“It must be very hard for you.” Before taking the class he wouldn’t have known what to say. But that didn’t seem strong enough, somehow.
Shahla was silent. And Tony didn’t know what else to say. Should he ask for details? It was time for her to go into the house, but he didn’t want to push her to get out of the car. That would seem heartless. He saw a light on in an upstairs window. Perhaps her mother had heard them drive in. As Shahla had said, his wasn’t the quietest car in the world. At least Mom would know her daughter was safe.
“My father was coming home from a meeting at night,” Shahla said softly. She seemed to be speaking to herself. “He stopped at a place like a 7-Eleven to get a loaf of bread or something. A man came into the store and pulled a gun on the clerk. I don’t think he even saw my father. The clerk gave him the money, and the robber was going to take him to the back of the store, probably to shoot him. My father intervened, and the bastard shot him.”
“Oh.” When Shahla remained silent, Tony said, “And the clerk?”
“The robber lost his cool at that point. He shot at the clerk and then took off. The clerk was wounded, but he survived. That’s how we know what happened.”
“And they didn’t get him?”
“No, they did. But the police screwed it up. They didn’t read him his rights, or something. The man made a confession, but the court threw it out. It was a big mess. He never went to jail.”
“No wonder you don’t like the police.”
Tony had been looking straight ahead out the car window at the house, but Shahla was silent so long that he stole a look at her. In the moonlight he could see tears running down her cheeks. He felt very awkward. He should do something to comfort her, but what?
She laid her head on his shoulder. He didn’t dare move. He felt tense and uncomfortable. He had never felt that way with a girl before. After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably no more than five minutes, she lifted her head and said, “I have to go.”
She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and got out of the car. After she entered the house and closed the door, Tony sat for a minute, with conflicting emotions. Then he started the car, revved the engine, and backed out of the driveway.
CHAPTER 11
Nobody stopped Tony as he walked through the door into the gymnasium. He knew that a visitor entering the high school campus was supposed to report to the administration office first, but school was over for the day and, anyway, the gymnasium was next to the parking lot, somewhat removed from the classrooms.
The inside of the building immediately brought back memories of every gymnasium he had ever been in, with its wooden pull-out bleachers and the basketball nets at either end. And perhaps a faint odor of sweat, or was that his imagination? Tony could remember his own days on his high school basketball team, vividly, although his memories consisted mostly of him riding the bench while the taller, quicker and more talented players received the playing time.
A volleyball net dominated the center of the floor. A couple of dozen fans were scattered throughout the bleachers, some students, some parents. A few may have been grandparents. He was too old to be a student and too young to be a parent. Where did he fit in? Feeling self-conscious, Tony picked a seat near the door of the gym and put his cell phone on vibrate. If he received a call, he would run outside and take the call there. He didn’t want to have the background noise of a sporting event if Mona, his boss, called. And since it was 3:30 in the afternoon, that was a real possibility.
Tony hadn’t responded positively to Shahla’s feeling that Martha might be Joy’s killer, thinking that it sounded more like jealousy on Shahla’s part. Martha and Joy had enjoyed a certain amount of intimacy over the years, in spite of the supposed differences in their ability. He had decided, however, that if he was going to actively assist in the investigation, every lead was worth following up, to determine if it should be reported to Detective Croyden. But he didn’t want Shahla present to color his judgment.
The teams were huddling around their coaches; the match was about to start. The Bonita Beach players wore white home uniforms with red numbers on the shirts. The other team was dressed in green. The players on either side placed their hands together in the center of their circle and shouted bonding words, intended to psych them up for the battle to come. Then the six starters of each team trotted onto the court.
Tony had no trouble picking out Martha from Shahla’s description. She was tall and lanky and looked a bit awkward, in a body that had grown faster than her coordination. Acne spoiled her otherwise pretty face, indelibly marking her as a teenager, even though with her size she could have been a lot older.
The female referee, who sat on a platform at courtside, blew her whistle and gestured with her arm. A Bonita Beach player served the ball and the game began. Tony was immediately impressed by the quality of the play. Of course, here in the beach volleyball capital of the world, outstanding players were the rule, but Tony, who had grown up in western New York, was always fascinated with them.
Each player knew her role. One of the back players would dig out a smash so hard that Tony barely saw it and bump it to the setter. The Bonita Beach setter moved like a ballet dancer. She handled good balls and bad balls alike, making perfect sets, low, high, and sometimes backwards over her head in response to secret signals that Tony didn’t understand.
Unfortunately, the Bonita Beach hitters didn’t do as well. They scored some kills, but they also hit balls out of bounds or into the net. And too often two of the opposing players would leap at the same time as the hitter and block the ball back into the Bonita Beach court, often for a point or a side out.
In the middle of the first game, Tony felt his cell phone vibrate. He got up from his seat and walked quickly through the door of the gym, extracting the phone from his shirt pocket as he went. Outside he pressed the Talk button and said, “This is Tony.”
“Tony, Mona.”
“Hi.” Several students were talking loudly nearby. He walked away from them, hoping their voices wouldn’t carry over the phone.
“How is that presentation coming for the lunch tomorrow?”
He was presenting the company program to a group of doctors. Mona, who didn’t usually accompany him for these presentations, was going with him. Everything had to be perfect.
“It’s almost ready. I’ve got one more call to make, and then I’m coming back to the office to work on it. I should be there by six.” It was the correct thing to do. Mona was a workaholic, and he knew she’d still be there. He looked at his electronic organizer. “Oh, I forgot. I’m supposed to work at the Hotline tonight. Well, maybe I can skip that.”
“Do you have any calls scheduled for tomorrow morning?”
“Well, no.”
“Can’t you finish the presentation then? I don’t want you to miss the Hotline. I’ve noticed a change in you since you started there. You’re more sensitive to people.”
“Thanks. Yeah, I guess I can finish it in the morning.” That’s what he had been planning to do before Mona called. And now it was her idea, which was good. And his working on the Hotline had also been her idea. Whatever it took to keep her happy. Within limits.
They said goodbye, and Tony walked back inside. As he took his seat, Martha spiked the ball into the net. She hit the ball hard, but not always where she wanted it to go. Occasionally she scored with a blistering shot, and the handful of spectators would yell their approval. When she learned to control her shots, she would be a standout. Tony guessed that would happen within two years. She did better on defense. Using her height and jumping ability to advantage, she blocked several shots.
Tony hadn’t seen Joy play volleyball, but he suspected that she had looked a lot like Martha on the court-with better coordination. Shahla said she had been a league all-star. Bonita Beach could have used her today. The opponents lacked an outstanding player, but their teamwork eventually paid off in a close victory. Their players were ecstatic. They probably hadn’t beaten Bonita Beach for a long time.
After the game, the Bonita Beach players congratulated the players of the other team, an act of good
