The Homeplace: A Mystery (23 page)

The state-championship trophy still sat in the center of the trophy case outside the gym, and there was a four-foot-wide picture of Chase’s team over the door. Chase stood in the center of the row of players. He faced the camera straight on. The others around him turned their shoulders toward him. Chase hated the picture. Not the people in it. The way it made him look like the center of everything.

Inside the gym beneath the shaggy stuffed head of a buffalo was another picture. It was bigger than the one of the team, but this one was just him.

The photographer had captured an instant in that very gym. Chase hung in midair, his head and shoulders a foot above everyone else on the court. The ball had just left his fingertips, and in the background the scoreboard showed two seconds left and Brandon behind by a point. It was as if everyone in the county was waiting for him to win the game and save the day. That day the shot had gone in, but in the end he had disappointed everyone.

Usually Chase expected the sound of a bouncing ball on the wood floor, but a computer’s printer ticked off pages, and folding tables with monitors and phones were set on his basketball court. Cables and cords stretched over the circle at center court and the out of bounds lines.

What had been his was so different, and that was good.

Upstairs, windows rattled and another semi rushed by.

A man in brown pants and a blue shirt buttoned all the way to his chin looked up. He took a sip from a can of Diet Coke, excused himself from a table with two women perched behind computer screens, and crossed the gym floor to Chase.

“Mr. Ford?” He moved the Coke to his left hand and reached out to shake Chase’s. “I’m Jim Doyle, Colorado Bureau of Investigation. I’m lead agent on the murders. Thank you for coming in.”

“Before anything else, I need to know.” Chase searched the detective’s face for any sign of hope. “Any word on the body they found? Is it my sister?”

The corners of Doyle’s mouth turned down. “There’s no easy way to say this, but I’ve been led to believe so. We’re waiting for the coroner to provide proper identification. I’m so sorry.”

Chase’s bit of hope fled. He thought he should cry. But he couldn’t for a girl he didn’t know.

“I should have come in sooner. I want to do all I can to help with this.” Chase scanned the tables. Everyone in the gym looked back at him. “Can we go someplace and talk?”

“I made one of the classrooms into an office. Come with me.”

Chase followed Doyle. “I didn’t see the sheriff’s truck outside. I thought he’d want to be part of this. The questions, I mean.” It was Kendall who wanted him to be here, not this detective from Denver.

“I understand the sheriff is on his way in now.”

“Should we wait until he gets here?”

“It might be best if we don’t.” Doyle paused just inside the gym door. “I understand there is a bit of bad blood between the two of you.”

“That’s why we should wait. Both of us have been puttin’ things off for too long.”

Doyle took his hand from the door.

Chase answered the question Doyle didn’t ask. “Kendall was a year ahead of me in school. His family had money and connections, and he was used to gettin’ things his way. He went to school in Comanche Springs. I was here at Brandon. I always figured he saw me as a threat. When I started gettin’ noticed, it took the spotlight off him. He didn’t like that. He was a good ballplayer, all right, but…”

“But what, Mr. Ford?”

Chase pointed at the picture on the wall. “I scored that basket over Kendall and drove his girlfriend home that night. But you didn’t want to hear any of that.”

“Not at all. Sometimes the smallest thing tells the most.”

Chase had been in the offices of some very powerful men. Team owners who could buy and sell Brandon several times over. Media executives whose quick decisions impacted hundreds of lives. His agent had once told him that when in the presence of such men, he should remember that he had been invited there for a reason. And that reason gave him power.

The classroom Jim Doyle had taken over was not on the top floor of some mirrored-glass office building. Doyle’s laptop sat on a folding table, not a cherrywood desk. The chair the detective settled onto wasn’t Italian leather. It was plastic.

Doyle waved a hand over the stacks of neatly arranged paper on the table. “I’ve had my people interview teachers and students here at the school to see what we might discover about the murder victims. We talked to their parents, friends, businesspeople in town, the parents’ friends—in a town this size it means we’ve talked to almost everyone.” The detective took a sip from his can of Diet Coke. He paused and opened his lips, and Chase could hear the soda sizzle on the back of the man’s tongue.

Chase looked at the empty chair and shook his head. “Where’s Dolly’s stepfather? Mind me askin’? I’d like to say, ah—you know.”

Doyle tapped at his laptop. “Victor, that his name, right? He’s with his sister in Fort Morgan. I guess he visits her on his day off from the restaurant. We notified him. He didn’t take it well, as you’d imagine. He wants to be here. I suggested they wait until the weather improves.”

“Good.” Chase paced to the window and looked out at the snow.

“I do have some questions for you,” Doyle said.

“I don’t know what I can add. This is the first time I’ve been back to Brandon in almost sixteen years.”

Doyle adjusted his eyeglasses. “And there are three dead bodies on the weekend you decided to come home.”

“I know.” In the instant after he spoke, anger flashed. “You thinkin’ I had somethin’ to do with it?”

“Not at all. Remember what I said to you in the gym?” He took another swig of the cola. “Sometimes the smallest thing tells the most.” Doyle waved for Chase to take a seat. “Please? I understand you saw Jimmy Riley with a girl the night before his body was found. What did you see? Be specific.”

Chase pulled down the zipper on his coat, took a chair, and told Doyle what he could remember about that night. Except for sips of diet pop, Doyle never moved, never took a note or so much as nodded his head.

When Chase had finished, Doyle asked, “We know Jimmy was dating Dolly Benavidez. Is that who you saw in the truck with him?”

“I can’t be sure.”

“But Dolly is your sister, isn’t she?”

“Half-sister”—the image of a burned and blackened body filled his mind—“and I’ve never actually met her.”

Doyle shuffled through some papers on the desk and lifted a single sheet with handwriting scrawled across it. “But on Saturday morning you went to the bank here in Brandon and set up a college account for her. And quite a sizeable amount, if I understand correctly.”

“That’s none of your business, and if my banker told you that, I’ll have words with her.”

“It came up in our conversation. She also told me that even though you haven’t been back for sixteen years, you’ve been quite involved in the community here. Donations to the schools. Churches. You’ve paid property taxes each year for some who can’t.” He gestured with the pop can. “I take it that there are other things.”

The hair on the back of Chase’s neck bristled. “I am going to talk with my banker.”

“Don’t be too hard on her. The woman was nervous. She misunderstood me when I mentioned the word
subpoena.
”

Chase took a breath. “Yes, I did set up a fund for Dolly’s college. I’ll give my banker permission to show you the records of the other kids from Brandon I’ve helped out. No need for a subpoena. And none of this is helpin’ you find out anything about Dolly or Jimmy or Coach.”

“I suppose it’s not.” Doyle slid a copy of the Brandon High School yearbook across the table to Chase. “I thought you might want to look at this. Dolly’s picture is on page seventy-five. She was a lovely girl. I see a family resemblance.”

Chase left the book flat on the table. He opened the cover. Sticky notes marked the corners of three pages.

“Those are so you can find the pages for Jimmy Riley and the coach.” Doyle stood up. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“No, you won’t.” Chase shut the cover of the book. “You’ll tell me right now why I’m here.” Ball games had trained Chase to harness his emotions, but this was not the same as being on the basketball court.

Doyle sat back in his chair. He slipped his eyeglasses from his face, pivoted, and held them to the light. The corners of his mouth turned down, and he took a plaid handkerchief from his back pocket. He lifted the glasses to his mouth, breathed out, and began to polish each lens. “You’re free to go anytime. As much as the sheriff wants you to be involved, in my estimation there is absolutely no reason to believe you are. We checked out your story. You were in Cheyenne Wells when you said you were. We even found a hunter who saw your truck in the field just after dawn. All that will be in my report.” He held his glasses to the light one more time and then put them on.

“So Kendall thought I had somethin’ to do with all this?”

“More that he wanted you to be involved.” Doyle tapped his pop can on the tabletop. “Was the girl you took home after the ball game all those years ago Ms. Saylor from the café?”

“Yeah.”

“I gathered as much.” Doyle folded his hands and looked across the table. “Mr. Ford, a significant portion of my job involves helping law enforcement in smaller communities. The state can offer resources and experience that they don’t have or cannot afford. Most individuals I deal with are sincere and want justice done. A few times over the years I’ve encountered individuals who see someone else’s tragedy as an opportunity to further their own personal ambitions.”

“You’re talking about Kendall?”

“Let’s just say I raised a hypothetical.” Doyle held Chase’s stare for a moment and then looked at the screen of his laptop.

The corners of the windows fogged with gray haze, and in the parking lot outside snow twirled in the wind. “Everybody knows he’s a prick,” Chase said.

“Others wouldn’t be so kind, Mr. Ford.” Doyle stood up. “Off the record, the sheriff believes his bowel movements have no odor.”

Chase grinned. “I think I had the wrong idea about you.”

“I didn’t about you.” Doyle looked at the screen of his laptop. “Kendall should be here anytime. It might be best if you weren’t here when he arrives.”

“No.” Chase shook his head. “Let’s get whatever he thinks about me out in the open so we can figure out if whoever killed Jimmy and Coach murdered my sister.”

Doyle didn’t correct him. Maybe the detective hadn’t heard him. But Chase doubted that Doyle ever missed anything.

“I’m needed in the gym.” Doyle’s fingers slid the yearbook closer to Chase. “Are you certain you want to stay?”

Chase nodded. “I have to.”

He waited until the door shut behind Doyle before he opened the book. He flipped it open to the first of the pages Doyle had marked. Coach Porter stood in the center of the ball court, one arm over the shoulder of a player, the other pointing to be sure the boy understood some part of the game they were practicing. Gray showed in the coach’s hair, but it was the same man Chase remembered. Teaching and caring. The two things Coach did best.

A few pages farther on, the next sticky note marked the Brandon Buffalos varsity basketball team. The players had been posed in the same way as in the state-championship picture outside of the gym. Jimmy Riley stood in Chase’s center spot, and teammates on either side turned toward him. Jimmy held a basketball in both hands, waist high, and with a smile on his face the boy seemed to dare the whole world to stay out of his way.

The last image was the one Chase needed to see most. It was the smallest of the three. On a page with rows of other pictures, someone had used a ballpoint pen to circle one girl. Her hair was dark; his was blond. But her eyes, cheeks, and chin were so much like his father’s. So much like his own. Where Jimmy’s smile was daring, this smile showed innocence. Dolly Benavidez was a beautiful girl with so much to live for.

Chase let the book cover fall closed.

But his half-sister was dead.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Sheriff Kendall bounced the county’s new GMC pickup over the curb into the parking lot at the Sundowner Motel. The TV van followed him in and rolled to a stop in front of a door marked with the number three. No other cars were in the lot. Most of the deer hunters had headed home, and the old man who owned the motel had turned off the
no
on the
no vacancy
sign.

The gorilla who ran the camera and did all the technical stuff jumped out of his van, flipped up the hood of his parka, and dug into his pants pocket for the key to the door.

Kendall looked over at Jody. “Which one’s your room?”

“On the far end.” A gust of wind sent a wave of snow off the flat roof on the one-story stucco building. Jody put a purr in her voice and tilted her head the way he liked. “Looks cold. Wanna come in for a few minutes?”

God, did he. And not for just a few minutes. He wanted to spend all night getting into that little thing. But—“I saw Chase Ford’s truck at the school when we drove by. I need to get over there and hear what he has to say.”

“I could come along.”

“Not now. I’ll send someone to get you when Mercy brings supper over. I’ll fill you in on what we find out then.” He licked his lips. “And I’ll give you a ride back here when we’re done.”

Jody touched his hand on the steering wheel. “Whatever you say, Sheriff.” Her cell phone was at her ear before her feet touched the pavement.

He cut through the parking lot at Town Pump and turned left onto the four-lane road. When he got to the high school, he parked next to Chase’s truck.

*   *   *

Birdie was sure that Ray-Ray had nothing to do with the murders. He was guilty as sin of hollering too loud when Puckett’s buffalo knocked down his fence and got into his alfalfa. Guiltier still of being an odd duck. Even if he was guilty of hunting without a license, Ray-Ray wouldn’t stop to answer any questions until Ray-Ray wanted to. Besides her, she couldn’t guess at how many deputies and troopers had spent a day and a half proving that.