'He didn't even leave us the damn cookies,' Payson managed.
'Cookies?' I almost choked on the word. 'Did you say cookies?'
Payson grinned sheepishly and swiped at his eyes. 'Girl Scout cookies. Pretty stupid, huh? But it was a tradition. Every member of the team got his own personal box of cookies after the first game in the tournament-win or lose, it didn't matter.'
I hadn't expected an answer to the Girl Scout cookie question this early in the investigation. 'Why Girl Scout cookies?' I asked.
'Coach Altman, our first coach. His wife was a Girl Scout leader, and he always brought cookies. Coach Ridley said he was going to do the same thing. And he did, last year. I guess this time he just forgot.'
'He didn't forget,' I said.
Bob Payson's eyes lit up. 'He didn't?'
'The trunk of his car was full of Girl Scout cookies. Something kept him from giving them to you, but he didn't forget.' It was small enough comfort, but Payson seemed to appreciate it.
Embarrassed, he mopped a tear from his face. 'Knowing that makes me feel better and worse, both. How come?'
I shook my head. 'Beats me,' I said. 'Can you think of anything else, Bob?'
'No. Can I go now?'
'Sure,' I said, 'you've been a big help. Thanks.'
As Payson got up, I glanced across the room to where Peters was talking to one of the cheerleaders. She had broken down completely. She had buried her face in her arms and was sobbing uncontrollably. Candace Wynn patted her shoulder and gently straightened the girl's hair.
All other eyes in the room turned warily toward the weeping girl. Raw emotion can be pretty tough to take, especially when everyone is feeling much the same thing, but only one or two have nerve enough to express those feelings.
The counselor leaned down and spoke into the girl's ear. She quieted some, and I went on to the next boy on the team. Peters finished with the cheerleading squad long before I had worked my way through the team. In the course of the interviews it became apparent to me why Bob Payson was captain. None of the other boys was either as observant or as articulate as Bob had been. They told me more or less the same things he had, but without some of the telling details.
By three o'clock, parents began arriving to take their kids home. I could see Ned Browning's handiwork in that as well. One way or another, he was going to make sure the likes of Maxwell Cole didn't lay hands on any of his 'young people' as long as they were in the school's care and keeping.
Unfortunately, I knew the news media a little more intimately than Ned Browning did. I guessed, and rightly so, that reporters would make arrangements to snag the students at home if they couldn't reach them at school. Had Ned and I discussed the matter, I could have told him so.
By the time the last of the students had left, Peters and I were wiped slick. As usual, we had worked straight through lunch and then some. Candace Wynn looked like she'd been pulled through a wringer, too. We invited her to join us for coffee at Denny's, a suggestion she accepted readily. It wasn't totally gentlemanly behavior on our part, though. We still hadn't interviewed her.
I waited politely until she had swallowed a sip or two of coffee before I tackled her. 'Mrs. Wynn,' I began.
'Call me Andi,' she said. 'I hate my name.'
'Andi, then. Were you at the game?'
She nodded and smiled. 'Where the cheerleaders go, there go I.'
'Can you tell us anything about that night, anything odd or unusual that you might have noticed about Mr. Ridley.'
Her eyes clouded. 'You'll have to bear with me,' she said. 'We were good friends. It's hard to…'
'We understand that,' Peters interjected. 'Your point of view might be just that much different from the kids', though, you could give us some additional insight.'
She sighed. 'I knew him a long time. I never saw him as upset as he was that night.'
'Any idea why?'
'No. I tried to talk to him about it during halftime, but he just cut me off.'
'Are you the one who came to the dressing room door?'
Andi gave me an appraising look, as though surprised that I knew about that. She nodded. 'He said he couldn't talk, that he was busy with the team. He shut me out completely.'
'What about after the team left the dressing room? Did you see him talking with anyone in the hallway? Something or someone made him late for the second half.'
'I knew he was late, but I didn't see anyone with him.'
'Could he have been sick? Did he say anything to you?'
'No.'
'Did you talk to him after the game at all?'
'I left during the third quarter. My mother's sick. I had to go see her. I was late getting back.'
'So you never talked to him again, after those few words at the dressing room door.'
'No.' She choked on the word. 'Something was wrong. He looked terrible. If only I…' She stopped.
'If only you what?'
'If only I could have helped him.' She pushed her coffee cup away and got up quickly. 'I'm going,' she said. 'Before I embarrass myself.'
'We appreciate your help, Andi,' Peters said.
'It's the least I can do.'
We watched her drive out of the parking lot in a little red Chevy Luv with a bumper sticker that said she'd rather be sailing. As she pulled onto the access road, Peters said, apropos of nothing, 'How many women do you know who drive pickups?'
I shrugged. 'Not many, but it figures. She's a guidance counselor. My high school counselor at Ballard wore GI boots and drove a Sherman tank.'
Peters laughed. 'Come on now, Beau. Mrs. Wynn isn't that bad. I think she's cute. And she really seems to care about those kids.'
On our way back to the Public Safety Building, Peters and I compared notes from our respective interviews. The cheerleading squad had been able to tell Peters very little that the team hadn't already told me, except they said Darwin Ridley had been five minutes late coming into the game after halftime.
The cheerleaders had taken a short break at the beginning of the third quarter, and they had followed Darwin Ridley onto the court. None of them were able to tell who or what had delayed him between the dressing room and the basketball court.
It wasn't much of a lead, but it was something. It gave us another little sliver of the picture. It didn't tell us what exactly had gone awry in Darwin Ridley's life that last day of his existence, but it was further testimony that something had been sadly amiss.
All we had to do was find out what it was. Piece of cake, right?
Sure. We do it all the time.
CHAPTER 9
I could probably get away with saying that I went to Bailey's after work that day because I'm a dedicated cop who doesn't leave a single stone unturned. I could claim that once I'm on a case, I work it one hundred percent of the time. I could say it, but it wouldn't be true.
The visit to the store was necessary because I was out of coffee. And MacNaughton's. And the state liquor store is right across the street from Bailey's parking lot.
So much for dedication.
To my credit, I did have my mind on the case. In fact, I was mentally going back over Bob Payson's interview, word for word, trying to see if there were any additional bits and pieces that could be pulled from what he had told
