26. Chapter 26
Chapter 26
Elise
S tanding in the shade of the tall pine, I eyed the map Rose had given me of the racecourse. She, along with the rest of her family, said this was the best spot to cheer for the racers since they would pass it three times.
Avery, their oldest kid, and Rose’s big sister, was my age. We’d run together on Dad’s team since we were freshmen, and I was more than aware of what a tough competitor she could be. Yes, I had always been faster, but there were some runs, especially during interval training, where she would force me to lay it all on the line if I wanted to beat her. Hopefully today was one of those days that she was hungry for a win and willing to take down anyone who stood in her way.
A part of me wished I was out there with her. Running was much more fun when there was someone there to share in the struggle and push you.
All my life, I’d planned to train with Pete and his team, right up until that moment Sophie tripped me, and I had limped back to the team without Dad there to console me. Now, looking at this map, standing on this course while the girls lined up at the start, adrenaline rushed through my veins— pre-race jitters.
But I wasn’t even racing.
Did I want to be?
If I ran over and asked, would Pete hand me an extra jersey? I doubt he brought one. Besides, this was an NCAA sanctioned race. Random people who hadn’t been registered couldn’t just jump in. And hadn’t I already decided that I wasn’t going to run for anyone other than Dad?
I shook out my hands and rolled my neck. Support, I was here to support Dylan and Avery. And to corner Pete to figure out why the heck he’d been lying to me my whole life, especially when the information he’d withheld might be key to finding Dad’s killer.
Pop! A gunshot signaled the start of the race.
Arms pumped. Legs churned. As one, the girls spilled onto the course. Like the flow of a river sweeping down a hill. Bessey must have caught on to my excitement because she barked furiously as the girls neared. Rose stepped up beside me, along with her mom, dad and grandpa. We all shouted for Avery and her teammates as they rushed past us. The cheering didn’t last long; these were collegiate athletes, which meant there wasn’t a slow girl among them. Every last runner had sped past us in less than thirty seconds.
“So they’ll go past the baseball complex, then head west until they hit the back parking lot?” I asked Rose.
“Right. From there, they’ll take the trail that loops around for about half a mile and come out down there.” She pointed to the paved area between two fences not far from where we stood.
“And how is our Rose doing with her running?” Rose’s Dad, Mr. Hartwell, asked as he eyed his youngest daughter.
Her mom and grandpa turned their gazes on me as well. I knew this conversation was coming. Avery had been pretty fast in high school, but Rose just wasn’t that kind of runner. She had a different build, and even though she tried her hardest, she would never achieve anything close to what her sister had done. Could Mr. and Mrs. Hartwell accept their daughter’s best efforts and recognize the amount of courage it took to come in last with your head held high?
“Honestly, I couldn’t be more proud of Rose. She puts her heart into every practice and race and always keeps such a great attitude. A few of our more seasoned runners could learn a lot from her.”
I paused, gauging the family’s reactions. Rose grinned. Her parents and grandparent smiled as well.
“Last week, at the race you weren’t able to make it to, she stopped to help one of her teammates who’d fallen and gotten pretty scraped up. She helped them up and let them lean on her until they made it back to our team’s camp.”
Rose hadn’t finished that race. Instead, she’d sat beside the injured teammate while Dylan doctored her bleeding leg. Sometimes, being an athlete is less important than being a compassionate person. Rose was stellar at telling the difference.
“That’s my girl.” Mr. Hartwell patted his daughter on the back.
Even though he was my coach, I’d bet that Dad would have said the same thing to me if I’d dropped out of a race to help someone. Seeing Rose standing beside her father made the backs of my eyes sting.
I would have looked away if it hadn’t been for the hands that clapped over my face.
“Dylan,” I muttered.
The fingers fell away. “Aw, I didn’t even get to say ‘guess who.’ How did you know it was me?”
“Call it a hunch.”
He came around to face me, dressed in his Del Ray uniform and wearing his racing shoes. I’d forgotten how sexy he looked in his official running gear. Maybe it was because I’d grown up seeing them dressed this way, but there was something about a guy in those clothes and the way their cut away sides highlighted their pecs combined with those barely there shorts that left their leg muscles on full display. Seeing Dylan dressed this way got my heart pumping way faster than it should be.
“Thanks for coming out today.” He bumped me, and I tried not to stare at the definition in his tanned shoulders.
“No problem. I should have done this sooner considering how many of you are former teammates.”
“And could be your teammates again,” he said with a wink.
I just shook my head.
“What if we met Pete at his car in the parking lot after the race?” Dylan asked in a tone so low only I could hear.
“Probably a good idea since he’ll be done with all the race stuff, and there won’t be other people to listen in. Unless he drove with Sophie.” My skin crawled just saying the name.
Dylan shook his head. “She came in a different car; I checked.”
“Okay. I think we should meet somewhere else before heading there together.”
“Good idea. How about outside the bathrooms over there?” He pointed to a building on the other end of the park, not far from the finish line.
“That works. Don’t you need to get going?” The rest of his teammates were all clustered in a shady area, stretching.
“Yah, I better. Wish me luck.”
Just as Dylan walked away, the lead girls came charging around the corner. Two of Pete’s top girls whose names I didn’t know sped past, followed by someone from another team. I checked my watch. They were pacing just over five minutes a mile. Not bad.
As another cluster of girls rounded the corner, the Hartwell family and I burst into cheers. Avery, along with Sophie and one other teammate were among the crowd. At the sound of our voices, Avery broke free of the group and pushed ahead.
A quarter of an hour later, Sophie finished the race with a time of nineteen minutes and fifty-two seconds, which was three seconds faster than my personal record for six kilometers.
Unacceptable.
I needed to map out a new six-kilometer course with minimal traffic stops and run it as soon as possible. Tonight, if I could. No way would I settle for being slower than that backstabbing diva.
Avery ended up coming in at twelfth place, grimacing all the way to the finish. I didn’t have to see her face to know that trying to chat with her after the race would be pointless. She’d be ticked. Dropping from fifth to twelfth place was the kind of thing she would stew about for a week, if not longer.
I hugged her when she reached us and told her she did great—even though she wouldn’t believe me— then headed to where the boys were lining up. Pete’s crew stood in a huddle; their arms wrapped around each other’s backs. Though I couldn't hear what they were saying, it was impossible to miss the whoop Dylan gave when they broke apart.
They took their places in the massive lineup, faces stony, except for Dylan who bounced from foot to foot with a massive grin on his face.
Pete raised his gun and shot into the air. He then hurried to get out of the way as a wall of boys came rushing toward him. Dylan was in a good position near the front of the pack. The guy did have a powerful sprint thanks to those well-toned thighs, hamstrings and abs.
I really needed to stop checking him out, especially since I wasn’t sure if I wanted to take the plunge and explore the rush of emotions that hit me every time he was near.
In a matter of seconds, the boys all disappeared around the first turn.
Jogging to where I’d stood for the majority of the girls’ race, I pulled out my map. The boys’ course was different from the girls’ since their race was eight kilometers rather than the six the girls ran. It looked like they would still pass this spot three times before taking an extra loop around the park.
Waiting for the boys to finish their first mile and round the corner, I spotted Tara in leggings and a t-shirt that was tied to one side, exposing her stomach. With Del Ray hosting the race, their coaching staff should have more than enough to keep them busy, so why was Tara in the middle of the course yelling into her phone instead of helping Pete? Why had he even hired her in the first place? She’d been nearly useless as head coach at our school last year, leaving most of the work to me, even though I was only a student and not technically on the team, thanks to my injury.
The thud of feet signaled the arrival of the first racer. I took one last glance at Tara who was too busy throwing her arms about in angry motions to even notice the runners she was supposed to be coaching.
What a waste of a salary.
Rolling my eyes, I turned to cheer for the pack of three boys hustling by all wearing the purple and gold Del Ray uniform. Close behind were two more, one from Del Ray, one from another school. A few more seconds and four more boys emerged, another of Pete’s runners among them. Soon, seven from Del Ray had passed. Where did Dylan rank on this team?
He came around the corner in the next instant, flanked by two competitors. I shouted his name, and he flashed me a quick smile before his features hardened back into a look of determination. The timer on my watch read four minutes and forty-nine seconds— this crowd was fast.
A few more of Pete’s boys came by, and though I clapped for them, a heavy emotion slid down my throat, settling like lead in my stomach. Seeing Pete’s girls in their purple and gold warm-ups walking together toward the parking lot, laughing and shouting at one another confirmed it. I really missed this. Coaching wasn’t the same as being a part of the action.
Here came the boys again. Even though it was forced, I shouted and cheered for the Del Ray team with the rest of the crowd. When Dylan came into view, he gave me a weird look. Could he tell I was bothered with just a glance? I forced a smile before he hurried past me. He needed to focus on his race, not worry about me.
When the last of the runners had come by, I stole a glance in the direction of the canopies labeled Cal State Del Ray. A few of the girls had lingered there, along with Tara, who was still using animated gestures while she spoke, though she no longer held the phone. Instead, she’d cornered an unfortunate girl who held a defensive stance, like she expected the woman to deck her at any moment.
“What a joke,” I muttered.
“You’re tellin’ me.”
I jumped, then turned to face Pete who stood a few feet away, holding a clipboard.
“I can’t get her to do anything when she’s like this.” Pete waved in the direction of the canopies. “Got any suggestions?”
“When she’s like what; why is she acting so rabid?”
Chuckling, he patted my shoulder. “Rabid, now that’s the perfect description.”
“Seriously though, why did you hire Tara? You must have seen that she was a terrible high school coach; why bring her on?”
“You know, that’s a great question. Been askin’ myself the same thing all day. Truth is, we had a sudden vacancy in the assistant coach position that had to be filled, and I couldn’t find anyone else in time. Remember Ed? His wife was diagnosed with early onset dementia, and he needed to move her to be closer to family. They’re not sure how much longer she can be left on her own to take care of their three little girls.”
“Oh wow, I’m really sorry to hear that.”
What a horrible situation for their young family.
“But why Tara?” I asked. “Sure, she ran in college with you, but when she was with the Sea Lions, I was doing most of the work for her. There had to be someone you could find who would be more qualified, even if it’s a random person off the street.”
Pete snorted. “Can’t argue there. I wish I’d have known how useless she was over at Clearfield. Could have saved me a whole lot of headaches.”
Now it was my turn to laugh. “My assistant coach gives me plenty of headaches as well.”
Here came the boys running along the dirt path worn into the grass.
Pete pulled out his stopwatch and clucked his tongue. “That’s a four, forty-four-minute mile pace, Stanley. Let’s see if we can pick it up.”
The lead boy gave an almost imperceptible nod as he loped past. Not far behind were two of his teammates. Pete called out their pace as well. When Dylan passed by and heard his stats, he broke into a grin. Four minutes and fifty-two seconds was an excellent speed for a walk-on freshman.
Soon, the last of Del Ray’s runners hurried by, and Pete paused to jot a few notes on his clipboard. I could ask him if we could talk after the meet before he hurried over to the finish line, but maybe it would be better if we caught him off guard.
The two of us jogged together toward the finish. He watched my stride with an evaluating gaze that couldn’t have missed that not only was I no longer injured, but also in shape.
What could I do other than pretend not to notice?
Before long, Pete and his crew were positioned to receive runners at the finish line. Del Ray totaled nine of the top ten finishers—not bad at all.
When Dylan came into view, I shouted and clapped, even though the sound was swallowed by the crowd. Where was a cowbell when you needed one?
I glanced between my watch and the guy’s sprint, squinting to see the exact moment when he crossed the line. Twenty-four minutes and nineteen seconds—a great race for him. Hadn’t he been running about a seventeen-minute five kilometer race last year? If so, he had added another 3 kilometers while dropping his pace by over thirty seconds a mile.
Not too shabby, Dylan.
Since it would be a while before the last of the racers came through and even longer before Pete was ready to pack up, I headed toward the Del Ray camp.
Close enough to hear the chatter, I stopped to lean against a nearby tree. Dylan hadn’t wandered over yet, but many of the other boys had. Their second place finisher laid on the grass with his hands laced atop his chest. With his wide glasses, it was impossible to tell whether he was asleep or awake. Another was bent in a stretch, while two of his teammates stood laughing and flirting with one of the girls.
“Hey, why don’t you come meet everyone?” Dylan asked as he approached.
I scrunched my nose, but he ignored the gesture. Winking, he threaded his hand through mine and tugged me in the direction of the others.
“Hey everyone, this is Elise Sudbury, Dave Sudbury’s daughter.”
A few eyes widened in acknowledgment. Did they recognize Dad’s name because of his reputation or the recent news of his death?
I pulled at our joined hands, hoping to make a quiet exit, but Dylan tightened his grip.
“Give them a chance; they’re nice,” he murmured. “Besides, you belong here.”
Why was this guy so determined to chip away at every wall I built?
Since almost all of them were staring at me, I opted for a tight smile. “Hi.”
Except for the sleeping teammate and Ryan, a boy who had also run with us last year, Dylan guided me to each person and told me their names. Even though I tried to be polite, the way their brows drew together, as well as their clipped words said my annoyance was clearly visible.
“Uh oh,” Dylan said when he spotted Tara storming toward the group. “Here we go again. Whatever you do, do not make eye contact and especially don’t mention anything about men, relationships, or marriage or you’ll get an earful.”
A breeze blew Tara’s fluff of bangs up in one thick mass. Normally, she would have paused to adjust her mane, but today, she ignored it and kept marching forward. Dylan guided me to where his bag lay, then pulled me to kneel beside him.
“Don’t look up,” he murmured as Tara stomped by.
She came to a stop in front of Jessica, the girl who was still busy flirting with two of the boys. “You know what I wish someone would have told me before I got married?” Tara blurted.
I turned enough to see the girl’s wide blinking eyes. Her friends edged away slowly.
“Get a prenup. That way, when you marry a pretty playboy who flushes all your hard work and money down the drain, you won’t be the one left holding the bag, and you can dump his sorry behind and be on your merry way.”
Mouth gaping, Jessica stared. What was she supposed to say?
“I told you. She’s been like this all day,” Dylan whispered.
After making some excuse about being late to a meeting, the girl grabbed her things and hurried away. Both Dylan and I turned our attention back to his bag.
“Hi, Elise. I didn’t think I’d see you at one of these events.” Tara strode over to us. Her words were kind enough, but her expression was hard.
I rose. “Oh, hi, Tara. I just came out to show some support.” Normally, I might have asked how she was doing, but since she would probably take that as an invitation to vent, I only offered her a brief smile.
“You ready to go, Dylan?”
“I sure am.” He slung his bag over his shoulder, and together, we walked in the opposite direction of the psycho.
“You two are getting pretty cozy,” she called. “I guess it makes sense with all the time you’re spending together.”
I stopped but didn’t turn around.
“Ignore her.” Dylan tugged on my arm.
“No, wait. We’ve been wanting to talk to her anyway, and she’s upended. Right now might be the perfect time to get some information out of her.”
“I don’t know.” He bit his lip. “She seems more in the mood to throw axes and listen to angry girl music than to have a helpful conversation.”
“It can’t hurt to try.”
Dylan groaned like a bear being woken from hibernation as I dragged him back toward the woman.
“So, what’s all this about pretty playboys who flush your money down the drain?” I asked when we got close.
Dylan looked at me like I’d just kicked a buffalo in the shins.
Tara gave a humorless laugh. “Buckle up, sweetie, because the truth isn’t pretty. Any guy who likes you for your looks will use you, suck your bank accounts dry, cheat on you and move on once you no longer have anything to offer them.”
“So, you’re saying your husband has been having an affair and lost all your money?” I asked.
Tara wagged her finger. “Not just an affair, multiple affairs.”
Huh. Was this woman dressing like a teenager, bathing her head in hairspray, and throwing herself at every possible member of the opposite sex as a way to compensate for the rejection of her spouse? How sad.
“I’m really sorry, Tara. No one deserves that kind of treatment.”
“You just remember that before you go and get shackled to some loser yourself. When you have a pretty face, people don’t take you seriously. Mark my words, you’re going to have to battle that your whole life. I know I have.”
This from the fifty-something woman who flirted with teenagers and went around complaining about her relationships instead of doing her job.
“How did your husband lose all your money?” Dylan asked. He must have picked up on the direction I was heading.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Tara propped a hand on her hip, looking like a defiant teenager, aside from the wrinkles creeping in around her eyes.
Dylan crossed his arms and lifted his chin. “Try me.”
Tossing her high ponytail, Tara came closer. “Let’s just say the guy’s a loser in a big way.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Dylan was challenging her. Would she take the bait?
“It means my idiotic soon to be ex-husband loves to gamble big, even though I’m the one working to keep us from going under. He keeps losing, and I keep having to find new ways to come up with the cash, except now I’m done, and I won’t be surprised if the cops find him dead in some alley because I wasn’t there to clean up another one of his messes.”
“How have you cleaned up his messes in the past?” I tried to make the question sound nonchalant.
“Honey, there are some things you’re better off not knowing.” She patted my head like I was her sweet but stupid pet.
Dylan waved a dismissive hand. “Come on, I doubt you’ve really done that much. You’re just trying to make yourself sound like the hero.”
“Excuse me, you have no idea what you’re talking about.” Tara poked a pink manicured nail into his chest. Lowering her voice, she said, “I’ll have you know I have had to stand up to loan sharks and present them with detailed plans of how I would magically come up with the cash that playboy owed them on multiple occasions, all so he could go out and lose even more money.”
“And did that magic involve blackmail?” I asked, matching Tara’s low tone.
She darted a quick glance at me before saying, “I’m not answering that. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Judging by the color draining from her face, I knew exactly what I was talking about.
“What I want to know is what happens to those who you’ve been blackmailing if they don’t pay, or if you refuse to continue turning over their payments?”
“That’s not my problem,” she blurted. “All I ever did was ask for and collect the money. I never hurt anyone. Besides, I'm done with that life. I'm not going to be that person anymore. I was only trying to protect my husband, and now that I know he doesn’t care about me, I'm done.”
What a selfish, spoiled toddler.
I moved Dylan aside so I was directly in front of her. “You blackmailed my dad, didn’t you? You used the doping as a way to get money from him, and when he stopped paying, you killed him.”
Stepping back, Tara held her hands in front of her like a shield. “That’s not true. I didn’t kill him.” Her voice shook, right along with her body. “I never touched him.” Her voice was nearly a whisper. “Dave could’ve afforded the $1,250; why didn’t he listen to me and leave well enough alone?”
What did that mean? Had Dad planned to tell the truth, and that’s what got him killed? That or not paying the blackmail fee. Maybe both.
Watching Tara cry while streams of mascara and eyeliner dripped down her face, I folded my arms. “It sounds like whether you killed him yourself, or one of your loan shark buddies did it, you’re still the reason he was killed. You and your selfish blackmailing.”
Raking her manicured nails over her face, the woman let out a haunting wail. She took first one step back, then another, then broke into a run.
I could chase her, but what good would that do? Tara quickly reached her Jeep, jumped into the front seat and peeled out of the parking lot.
“What was that about?” came Pete’s voice from behind us.
I shook my head. What could I say when all I could think about was taking a crowbar to that woman’s pristine vehicle?
“I know you hate him, but we should probably report that to the detective and see if he’ll decide to open back up your dad’s case,” Dylan said. He watched me with a worried expression.
Pete raised his eyebrows. “Report what?”
I let Dylan do the explaining while I scowled in the direction Tara had fled. If it was the loan sharks that had killed Dad for not continuing his payments, wouldn’t they come after her if she tried to escape their clutches as well? Maybe all that hairspray was clogging her ability to think that far ahead.
Maybe reporting Tara’s partial admission could be as much about keeping her from meeting Dad’s fate as it would be about finding his murderers. Not that the brat deserved saving after what she’d done
With the meet over and his useless assistant gone, Dylan and I volunteered to help Pete with the cleanup. While we joined him in carrying his cones and other gear to his truck, I blurted a different question than the ones Dylan and I had discussed.
“Tara was blackmailing you too, wasn’t she?”