undoubtedly strewn across the floor.

  “Sorry, I’ve been in bed most of the day.”

  “Sick?” I asked.

  “Uh, yeah. Upset stomach.” Third chakra. Guilt? Or low self-esteem.

  His hair was sandy blond, his eyes grey-blue. He was slightly taller than Brad, but trimmer and not as handsome. Definitely not as cocky. He wore his insecurities on his sleeve.

  “You need to ask me some questions?”

  “We’re private investigators investigating the kidnapping,” MacGregor explained.

  “But the police—”

  “We know. We’ve been hired by the family.”

  He nodded as if this made sense. “What did you want to ask?” He sat on the edge of his bed and motioned toward the two desk chairs across the room. I took one and MacGregor took the other. Someone had taught the boy manners. And the fact that his room didn’t reek of anything but dirty laundry helped considerably. He was the type of boy mothers would seek out for their daughters. Unfortunately my daughter was more likely to migrate towards a Brad Warner or worse, someone who was cocky without the underlying insecurity.

  “What are you studying, lad?”

  I raised my eyebrows at MacGregor’s question, but I wouldn’t second guess him anymore than he did me or my bizarre questions.

  “Uh, I’m not sure yet. I’m taking general courses now. I’m only a sophomore.”

  “What do you like?”

  “Sports. Running mostly.” He shrugged. “But not much I can do with that. My folks wanted me to be a lawyer.”

  I stifled a groan at that thought, then realized he’d used the past tense. “Wanted?”

  “Yeah, they died a couple years ago.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  He nodded and unconsciously grabbed the corner of his bedspread for comfort. “I don’t think I’d be very good at it though.” I could have told him that.

  “I like English a lot. I don’t know. Maybe I’ll be a teacher.”

  “Do you have somewhere to spend the holidays?”

  He was as surprised as I was by the question that had popped out of my mouth. “Uh, yeah. I have an aunt over in Olympia.” His forehead wrinkled. “Are these the questions you wanted to ask me?”

  I smiled. “Just wanted to be sure you weren’t alone.”

  “Thank you. That’s really nice of you. But like the questions about what I’m studying. Does that matter?”

  “Just warming up. Where were you yesterday morning?” MacGregor asked.

  “I went out for a run. And then I was reading.”

  “Where?”

  “Around the campus. I like to run other places besides the track. It gets kind of boring. Then I went to a coffee shop and read for a while. But if you’re asking about alibis like the police did, I don’t know who saw me, if anyone. I didn’t see anyone I know so I didn’t talk to anyone except the cashier.” I appreciated his willingness to fill in the blanks. Unfortunately it wasn’t helpful, at least not to his case.

  “When did you get sick?” I asked.

  “Last night.” His hand went to his stomach. “Threw up most of the night. Finally fell asleep this morning.” At least his room didn’t smell of vomit, something for which I was immensely grateful.

  “Feeling better?” MacGregor asked.

  “A little. Just mostly tired now.”

  “Did you catch it from your roommate?” MacGregor nodded toward the bed adjacent to Drew’s.

  “I don’t think so. He left to go skiing a couple days ago.”

  I looked at the ski posters plastered on the wall surrounding his roommate’s furniture. Serious skiing, I decided.Glancing around the room, I realized there were no personal photographs. Were kids today so reliant on technology to contain all their information, even pictures of their girlfriends, that they had no need to tack one up on the wall, tape it to the mirror, or maybe even put it in a frame and hang it properly? In this case that surprised me. According to Josh’s detective work, this meek, shy boy was either a party animal or he was the one with the hot girlfriend. Not striking me as the party animal type, that would make him the one with the g
irlfriend. So, wouldn’t he want to show his girl off? Or maybe he was wiser than I was. Maybe he was keeping her away from the dorm wolves.

  As I glanced toward the lone figure sitting on the edge of the bed, I noticed there was a framed photograph beside his pillow, most likely having fallen from his nightstand. It was difficult to see from my angle, but I could make out two faces. His parents’, I realized.

  “It’s a shame you missed the event today.” MacGregor was picking up the slack for my distraction. “It was very enjoyable. Are you fast?”

  He shrugged which I took as a yes, but he wasn’t comfortable bragging.

  “Are you a middle distance runner?”

  “Long distance mostly.”

  Still busy studying his side of the room and the running posters, I asked, “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  A slight blush appeared, followed by a smile. Interesting. “I like a girl,” he said noncommittally. “I think she likes me. At least I hope she does.”

  I too hoped so. He didn’t need any more people leaving him right now.

  “Was she here with you last night?”

  “Here? In my room? No.” I wasn’t surprised. His teammates must have been off on that one. He did not seem like the type to sneak a girl into his dorm room, especially considering that he had a roommate. Then again, if he went off to ski a lot, they would have the room to themselves. Still, he didn’t seem the type, other than that he was a college kid with raging hormones. But if he wasn’t quite convinced that the girl liked him back, it wasn’t likely that they needed privacy.

  “So, what do you think, lass?” MacGregor asked as we made our way to the third dorm room on the list. “Too sweet to kidnap a baby?”

  “Definitely sweet. Sad. Lonely. Alone.”

  “And?”

  “Complex. But probably too sweet to kidnap a baby.”

  “Even if he needs the money to say, get through school so he can earn a decent living?”

  “Good point. But even if.” I hoped I wasn’t just giving him the benefit of the doubt out of pure pity, or that it wasn’t my tendency to see the best in people. It was a trait I had inherited or learned from my wonderful Great Aunt Winnie, but something Charlie reminded me could be a flaw—at least for a PI.