A Wedding in Apple Grove (11 page)

“But you didn't get your man,” Meg said quietly.

“Then it's about time I woke up and smelled the coffee, 'cause right now it's boiling over.” When Meg looked down at her feet, Honey B. reached over and touched her on the arm. “It sounds like this man could be someone special if he jarred you back to reality with just one innocent kiss.”

Meg tried to keep from smiling, but in the end she gave in. “Well, it wasn't exactly the kiss that did it.”

“Well?” Honey asked, and then threatened, “Don't make me hurt you to get you to fess up.”

“It was when I lost my balance and fell into his arms.” She drew in a long slow breath and let it go. “Being held in his arms only added to the sparks and tingles…” She paused to inhale a deep breath. “And then I looked up into his clear gray eyes… and got lost.”

“Girl, you've got it bad.” Honey got up and started to pace. “I'll make a deal with you, Meg.”

She paid attention, because when Honey called her that, her friend meant business. “I'm listening.”

“Good. Because I'm going to call Mrs. Winter and give her a free haircut and color if she'll keep quiet about those dating sites until I'm ready to let it leak out to a certain someone that I'm giving up on the sheriff.”

Meg bounced to her feet. “All right, Honey B.!”

“But,” Honey added, “only if you agree to go after Dan Eagan with every bit of fire you possess.” Honey held out her hand. “Deal?”

Meg didn't even hesitate; she put out her hand and they shook on it. “Deal.”

“You'd better call Amelia right away; she's bound to have told Miss Trudi by now.”

Meg pulled out her cell phone and dialed. “Mrs. Winter? Hey it's Meg. There's been a slight change in plans.” She looked at her friend and smiled. “Honey B.'s in on it.”

Dan concentrated on the paperwork piled on his desk. He was grateful to be busy; it kept him from replaying last night and Meg's confusing response. She didn't exactly run hot and cold, but she did withdraw at moments just when he thought they were getting closer.

“Coach, did you hear about the Smolinsky brothers?”

Dan looked up from the player evaluations he was working on and noticed the excited expression on Doyle's pale, thin face. “Yes. It's sad; there are some pranks that are just not meant to be repeated.”

Doyle nodded and a lock of black hair fell into his eyes. He brushed it out of the way and was grinning when he said, “The guys are all talking about it, and we just have one question.” Dan pushed back in his chair and waited. Doyle rubbed his palms on his jean-clad thighs. “How come the soccer team never gets into trouble like that?”

Dan grinned, grateful that the question had been an easy one. “We have to be smarter and faster.”

Doyle was nodding as Dan added, “Soccer players will always have great core strength, can run all day long, and have the smarts to outwit defenders on the opposite team because it's the nature of the game.”

Doyle grinned and said, “So we're smarter, faster, and never get caught.”

Dan laughed out loud. “Exactly.”

Doyle spun around and was about to leave when Dan stopped him. “That doesn't mean that you should go out and plan something idiotic to one-up the varsity football team.”

It was Doyle's turn to grin. “No sir, Coach!”

Watching him leave, Dan wondered if he'd gotten through to the young man or if he'd inadvertently managed to fire up the kid's imagination. Maybe it was time to lay a little groundwork—do some preemptive damage control—and get to know the sheriff better.

He had five minutes before his free period, the last class of the day, was over, time enough to place a phone call. He punched in the numbers and waited to be connected.

“Wallace.”

“Hi, Sheriff, it's Dan Eagan. We met—”

“Save your breath, Dan, and call me Mitch—you're making me feel old,” the sheriff drawled. “What's on your mind?”

“I heard there was a little mishap outside the school early this morning.”

“News always travels fast,” Sheriff Wallace said, “good and bad.”

“I heard no one was injured.”

“You heard right, but I'm sure you didn't call just to verify that statement.”

The sheriff spoke at a slower pace than Dan was used to back home, but he wasn't a pushover; the man was shark-smart. “I might need your help with Doyle and Hawkins.”

The other man chuckled. “Smart boys. I went to school with their folks.”

“Doyle was in here asking about the Smolinsky brothers and when he left he reassured me he and the other guys on the team wouldn't be pulling any pranks, but now I'm not sure.”

“Why?”

“When he asked me why the soccer team never got into trouble like that, I told him that's because soccer players have to be smarter and faster.”

There was a slight pause before the sheriff finally spoke. “So you're thinking, in Doyle's teenaged mind, it was a challenge of sorts?”

“I didn't mean it that way, but I can't help but wonder if it is.” Dan wished he'd thought it through more carefully before speaking, but he'd been reliving his college soccer years and really missed the camaraderie of the team—and the hell they'd raised.

“You think they'll try something?”

“Couldn't hurt to be on guard,” Dan admitted. “Was there ever a prank that the soccer players played that the kids might try to reenact?”

“Let me think on it,” Sheriff Wallace said. “You know where to find me if you need me.”

“I do. Thanks, Mitch.” Dan was surprised that he really meant it. He was relieved.

The bell rang, startling him back to reality and the last class of the day. “Time for some three-on-three drills.”

***

It had been a long day and a great practice. Dan was feeling more at ease with his new job and position as coach. He liked the kids and was really encouraged by their excitement about playing hard and advancing to the States. It didn't bother him that the main motive for the guys was their former coach. He hoped one day to have the team feel that way about him, but in the meantime was happy to be a part of the team and helping them achieve their goal of a winning season.

Who knows, maybe the kids would come to appreciate Dan for who he was—the same as he was beginning to appreciate the little differences in a town the size of Apple Grove.

He'd had the opportunity to repay his great-aunt's generosity by helping her at coffee hour at church and planned to help out at her garden center. He had an open invitation to taste the pie at the Apple Grove Diner—which he would have to do soon, fix (make that drool over) Joe Mulcahy's Model A pickup, talk fast cars and watch racing on TV with Bob Stuart, and then there was the mystery that was Meg…

As he walked to his car, lost in thought, he didn't notice the tall, blonde woman leaning against the driver's door until he was nearly there. “Ms. McCormack,” he said by way of greeting. “What a surprise.” He wasn't exactly afraid to talk to the woman that Meg seemed to be jealous of, but it wouldn't hurt to keep his tone neutral so that he didn't give her the wrong impression. A few of the women he'd dated before his ex had mistaken open friendliness for interest. “How are you?”

Her smile made him uneasy, but he tamped down the feeling and maintained his friendly attitude. He was interested in a petite redhead with a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Even though he hadn't seen Meg in a day or so, he couldn't stop thinking about her.

“Now that you're here, I'm better,” she said, pushing off the car and walking toward him. “Much better.”

Why did women pick the worst possible moments to come on to a guy? He wanted to laugh but didn't want to hurt Peggy's feelings. Damn. He didn't have time for this right now. “Good to hear,” he said, neatly blocking her advance and stepping around her. “Have a nice day.” Before she could regroup, he was in the car, revving the engine and backing out of his parking space.

“Women,” he mumbled, tilting his rearview mirror, watching to see what she'd do. His sigh of relief echoed in the car. She'd been right behind him, but then she turned left when he turned right. He couldn't help but wonder if there was something he'd said or done that had encouraged the woman—or if she was just taking charge of the situation and making her move. He'd have to think about it later; right now the sheriff had asked him to stop by his office after practice. Dan guessed the man had come up with a few thoughts to keep Dan's team from doing something stupid. A short ride from the high school, he parallel parked and got out. He couldn't tell how old the brick building was, but he smiled at the fresh coat of bright green paint on the front door and wondered… it looked a lot like the color on the water tower. He'd have to ask the sheriff if he'd noticed any of his paint missing lately.

“Hi, Dan,” the brunette behind the desk greeted him by name. He knew he'd never met her before, but she did look familiar…

“Hi, I'm meeting with—”

The brunette smiled. “Sheriff Wallace, he's expecting you. First door on the left.”

Dan hesitated and asked, “Did we meet at Bill and Edie's wedding?”

She shook her head. “You met my sister, Honey B.”

The woman's name was familiar, but he couldn't quite place her face; he'd been bowled over by Megan Mulcahy that day and had yet to recover his balance.

The woman behind the desk smiled and stretched out her hand. “I'm Cindy Harrington, my sister Honey B. owns Honey's Hair Salon.”

He took her hand and shook it. “Pleasure to meet you, Cindy.”

She smiled up at him and he felt the welcome down to his toes. “I hear the kids on the soccer team are working hard to impress their new coach. They needed someone to lift their spirits after Coach Creed had his heart attack. I hear that you were the top-scoring forward on the Rensselaer college team.”

He was momentarily at a loss for words before his brain kicked in and he started to laugh. “Has Aunt Trudi been talking about me behind my back?”

Cindy's laugh was infectious. “She's talking about you every chance she gets. She's very proud of you.”

“Um… thanks. I think I'll go talk to the sheriff now.” He walked down the hallway and knocked on the door frame since the door to the sheriff's office was open.

The man himself was seated behind a beat-up oak desk. “Eagan,” the lawman said, rising to his feet. “Glad you're here. Sit down.”

Dan took the seat across from the sheriff and leaned forward. “Well?”

“I have been going through the records and have found a couple of pranks that were memorable that should not be repeated.” The older man sighed. “To tell you the truth, I'm not sure that the kids are going to do something stupid, but I'm a cautious man.”

“It didn't hit me right away, but after Doyle left, I had this really bad feeling.”

Sheriff Wallace snorted. “Happens more times that I'd like… when I feel like that, I roll with it and put out feelers all over town.”

“I'm sure you've seen it all over the years.”

The sheriff smiled. “In a town the size of Apple Grove, not much that goes on gets forgotten. There's always a group of knuckleheads who think they can outdo their predecessors, and safety never crosses their minds. As you know, we've had kids climbing the water tower and the ship's mast, and there's the railroad trestle bridge some fool tries to jump off of and invariably breaks something important… and then there's the quarry.” The sheriff's gaze met his. “Worst day of my life, dredging the quarry for those bodies.”

An eerie cold seeped into Dan's gut and lay there. Would Doyle and Hawkins try something like that? He needed to know what he was up against. “What's the challenge over at the quarry?”

“Deep pool, couple hundred feet deep, and the ledge on the far side of it is just perfect for diving off of.”

The hair raised on the back of Dan's neck. “When did you drag the quarry?”

The sheriff looked out the window and then back at Dan. “Ten years back. Some things just stick, no matter how hard you try to forget them.”

“Would any of the kids in the high school think to try something like that now?”

The lawman got up and paced in front of the window. “I don't know. It's been long enough that the high school juniors and seniors were just little kids and might not remember.”

“Can't you fence off the property?”

Sheriff Wallace laughed. “And here I thought today would be routine. Hell, you think we didn't have a fence? Even when the quarry was in full operation, there was a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire surrounding the grounds.” He hooked his thumbs in his gun belt. “Didn't stop 'em. You know what the hardest lesson teenagers have to learn in life?”

Dan could think of a few, but one in particular came to mind. “That they aren't all ten feet tall and bulletproof?”

“Bingo.”

“I'll have a talk with Doyle and Hawkins,” Dan said quietly. “Will you talk with their folks?”

The sheriff walked over to his desk and picked up the phone. “I'm on it.” When Dan started to leave, the sheriff called out, “Keep me posted.”

“Will do.”

As he drove away, Dan was having trouble sorting through what was troubling him most—how to convince his two star players that they couldn't leap buildings in a single bound or stop a freight train. Dan pulled over and called Sheriff Wallace. When the man answered, he blurted out, “Did you say there's a train trestle bridge nearby?” He wasn't sure why that image stuck in his head; he'd worry about that later, right now he had to go with his gut instincts and track down Doyle and Hawkins.

“Yes, why?”

Dan answered his question with a question. “Can you give me directions to the bridge? Oh, and what did their parents say?”

“Not much. The boys aren't home.”

When the lawman rattled off the directions to the trestle bridge, Dan asked him one more question. “Can you send someone up to the quarry? I'm hoping they are together, at either the bridge or the quarry, but it's best not to try to outthink a teenager.”

The sheriff agreed and disconnected. Dan pushed the speed limit all the way to the railroad bridge; when he saw it looming up ahead, he cursed under his breath. There were two figures standing on the edge, right over the water—one tall and lean and one shorter and stocky.

He pulled out his cell and dialed. “They're here at the bridge.” Without waiting for a reply, he disconnected and broke into a run. “Doyle, wait!” he called, running full out, leaping over the rocks lined up at the edge of the road to keep people from parking there.

Dan didn't stop until he was on the bridge and yelling at them. “What the hell do you think you're doing?”

The two looked guilty, and Doyle shrugged in answer.

“Did you just say ‘hell'?” Hawkins asked.

Dan was fighting to control his temper, and it took all of his concentration not to lash out at the boys now that he had them in his sights and they had taken a step back from the edge. “Yeah, I said ‘hell,'” he answered, walking along the rail toward where they stood. “And you still haven't answered me. What is wrong with you two?”

The boys looked at one another and then at Dan. This time they both shrugged.

Dan felt the vibration in his feet before he connected the dots and realized what was happening.

“Jump!” a familiar deep voice yelled as a diesel engine's whistle blasted—too close for comfort.

Dan didn't hesitate; he grabbed hold of Doyle with his left hand and Hawkins with his right and jumped, pulling them with him. For a moment, he wondered if this was how Butch and Sundance felt when they jumped into the river, but then they hit the water and it was all he could do to swim to the surface and make sure the boys did too.