"There's not enough time for running plays," Will said. "Coach is right. Call the play."
Aaron faked a handoff to Will and faded for a pass as Will raced around the right end. He looked up to see four or five defenders just as they realized their mistake. They all pulled up short, except for a linebacker who hit him across the thighs. Will dropped to the ground, then rose up just in time to see the left end catch a fifteen-yard pass and break away for twenty more yards. Now they were on the Leadville thirty-two-yard line, but the clock was ticking.
With less than a minute left, the players raced into the huddle. Aaron called the play, but it was the wrong one. Instead of a fake handoff and a rollout pass, Aaron was going to give the ball to Will on a slant play off the right tackle. It was Will's favorite play, but it wasn't what the coach had called.
There was no time to argue. Will quickly lined up; Aaron took the snap, turned, and pressed the ball into Will's midsection.
He darted toward the line, certain the play was a big mistake. He bounced off one tackler, spun around, and then he heard a crack inside his head and everything shifted. He moved with a fluid motion and a lightness that made him feel as if he could fly. Everyone else seemed stuck in slow motion. He could see the gaping holes opening in front of him as he glided ahead. A wind whispered in his ears and seemed to propel him forward.
Tacklers and blockers fell away, and he was alone on the fifteen-yard line, the ten, the five, and then a hawk swept down in front of him, and soared away just as he crossed into the end zone. The roar of the crowd filled his ears. He held the ball up and was mobbed by his teammates.
"Did you see that hawk?" he gasped as Claude Kirkpatrick pulled him to his feet. "It almost hit me in the head."
"You're the only hawk I saw," he shouted back. "And you were flying. You flew away from everyone."
On the sidelines, Will saw Aaron run up to Boorman and shout, "Hey, coach. Great call. I thought a running play was suicide, but it worked."
Boorman didn't answer.
So Aaron had helped him get the record, but then he'd placed the blame for changing the call on Will. That was just like Aaron. He'd take chances, but if he could put the blame on someone else, he'd do it.
The players were all congratulating Will as the remaining seconds ticked off the clock. Leadville desperately tried for a comeback, but after two futile plays it was over. As his team headed to the locker room, the victory and Will's personal triumph were overshadowed by an urgent thought. He had to find out what had happened to Myra. He couldn't enjoy the victory until he knew she was okay.
Chapter Five
Sheriff Kirkpatrick was talking to Coach Boorman outside his office as Will walked out of the shower. He stopped a few feet away, his towel wrapped around his waist.
"Will, come over here." Kirkpatrick motioned him over and slapped Will on the shoulder. "Nice run there at the end. I guess you recovered from that knock on the head."
"I guess so."
Coach Boorman walked away. He hadn't said a word to Will since the game had ended.
"Is Myra back home yet?" Will asked.
"As a matter of fact, she's not. We've got an APB out on the minivan, so hopefully something will turn up soon."
"Is there anything I can do?"
"Not unless there's something more you can tell me about last night. Did she give you any hint that she might be going somewhere other than Taylor Wong's house?"
"No. Not a word."
Kirkpatrick shook his head. "It's a puzzler. She's not the type to run off."
Will was about to tell the sheriff that he and Myra had decided to break up, when Kirkpatrick excused himself and walked over to Claude, who'd just come out of the shower.
It didn't matter what had happened between him and Myra, Will decided. Their relationship had been faltering for several weeks and he doubted that his decision was a big surprise to Myra. Certainly it wouldn't cause her to drive off in her mother's minivan and abandon her life. It didn't make sense.
After Will dressed, he saw Tom Burke, his mother's boyfriend, waiting for him near the door of the locker room. Burke was a tall blond ski instructor and actor who possessed the good looks of a leading man. He'd had a few minor roles, mostly in skiing movies, but he was still waiting for his big break.
Burke smiled, clasped a hand on Will's neck. "Hey, great run. I got there about the middle of the fourth quarter, so I saw the best part of the game."
"Thanks."
Burke was always friendly toward Will, but he suspected it was a performance for his mother more than a genuine interest in Will. Showing up for the game at the last minute was just the sort of thing Burke would do. He could say he was there, but he didn't have to waste his entire afternoon. But Will didn't blame him. After all, Burke wasn't his father or even his stepfather.
"Your mother nearly had a heart attack when you went back in the game. She thought you should've been taken to the emergency room in the first quarter."
"That's Mom. Where is she?"
"Right outside the door, waiting for you. She wants to take you to Dr. Franks."
"That figures." Will groaned.
"I told her you'd probably want to party tonight with your friends," Burke said with a laugh.
"Yeah. I'll be right with you." Will walked over to his locker to get his equipment bag.
The burly center looked at Will, grinned, and shook his head. "I couldn't believe the coach called a running play with forty seconds left. No way, I said."
"I was lucky." Will responded, but he was watching Aaron Thomas, who had just closed his locker door a few feet away. Aaron walked away without commenting. I'll talk to him later, Will thought as he left.
Marion Connors beamed when she saw him. She wore jeans and a Hawks' sweatshirt, and her light brown hair was tied back in a ponytail, making her look younger than thirty-eight.
She gave him a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek. Her green eyes sparkled. "Oh, Will, I'm so proud of you. You were great. Just great. And you got your record, too." Then she frowned and lightly ran her fingers through his short hair. "Does that hurt? How does it feel?"
"It's okay, Mom. Really, I'm all right."
"I've already called Dr. Franks. He said to come right over to his office. He'll meet us there."
"I heard," Will muttered.
"C'mon. Grandpa's got the car out front."
"Do you know if Dad was here?"
"I got a call from him earlier today," she said as they climbed the stairs from the locker room. "He apologized. He got tied up and couldn't get away. He said he'd make it up to you."
She did her best to relay the information without adding her own feelings, but Will could tell his mother was disgusted with her ex-husband for not keeping his word—and she'd probably told him so.
"Mrs. Hodges also called," Marion said with a frown. "It was about Myra."
"I know. I've talked to her and Sheriff Kirkpatrick."
"And?"
"And I don't know where she is."
"You don't sound too concerned," Burke said.
"Of course, I'm concerned. As soon as we get my head examined, I want to see what I can find out."
Burke laughed. "I hope you got time for dinner. It's on me tonight. Your choice of restaurants."
"Don't worry, Will. When we get to Dr. Franks's office, I'll call Laura Hodges and see if Myra's come home," Marion said.
The visit to the doctor and dinner swallowed most of the evening. It was nearly nine o'clock when Will's grandfather finally pulled his Land Rover into the driveway of the three-story house on Ute Street. Will went immediately to his room on the lower level and picked up the phone.
Dr. Franks had said Will might have suffered a minor concussion, but as long as he didn't start throwing up there wasn't anything to worry about. The trainer had already told him as much. Will didn't tell the doctor or the trainer about the peculiar dream he'd had in the short time he was unconscious. They'd only been interested in h
ow he felt and how clear his thinking was. If he told anyone about the dream, it would be his father. But it didn't look like Will would be seeing him for a while.
He called Taylor to see if she'd heard anything new about Myra, but her mother answered the phone and said Taylor had gone to a party at Paige Davis's house.
What party? he wondered as he hung up. Then he remembered that right after he'd told Myra his decision, she'd said something about not going to Paige's place together. She must have been talking about the party.
He didn't really feel like partying, but he wanted to talk to Taylor alone. She might know more than she was saying. Besides, maybe someone else at the party would know something.
It was quarter to ten when Will arrived at Paige's house on Red Mountain. His mother had tried to convince him to stay home and rest, as the doctor had advised, but when he'd finally promised her he'd be home by midnight and he wouldn't drink anything alcoholic, she'd reluctantly told him to go ahead.
Although it wasn't the first time Will had gone to a party at Paige's, he had trouble finding the turnoff. He passed it once before spotting the narrow drive. It wound upward for a quarter of a mile through towering aspens and pine trees and ended at a parking area next to the palatial house, which was built on four levels and had ten bedrooms and six bathrooms. The enormous picture windows on the top three levels looked out toward Aspen Mountain and the town below. Everyone was gathered in the basement, which included a game room, a swimming pool, Jacuzzi and sauna. Paige's parents were out of town, and Paige had the place to herself.
"Hey, look who's here," Claude Kirkpatrick said when he saw Will. "I didn't think you were going to make it." He threw an arm over Will's shoulder as if they hadn't seen each other for weeks.
"Neither did I," Will said, wondering why Claude hadn't mentioned the party. He saw Aaron Thomas and a couple of other football players and recognized a few other familiar faces. Then he saw Taylor and walked over to her. She moved away from the two girls she was talking to when she saw him.
"Heard anything new about Myra?"
"Just that there's nothing new," she responded. "And I'm getting really worried, Will. I don't understand it."
"I was hoping you might know something else."
To his surprise, Aaron walked up to him, a big grin on his face. He put one hand on Will's shoulder, another on Taylor's. "You know, I always thought you two would make a great couple."
"Why do you say that, Aaron?" Taylor asked. "Because we're the only ones here who aren't white? Do you think that makes us compatible?"
Aaron raised his hands. "Hey, take it easy, Taylor. I'm just complimenting you on your good looks."
"Some compliment."
"You're just upset because you and I didn't hit it off," he said with a wide grin.
"Right." She walked off.
"Hey, chill out, Taylor." Aaron laughed, then leaned close to Will. "What did you do, send Myra to Kansas? I heard she wasn't around."
"I don't know where she is," Will said in an even voice. "You got any ideas, Aaron?"
Aaron grinned like a maniac. His eyes were glazed and hooded as if he'd been drinking, but his breath didn't give off any odor of alcohol. "I just told you mine."
"Why did you tell the coach I called that play?" Will asked.
Aaron straightened his back, tilted his head to the side. "I never told him that. I said he made a great call."
"You changed his play and now he thinks I'm the one who did it."
"Hey, that's the play you told me."
"No, it's not."
"What are you complaining about, Lansa? That play put you in the record books."
"That's not the point."
"Hey, you're missing out on a lot, you know." Aaron walked away.
Will wasn't sure what Aaron thought he was missing. He looked around for Taylor, but didn't see her. He moved through the crowd, exchanging greetings. He asked about Myra over and over, but no one seemed to know anything.
Most everyone, though, seemed happy—almost too happy. There was a lot of giddy laughter. Smiles seemed to stretch from one ear to the other. "We got some beer, Will," Claude said. "You want one?"
"No, thanks."
Besides the fact that he'd made a promise to his mother, he didn't really care for the taste of beer. He also knew that people of Native American heritage were susceptible to alcoholism. Whether it was genetic or not, he didn't know. But it was enough to make him wary of drinking beer or anything alcoholic.
"So what's your father think of you drinking while he's running for re-election?"
"He doesn't mind if I have a beer at home once in a while." Claude smiled. "And Paige's place is home away from home."
"Where is Paige?"
"In the Jacuzzi. I was going to join her, if I could find where I left my swim suit."
Just then the music on the stereo stopped abruptly and was replaced by the strumming of a guitar. Aaron Thomas was seated on a stool near the fireplace. He played a couple of chords, then started singing.
Listen, Will, ol' buddy,
there's no reason to be mad.
You got your hotshot record
and you made ol' Leadville sad.
Run, run, Lansa.
Run, run, Lansa.
Listen, Will, ol' pal
about that bump on the head,
Don't take it out on me
'cause I'm the one who said:
Run, run, Lansa.
Run, run, Lansa.
Several others joined Aaron in the chorus and repeated the verse. In spite of himself, Will couldn't help smiling. Finally, he waved a hand at Aaron and walked over to the wet bar in the game room.
To his surprise, Claude Kirkpatrick was sitting by himself, his head bowed over his beer. "What's wrong, Claude?"
"You know, Aaron's the one who's playing hotshot. Not you. You hear about the band he's going to be playing in? He's the lead singer, of course, and they're going to play some of his songs. I've heard them and I'll tell you, Will, I can write better lyrics."
"Yeah, you probably can."
Will knew Claude had a jealous streak, that he suspected Aaron was trying to steal Paige from him. Still, he was surprised by Kirkpatrick's sudden change in mood.
Claude slid off the stool and straightened his back. "Oh, forget it. Just forget it." He walked away.
Forget what? Will thought.
Just then the door to the Jacuzzi room opened. Steam filtered out and Paige Davis, wearing a bikini, stepped into the doorway. "Hey, catch! I found my dad's swim suit on the shelf in here." She threw him a pair of khaki trunks. "Oh, Will. I thought Claude was sitting there."
She started laughing, laughing too loud and too long. Then she rocked from side to side, a wide grin on her face, her wet hair plastered against her head and shoulders. "Well, don't just sit there. C'mon and join us."
"Maybe later."
"Oh, this stuff is weird. I feel like I'm melting, you know, like an ice cube." She started laughing again. "Pretty soon there won't be anything left of me." She leaned forward and smiled. Her eyes were all pupil. "I'm melting away."
She ducked back, closing the door, and Will heard her muffled laughter. He set the trunks down on the counter and poured himself a soft drink.
"So Paige couldn't lure you into the Jacuzzi?" Taylor said as she sat on the adjacent stool.
He shrugged. "I guess not."
"I think she's on the Chill."
"What is it?"
"Some kind of new designer drug the Hollywood crowd's into. It's real expensive. Aaron was trying to get me to try it earlier."
"I never heard of it."
"It was around here last summer. There were rumors that it was coming here in a big way, then I never heard anything more about it—until tonight."
Chapter Six
"Will. Will, wake up, Will."
Marion Connors's voice reached him from far away and pulled him up from a deep sleep. He rubbed his face, blinked his eyes,
and looked at the clock on the bed stand. It was seven-fifteen.
"Mom," he said in a gravelly voice, "it's Saturday."
"Will, there's someone here to see you. It's about Myra."
He sat up and saw his mother standing in the doorway wearing a robe. "Did she come home?"
"You better get dressed and come upstairs." The tension in her voice snapped Will wide awake.
He pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and headed for the bathroom. A couple of minutes later, he found his mother sitting at the kitchen table with a woman about her age. She had short blond hair and wore a ski sweater that might have been purchased in the sports clothing shop Will's mother owned.
"Will, this is Stephanie Olsen. She's a detective with the sheriff's office. She wants to ask a few questions."
"What happened to Myra?"
"Sit down, Will." It was more of a command than a request. Her large green eyes searched his face as he eased into a chair.
"We found the minivan in Carbondale. It was stolen by a couple of kids who found it at Ashcroft Thursday night. They say the keys were in the ignition. No one was around, so they took it."
"What about Myra?"
"They claim they never saw her."
"Do you believe them?"
"My feeling after talking with them is that they weren't hiding anything. Neither of them has a history of violence, and they both passed lie detector tests last night."
Will thought about the implications and realized that Detective Olsen probably didn't think that Myra had run away. Something had happened to her, something bad, and Will was a suspect—maybe the only suspect.
"Do you remember Myra wearing a red scarf Thursday night?"
Will thought a moment. "Yeah, but she lost it."
"Oh, how?"
"We were inside one of the buildings. It was dark and Myra got spooked. When she ran out, her scarf came off. She didn't want to go back inside for it."
"Didn't she ask you to go get it?"
"No, she just wanted to leave. Did you find it?" Detective Olsen considered his question a moment before answering. "It was ripped and hanging on the edge of a protruding piece of wood."
Hawk Moon Page 3