Page 75 of The Homewreckers
???
Different topic. Didn’t you play football at Mooney? For Frank Ragan?
If being issued a uniform and dressing out for practices count, yes, technically you could say I was on the team. Mostly I played left out.
Can you remember the names of any players Lanier Ragan tutored your senior year?
She scraped together the last bits of bright orange cheese from the side of the bowl and placed it in front of Ribsy’s nose. He stirred, thumped his tail, then enthusiastically attacked the bowl with long, ecstatic licks.
Is this still about that wallet? What’s that got to do with her tutoring jocks?
Ribsy was pushing the bowl across the floor with his nose, desperate to get at the last flecks of cheese. When he looked up, he had an orange spot on his black nose. She smiled and returned to her phone.
Cops are looking into a rumor that maybe Lanier had an affair with someone on the football team. Maybe a guy she was tutoring? Like a senior? Could have something to do with her disappearance.
Minutes passed. She openedVoid Moon,losing herself to the story of a female cat burglar prowling through hotel rooms at Vegas casinos.
No idea who she might have been tutoring. Sorry not to be more help.
Hattie went into the bedroom and found the folded-up photo of the long ago Cardinal Mooney football team that Al Makarowicz had given her.
She smoothed the photo and read over the captions. Maybe this was a topic best discussed over the phone instead of text. She tapped Davis’s phone number and he picked up immediately.
“Hey!” He sounded surprised to hear her voice.
“Hi. Is now a good time to talk? About football?”
“Honest to God, Hattie. My senior year, it’s a blur. I was applying to college and working part-time at the store…”
“And dating Elise. I know. But I’ve got an old roster from the team. I was thinking if I read off the names, maybe you could guess whether any of them needed tutoring help.”
“Don’t you think you’re taking this a little to the extreme?” he asked.
Was this his way of telling her to “calm down”? How many times over the years had men, including Hank and Tug, both men she adored, told her to “chill out” or “relax”? Which was really just a semi-polite way of telling women to shut up and smile.
“A week and a half ago, Lanier’s wallet was found at the house I now own,” she said, straining to stay civil. “It’s the only clue the cops have found since the day after she disappeared. And since the news got out, someone has been harassing me. First, siccing the code enforcement guy on me, and now, setting fire to the dumpster behind the house. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.”
“Arson? Are you sure about that?” he asked.
“The city fire marshal and the police seem convinced of it,” Hattie said. “They found a can of paint thinner in the dumpster that they think was used to ignite it.”
“Still seems like a pretty big stretch to me,” Davis said.
“I’ve got an old photo of the team from that year,” Hattie went on. “How about if I read you the names and you just tell me if you think there’s a chance they were being tutored?”
“This is dumb,” Davis protested. “I haven’t thought of any of these guys in years.”
“You don’t go to any of the class reunions? Or alum nights at the football games?”
“No.”
“Humor me.”
She ran a finger down the photo caption and called out their names.
“Larry Albritton. Tommy Boylan. André Coates. Holland Creedmore, Matt Ellis…”
“Definitely not Ellis. He was a brainiac. I think he’s a judge up in DC now.”
