A Hopeless Game

by Daniel Carson

  Another pause. Another buzz.

  “Now he wants to know if you lost your phone for real or if you’re just saying that to avoid admitting that Dr. Bridges talked to you about the case and you never gave Alex an update.”

  “Tell him that I did lose my phone for real and that I am also trying to avoid him.”

  “And should I tell him that you like him or that you like like him?”

  I punched Katie in the shoulder.

  “He also wants to know if you want to go with him to speak with Susan Mossback in the morning.”

  “Is this the part where I should tell him that I’ve already spoken to her today?”

  “Nope, guys prefer when you lie as much as possible. Makes it more fun for them.”

  “Then I should be pretty good at this.”

  “No doubt.”

  Katie typed in a long response, then put the phone back in her pocket.

  “What’d you say?” I asked.

  “I told him Fireman Bob was having you over to the firehouse for a candlelit dinner and you’re expecting him to pop the question.”

  “You didn’t really say that.”

  Katie smiled. “I think you know me better than that.”

  While Katie fired up some frozen party pizzas for dinner, Dominic and Lucy and I played a game called Cops and Cryptocurrency Billionaires. Dominic was, of course, the Cryptocurrency Billionaire, who had not only made a fortune mining bitcoin but who was now using said fortune to buy all the world’s depleted uranium cores. It was up to Lucy and me to stop him before it was too late.

  All of this was Dominic’s idea, of course.

  “Dominic knows just about every supervillain known to man,” I remarked to Katie when she reappeared from the kitchen.

  Katie smiled proudly. “Pretty impressive kid, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, until I asked him what four plus four is.”

  Katie’s face fell. “Unfortunately, they don’t do a lot of math in the Mission: Impossible movies.”

  “He also mentioned Fast and Furious.”

  “What can I say? We’re going through a Vin Diesel phase.”

  Right on cue, Dominic rode his Big Wheel right past us. “Ride or die, Mom! Ride or die!”

  I was on my third piece of terrible frozen pizza when Granny called Katie’s phone. Katie quickly handed it to me.

  “Where the hell’s your phone?” Granny said by way of greeting.

  “I lost it.”

  “Have you checked your bed?”

  “I’m not ten years old anymore, Granny.”

  “And when you were ten you would tell me you’re not eight anymore. I’m telling you, always check your bed first.”

  “I lost it somewhere on Moose Mountain.”

  “How the hell’d you manage that?”

  “Long story. What’s up?”

  “A teacher from the high school is here looking for you. Said she tried to call you but thought she’d come by and see you instead.”

  “Is it Mandy?”

  “That’s it. Should I tell her you’re coming, or you want me to act like you’ve come down with polio or something?”

  “Tell her I’m temporarily indisposed because I’ll be in my iron lung for the next two years.”

  “Will do.”

  “No, Granny! Tell her I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  I hung up and handed Katie’s phone back to her.

  “Off to fight crime?” Katie asked.

  “Something like that.”

  “You know, kiddo, you were pretty spooked when you came in here earlier.”

  “I know.”

  “Would it help if you let me help you?”

  “Thanks, Katie, but it’s my problem, and I’ve got to figure it out by myself.”

  “Then what’s the big deal?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Hope, there’s plenty of stuff you’re not good at. For instance, calling your best friend more than zero times in a twelve-year period.”

  “Every time you mention that, college frat brothers somewhere take a drink,” I said.

  “But the one thing you are great at,” Katie continued, “in fact the one thing you are world-class at… is solving problems.”

  As I entered the bar, Bess waved and handed me an already-opened Stella. Mandy Broderick was nursing a beer at a pub table beneath a metal sign that said I’m with Stupid with an arrow pointing down.

  She reached her glass out to clink my bottle. “Glad you could meet me,” she said warmly.

  I sat across from her. “Sorry I missed your calls. I lost my phone earlier today.”

  She made a face. “That’s terrible.”

  “It actually was kind of terrible.”

  “Need to talk about it?”

  “Not really. Granny said you wanted to chat.”

  Mandy rubbed her hands together nervously. “Yeah. I heard something a couple hours ago. Susan Mossback let it slip to someone that Randall might have been murdered. Is that true?”

  “Who’d you hear it from?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  “I can’t control what Susan Mossback tells people.”

  “Susan said she heard it from you.”

  I took a long sip of my beer. Mandy was peering at me. She was one of those women who wore glasses so seamlessly you forgot they were part of her face. And at the moment, she looked particularly intense.

  “Nothing’s official yet,” I said. “And I’m not the sheriff. But between you and me… it looks suspicious.”

  Mandy rubbed her hands together again, and behind her glasses her eyes danced back and forth like they were working over some figures.

  “Mandy, is there something specific you wanted to talk about?”

  “Listen,” she finally said. “I like science, and I like journalism. Both of them deal with facts. And when there are theories, they’re either borne out by facts or they’re thrown out. And I wasn’t going to say anything as long as this was a suicide. But…”

  “But now that it might be murder.”

  “Yes, now that it’s murder. I don’t have the facts, and I certainly don’t have proof… but I do have a hypothesis. A hypothesis about who killed Randy Mossback.”

  Chapter 19

  Bess brought us a couple more beers, and Mandy still hadn’t told me her hypothesis.

  “It’s great talking to you, Mandy,” I said, “but we’re one beer deep and I’m wondering when you’re finally going to tell me your theory.”

  “Not quite yet.”

  “You need to get me drunk first?”

  She laughed. “Listen, Hope, I admired your work before you came back to town. I’ve told you that. And since you’ve been back you’ve solved four different murders. That’s incredible. So before I tell you my hypothesis, I just want a glimpse under the hood, so to speak.”

  “Under the hood of what?”

  “Are you kidding me? Of how you think! I want to know how you go about thinking about these murders. You have a few drinks, kick this around a little bit with me, and then I’ll tell you what I think I know.”

  I grabbed a peanut, cracked it open, and popped it in my mouth. “Okay. I’m game.”

  Mandy smiled. “Great. Where do you usually start?”

  “With motive. I try to figure out who has motive. Motive leads me to suspects. And then we look at alibis.”

  “And do you have any suspects?”

  “I assume all of this is off the record?” I asked.

  “Of course.”

  “In murder cases, the spouse is usually the main suspect.”

  Mandy cracked a hint of a smile. “You think Susan did this?”

  “Hold on. I only said she has to be a suspect. My take is they didn’t have the greatest marriage, so it wouldn’t be a great leap to think she killed him. But you know them better than I do, so you tell me. Is Susan a plausible suspect?”

  Mandy chewed on her lip. “Well, thei
r marriage wasn’t very good.”

  “You know this for a fact?”

  “Call it a hunch. Randy was a jerk with an ego the size of Texas. I don’t know how she ever married him in the first place.”

  “So Susan’s got to be a suspect. Then you look at other things to fill out the picture. Like was he having an affair? Was she having an affair?”

  She leaned forward. “And were they?”

  I thought of Susan Mossback and Arnie Duncan going to the Clap Back Inn. “I’m still working that out. But I don’t think Susan Mossback is very sad her husband passed. Whether or not she has something going with someone else… it’s too early to say.”

  “Maybe she just wanted his money,” Mandy said. “A life insurance policy?”

  “Actually, if he had a life insurance policy, and I assume he does, that would be nullified by a suicide. And he was getting paid well, so if anything, his death cost his wife money in the form of his future income. I suppose maybe he could have been gambling it all away…? But Randall Mossback doesn’t strike me as the type. He was all football coach all the time. No, if we’re looking for someone with a money motive… I’d have to go with you.”

  Mandy’s eyes about popped out of her head. “Me?”

  “Relax. I made myself one of the suspects in Sheriff Kline’s murder. It goes with the territory.”

  “But what reason could I possibly have to kill the coach?”

  “Typically, teachers make an agreed-upon salary negotiated by a union, right? Raises are given according to experience and education. It’s all very even. But Randall Mossback got paid more than all of you.”

  “And he only taught two classes,” Mandy practically growled.

  “And there’s that. Principal Booth told me he’s caught heat from some of the teachers for doing this. And that you’ve been the most vocal in your criticisms.”

  “And why shouldn’t I? I told you at the game how I feel about this. Football is not only a dangerous sport, but the translation of skills to the real world is very low. Instead of encouraging kids to spend time there, they should be learning practical subjects that will make a real difference in their lives. Yet it’s the football coach who makes more than all of us? How is that even remotely fair?”

  Her face was flushed and her voice was three notches louder than when she started talking. No doubt about it—Randall Mossback pushed this woman’s buttons.

  I pointed at her. “That right there. That level of anger and passion? That’s why you have to be a suspect.”

  Mandy folded her arms and leaned back from the table. “I didn’t kill him.”

  “I didn’t say you did. But you wanted to know how I think… and I think you have to be a suspect.”

  Mandy stared at me intensely for a long moment. Then she shook her head and took another sip of her beer. “I see where you’re coming from. But for the record, I disagree.”

  “I thought we agreed this was all off the record?”

  She laughed. “Fine. Put me on the suspect list. I’ll treat it like a badge of honor. Who else you got?”

  “Well, there’s one motive we haven’t talked about: revenge. And with a guy like Randall Mossback, revenge might be the most interesting motive of all.”

  “Because so many people hated him.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “Think of all the opposing coaches he’s beaten. Think of all the assistant coaches he’s treated poorly. Think of all the players who probably hated his guts.”

  “Any names come to mind?” she asked curiously.

  “Actually, I could use your help on this one.”

  She chewed her lip again. “Well, I’ve heard about some of the stuff he does with the boys. It’s… cruel. Or at least unnecessarily humiliating. I think on some level the guy’s crazy.”

  “Why don’t the parents do something?” I asked.

  “Because he wins. You do the stuff he does and you win, it means you know how to ‘toughen kids up.’ Now, if he ever lost… then the complaints would come rolling in.”

  “What kind of stuff was he doing with the kids?”

  Mandy took another sip, then leaned forward. “Well, I heard about this one drill he did—this was his first year here, when Elliot Sunderland was just a sophomore. At the end of fall training camp, apparently he drew a big circle on the field with a can of spray paint, and he told all the kids to take off their shoulder pads and helmets and step into the circle. Then he stands up and tells them, ‘We don’t stop fighting until there’s only one man left standing in this circle.’”

  I cut in. “You mean… he wanted the boys to… what? Fight?”

  “Basically.” Mandy nodded. “But when he blew the whistle, nobody moved. So he freaked out, grabbed some kid, and tossed him out of the circle himself. Then he screamed at the kids and blew the whistle again. And this time there was an all-out brawl. It took fifteen minutes, but finally, there was one kid standing.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Elliot Sunderland.”

  “That’s barbaric.”

  “And borderline illegal.” Mandy took another sip of her beer. “But that’s football for you. And who knows what other crap he’s been doing with the kids over all these years? Randy Mossback has been coaching a long time. It’s not hard for me to see some kid being treated poorly and wanting to get back at him.”

  “Any kids at Hopeless that were treated particularly poorly?” I asked.

  “There is one that springs to mind… but I hesitate to tell you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s the nicest kid I’ve ever met. It’s probably why Coach was so cruel to him. But I’m telling you, he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  “His name, Mandy.”

  She frowned, then finally said, “Martin Gellman. He even played for a couple weeks before he quit. But Hope, take my word for it: Martin had nothing to do with this.”

  I nodded politely. But no, I would not take Mandy Broderick’s word for it.

  “Well,” I said, “you wanted to look under the hood, and there you have it. Motive, suspects, alibis. I talk to people, check on their stories. Eventually the truth comes out. Sometimes more quickly than others.”

  “You’re telling me you have no great powers of deduction? No incredible memory for detail?”

  I shrugged. “I’m good at puzzles, but no, I have no superpowers. I just stay at it. Actually, maybe that’s my superpower: I’m annoyingly persistent. Oh, and for better or worse, I’m willing to be wrong. Which is a good thing, because I often am.”

  Mandy smiled. “Staying at it and willing to be wrong. I like that. You’d make a great scientist.”

  “Maybe our jobs aren’t that different. But now… fair is fair. You said you had a theory? I showed you mine.”

  “Well, based on everything you’ve said, I don’t think it’s going to come as a big surprise to you.”

  “I want to hear it anyway.”

  Mandy took a breath. “Okay. My hypothesis is that Susan Mossback and Coach Duncan conspired together to kill her husband.”

  “And what has led you to that… hypothesis?” I’d noticed she insisted on using the proper science lingo.

  Mandy help up a finger. “Let’s take a page from your book and start with motive. The Mossbacks did not have a good marriage. So it’s reasonable to think Susan might have killed him out of anger, or hate, or maybe just to get a fresh start.”

  “And how would Coach Duncan be involved in any of that?”

  “He wanted the head coaching job that eventually went to Randy. And they didn’t get along. Randy rode Arnie pretty hard, is what I heard. Plus, Arnie’s wife left him a few years back… and he was sweet on Susan.”

  “How do you know this?”

  She shook her head. “He told me.”

  “For real? He just came out and said so?”

  Mandy nodded. “Let’s just say the Hopeless High School Christmas parties are infamous for getting a little out of hand. Arnie had a fe
w too many that night, and the Coors Light was acting like truth serum. He spilled his guts to me. Told me he had feelings for Susan.”

  “Were those feelings ever reciprocated?” I asked.

  “I don’t have any solid evidence of that, but… especially now… that’s what I would guess.”

  “I think it’s time to put all your cards on the table, Broderick.”

  “Okay. Here’s what I think happened. Susan goes to a hotel every weekend during the football season. Everyone knows that. So if a certain assistant football coach wanted to have an affair with her… well, it wouldn’t be hard. In fact it would be quite easy. And given how they both feel about Randy, it makes sense that their pillow talk would turn in his direction more often than not. And a plan develops.

  “So then this past weekend arrives. As always, Randy is going to spend the weekend by himself, drinking beer and coming up with his famous game plan. Everyone knows this too. So Arnie slips over… and bam. Makes it look like a suicide. Susan has an alibi, because she was at the motel. Probably made sure that somebody saw her. And Arnie lives all alone, so he’ll just say he was home the whole time. It’s not much of an alibi, but it’s also exactly what you’d expect from the man.”

  Mandy stopped and let out a breath. “So, Hope, what do you think?”

  I considered. “I think you just might be on to something.”

  Chapter 20

  I didn’t sleep well that night. Tommy Medola’s words kept replaying in my mind. It was strange, because in the several months back in Portland I spent investigating him and his organization, I never got scared. I never did scare easily. I got that from Granny.

  But now it wasn’t just about me anymore. Like it or not, now that I was back in Hopeless, I was part of something bigger. I had a family. Granny. Katie. The kids. And when Medola threatened them… it scared me. Big time. I had only recently begun to forgive myself for what happened to Jimmy all those years ago. And that wasn’t really my fault. Not really.

  This was.

  If something happened to Katie’s kids because of me…

  I would never forgive myself for that.

  Not ever.

  The one advantage of not sleeping was that I had no trouble waking up early the next morning. I showered, threw on black jeans, boots, a turtleneck, and a jacket, and went to A Hopeless Cup for my morning medication.