Prove It!

by Susanne Matthews

  Liam reached for Hannah’s hand and shook his head. “You two have to leave this alone. I know you want to help, but things are too dangerous now. If your coach is implicated and believe me, it’s hard to believe he isn’t, you could be in danger. Whether you want to believe it or not, thanks to your visit Friday night, he has to know you’re involved, and when the police question him and mention your names, especially if you own up to leaving him out of the car practically on the coach’s doorstep, well ... I don’t want anything to happen to you, Hannah. You mean too much to me.”

  Hannah nodded and squeezed his fingers. “We aren’t the only ones in danger, Liam. You are, too. Someone tried to kill you. Knowing you survived must have them worried, but once they get wind of the fact you remember stuff ... If Erik is right, and God forbid he is, and there is some of that macho, old-school, male bonding going on with the police, someone may let the killer know you can identify him. You may not be as lucky a second time.”

  “I can’t worry about that right now. I need to tell them whatever I can to help them find Erik, just like you do, but I wish you didn’t have to.”

  She nodded once more.

  “What if we tell Mina’s Uncle Jim directly? Maybe he can keep our names out of it.”

  Liam shook his head. “That’s not likely, and you know it.”

  “All done?” Mrs. Howard asked, coming into the room and reaching for the tray. “Where’s Mina?”

  “Getting something out of the car,” Hannah volunteered before he could speak. “Thanks again, Mrs. H. They were delicious.”

  Mrs. Howard’s hand halted, and instead of picking up the tray, she reached for the sketch. “Where on earth did you see these boots?”

  Liam frowned. “Why? Have you seen them?”

  He held his breath. If Mom could identify them, that might keep Hannah and Mina safe, but where would she have seen those boots?

  “Half the men in town bought similar cowboy boots about ten years ago. You could get the standard ones like your dad got, but since it was a fundraiser for the Elks—Walk a Mile in my Shoes—you could opt for custom designed ones. I swear someone had a pair made just like these. He bought one of those god-awful rhinestone-trimmed shirts and a Stetson, too. They cost an arm and a leg, but some people just like to show off. Your dad doesn’t wear his boots because they pinch his toes.”

  Hannah looked at him, her eyes wide.

  “Mom, do you remember who it was?” He held his breath.

  “The names on the tip of my tongue. Let me ask your father. I’m sure he knows. If he doesn’t, he might still have the flyer and order form. You know what a packrat he can be.”

  She left the room, carrying the sketch as Mina returned.

  “Where’s your mom going with the drawing?” she asked, handing Hannah the envelope.

  “Mom recognized the boots from some fundraiser a decade ago and might know who owns them,” Liam said, trying to tamp down his excitement. “She’s gone out to ask Dad about them. If he doesn’t remember the name of the man who ordered them, he might have the receipt from the bootmaker who supplied them.”

  “Then it can’t be Coach Snow,” Mina said, pouting. “That fundraiser was well before he moved to Cedar Grove.”

  Liam nodded. “True, but the boots I saw were new. I would swear to that. Knowing which company made them back then might make finding the owner of these a whole lot easier.”

  “It looks like we may have a lead.” Hannah smile at him. “That’s good news.”

  “I get it,” Mina said. “If we can find out who owns the boots, it should lead us to Erik.”

  Hannah nodded and reached for the envelope, dumping the contents on the coffee table in front of them.

  “What are we looking for in these?” she asked, watching the dozen or so photographs pile up.

  “I’m not sure, but there should be a clue to coach’s past here,” Mina said. “I mean there are pictures of him in college. Apparently, he went to Cal Tech. I saw a team picture in there. Maybe we can find something Xavier can use, if he’s still willing to keep digging after what’s happened to Erik.”

  “I have a feeling he’ll be more eager than ever,” Liam said, frowning. “Don’t reporters court danger?”

  “This one?” Hannah asked, nodding at Liam’s comment and holding up a five by seven she’d found in the small pile.

  Three dozen boys in their late teens or early twenties stood around in uniforms. A much younger Peter Snow was in the back row. She shook her head.

  “This could just be a Photoshop job. He’s in the back row, and you really can’t see anything but his head. You can’t even tell if he’s wearing a uniform like the others.” She handed the photograph to Liam.

  He could see the anticipation on her face, completely at odds with what she’d said. She’d discovered something, but what?

  “Take a look at the guy directly in front of him. Look familiar?”

  Liam scrutinized the photo, his forehead creasing as he did. “Hang on.” He went back to his desk, rummaged in the drawer and returned with a magnifying glass. “My God. If I didn’t know better, I would swear that was Malcolm Porter. Could it be his father? It’s definitely a relative. I don’t remember him, but Mom might. They all went to school together.”

  “Here it is,” Mina exclaimed, engrossed in another photograph. “This is where I saw them! Look at the boots.”

  She came over and showed them the picture. In it, Coach Snow was accepting a plaque marked Coach of the Year, Midland Independent School District.

  “Isn’t that in Texas?” Hannah asked.

  “It is,” Liam confirmed. “According to Erik’s profile, Mr. Snow taught in Texas right after he was certified. After a couple of years, he moved to Boston, where he met his wife, and then ended up here. Since Erik’s family wasn’t in Cedar Grove ten years ago, knowing he taught out west might be why Erik assumed the coach would have cowboy boots. They have to be popular down there.”

  “No kidding! Will you just look at their feet for Pete’s sake?” Mina asked impatiently.

  Glancing down, Liam saw the coach and another man wearing the shiniest, silver-toed cowboy boots he’d ever seen. Using the magnifying glass, he focused on the feet, but from this angle he couldn’t tell if there were a buckle or silver heels on them. Just the sight of the tips had him breaking out in a cold sweat.

  “Honey,” Liam’s mother said coming into the room, startling him. “Dad remembers those boots. He isn’t sure who ordered them, but he thinks it might’ve been that blowhard Jackson Porter. He went out of his way to out-do everyone else at the time. If he didn’t take them with him when he left town, Natalie might’ve given them to the Goodwill store. I doubt she wanted any reminders of the man. Malcolm looks just like his father, so I’m sure that’s more than enough for her. I’m sorry. I guess that doesn’t help.”

  Liam smiled. “It helps, Mom, especially if we can find the bootmaker.”

  “Why the sudden interest in those boots?” she asked.

  He sighed, well aware of the fact she wasn’t going to like what he had to say.

  “I’ve remembered more about the accident, specifically about the moments after the truck struck me. The man driving the vehicle wore boots like these.”

  “Dear God, no.” She dropped onto the sofa next to Mina. “I prayed you would never remember that cruelty. You never said a word about it.”

  Instead of commenting, Liam reached for the photograph. “Do you recognize the guy in front of Coach Snow? The pictures twenty years old, but...”

  She reached for the photograph. “That’s Jackson Porter. He went to Cal Tech. I didn’t realize Coach Snow had gone there, too, but Peter didn’t graduate. He was expelled for plagiarizing an essay. If there was an easy way to do something—the more dishonest, the better—he was your man. That scandal devastated his parents. He came back to Cedar Grove, blaming everyone but himself for his actions, and went to work for his dad. I never understood what a sw
eet girl like Natalie saw in him, but ... He lied and cheated, gambling away every cent they had.”

  “You make it sound as if he could’ve stuck around. I thought Mr. Porter died,” Liam said. “I mean, I’ve never heard him mentioned, just rumors every now and then.”

  “That’s what Natalie wanted people to think, for Malcolm’s sake, and out of respect for her and her family, people complied. Jackson could well be dead by now. He had a lifetime of bad decisions behind him, but as far as leaving goes, he didn’t have a choice in the matter. He got caught in a real estate scam that bilked the people of Cedar Grove out of thousands of dollars and was sentenced to ten years in state prison. I’m sure it was the shame they felt that killed his parents. Natalie filed for divorce and full custody within a month of his arrest. As far as I know, he never returned, and if he did, he would probably be run out of town. He didn’t leave many friends behind. I wonder if Natalie knows Peter and Jackson went to school together.” She stood. “By the way, I came to tell you it’s three-thirty. You did say you had to be home by four.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Howard,” Mina said, as his mother left the room. She turned back to Hannah. “We should probably get going. It’s starting to snow again, and Mom will be mad enough when she finds out the truth about Friday night. I’ll go start the car and give you a minute to say goodbye.” She smiled, waved at Liam, and left the room once more, leaving him alone with Hannah.

  “I wish you didn’t have to go,” he said, chewing his lower lip nervously.

  “So do I. If Aunt Trudy and Uncle Pat ground Mina and take away the car, I don’t know when I’ll get to see you again.”

  “I’ll work something out with my dad. Perhaps he can go to get you and take you back. Call me after you drop the bomb, and let me know how bad it is.”

  “I will, assuming Aunt Trudy doesn’t confiscate my phone.” She leaned down quickly and brushed his lips hesitantly. The gentle touch of her mouth on his made his stomach quiver.

  “I’ve got to go.” Her cheeks were pink, but her eyes sparkled.

  “Come on. I’ll escort you to the door.” He would love to kiss her again, but stuck in the wheelchair like this made any spontaneous action like that difficult.

  Liam waved as the white car drove off into the curtain of the falling snow. Mina was a good driver and would get them home out of the storm safely, but Erik might not be so lucky. He was out there somewhere. Hopefully, he had cover of some sort because no one would last long exposed to the elements in weather like this. He shivered. The temperature would dip way below zero tonight.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Hannah pushed her hair off her face, glanced up at the classroom clock once more, and sighed. Still half an hour to go. Why did time fly by so quickly when you didn’t want it to, and crawl at a snail’s pace when you did?

  This morning, not able to concentrate on whatever it was the teacher was discussing, she’d let her mind wander, trying to figure out where Mr. Snow or his accomplice could’ve stashed Erik. The backpack, a big breadcrumb if Erik had dropped it himself, had been found on the far side of Mr. Snow’s property. The police had stopped searching the area when they’d found the burned out truck, focusing on the vehicle, but what if whoever had him had expected that very thing to happen? Erik had talked about collusion. As much as she hated to believe it, he could be right.

  The area beyond the dump site was state land now, but at one time it had belonged to a lumber company, which had failed about seventy-five years ago. The old mill had been condemned, but that didn’t stop college kids from having parties there, and at least one of the outbuildings had been burned to the ground over the years. If she was going to hide someone for a few days—assuming the kidnappers would realize an AMBER alert would go out—then that was the place she would select. The problem was, the mill had no power. If Erik was in that place, and left there long enough, he could easily die of hypothermia. He’d already been missing more than seventy-two hours. The longer he was out there, the worse the odds were of finding him alive.

  She needed to talk to Mina about this as soon as possible. A few moments ago, she’d almost sent her a message, but getting caught texting in school would get her phone confiscated by the classroom monitor, and that was the last thing she needed today. She’d like to discuss the matter with Liam, even though he would warn her not to do anything potentially dangerous. Since she still felt responsible, she couldn’t promise him that. Of course he would want her to talk to the police, but she’d had more than enough of that last night.

  As she’d expected, Aunt Trudy had gone postal when Mina had admitted the truth, but Uncle Pat had been more reasonable. He’d insisted on calling his brother-in-law, and when Jim had arrived, they’d dutifully told him about everything, including their visit to Coach Snow’s home, something that had upset both Uncle Jim and Aunt Trudy more than driving Erik up there had. Listening to the lecture they’d been given had reminded her of how truly misguided their actions had been.

  Surprisingly, the police hadn’t taken away Mina’s license, although she’d been warned not to let it happen again. Unfortunately, Mina had been grounded until Christmas. Since Mama and Papa were due back tomorrow, no doubt she would be, too. Considering how Mama felt about the dangers a young girl faced in today’s world, she would be lucky to see any kind of personal freedom before she turned twenty.

  Mari hadn’t been in school today, which hadn’t been surprising—a missing brother won over math and science any day—but when Principal Ingersoll took over gym class and turned it into study hall, her anxiety had skyrocketed. Mr. Snow wasn’t here, and if anything screamed “guilty,” this had to be it. Erik’s time might be running out, and here she was twiddling her thumbs while he might be dying.

  Hannah had counted on the coach being there so she could watch him, look for any suspicious behavior, and casually ask him if he’d seen Erik on Friday night without incriminating herself and Mina. It had been a bold, daring plan—one that could’ve landed her in hot water not only with her aunt and uncle, but with Liam and the police, too. As it turned out, nothing came of it.

  Earlier this morning, Chief Richards had addressed the entire school population, warning about the dangers of playing detective and withholding evidence from the police as if Erik had somehow gotten himself in trouble for doing just that, when the opposite was true. He’d mentioned his concerns to the chief, and they’d been ignored. Now, Erik was missing. If the chief wanted to assign blame, he only needed to look in the mirror. Today’s tirade had been aimed at her and Mina, but he probably assumed they weren’t the only ones snooping around. Uncle Jim and Chief Edwards had read them the riot act last night.

  When the bell rang, Hannah picked up her books and hurried into the hall, heading to her locker. She stopped short when a hand grabbed her.

  “Not so fast, Hannah,” Malcolm said, moving her to the side of the corridor out of the traffic. “I need to talk to you. It’s important. I know I’m not your favorite person right now, but hear me out, please?”

  She nodded. “What do you want?” she asked.

  “Not here. Lets’ get out of the traffic.”

  Hannah hesitated, but something about the way Malcolm looked at her, and the worry in his voice, touched her.

  “Rumor has it you and your cousin drove Erik up to see Coach Snow on Friday night and left him there. Is it true?”

  “We didn’t leave him there. He disappeared,” she snarled angrily. So much for the chief’s assurance that he would keep their names out of it. She looked down at her arm where he still gripped her. “Let go of me.”

  He did. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “You didn’t, but I don’t like being manhandled.”

  “That wasn’t my intention. Look, I don’t want to fight; I want to help. Why did you take him up there? He doesn’t go to Central and his sister isn’t on the track team.”

  Since there was no point in lying, she shrugged. “He and Mina are dat
ing. He wanted a ride, and she gave him one.”

  “That’s not what I mean, and you know it. I’m not the enemy, Hannah. Cut me some slack, will you?”

  Hannah lowered her eyes and heaved a sigh. “I don’t know exactly what it was, but he needed to talk to Coach Snow about something.”

  “I’ve heard someone at his school is looking into some sort of steroid scandal. Was he going up there to accuse me and the rest of the team, you and Mina excluded, of doing drugs?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Sorry, Malcolm, but it’s not always all about you.”

  “Then it’s got to be about Liam’s accident. Something weird is going on around here. When I caught Craig going through the coach’s desk, he almost lost it. Terrified I would tell on him, he admitted Erik was digging into Coach. If it wasn’t because of the drugs, then he thinks the coach is involved in that. Does he think the coach knows who’s responsible?”

  “I’m not exactly sure what he thinks. Steroids are dangerous. People who use them have been known to go a little crazy, you know. If someone got mad...”

  “I swear on my mother’s life that I haven’t been juicing. I promised my mother a long time ago that I’d keep my nose clean, and I have. I’m not saying there isn’t someone selling that crap in Cedar Grove, but I am telling you it isn’t me or Coach Snow. He’s been like a father to me. If Erik has evidence that points to him, then I’m telling you Coach has been framed. If you want to know who may be responsible, have Liam or whoever’s looking into this talk to the Fitzroy kid again. His old man can probably get his hands on anything. The guy’s knee-deep into the Irish mob.”

  “And how do you know that?” she asked, fascinated in spite of everything.

  Malcolm leaned against the locker and looked around to be sure they couldn’t be overheard, relaxing when he saw this corridor was deserted.

  “I don’t know how much you know or remember about my family, but my father wasn’t exactly a stand-up guy. He was a shyster who got himself kicked out of school for cheating and lost his father’s real estate company in some kind of Ponzi scheme. After getting in too deeply with the mob, he tried to worm his way out by ripping off a lot of the people in Cedar Grove. I was seven when he went to jail. My mom divorced him and determined to try and make restitution, but the mob wanted their money. My mother made some kind of deal, and she’s been paying off his debts for the last nine years. Every extra cent she gets goes into a special account at the bank, and once a month she writes a check to a construction company in Boston.”