Steve fidgeted uncomfortably at breakfast. He'd been ravenous when he
first awoke, but now, he felt he could barely manage toast and coffee.
After their stop at the library yesterday, he and Maggie had returned to
the B&B for lunch. Then, after asking to be sure he really wanted to meet
some of the people who had known Lynn, she had gone to her room to make
some calls. They had gone for a drive that afternoon, and she had told him
about her plans for tomorrow.
He felt ok about meeting one of Lynn's teachers, her coach, and her major rival in basketball, but he wasn't at all sure he could face her parents after lunch. He really wished Maggie had asked him about that before she made the call, but now, after all she had done, he didn't feel right about asking her to cancel the meeting.
He also felt ashamed. He had spent the night in her bed again, just because he didn't feel like being alone. She never said anything, but he could tell by the tension in her embrace that she wanted more than he was ready to give. He felt like a louse for taking advantage of her friendship and compassion the way he had, but he knew he'd do it again in a moment. He needed to know that, when this was all over, she'd be waiting for him. He couldn't bear the thought of letting go of Lynn only to find he had nothing to hold on to.
"¿Qué piensas, gringo?"
"Hmm?"
"What you thinking?"
"Nothing, really. I'm just nervous, I guess."
"I imagine so." She reached across the table and took his hand. "Steve, I know there's no way I can understand what you're going through, but worrying too much can only make it worse. You're honoring her memory by doing this. If you let the people you meet today know that, it shouldn't be so bad."
"This is going to be so hard, Maggie."
"I know, Steve, but I will be there for you."
He smiled, bravely, he hoped. "Thanks, Mags, you're the best."
Dwayne Moffett was a big man, balding on top, graying on the sides, and just a little neurotic. He was immaculately dressed in a dark gray suit. He looked like he belonged in it, even though he fidgeted with his tie a lot; and his alert gray-blue eyes darted across the crowd of students changing classes in the halls as he escorted Steve and Maggie to the teachers' lounge.
"I'm the only one in this building who has third period planning," he told them, "so we should be able to talk in here without being interrupted. I'd invite you back to my classroom, but one of my students got sick during second period, and you just don't want to go in there until the custodian does something about it."
Maggie grimaced and whispered, "That was way too much information."
Steve grinned and hushed her. He liked Mr. Moffett already. The guy was a lot like his own eleventh grade English teacher. He supposed there was a factory somewhere that just kept cranking out these caring, fidgety, meticulous men, and he hoped they never stopped, because in his line of work, he met a lot of kids who needed someone to give a damn about them, and Mr. Moffett clearly gave a damn. Steve could tell by the way the kids greeted him on the hall that they liked and respected the man.
"Kimberly Staton, where is your term paper," he greeted a girl in the hall.
"I'll have it by fourth period, sir. I just have to finish the title page and bibliography."
"It better be ready, you know you need this grade."
"It will be, and you'll be proud of it," the kid grinned.
"I hope so." The teacher tried to give the girl a stern, inscrutable look, but Steve could tell he liked her and was really looking forward to reading her paper.
As they entered the lounge, Moffett said, "That young lady is a fine writer, but she has a real problem with deadlines, a lot like Lynn O'Hare."
Steve felt his heart beat faster as he was taken by surprise by how quickly they had arrived at the reason for his visit.
"I'm afraid we'll have to be brief, I have three parents to call, a meeting with the principal about the drama club's spring play, and lunch duty starts at twelve fifty-five. What did you want to know about Lynn?"
Steve squirmed uncomfortably, and said, "I'm not really sure, sir. I just need to know more about her. You said she had trouble making deadlines…"
"Well, Mr. Sloan…" The man paused a moment as if something had suddenly occurred to him. "Sloan! You're the one who shot her." Moffett's face turned an angry shade of red. "How *dare* you come here, expecting me to satisfy your morbid fascination with that lovely young woman. She's dead, and you're walking the streets, free, isn't that enough?"
Steve was so shocked he couldn't respond. It was the first time anyone beside himself had ever blamed him for Lynn's death, and he found the accusation cut him to his very soul. For a moment, he thought the world would cave in around him, then he heard a voice break the silence.
"Mr. Moffett, Steve shot Lynn in self-defense," he heard Maggie say.
"Oh? You were there and saw it, I suppose."
"No, but I know Steve Sloan, and I know he loved her. I know if there had been any other choice he would have taken it."
"And I knew Lynn O'Hare. She never would have done what he says she did."
"She dyed her hair and changed her name. That should tell you she wasn't the girl you knew anymore," Maggie argued. "The terrible thing that happened to her changed her…"
Steve interrupted, grateful for her defense of him, but now able to speak for himself.
"Maggie, it's ok. Mr. Moffett, you weren't there, and you don't know what really happened. You have no reason to believe me or forgive me just because I say I had no choice," Steve was willing to concede that point, "but I loved Lynn, more than even I realized, and since I've lost her, I've discovered that I really knew very little about her. It's natural for you to hold me responsible for what happened, after all, I am a stranger to you, but know this: You could never blame me for her death more than I already blame myself. She was troubled, and I didn't see it until was too late. Hate me all you want, if I had any sense, I would have expected it anyway. I am not asking for anyone's forgiveness, and I am not here seeking absolution. I just want you to honor her memory by telling me a little about what she was like before life was so cruel to her."
Moffett sat chewing his lower lip and stared at Steve for a moment. He must have seen the sincerity in him, for after a minute or two, he began to talk freely.
Lynn O'Hare was a hardworking student and a brilliant writer, so good in fact, that by the time Mr. Moffett had read her first paper, he knew he'd never be able challenge her and teach the rest of the class. So, he had pushed her to challenge herself. He gave her an A+ on her first paper, and told her the only way she would continue to earn A's would be to continue improving her work. Each time a paper was due, she was to come to him at lunch, and explain to him why she thought it was better than the previous one.
"She got so wrapped up in honing her craft that she started missing the due dates," Moffett said. "The first time it happened, I let it slide, but then I had to start knocking off a plus or minus every day it was late."
Wanting to improve not only her writing skill, but her speed as well, Lynn had given up her study hall to take typing and had joined the school newspaper to force herself to meet deadlines.
"It was amazing," Moffett said. "Within a month, her writing was clearer, crisper, and she was even turning things in early. I haven't yet had a better student."
Much to his chagrin, Moffett found that by midterms, she was making D's or F's in five of her other six classes and was in danger of losing her position on the team.
"I talked to her about that, and she said all she wanted to do was write. So, I told her, 'Miss O'Hare, when you get to college, they will expect you to complete all of your coursework, even for those classes you do not enjoy.' She just looked at me and said, 'College?' She had never considered getting a degree. 'Surely you anticipate a basketball scholarship,' I said, and she shook her head and told me, 'No, sir, I just play because it's fun.'"
With help from Coach Murdock, the guidance counselor, and a couple of other interested teachers, he convinced Lynn to go to college.
"Kids like Lynn O'Hare are the reason I became a teacher, and the reason, after twenty-seven years, I still am one."
Moffett looked at his watch then and said, "I must be going." He stood up and offered his hand to Steve and Maggie. "I don't know what to make of you, Mr. Sloan, but I am glad you came by. It was nice to talk about Miss O'Hare. She was an extraordinary young lady."
"Thank you, sir," Steve said politely, "It was good for me to get to know more about her."
"Just call me Jacqui," Lynn's former coach told them as she led them up the porch and into her tidy little house. "Would you care for coffee, tea, or something else?"
"Coffee would be fine, thanks," Steve said.
Maggie nodded her agreement, and the two of them waited in a small corner room that could only be called a parlor. It was immaculately clean, with not a speck of dust or a spot of clutter to be seen. A sofa, a chair, and a love seat, all covered in vibrant chintz and surrounding a low coffee table, filled most of the room, and photographs of what appeared to be family and friends decorated the walls. An enormous fern graced one window, and an even larger variegated spider plant filled the other. Below the fern, a tiered stand held a varied collection of healthy houseplants. There was neither television nor stereo, but instead Steve saw a tall, overstuffed bookshelf, and a small aquarium filled with vibrant tropical fish. Clearly, the main purpose for the room was to sit and chat with friends.
The tall, lean, still-athletic older woman brought back a tray bearing a silver coffee service and three steaming cups of a rich potent brew. She was a woman who didn't scrimp on the small things. Steve and Maggie each accepted a cup and settled back to talk.
"So," Jacqui began, "what did you want to know about Lynn O'Hare?"
Steve summoned his courage and drew in a deep breath to implement the plan he and Maggie had worked out after the difficult encounter with Mr. Moffett.
"Before we start, Jacqui, I think you have a right to know…" he swallowed hard, and before he could continue, Jacqui finished the thought for him.
"That you're the cop who shot Lynn? I knew that as soon as I heard your name." She shrugged as if it were no big deal. "I must tell you, Detective Sloan--Steve, isn't it?--you have a lot of nerve coming around here. You were the local villain for several weeks, and though things have cooled off in the past few months, you shouldn't expect the town of Santa Mera to welcome you."
Steve looked at her, dumbfounded, and finally managed to ask, "Then why are you talking to me?"
"Because I know what it's like to be hated in the town of Santa Mera. Now, I ask you again, what do you want to know about Lynn O'Hare?"
Lynn was angry that Coach Murdock had benched her in the game against Cordova her senior year. She'd been hardheaded and disrespectful during practice the following week, and only Murdock's suggestion that she might be benched again had settled her into the routine.
"That's when Lynn started the gossip that would ruin my career, and nearly destroyed my life as well, though I suppose the truth can hardly be called gossip."
At Steve's confused expression, she got up and took a picture down from the wall. As Steve studied the image of Jacquie and the petite blond, she told him, "I am a lesbian, Detective Sloan." When he looked up, a bit surprised at her bald statement, she smiled and said, "Anyone will tell you that. I know I seem to fit the stereotype to a 't', so it was easy for people to believe what was said."
"So, what happened," Steve inquired.
"Lynn O'Hare had a vicious streak, Detective. In general, she was a sweet, good-natured kid, but when you pissed her off, she got mean as hell. When I benched her, I pissed her off."
"And she told people you were a lesbian," Steve guessed.
"Yep. I don't think she believed it herself when she started the rumors, but when I refused to confirm or deny, well, it just so happens most of what people assumed was the truth."
"'Most'?"
"I don't think Lynn started this particular rumor, but there was talk that I molested some of my athletes. It was completely unfounded, but somehow, my performance evaluations started slacking off. The year after Lynn graduated, I was put on probation, and the following year, since I had shown 'no discernable improvement' in the performance of my duties, I was let go. I never behaved inappropriately with my girls, Detective. I loved them like my own children."
Steve looked at the woman, and he could tell she spoke the truth. With all the sincerity he possessed, he told her, "I believe you." Then he asked, "You said the gossip nearly destroyed your life as well?"
Jacqui nodded. "Like I said, I know I fit the stereotype. I'm a tough, single, female jock. My lover, everyone in town just said she was my roommate until Lynn said otherwise, was bi. She dated, and ran her own business, an insurance agency here in town. I didn't mind Suze going out with men," Jacqui said with a smile, "because she always came home to me. Besides, as she often pointed out to me, it kept the nosy neighbors from wondering."
"Until Lynn started talking," Steve said.
"Exactly. Then Suze's business dropped off. Clients left her, the office was vandalized, and this house was trashed. She couldn't take it anymore and she left me here alone. She's happily married, now, to a man who accepts her as she is, and they live in San Francisco. I guess that's another stereotype, but hey, only because it's so true. I haven't had a date in ten years. There are a few closeted lesbians in town, but if they're seen with me, well, they can't very well be in the closet any more."
Steve smiled slightly. Jacqui Murdock was the philosophical sort. "You certainly don't seem to bear a grudge," he said.
"What's the point of that? Lynn was just a stupid, stubborn kid. She had no idea what would be the fallout of her…malicious mouth."
"Forgive me for asking," Maggie interrupted for the first time, "but why didn't you just leave with your lover?"
"I don't know," Jacqui said. "At the time, I had a lot of reasons. I'd been teaching girl's PE and coaching basketball and track at Santa Mera High for twenty years and refused to believe the whole thing wouldn't just blow over. I truly didn't realize until they canned me that my career was through. My parents had moved here a few years before, to be closer to me as they aged, and I had just finished paying the mortgage on this house. No mouthy, angry kid was going to upset my life. If Suze wanted to run away, that was her choice. I chose to stand and fight, never suspecting that I would lose. By the time I realized I was beaten, I really didn't feel like starting over."
Jacqui looked as if she had more to say, so Steve and Maggie waited quietly.
Finally, the former coach continued. "Lynn was the kind of player a person is lucky to coach once in a lifetime, and in spite of everything, I am glad she was on my squad, but after my once, there wasn't even any point in looking for another coaching position. It could never get any better than it was when she played for me. I'm content, now. I've got my own home, a few true friends, and my parents nearby. And for four years, I coached the greatest player I have ever had the privilege of knowing."
Back in the car, Maggie gave Steve a concerned look. "¿Qué pasa, gringo? What's the matter, Steve? You are too quiet."
"I never have thought she'd be the type to spread gossip like that," he shook his head, astounded. "She deliberately smeared that woman's name, Maggie. She ruined her life. Lynn was a journalist. She was supposed to be interested in truth."
"I suppose, Steve, but you have to remember what Jacqui said. At the time she was just a kid and probably didn't really know what the result of her actions would be."
"I guess," Steve said. "Now we're off to see Tracy Wood, right?"
"Her married name is Dickens," Maggie said.
Like Jacqui, Tracy Wood, now Dickens, was not particularly disturbed by the fact that Steve had been the one to kill Lynn. She welcomed them into her home, shooed her children out to the back yard, and offered them some chocolate chip cookies with their coffee.
"Once we got to high school, everyone had this idea that Lynn and I were great rivals. That was so wrong. We were really good friends. We had this dream of playing for the Hoosiers' Women's team at Indiana University in Bloomington, but the coaches had this stupid idea that we should compete for the one scholarship slot they had left. To this day, I don't know if I won it because Lynn was sick with the flu, or because she gave it to me."
"You think she might have thrown the competition to give you the scholarship?"
"I really don't know. What I do know is I was the *second* best player in the county at the time. Lynn should have gone to Indiana. I tried to tell the coaches that, but they said if I didn't take the scholarship, they'd give it to a girl from Wisconsin. Lynn told me she didn't want to be so far from home anyway, and she made me promise I'd go. So, I did."
"How did you get to be such good friends?"
Tracy laughed. "Lynn and I live right next door to each other until we started high school. My dad was transferred to a different store in the chain he worked for, and it was too far for him to commute. Since Mom's job was halfway between here and the new house, it didn't make much difference to her. I was the only one really affected by the move. I lost my best friend."
"But you stayed close."
"Yes. We saw each other at camp in the summer, and when we started driving, we found this park between her house and mine, and we got together a couple days a week to play ball. When my dad died of a heart attack in my junior year, Lynn was the first one to call round. She helped clean the house before the wake and sat with me through his funeral, and when basketball season came round again, she *made* me play."
"*Made* you?"
Tracy shook her head. "Lynn harassed and harangued me until I agreed to play, saying she needed someone who could give her some competition." After a quiet moment, Tracy continued. "I was so depressed after Dad died, I just sort of quit for a while. She nagged me into taking my life back."
"I know this is an awkward question," Steve said, "but you didn't seem to be upset when I told who I was and what I had done. Why is that?"
Tracy thought a moment, then said, "This is probably going to surprise you coming from someone professing to be her best friend, but I have no doubt that Lynn did exactly what the papers say you claimed she did. She could be mean and vindictive. When we were kids, she could fool most adults, but I knew what she was really like. I know what she did to her coach, and I know what stories she started. She wanted to hurt that woman, and she did. She later regretted it, but she told me there was no way she could take back what she said. She couldn't stand the humiliation of admitting her lies. Besides, as she put it, by then it was too late anyway. Everyone knew the truth about Coach Murdock."
"Coach Murdock said she was vicious."
"I'll be she also said she was a great kid."
Steve nodded. "She did."
"She told you the truth. Some people say what happened to Lynn…the rape…changed her. I think it just made the two sides of her personality more pronounced. She was a little skitzo even when we were in grade school. I think what happened later just completely unhinged her."
Steve nodded, and stood to go, satisfied with the information he had gotten. Tracy rose and showed him and Maggie to the door.
"I have to admit," Steve said as he stood on the front porch, "I find it strange that you would say all you have about your best friend to a complete stranger."
Tracy became thoughtful. After a long moment, she said, "Lynn and I were always honest with each other and about each other. I don't think she would want that to change now."
Steve shook her hand and thanked her, and as he turned to go, Tracy told him, "And Detective Sloan…"
He looked back at her askance.
"If in the end, she led you to believe she cared for you, it's because she really did."
"Thank you, Mrs. Dickens, for telling me that."
Back in the car, Maggie said, "Time for lunch."
"Already?" Steve knew what was coming after lunch, and he wasn't sure he was ready for it. He wasn't sure he ever would be.
He felt ok about meeting one of Lynn's teachers, her coach, and her major rival in basketball, but he wasn't at all sure he could face her parents after lunch. He really wished Maggie had asked him about that before she made the call, but now, after all she had done, he didn't feel right about asking her to cancel the meeting.
He also felt ashamed. He had spent the night in her bed again, just because he didn't feel like being alone. She never said anything, but he could tell by the tension in her embrace that she wanted more than he was ready to give. He felt like a louse for taking advantage of her friendship and compassion the way he had, but he knew he'd do it again in a moment. He needed to know that, when this was all over, she'd be waiting for him. He couldn't bear the thought of letting go of Lynn only to find he had nothing to hold on to.
"¿Qué piensas, gringo?"
"Hmm?"
"What you thinking?"
"Nothing, really. I'm just nervous, I guess."
"I imagine so." She reached across the table and took his hand. "Steve, I know there's no way I can understand what you're going through, but worrying too much can only make it worse. You're honoring her memory by doing this. If you let the people you meet today know that, it shouldn't be so bad."
"This is going to be so hard, Maggie."
"I know, Steve, but I will be there for you."
He smiled, bravely, he hoped. "Thanks, Mags, you're the best."
Dwayne Moffett was a big man, balding on top, graying on the sides, and just a little neurotic. He was immaculately dressed in a dark gray suit. He looked like he belonged in it, even though he fidgeted with his tie a lot; and his alert gray-blue eyes darted across the crowd of students changing classes in the halls as he escorted Steve and Maggie to the teachers' lounge.
"I'm the only one in this building who has third period planning," he told them, "so we should be able to talk in here without being interrupted. I'd invite you back to my classroom, but one of my students got sick during second period, and you just don't want to go in there until the custodian does something about it."
Maggie grimaced and whispered, "That was way too much information."
Steve grinned and hushed her. He liked Mr. Moffett already. The guy was a lot like his own eleventh grade English teacher. He supposed there was a factory somewhere that just kept cranking out these caring, fidgety, meticulous men, and he hoped they never stopped, because in his line of work, he met a lot of kids who needed someone to give a damn about them, and Mr. Moffett clearly gave a damn. Steve could tell by the way the kids greeted him on the hall that they liked and respected the man.
"Kimberly Staton, where is your term paper," he greeted a girl in the hall.
"I'll have it by fourth period, sir. I just have to finish the title page and bibliography."
"It better be ready, you know you need this grade."
"It will be, and you'll be proud of it," the kid grinned.
"I hope so." The teacher tried to give the girl a stern, inscrutable look, but Steve could tell he liked her and was really looking forward to reading her paper.
As they entered the lounge, Moffett said, "That young lady is a fine writer, but she has a real problem with deadlines, a lot like Lynn O'Hare."
Steve felt his heart beat faster as he was taken by surprise by how quickly they had arrived at the reason for his visit.
"I'm afraid we'll have to be brief, I have three parents to call, a meeting with the principal about the drama club's spring play, and lunch duty starts at twelve fifty-five. What did you want to know about Lynn?"
Steve squirmed uncomfortably, and said, "I'm not really sure, sir. I just need to know more about her. You said she had trouble making deadlines…"
"Well, Mr. Sloan…" The man paused a moment as if something had suddenly occurred to him. "Sloan! You're the one who shot her." Moffett's face turned an angry shade of red. "How *dare* you come here, expecting me to satisfy your morbid fascination with that lovely young woman. She's dead, and you're walking the streets, free, isn't that enough?"
Steve was so shocked he couldn't respond. It was the first time anyone beside himself had ever blamed him for Lynn's death, and he found the accusation cut him to his very soul. For a moment, he thought the world would cave in around him, then he heard a voice break the silence.
"Mr. Moffett, Steve shot Lynn in self-defense," he heard Maggie say.
"Oh? You were there and saw it, I suppose."
"No, but I know Steve Sloan, and I know he loved her. I know if there had been any other choice he would have taken it."
"And I knew Lynn O'Hare. She never would have done what he says she did."
"She dyed her hair and changed her name. That should tell you she wasn't the girl you knew anymore," Maggie argued. "The terrible thing that happened to her changed her…"
Steve interrupted, grateful for her defense of him, but now able to speak for himself.
"Maggie, it's ok. Mr. Moffett, you weren't there, and you don't know what really happened. You have no reason to believe me or forgive me just because I say I had no choice," Steve was willing to concede that point, "but I loved Lynn, more than even I realized, and since I've lost her, I've discovered that I really knew very little about her. It's natural for you to hold me responsible for what happened, after all, I am a stranger to you, but know this: You could never blame me for her death more than I already blame myself. She was troubled, and I didn't see it until was too late. Hate me all you want, if I had any sense, I would have expected it anyway. I am not asking for anyone's forgiveness, and I am not here seeking absolution. I just want you to honor her memory by telling me a little about what she was like before life was so cruel to her."
Moffett sat chewing his lower lip and stared at Steve for a moment. He must have seen the sincerity in him, for after a minute or two, he began to talk freely.
Lynn O'Hare was a hardworking student and a brilliant writer, so good in fact, that by the time Mr. Moffett had read her first paper, he knew he'd never be able challenge her and teach the rest of the class. So, he had pushed her to challenge herself. He gave her an A+ on her first paper, and told her the only way she would continue to earn A's would be to continue improving her work. Each time a paper was due, she was to come to him at lunch, and explain to him why she thought it was better than the previous one.
"She got so wrapped up in honing her craft that she started missing the due dates," Moffett said. "The first time it happened, I let it slide, but then I had to start knocking off a plus or minus every day it was late."
Wanting to improve not only her writing skill, but her speed as well, Lynn had given up her study hall to take typing and had joined the school newspaper to force herself to meet deadlines.
"It was amazing," Moffett said. "Within a month, her writing was clearer, crisper, and she was even turning things in early. I haven't yet had a better student."
Much to his chagrin, Moffett found that by midterms, she was making D's or F's in five of her other six classes and was in danger of losing her position on the team.
"I talked to her about that, and she said all she wanted to do was write. So, I told her, 'Miss O'Hare, when you get to college, they will expect you to complete all of your coursework, even for those classes you do not enjoy.' She just looked at me and said, 'College?' She had never considered getting a degree. 'Surely you anticipate a basketball scholarship,' I said, and she shook her head and told me, 'No, sir, I just play because it's fun.'"
With help from Coach Murdock, the guidance counselor, and a couple of other interested teachers, he convinced Lynn to go to college.
"Kids like Lynn O'Hare are the reason I became a teacher, and the reason, after twenty-seven years, I still am one."
Moffett looked at his watch then and said, "I must be going." He stood up and offered his hand to Steve and Maggie. "I don't know what to make of you, Mr. Sloan, but I am glad you came by. It was nice to talk about Miss O'Hare. She was an extraordinary young lady."
"Thank you, sir," Steve said politely, "It was good for me to get to know more about her."
"Just call me Jacqui," Lynn's former coach told them as she led them up the porch and into her tidy little house. "Would you care for coffee, tea, or something else?"
"Coffee would be fine, thanks," Steve said.
Maggie nodded her agreement, and the two of them waited in a small corner room that could only be called a parlor. It was immaculately clean, with not a speck of dust or a spot of clutter to be seen. A sofa, a chair, and a love seat, all covered in vibrant chintz and surrounding a low coffee table, filled most of the room, and photographs of what appeared to be family and friends decorated the walls. An enormous fern graced one window, and an even larger variegated spider plant filled the other. Below the fern, a tiered stand held a varied collection of healthy houseplants. There was neither television nor stereo, but instead Steve saw a tall, overstuffed bookshelf, and a small aquarium filled with vibrant tropical fish. Clearly, the main purpose for the room was to sit and chat with friends.
The tall, lean, still-athletic older woman brought back a tray bearing a silver coffee service and three steaming cups of a rich potent brew. She was a woman who didn't scrimp on the small things. Steve and Maggie each accepted a cup and settled back to talk.
"So," Jacqui began, "what did you want to know about Lynn O'Hare?"
Steve summoned his courage and drew in a deep breath to implement the plan he and Maggie had worked out after the difficult encounter with Mr. Moffett.
"Before we start, Jacqui, I think you have a right to know…" he swallowed hard, and before he could continue, Jacqui finished the thought for him.
"That you're the cop who shot Lynn? I knew that as soon as I heard your name." She shrugged as if it were no big deal. "I must tell you, Detective Sloan--Steve, isn't it?--you have a lot of nerve coming around here. You were the local villain for several weeks, and though things have cooled off in the past few months, you shouldn't expect the town of Santa Mera to welcome you."
Steve looked at her, dumbfounded, and finally managed to ask, "Then why are you talking to me?"
"Because I know what it's like to be hated in the town of Santa Mera. Now, I ask you again, what do you want to know about Lynn O'Hare?"
Lynn was angry that Coach Murdock had benched her in the game against Cordova her senior year. She'd been hardheaded and disrespectful during practice the following week, and only Murdock's suggestion that she might be benched again had settled her into the routine.
"That's when Lynn started the gossip that would ruin my career, and nearly destroyed my life as well, though I suppose the truth can hardly be called gossip."
At Steve's confused expression, she got up and took a picture down from the wall. As Steve studied the image of Jacquie and the petite blond, she told him, "I am a lesbian, Detective Sloan." When he looked up, a bit surprised at her bald statement, she smiled and said, "Anyone will tell you that. I know I seem to fit the stereotype to a 't', so it was easy for people to believe what was said."
"So, what happened," Steve inquired.
"Lynn O'Hare had a vicious streak, Detective. In general, she was a sweet, good-natured kid, but when you pissed her off, she got mean as hell. When I benched her, I pissed her off."
"And she told people you were a lesbian," Steve guessed.
"Yep. I don't think she believed it herself when she started the rumors, but when I refused to confirm or deny, well, it just so happens most of what people assumed was the truth."
"'Most'?"
"I don't think Lynn started this particular rumor, but there was talk that I molested some of my athletes. It was completely unfounded, but somehow, my performance evaluations started slacking off. The year after Lynn graduated, I was put on probation, and the following year, since I had shown 'no discernable improvement' in the performance of my duties, I was let go. I never behaved inappropriately with my girls, Detective. I loved them like my own children."
Steve looked at the woman, and he could tell she spoke the truth. With all the sincerity he possessed, he told her, "I believe you." Then he asked, "You said the gossip nearly destroyed your life as well?"
Jacqui nodded. "Like I said, I know I fit the stereotype. I'm a tough, single, female jock. My lover, everyone in town just said she was my roommate until Lynn said otherwise, was bi. She dated, and ran her own business, an insurance agency here in town. I didn't mind Suze going out with men," Jacqui said with a smile, "because she always came home to me. Besides, as she often pointed out to me, it kept the nosy neighbors from wondering."
"Until Lynn started talking," Steve said.
"Exactly. Then Suze's business dropped off. Clients left her, the office was vandalized, and this house was trashed. She couldn't take it anymore and she left me here alone. She's happily married, now, to a man who accepts her as she is, and they live in San Francisco. I guess that's another stereotype, but hey, only because it's so true. I haven't had a date in ten years. There are a few closeted lesbians in town, but if they're seen with me, well, they can't very well be in the closet any more."
Steve smiled slightly. Jacqui Murdock was the philosophical sort. "You certainly don't seem to bear a grudge," he said.
"What's the point of that? Lynn was just a stupid, stubborn kid. She had no idea what would be the fallout of her…malicious mouth."
"Forgive me for asking," Maggie interrupted for the first time, "but why didn't you just leave with your lover?"
"I don't know," Jacqui said. "At the time, I had a lot of reasons. I'd been teaching girl's PE and coaching basketball and track at Santa Mera High for twenty years and refused to believe the whole thing wouldn't just blow over. I truly didn't realize until they canned me that my career was through. My parents had moved here a few years before, to be closer to me as they aged, and I had just finished paying the mortgage on this house. No mouthy, angry kid was going to upset my life. If Suze wanted to run away, that was her choice. I chose to stand and fight, never suspecting that I would lose. By the time I realized I was beaten, I really didn't feel like starting over."
Jacqui looked as if she had more to say, so Steve and Maggie waited quietly.
Finally, the former coach continued. "Lynn was the kind of player a person is lucky to coach once in a lifetime, and in spite of everything, I am glad she was on my squad, but after my once, there wasn't even any point in looking for another coaching position. It could never get any better than it was when she played for me. I'm content, now. I've got my own home, a few true friends, and my parents nearby. And for four years, I coached the greatest player I have ever had the privilege of knowing."
Back in the car, Maggie gave Steve a concerned look. "¿Qué pasa, gringo? What's the matter, Steve? You are too quiet."
"I never have thought she'd be the type to spread gossip like that," he shook his head, astounded. "She deliberately smeared that woman's name, Maggie. She ruined her life. Lynn was a journalist. She was supposed to be interested in truth."
"I suppose, Steve, but you have to remember what Jacqui said. At the time she was just a kid and probably didn't really know what the result of her actions would be."
"I guess," Steve said. "Now we're off to see Tracy Wood, right?"
"Her married name is Dickens," Maggie said.
Like Jacqui, Tracy Wood, now Dickens, was not particularly disturbed by the fact that Steve had been the one to kill Lynn. She welcomed them into her home, shooed her children out to the back yard, and offered them some chocolate chip cookies with their coffee.
"Once we got to high school, everyone had this idea that Lynn and I were great rivals. That was so wrong. We were really good friends. We had this dream of playing for the Hoosiers' Women's team at Indiana University in Bloomington, but the coaches had this stupid idea that we should compete for the one scholarship slot they had left. To this day, I don't know if I won it because Lynn was sick with the flu, or because she gave it to me."
"You think she might have thrown the competition to give you the scholarship?"
"I really don't know. What I do know is I was the *second* best player in the county at the time. Lynn should have gone to Indiana. I tried to tell the coaches that, but they said if I didn't take the scholarship, they'd give it to a girl from Wisconsin. Lynn told me she didn't want to be so far from home anyway, and she made me promise I'd go. So, I did."
"How did you get to be such good friends?"
Tracy laughed. "Lynn and I live right next door to each other until we started high school. My dad was transferred to a different store in the chain he worked for, and it was too far for him to commute. Since Mom's job was halfway between here and the new house, it didn't make much difference to her. I was the only one really affected by the move. I lost my best friend."
"But you stayed close."
"Yes. We saw each other at camp in the summer, and when we started driving, we found this park between her house and mine, and we got together a couple days a week to play ball. When my dad died of a heart attack in my junior year, Lynn was the first one to call round. She helped clean the house before the wake and sat with me through his funeral, and when basketball season came round again, she *made* me play."
"*Made* you?"
Tracy shook her head. "Lynn harassed and harangued me until I agreed to play, saying she needed someone who could give her some competition." After a quiet moment, Tracy continued. "I was so depressed after Dad died, I just sort of quit for a while. She nagged me into taking my life back."
"I know this is an awkward question," Steve said, "but you didn't seem to be upset when I told who I was and what I had done. Why is that?"
Tracy thought a moment, then said, "This is probably going to surprise you coming from someone professing to be her best friend, but I have no doubt that Lynn did exactly what the papers say you claimed she did. She could be mean and vindictive. When we were kids, she could fool most adults, but I knew what she was really like. I know what she did to her coach, and I know what stories she started. She wanted to hurt that woman, and she did. She later regretted it, but she told me there was no way she could take back what she said. She couldn't stand the humiliation of admitting her lies. Besides, as she put it, by then it was too late anyway. Everyone knew the truth about Coach Murdock."
"Coach Murdock said she was vicious."
"I'll be she also said she was a great kid."
Steve nodded. "She did."
"She told you the truth. Some people say what happened to Lynn…the rape…changed her. I think it just made the two sides of her personality more pronounced. She was a little skitzo even when we were in grade school. I think what happened later just completely unhinged her."
Steve nodded, and stood to go, satisfied with the information he had gotten. Tracy rose and showed him and Maggie to the door.
"I have to admit," Steve said as he stood on the front porch, "I find it strange that you would say all you have about your best friend to a complete stranger."
Tracy became thoughtful. After a long moment, she said, "Lynn and I were always honest with each other and about each other. I don't think she would want that to change now."
Steve shook her hand and thanked her, and as he turned to go, Tracy told him, "And Detective Sloan…"
He looked back at her askance.
"If in the end, she led you to believe she cared for you, it's because she really did."
"Thank you, Mrs. Dickens, for telling me that."
Back in the car, Maggie said, "Time for lunch."
"Already?" Steve knew what was coming after lunch, and he wasn't sure he was ready for it. He wasn't sure he ever would be.