“‘Dear Superintendent Jacobson.’”
“Not that part—the first line of the letter.” I took the paper from her and read it myself. “‘I am writing to you to express my interest in the recently vacated position of Head Football Coach.’”
“So? Oh.” She took the letter back from me. “Recently vacated? He wrote this today? Talk about not even letting the body get cold.”
“That’s the thing,” I said. “Look at the date.” I pointed to the date he’d typed in the left corner.
“It’s post-dated for a month from now.”
I nodded. “But his footer auto-dated it.” I pointed to the tiny printing at the bottom of the paper, which was stamped with the date the letter had been written.
Her mouth dropped open. “Five days ago.”
I nodded again. “He printed this out the day before the coach died.”
Chapter 9
Things were much calmer at the PHS stadium during the youth football game than they had been during the high school homecoming game, but the concession stand was still hopping. Evangeline was working alone this time.
“The kids all called in,” she said. “Apparently strep is going around.” She made air quotes around the word strep. “I’m sure there was something much more exciting going on this afternoon. Oh, to be young again. Can’t say I blame them. But my feet are killing me. Something about standing on this hard concrete floor for hours.” She snagged a hot dog from the roller, slipped it into a bun, and handed it over to a little girl who’d been waiting at the counter when I arrived. “What can I do for you? Dog? It’s on the house.” She grabbed another hot dog with her tongs and wiggled it in the air.
“Actually, I’m here on official business,” I said, pulling out my pad and pencil.
She dropped the frank back on its roller and pushed her hair net off of her forehead, leaving a red elastic imprint in her skin. “The hit-and-run?”
My fingers went numb around the pencil. I wanted to jump up and down and point at my nose, as if she’d gotten a charade correct. Instead, I played it cool. Well, as cool as I could, leaning over the counter and stage-whispering, “So they didn’t get to you,” as if we were in the grips of some sort of espionage.
“Who didn’t get to me?”
“The chief is saying there was no hit-and-run. And it seems everyone in Parkwood is just willing to go along with that. They’re all trying to say that he just dropped dead.”
“Oh,” she said. “Well, that’s probably because he didn’t have a lot of fans here.”
“Was he really that bad?” I asked.
“People around here take their football very seriously,” she answered. “For some of these kids, it’s their only ticket to college.”
“Including Paulie Henderson?”
Her eyes darkened as if I’d just trod on some dangerous ground. She hustled to the nacho cheese warmer, pulled off the lid, and stirred vigorously. “I don’t know anything about Paulie Henderson, except that he very kindly volunteers his time to officiate these youth games. The parents out here just love that boy.”
“That boy threatened the coach the very night of the hit-and-run. I know I wasn’t the only one to hear that, but everyone is acting as if I was.”
“But what about Wickham Birkland? He had a beef with him earlier that day,” she said. “They had a run-in at the four-way stop.”
“True. But Wickham has a beef with everyone everyday.”
“You should still look long and hard at him.”
I thought it odd that she was trying to point the finger at Wickham. Did she have some sort of grudge against him, or was she trying to focus the investigation away from Paulie? Or did she actually believe Wickham could have done it? I made a mental note to tread lightly around her when it came to both Paulie and Wickham. “I’m planning to talk to Wickham, too. But first, I think I should at least consider the kid who threatened to kill him. That just seems like the most obvious place to start.”
She stopped what she was doing, came back to me, and leaned over the counter, pressing her fists against the plastic countertop. Her muscles looked tight. “Listen, Hollis. I know we just met, but I like you, so I’m going to tell you something you may not want to hear. Leave this story alone. When you lie and cheat, you gain enemies, and Gerald Farley learned that the hard way. Some enemies are willing to go farther than others, so you should just let this go. Entirely.” We locked eyes for a long moment. If I didn’t know better, I would think Evangeline Crane knew something about Coach Farley’s hit-and-run. She released her fists and smiled. “You should really have one of our hot dogs. The new roller keeps them so plump and juicy.”
I was going to gain a hundred pounds working in this town.
I got my story. New roller donated by The Glove and Handbag Club, hot dogs plump and juicy, no more greasy hot dog water, franks flying off the shelves, the snack shop making more money than ever, et cetera, et cetera. Nothing more than I had to begin with, except I got a few quotes from Evangeline, from some kids who happened to belly up to the bar, and from a couple moms in the stands. Everyone seemed to be in agreement—the hot dog roller was the best thing to happen to that stadium since they went two-ply in the restrooms.
Yet I couldn’t keep my mind off of the real story at the stadium, and only went through the motions of jotting notes and names and getting photo permission slips signed while my mind mulled over the Coach Farley situation. I still had questions. Like if Wickham was always sparring with someone, why would this one lead him to murder? Why would the coach be in the lower lot in the first place? And how dangerous was Paulie
