by Karen Young
“Sounds to me as if he told you why,” Cam said.
Tyson shrugged. “Okay, I guess I’ll have to concentrate on Ward this semester. He’s good, too.”
“As good as his brother?”
“Jimbo.” Tyson’s eyebrows lifted and he smiled. “You remember him, eh? Last I heard, he was negotiating with the majors. I like to think I had a little something to do with setting him on that road.”
“I’m sure you did,” Cam said. “And do you think his little brother has the same talent?”
“As good as, and maybe better. Nick’s top caliber, too.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “If you have any influence with that kid, now’s the time to use it, Mr. Ford. You—”
“Cam.”
“Oh, okay. Cam. If you could persuade him to make time for me to smooth out the rough edges, it would give him a leg up in the game. He’s got what it takes and then some. Trust me on that.”
Tyson was saying all the right things, but for some reason, Cam wasn’t persuaded to trust him. “Isn’t it a bit unusual for a coach to single out an athlete for one-on-one coaching? Doesn’t that do negative things to team morale?”
“Team morale is improved when I can point to an impressive number of boys who’ve gone on to make it big. I don’t expect all of the ones I single out for special treatment to make it in pro sports, but most of them can definitely count on an athletic scholarship to a respectable university.”
“Is that what you saw in my son’s future?”
Tyson’s features sobered. He leaned back in his chair. “Jack was as fine an athlete as any I ever coached, Cam. And yes, indeed, he was headed for a brilliant future in sports. He was a helluva baseball player.”
“Then why did he kill himself?”
“I’ve asked myself that question a thousand times. And like I told you five years ago, I still have no answers for you. Besides, sports is only one aspect of a boy’s life.”
“Did you ever question Jimbo about Jack?”
“Jimbo?”
“Yeah, they were best friends,” Cam said. “They went everywhere together. Jimbo must have had a clue to what was happening in Jack’s head. Did you ever ask him about it?”
Before Cam finished, Tyson was shaking his head. “Nah, you don’t want to go down that road. If Jimbo knew anything, he would have told me.”
“So you never asked, even though they were rooming together the night it happened?”
“Jack was alone when it happened. And it wasn’t in the room they shared.”
“I’m trying to get my head around this picture, Coach. You assumed Jimbo knew nothing, the kid who would be most familiar with what might have been going on in Jack’s world?”
Tyson shrugged. “I was his coach, Mr. Ford, not his shrink. I accepted what I was told by the folks whose job it was to investigate these things.”
“And it had nothing to do with the idea that you might have been reluctant to apply any pressure to Jimbo for fear it would distract him from where he was headed—to the University of Texas—on a major baseball scholarship?”
“Wait a minute.” Tyson was scowling now. “Maybe you should just say flat-out what you’re thinking.”
Cam knew he was pushing, but so far Tyson hadn’t yet thrown him out of his office. “I’m not sure what I think. I had questions five years ago about my son’s death, but I backed off then. Now I need to know if you had personal knowledge about Jack that might have led to his suicide, and I apologize up front if my questions seem offensive.”
“I don’t know how I can say it plainer. I’m as in the dark as you.”
Cam’s gaze went to the trophies displayed on shelves mounted behind Tyson’s desk—baseball, football, basketball, track. God, the man was an icon in Rose Hill, maybe in all of Texas. School board members and parents alike genuflected at his name. If he did know anything, how was it going to be possible to pry it out of him when it might embarrass him, or worse? “Look, Coach Tyson, I’ve spent five years wondering what I could have done to rescue Jack, but failed to. I’m admitting that I was an absentee dad and when he needed me, I wasn’t there. Something drove him to take his own life. As his father, I owe it to him to find out why, even if I’m five years late. And I know in my gut the answers are here.”
“If there was anything here I would have found it,” Tyson snapped.
“Excuse me, but it would have been vital to you personally to avoid any scandal attached to your sports program.”
“I don’t deny that,” Tyson said, “if there was any scandal. And contrary to what your gut is telling you, I’m telling you that you’re wasting your time. The best advice I can give you is to get on with your life. Concentrate on something else. Write your books.”
It was a trite and condescending attempt to discourage him, and Cam ignored it. “I was in a state of shock over losing Jack the last time I asked for information,” he said. “Now I’m not. Now I have time and the resources to keep going until I have the answers. And, fortunately, I’m good at researching crime.”
“Crime?” A dull flush rose upward from the collar of Tyson’s golf shirt. He got up out of his chair. “There’s no crime to be researched. Face facts, man. The autopsy revealed your boy was stoned out of his mind. And believe me, it gives me no pleasure to say that.”
“Jack did not have a drug problem,” Cam said stubbornly. He, too, was now on his feet.
“He damn sure had one that night!” Tyson released a sigh and his manner gentled, as if trying to reason with one of his wayward athletes. “Look, he was depressed over you and his mom splitting, plus he’d been uprooted from a place he was familiar with and set down cold here in Texas. Talk to any shrink. That’s more than enough reason for a kid to use a little junk and think about ending it all.”
“He was here a year and a half,” Cam argued, struggling to keep the conversation as civil as possible. “He had more than enough time to adjust. He had adjusted. You said yourself he was a promising athlete and had earned a prime position on the varsity team, he’d made friends, and I know that he didn’t expect his mother and me to get back together. She had a new boyfriend and Jack told me he was okay. So he wasn’t harboring unrealistic expectations about us.”
“That may be the way you see it, Mr. Ford, but Jack might have been pretty good at concealing his real feelings. Suicidal kids are.”
“And as for drugs,” Cam went on doggedly, “nobody came forward to say Jack was a habitual user. On the contrary, no one ever claimed to have seen him using…ever.”
The phone rang on Tyson’s desk. He picked it up and spoke tersely, listened a few seconds, then said, “In a minute.” He covered the mouthpiece with one hand. “Nothing changes the basic facts here, Mr. Ford. Jack, and nobody else, did what he did.”
“And nobody had a clue?” Cam demanded. “That’s what you’re saying?”
“Hell, I’m saying I didn’t have a clue. I can’t speak for anybody else.”
Cam clenched his jaw in frustration. He would get nothing more from Tyson, still it was tough to admit defeat. He knew there was more, but he wouldn’t find it now. He’d have to try another way. Tyson’s stonewalling only made him more determined that there was something. Turning, he went to the door and had his hand on the knob when Tyson spoke.
“I understand your need for closure, Mr. Ford. All Jack’s teammates were shocked and saddened when Jack died. And I include myself in that number. He was a special kid and I’m sorry for your loss, believe me.”
“Thanks.” Cam left, closing the door softly behind him.
The gym appeared deserted as he retraced his steps on the sidewalk along the fence. Only two cars were left in the parking lot beside his own. No sporty little Beamer and, consequently, no sign of Nick or Ward. Smiling to himself, he imagined his own reaction if, when he’d been fifteen, a pretty girl with her own car had offered him a ride home. Then, drawing even with the entrance to the locker room, he heard voices, clearly au
dible, coming from inside. The music had been shut down and the words bounced eerily off the walls. He found himself slowing down, listening.
“I’m sick of this shit, man. I’m not going there again.”
“Yeah, so you’d rather get shit-faced and spend another night in jail? Uh-huh, that’s real clever planning for the big time, Jace. Coach is lining up scouts for you and you’re AWOL? Man, you’re gonna screw up big time if you keep on.”
“I know what’ll happen and it’s never gonna end. Who’s turn will it be next?”
“What difference does it make, man!” Angry and impatient, his companion swore. “Just think about something else. Shit, it’s over soon enough.”
“It’s not worth it!”
There was real anguish in that last statement. Cam hesitated, knowing he wasn’t meant to overhear the exchange between the two boys. He picked up his pace and was even with the door just as they stepped outside. Spotting Cam, both looked startled and ended their conversation abruptly. He didn’t indicate that he’d overheard anything and made his way directly to his SUV. But once behind the wheel, he replayed the conversation in his mind. It could have any number of meanings, he told himself, although nothing good presented itself. AWOL from what, a game or…what? No athlete on Tyson’s team who failed to show for a game survived to play another day.
Glancing in his rearview mirror, he saw the two athletes climb into a beat-up Mustang. He did not recognize them as friends of Nick and only one car was left now, a big Chevy Suburban. Tyson’s, he guessed, and easily capable of hauling eight boys.
He drove away from the athletic field, but instead of turning left and leaving the school complex, he drove around to faculty parking and saw that Rachel’s car was still in there. He’d noticed she was putting in long hours lately and he couldn’t shake the feeling that all was not as it appeared at Rose Hill High, so he wasn’t quite comfortable with her being there after hours. His conversation with Monk Tyson had done nothing to change that. Impulsively, he wheeled in beside her car and parked.
Rachel tucked the notes she’d made into a folder, slipped the file into the cabinet and closed the drawer. She stood thinking for a moment, gazing out her window where she had a view of the parking lot next to the gym. The only vehicle left was Monk’s Suburban. For a second, she toyed with the idea of walking over and having a talk with him, but what would she say? It was like looking for a needle in a haystack when you didn’t quite know what you were looking for or where to start.
“I don’t even know the location of the haystack,” she muttered, turning back to get her purse and keys and coming face-to-face with Cam. “Oh!” Her hand flew to her heart. “You scared the heck out of me!” She closed her eyes. “Don’t do that.”
“Sorry,” he said, and took her arm, guiding her to her own sofa. “I’ll skip the lecture about keeping your door locked when you’re working alone in a huge building where any pervert could be lurking. Anybody could have walked in here, Rachel. Don’t you people have rules for this sort of thing? Where’s the janitor, for God’s sake?”
“That was a lecture,” she said, feeling her heartbeat settling back to normal. “And the janitors are somewhere about, just not on this wing at the moment, I assume.” She paused. “What are you doing here?”
“Rattling Tyson’s cage,” he said, and bent to pick up her purse and keys where she’d dropped them.
She glanced out her window. “I didn’t see your car.”
“Must’ve just missed it.” He placed her purse on the sofa beside her. “Do teachers do the happy-hour thing?”
“Happy hour, as in a bar?”
“There’s a nice, quiet little place on the way home. I’m buying.”
She checked the time on her watch and stood up. “After the day I’ve had, why not? Now that I know you talked to Monk, I can’t wait to hear what he told you.”
“We can go in my car or yours,” Cam told her, already hustling her toward the door. “Or you can follow me.”
“I’ll follow. It’ll save having to come back here later.”
The bar was actually a spiffy little bistro—the only one that Rose Hill had—called Flanagan’s. Marta had mentioned that it had an interesting menu and that they should try it out sometime. No one was more surprised than Rachel herself that she was trying it out for the first time with Cam.
They ordered, and when the drinks were in front of them, Cam touched his glass to hers. “Cheers.”
“And to you.” She took a sip of gin and tonic, noting his crisp white shirt and the way it turned his gray eyes a silvery hue. No scruffy pullover and faded jeans today. He’d taken a bit of care for his visit to Tyson. Then it dawned on her. He must have been to see Cara.
“What haystack?” he asked.
“Haystack.” She thought a minute, then laughed. “Oh, that haystack. The reason I was still in my office is because I didn’t have a chance to begin my search of Monk’s athletes until it was time to go home. And I do know the risks of being alone in a building. I knew practice was still going at the gym and the janitors don’t leave until around seven.”
“Still, you should have locked your door.”
“You’re right.” She leaned forward. “So, did you make that trip to see Cara?”
He tossed a few peanuts into his mouth. “I thought you wanted to hear about my talk with Tyson.”
She sat back, deflated. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business, is it? And yes, I want to hear about Tyson.”
“I was kidding, Rachel. Yeah, I went to see her. And it was…” He glanced away, still munching, then met her eyes. “Let’s just say I wish I hadn’t waited so long.”
She sighed, smiled and put her hand on her heart. “Now you’re talking.”
“She’s pregnant.”
She smiled widely. “No!”
“Yeah, but she didn’t have much to offer about Jack. Still, it helped me with—what do they call it?—closure.” She saw by the look on his face that he didn’t put much store in pop psychology. “She’s totally abandoned her career, which was the driving force in her life in New York, and has turned into little miss happy homemaker. All she could talk about was how wonderful her life is with Anthony.”
“Anthony. I recall him being with her that first day I tried to talk to her. He was very protective.”
“Oh, he’s a prince.”
She raised her eyebrows at his tone. “He was there when you visited?”
“No, but I’d know him if he appeared. He’d be the guy in the white hat and wings.”
She covered her lips to hide a smile. “I thought you said the trip was helpful.”
“Aw, hell, it was.” He rattled the ice in his drink, then tasted it. “She literally glowed with happiness at having another child. She told me she thinks of this baby as a gift. After losing Jack she never thought she’d get another chance at motherhood.”
“That’s very touching. You should be happy for her.”
“Yeah, I know. And I am. Wait, there’s more. She’s into gardening, if you can believe that. This is a woman who used to think her nails were for painting and nothing else, certainly no useful purpose. Now they’re clipped short so she can scrabble around in her flowers.” He stared into his glass. “She’s a complete stranger. I can only assume that I never knew the real Cara.”
“Maybe the two of you were wrong for each other.”
“I don’t know why. We had good sex.”
He shot her a wicked look, then warded off a scolding by lifting a hand, palm out. “But I’ll know from now on to look for more meaningful markers if I should ever contemplate marriage again.”
“I’m certainly glad to hear it.” Letting her smile bloom, she took a sip of her drink. “What did she say about Jack?”
“Only that he’d started talking about quitting the team and getting out of the sports program altogether.”
“Really?” Rachel frowned. “Didn’t she think that was odd? He’d overcome considerabl
e obstacles just to get on the team.”
“She put it down to a kid’s natural resistance to a demanding physical schedule, which definitely defines Tyson’s methods.” He toyed with the bowl of peanuts. “But Jack took pride in being able to take anything Tyson dished out. I don’t think that was the cause of him wanting to quit.” After a pause, he glanced up at her. “Speaking of Tyson…”
“And—what happened?”
“His story now is the same as then. Jack’s death shocked and baffled him. He’s still inclined to blame it on the drugs revealed in the autopsy.”
She nodded. “Same thing he told me. That’s his story and apparently he’s sticking to it.”
“Yeah.” Cam stared into his glass, twirling it round and round. “As I was leaving, I overheard two kids talking, older athletes. Varsity. I caught them off guard, but I got enough to make me suspicious. I only heard one name.” He looked up at her. “Do you know anyone in the sports program named Jace? It would be a kid with a future. They discussed what it meant if he dropped out.”
“Jason Pate,” she said instantly, but with disbelief. “Jason would never drop out. He’s the cream of the crop and definitely one of Monk’s chosen. He’s slated for a major scholarship. Are you certain it was Jason you heard talking about quitting?”
“Positive.”
She’d been playing with her napkin, now folded into a tight little accordion. She moved it aside and picked up her drink. “I’m bound by confidentiality, but I’ll just say that Jason has some personal problems. I’ve been working with him, trying to get him to open up to me.” She set the glass down without tasting it. “It won’t be easy as his problems are deep-seated. Truly serious.”
He reached over and squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry, it may have been just idle talk, but I thought you ought to know.”
She managed a smile. “Thanks. I think.”
“I’m just the messenger.” A beat later, he turned her hand, palm up, as if studying it. It felt so natural, she thought, having her hand in his. He tended to do this, a warm hug, a touch to her cheek, a sympathetic clasp of her hand, but oddly in contrast to his lone-wolf personality. Yet it was so casually done that she was convinced he meant nothing special when he touched her.