You want me to do what?”
On Monday I sit beside my mother at Sugar's as Dolly slams down a mug and pours herself a shot of Folgers.
“Cater Jake's party. It will be a fairly small affair at the house.” My mom fills a shaker with salt.
Dolly arches an eyebrow. “Who will be there?”
“Jake, some other wrestlers in the amateur circuit, a few select people from the media, and the family.”
Dolly juts out a hip and parks her hand on it. “And?”
My mother blinks rapidly, a sure sign she's withholding information. “And a few other random people I've invited. Can't remember who.”
“Jillian Finley, I am not going to cook up a spread for the likes of Mickey Patrick.”
“I need your help. I don't know how to cook. I can't even manage to squeeze cheese on Triscuits.”
“It's true,” I say. “She can't.”
“It's not that I don't want to help you. It's about...”
“Dolly, I think you need to—shoot, there's old man Hodges holding up his coffee cup again. That man's going to run my legs off.”
Mom bustles away to check on her customer, leaving Dolly, me, and a few questions I'm dying to have answered.
“None of your business.”
I blink at Dolly's tone. “What? I didn't say anything.”
She smacks her gum and runs a fingernail through her teased hair. “You were going to. I saw it in your eyes.”
“Come on, tell me what happened with you and your ex-husband. I mean, if the guy's a jerk, then maybe my stepdad doesn't need to be working with him.”
She takes a rag and begins scrubbing the counter with a fury. “He left me, that's what.”
“For another woman? Is that what bonded you to my mom so quickly? You know she totally relates to that.”
“No, he didn't leave me for another woman. Don't you have somewhere to be?”
“Oh, shoot. I do.” I sling my purse over my shoulder. “But we're not through discussing this.”
When I pull into the parking spot at Truman Manors nursing home, dread expands in my stomach like a balloon on helium. I turn off the key then rest my head on the steering wheel and offer up a small prayer for fortitude. I do not want to go in there. I don't want to see old people in the last stages of their lives. I don't want to inhale the smell that could only belong to a nursing home. And most importantly, I do not want to discuss the football team with Kelsey over Zach's lifeless body.
Five minutes later, I finally talk myself out of the car and into the lobby. On each side of me are seating areas and big-screen TVs. On my right is a glass case that houses ten or so chirping birds. Trapped and on display. Is this supposed to cheer the residents up? It makes me want to grab a fire extinguisher, bust through the glass, and yell, “Fly away, birds! Go! Go!”
I turn my head from the captive pets and focus on the other side.
And there sits Luke, playing checkers with an elderly man.
“And that's the game! I win again.”The man holds out a wrinkled hand and Luke places cash in it. “You want to play another one?”
Luke sees me and stands up. “No, you cleaned me out, Mr. Murphy.”
“You can't handle this, can you?”
“Nope.” Luke laughs and ambles to my side.
“When you're man enough to face me again, I'll be waiting.”
“See you next week, Mr. Murphy.” Luke places his hand at the small of my back and leads me through the lobby and past the nurses' station.
“What are you doing here?”
He shrugs an arrogant shoulder. “Waiting on you.”
“Really? Because it sounded to me like you're a regular here.”
“I don't know what that man's talking about.” Luke taps his temple. “He's a bit senile.”
I punch his shoulder. “Luke Sullivan, you do have a heart.”
“Tell anyone and I'll kick you out of the class and send you to—”
“Tire Changing 101?”
I follow him down a hall, passing door after door. Some rooms I have to look away. The residents remind me too much of the trapped birds. Some sit alone in their rooms, empty eyes staring at flashing TV screens. Others yell and call out in barely decipherable words.
“It's not easy being here, is it?” Luke stops before room 202.
I shake my head. “Is this his room?” Unlike the others, this door is closed.
“This is it. Are we ready?”
“You're going with me?”
“Of course.” His head tilts and his voice lowers. “You didn't think I'd let you go alone, did you?”
“Because you don't trust me to get the information?”
He opens his mouth, pauses, then starts again. “Let's just do this.”
Luke knocks softly, then pushes on the door.
Kelsey sits in a chair shoved next to the bed. The bed where her boyfriend lies, unmoving, with machines pumping and tubes weaving a pattern around him. I swallow hard.
She looks up from her vigil. “Hi, Luke.” Her pale eyes dim a little as I step out from behind him.
“I brought you some snacks.” Luke reaches into his messenger bag and pulls out some crackers and a bottle of water. “Nurse Betty at the front desk said you've been forgetting to eat lately.”
She takes the food and manages a smile. “His color's good today, isn't it? He looks kind of peaceful.”
My eyes are drawn to Zach, who looks anything but peaceful.
“Kelsey, I have a favor to ask,” Luke says as I sit down in a vacant chair. “I know this is the last thing you want to talk about, but Bella and I have reason to believe that any information you can give us about Zach's wreck would be helpful to something we're working on.”
She bites into a cracker. Are you gonna tell me what this is about?”
Luke sighs. “No.”
Seconds pass, the only sound being the push and pull of Zach's ventilator.
Kelsey considers her fingernails for a moment. “Okay.” She reaches for her water bottle. “What do you want to know?”
Luke doesn't hesitate. “Why do you think Zach didn't let you go to the last few parties with him?”
She stares at her boyfriend and smoothes a piece of hair from his cheek. “I don't know. I guess I'll never know.”
Luke sits on the arm of my chair. “Which players was Zach closest to?”
“That was kind of odd last year. He was always best friends with Budge.” She looks directly at me. “Your stepbrother and Zach were inseparable. But during the fall semester Zach and Budge just went their separate ways. Zach started spending more and more time with the team. He mostly hung around Dante and that guy who got suspended this year—”
“Reggie Lee,” Luke supplies.
“Yeah . . . Sometimes he hung around Jared Campbell. There were some others.”
“These parties—were they at a cabin?”
She shrugs at Luke's question. “A few—they'd change up the location I think.”
“Did he ever mention anything unusual going on there?” I ask.
“No. He got really tight-lipped about their get-togethers in the end. Said I would've just been bored, that they were just talking football and planning for the next night's game.”
“Why would they drink the night before a game?” I wonder aloud. “If they are all so obsessed with winning, how stupid is that to wake up on game day with a hangover?”
“Did you see anybody drunk out there?” Luke lifts a dark brow. “I didn't see any signs of people getting hammered. At least not the players.”
Kelsey stretches her back and yawns. “I remember the last few parties I went to, Zach would drink a single beer. It was so unlike him. His daddy's a drunk, so Zach couldn't stand alcohol much. And when I'd ask him why he was drinking, he'd say, Liquid encouragement,' like he needed bolstering or something.”
“Encouragement for what?” Luke asks.
“I don't know.”
“You mentioned that you had asked a lot of questions, Kelsey.” I lean around Luke and catch the fading scent of his cologne. “What sorts of things didn't add up to you?”
“His car. The fact that he was driving it so fast—and so crazy. That wasn't Zach at all. He loved that Camaro. It was his baby. Washed it every Sunday by hand. He didn't use it like a hot rod. He was always so careful with it.”
“It's only natural to want to show off at least once if you have a car like that—see how fast she'll go.”
“Not Zach. He was fanatical about that car. Wouldn't let anyone else drive it. He wouldn't have done anything that might've so much as put a scratch on it.”
“Accidents happen,” I say.
Luke twists around. “But the police report says that some of the players witnessed Zach bragging about his car. Said he wanted to prove what it could do.”
“He was at one of those parties. The guys denied it was a party to the police, but that's what it was. Zach hadn't let me go. When the police checked out the scene, everyone had cleared out. Only a few of the guys remained, like they were just hanging out for the evening or something. Reggie told the police that Zach left, tires squealing, his engine roaring. Reggie said they tried to talk him out of it. It was raining that night.” She shudders. “So dangerous. And stupid.”
I take a deep breath and try to align the facts. “Kelsey, I understand your reservations, but as someone who's not as close to the situation, it kind of all makes sense. It was an unfortunate accident, but it sounds like your boyfriend just overdid it and lost control of the car. What's suspicious about that?”
“Nothing.” She runs a hand over her tired face. “But the phone call certainly was.”
Luke sits up straighter. “Call?”
Kelsey's hand begins to tremble. “Zach called me from the car—during that joyride. He was panicked, talking nonsense. He kept saying, 'I didn't want to do it. He made me do it. He made me.' Told me he couldn't see a thing, and if he scratched the paint his dad would kill him. Then he said something I'll never forget.”
Kelsey sits down on the bed beside her boyfriend. I hold my breath and wait for her to speak.
“He said, 'Stupid coach's son. Trying to make us into something we're not.'” The tears flow freely down her cheeks. “Then I heard it. The crash.” Her voice gains in intensity, grows stronger. “You find out what happened. The police wouldn't listen to me. And every time I tried to talk to the players, they'd tell me to let it die. Something isn't right here, Luke. Something happened that night, before the wreck.” She chokes on tears.
Luke goes to her and wraps her in his arms. “We'll find out what happened.” He rests his head on hers, and his eyes lock with mine. “And I think our Coach Dallas is the guy with all the answers.”