“That gives him an excuse to kill his wife, not a kid from another school who just happens to run better than his star athlete,” Hannah argued.
Erik shook his head, sending his chin-length, auburn hair dancing. “But, if he’d killed her, he would’ve been the prime suspect—they always accuse the spouse. This way, he has a shot at the money and glory he wants and no one’s even considering he could be involved. Look, Hannah, I’m not going to do anything stupid. I just want to talk to the man and tell him what I know. If he can dispute my findings, I’ll shut up and go quietly; if he can’t…” He shrugged “If someone were spreading lies like that about you, wouldn’t you want to know?”
“I guess, but why would he talk to you? He doesn’t know you. Do you honestly think he’d come right out and admit his involvement in this?” The sarcasm in her voice was thick enough to cut with a knife. She dropped her vocal sound two octaves. “Erik, I’m so sorry about that. You’re right, of course. Thank you for reminding me of my civic duty.”
“Very funny, but I didn’t plan to go alone,” Erik stated, his face filled with determination. “Craig Lowe’s going to come with me.”
“What do you think of this harebrained idea?” she asked Mina, whose eyes were once more full of hero-worship.
Mina picked up another fry, and nibbled the end of it. “Craig and the coach have been at loggerheads for a while. We all know how hard coach pushes the team, and while he’s been tough in the past, he’s been impossible since September. I was ready to quit and would’ve if my parents hadn’t insisted I keep at it—I either ran or got a job, something that would take up even more time than track.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “This is only your second year, but it’s my third, and believe me, the coach has changed. He pushes us way too hard as if he’s got something to prove. Maybe he does have a guilty conscience. He’ll certainly profit from Liam’s accident if Malcolm does win, but I’ve heard rumors he’s been juicing the senior boys and one of them offered something to Craig. Remember; the combined team’s annual score makes a difference, too.”
“Oh please,” Hannah said and shook her head. “The man would never get away with that. It’s Craig’s word against his. Think of all the drug testing they do.”
“Don’t be naïve, Hannah,” Erik said. “There are all kinds of masking agents out there. For every athlete who gets caught, there are dozens who don’t. I learned about something else though. Mr. Snow was driving a black pick-up the week before the accident. When he got back from Boston, he had a red SUV.”
“So what? You said almost the same thing about Coach Morrison. Lots of people get new vehicles before winter. It happens, and if the truck had been in an accident, there’d have been some kind of follow-up,” she continued, refusing to concede on the issue. “There was a countrywide APB for a dark truck involved in a hit and run.”
“I did some checking,” Erik went on. “Before coming to Central to coach the track team, Mr. Snow taught Automotive Technology in Boston. He’s a mechanic. That means he could’ve fixed the damage to his car himself, and then traded it in. Easy way to get rid of evidence. And he did have the time to do it. We were all on that extended long weekend, remember?”
“He had to attend those meetings just like all the other teachers. That isn’t ironclad proof—it’s circumstantial at best,” she said. “I’ll admit the coach has been really driven to win this year, but just because the man sees the prize in view and strives for it doesn’t mean he had anything to do with eliminating the competition. It isn’t as if he’s a mob hit man or something.”
“Why not? He could have mob ties, and apparently, he went to Boston that weekend. The Irish mob’s big there,” Erik answered refusing to back down.
“Seriously?” Hannah rolled her eyes once more. If Erik were a girl, he would make one heck of a drama queen.
“Repairing a truck’s dented bumper would be easy for them,” he continued. “By now that truck could be in Columbia.”
“You’re dreaming in technicolor,” Hannah said, huffing out a breath the same way horses did. “That stuff only happens in the movies. I’ll admit Coach Snow had a lot to gain by Liam’s accident, but he’s not the only one. Just because someone comes from a city with a mob presence doesn’t mean they’ve got mob connections.”
“Of course, it doesn’t,” Mina agreed. “But if you think about it, Erik’s theory makes sense. Coach has been pushing hard, and even though Malcolm’s won the last two meets, he hasn’t let up. There are four more before graduation, counting the one we have tomorrow. Between those extra indoor track practices and the twice a week cross-country runs, I don’t have time for anything else. State finals aren’t until June. That’s more than six months away. I don’t know about you, but I’m sick of running in the cold, the mud, and the rain. What’s the worst that can happen?”
“He can kick us off the team,” Hannah answered, pouting. And if that happened, her father would have a fit. “Coach Snow pushes us because he wants us to be the best. His dream is to have one of his athletes win a gold in the Olympics. He’s tough, but I don’t see him getting involved in anything illegal to do it. Now, Malcolm—maybe. He’s a first class creep and a jerk. Liam was barely out of surgery when he started bragging that he had the scholarship in the bag.”
Mina frowned. “I know. I was there, remember? You know as well as I do that the police checked him out thoroughly. He was their number one suspect, but he had an alibi. He was a hundred miles away visiting his aunt in Augusta.”
“I know, but I still think he has to be involved. You talk about people who could profit from Malcolm’s win? What about his mother or his father? Look, I want to go and see Liam. With a little luck, he’ll be able to go home soon. He’s just waiting for the construction to be finished. Erik, let me know what you want me to do, but I think this is just a witch hunt. I’ll be back. We can talk about all of this next week.”
Hannah stood, put on her jean jacket, and headed out the door to the hospital. She would miss seeing Liam every day. Once he was back home, the distance would make it more difficult, but she could probably manage longer visits. Of course, that was a problem while she was staying with Aunt Tracey and Uncle Karl, who insisted she be home by six each night.
The wind had picked up and the cold seeped into her, reminding her of what Erik had said. Could he possibly be right about Coach’ Snow’s involvement? It was true he was in a position to profit nicely from this, and he was behaving like a man possessed, but to do something this drastic? She shook her head. No. Coach Snow might be a lot of things, but a killer? Never. So, if he didn’t drive that truck, who did? And if Liam wasn’t meant to survive, what did that mean for him, for them, now?
Chapter Eight
Liam, in as bad a mood as he’d ever been, sat in his wheelchair, staring out the window of his hospital room, wishing he could be anywhere but here. After three days of rain, snow, and sleet, it was a bright, sunny day, the landscape perfect for the upcoming Christmas holiday, but he couldn’t muster much enthusiasm. Outside, the trees had lost their leaves, but right near his window, a red maple leaf thumbed its nose at the late November weather. The last of the Canada geese flew overhead in their famous vee formation, their honks loud even with the window closed—not that he could open it. Life was moving on as if nothing had happened, but it had. His world had come crashing down around him, and with it, all his hopes and dreams. How long would Hannah be willing to hang out with a guy who couldn’t walk, let alone run, ride, or ski?
As Dr. Connors had predicted, his body had slowly healed, and he’d managed to regain control of his bladder and bowels. Of all the indignities he’d suffered, being diapered had been the worse. Once he could sense the lower half of his torso, he’d felt better about everything and had even been optimistic, but it had been days since he’d reached another milestone. He’d endured the pins and needles and associated pain that had come with the nerves in his legs working again, and thankfully that st
age had passed quickly. Now, he could flex his ankles and bend his knees without discomfort, and when Dr. James, the man taking over for Dr. Connors while he was away, checked his knee reflexes, the legs behaved as they should. Unfortunately, they still wouldn’t support his weight. And if they couldn’t do that, then he couldn’t walk. If he couldn’t walk, he couldn’t run.
The leg strengthening exercises were going well, but nothing was moving fast enough for him. Sure, he was building a nice set of pecks and had abs from hell, but he should be out there with his teammates running. The last of the fall sanctioned cross-country races was today, and as he had the last two meets, he was letting everyone down.
The Lakeshore Run had always been one of his favorite cross-country courses. It would be a bit more challenging given the snow, but he’d run it twice last summer. Not today. Not when it mattered. Central would take home the hardware and the honors, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it—not now, and most likely not next spring either.
He spun the wheelchair around, facing into the room. It was amazing how many ordinary actions he’d taken for granted in the past—little things even a toddler could do—like sitting up, standing, going to the bathroom on his own. Just about any of them were beyond his abilities. Larry, his physiotherapist, claimed he was gaining more and more control over his body each day, but Liam didn’t see it.
Last evening, after Hannah had left, frustrated by what he saw as lack of progress, he’d attempted to stand on his own and had only managed to knock over his bedside stand, sending a bouquet of flowers flying, and impaling his thigh on a broken shard of the ceramic vase. Katie had found him face down on the floor crying, more ashamed than injured. Four stitches later, he was confined to the chair or bed for the next three days, with physio on hold, which would be like starting all over again.
Dr. James had said he’d been lucky. Another couple of inches, and he could’ve nicked his femoral artery. If that was what the doctor called luck, he was a walking wonder—well, maybe not walking but still a wonder. Liam had peeked at his medical chart when Katie had left it in his room after they’d patched him up. The fact he’d survived the accident was nothing short of a miracle, and given the damage to his face…
As far as his body went, incomplete spinal cord damage meant he would definitely walk again—not today, not tomorrow, but within a year or so—but for the rest of his life, he might have to rely on canes and crutches. There was a strong chance he would never run again, let alone the way he had before, and the pain that thought caused him was incalculable. This was a life sentence. He should be grateful for what he had and stop dwelling on what was gone forever, but that was far easier said than done. He had to look past this, because if he couldn’t, then he might as well have died out on that road. For the sake of his parents, he did his best to hide that private agony deep inside, but Hannah knew how miserable he was. She did her best to boost his spirits, but sooner or later, she would tire of that, too.
Before this morning, he’d had three grueling sessions with Dr. Miller, and while he couldn’t remember everything about the day of the accident, he was able to recall every gut-wrenching detail of how it had happened. The police chief, Chuck Richards, had been in to see him twice and had brought in some of the crime scene photos. Because of those, Liam had recalled more information, probably the most important aspect had been that it hadn’t been an accident at all. That black vehicle, with the brightest lights he’d ever seen, had targeted him. He relived the panic of seeing the truck speeding toward him and knowing he didn’t even have enough time to jump down into the ditch and get out of the way. He’d also mentioned the metal, pointed toes on the cowboy boots, but doubted the man was taking that aspect seriously. No one denied he’d been kicked, but by a man in cowboy boots? The more Liam thought about those boots, the more certain he was that he’d seen them before, but where?
While Chief Richards claimed he was treating it as an attempted homicide, it didn’t help the pain, frustration, and depression Liam felt right now. For all intents and purposes, his life had ended on that road. Sure, if they caught the guy, they could sue for damages, but if they couldn’t catch whoever was behind it, then what would the future hold for him?
At Erik’s insistence, Liam had mentioned the notes and the damaged gear, and the chief had spoken to Eli Morrison who’d confirmed the theft of the shoes and the vandalism, but the coach refused to believe whoever was behind the pranks had been behind the attempt on Liam’s life. In fact, he refused to believe Liam’s account of the accident. If it were true, it meant there was something rotten at Ivy Hills, and they would never let something like that get out.
Last night had been a disaster in even more ways. Erik had dropped by after they’d stitched him up with some crazy idea that Central’s coach might be behind it all. Coach Snow might really want to win, but just because he did didn’t mean he’d stoop to cheating or trying to eliminate the competition to do it. While Erik’s arguments were compelling, and would make a great plot for a made for television movie, they were too far-fetched to be true. To top it all off, Erik didn’t have a lick of proof, and he was going to talk to Sam Fitzroy about it. Fitz would say anything to keep out of trouble. He would probably blame his own mother if he could.
When Sam had been caught with the steroids last spring, he’d accused everyone on the basketball team, claiming they were all juicing, forcing the school to test them all. When the tests came back, and Sam was the only one who showed positive, he backed down and admitted to getting them from someone in Cedar Grove. At least he’d had the decency not to blame any particular individual. Most likely he’d gotten them from someone in New York City when he’d gone home for spring break. Erik was convinced Fitz had gotten that poison locally, and he claimed he knew who was supplying the drugs.
His friend was obsessing about the whole thing, and that wouldn’t make life at Ivy Hills any easier for him. Liam had asked him to let the matter drop and allow the police to do their jobs, but since Erik blamed himself for the accident—as if there had been anything else he could’ve said to change Liam’s mind about running that night. After his brother’s death, Liam had watched his parents play the self-blame game—Mom was doing it to some extent now. Once the police settled the case, just as they had Mike’s drowning, Erik would be able to let go of the guilt as would his mother and father, but he had to accept some of the responsibility for what had happened. Each time he relived the accident, he thought of a way he could’ve avoided it. Until the truth came out, they would all suffer. The best Liam could do was try to discourage his best friend from making too big a fool of himself.
Liam glanced at the clock once more on his side table, grateful it hadn’t broken since Hannah had brought it in. She stopped by for an hour or so after school each day, but she wouldn’t be in today. He sighed. She’d gone to the meet with the Central team. No matter how well or how poorly she did, he would have to pry the information out of her. He smiled for the first time in a long time. Having Hannah as his girl was the best thing that had happened to him. It was too bad it had happened this way.
The door opened and Katie came in with the flowers he’d sent flying the night before. She’d placed them in a new vase, and trimmed off the damaged blooms.
“I figured if your mother saw they were gone, she’d be upset. I know she needs to know about the cut, but maybe we can be non-specific about the cause. Normally, I wouldn’t condone any kind of lie, but she just feels able to leave you and go back to work. We don’t want one little stubborn action on your part undoing all that. Of course, you aren’t going to try to do anything bone-headed like that again, are you?”
“No, ma’am,” he said, knowing she was probably sparing him a long lecture, too.
Now that he was officially on the mend, his mother had returned to her job as the elementary school’s secretary, and Dad had gone back to looking after the farm the way he always had. She dropped in to see him when she finished work mid
-afternoon and left just before Hannah arrived to help Dad with the chores—the small tasks he’d done. The health insurance his mother had through her job was covering most of the costs, but Dad had sold off a quarter of the herd and some land. He claimed it was because it was too much work for a man his age, but Liam knew it was to cover bills. They’d had to make some renovations to the house, but once they were done, he would be able to go home, and he was anxious to do so. He wouldn’t be able to see Hannah as often, but that would be his incentive to work harder.
“I have a treat for you. I don’t want you to see this as a reward for bad behavior, but Dr. James and Dr. Miller have discussed it, and they’re allowing me to take you outside for a little while. The terrace is in the sun and there isn’t any wind. Dr. Miller thinks getting out will help improve your black mood today and outweighs the possibility of you catching a cold. I’ve brought your jacket, a blanket to cover your legs, and a box lunch. So, are you game? Feel like a little fresh air?”
Liam nodded, unable to talk through the lump in his throat. If it hadn’t been for Katie, he wouldn’t have done as well as he had. She encouraged him even when he felt down like today.
“Then what say we blow this joint for a bit?”
“I’d like that,” he answered.
“We’ll have a good hour out there. It’s the best I can do since you aren’t my only patient.”
“That works for me.”
Katie pushed the chair along the hall. “Will Hannah be coming in to see you today?”
“No. She’s at a track meet near the Canadian border.”
“Ah, so that’s why you’re in such a lousy mood. No track meet and no girlfriend. It explains a lot.”
Liam felt his face heat, glad she wasn’t able to see how red he probably was.
Prove It! Page 10