It was a messy space that only the brave dared enter. On the desk were stacks of paperwork which Wes considered a waste of time and therefore avoided doing for as long as possible. The walls were covered with season schedules for numerous sport teams. A two-month calendar was filled with his handwritten hieroglyphics, which only he could read.
Also taped to the wall was a topographical map of Cleary and the surrounding area. His favorite hunting and fishing spots had been highlighted with a red marker. In framed photos of the last three years’ football teams, Head Coach Wes Hamer stood proudly in the center of the front row.
“She said it’s beginning to sleet,” he told Scott. “Get a move on.”
The pungent odor of the high school locker room was so familiar to Scott he didn’t even notice it. His own stink mingled with the stench of adolescent sweat, dirty socks, jerseys, and jockstraps. The odor was so pervasive it seemed to have soaked into the grout between the tiles in the shower room.
Scott turned on the faucets in one of the stalls. As he peeled off his shirt, he looked over his shoulder into the mirror and frowned with disgust at the outbreak of acne on his back. He stepped into the shower and put his back to the spray, then vigorously scrubbed as much of it as he could reach with an antibacterial soap.
He was washing his crotch when his dad appeared, carrying a towel. “In case you forgot to pick one up.”
“Thanks.” Self-consciously he removed his hand from his private parts and went to work on his armpits.
Wes draped the towel over a bar outside the stall, then motioned toward Scott’s groin. “You take after your old man,” he said around a chuckle. “Nothing to be shy about in that department.”
Scott hated when his dad tried to get chummy with him by talking about sex. Like that was a topic Scott was just dying to discuss with him. Like he enjoyed the innuendos and suggestive winks.
“You’ve got more than enough there to keep all your girlfriends happy.”
“Dad.”
“Just don’t make one too happy,” Wes said, his smile inverting. “You’d be a real catch for one of these local gals looking to elevate herself. They’re not above tricking a guy. That goes for any female I ever met. Never trust the girl to take care of birth control,” Wes said, shaking his index finger as though this was a new lecture and not one Scott had been routinely subjected to since puberty.
Scott turned off the water faucets and reached for the towel, quickly wrapping it around his hips. He headed toward his locker, but his dad wasn’t finished yet. He clamped a hand on Scott’s wet shoulder and turned him around. “You’ve got years of hard work ahead before you get to where you’re going. I don’t want some gal to turn up pregnant and ruin all our plans.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“Make damn sure it doesn’t.” Then Wes gave him an affectionate push in the general direction of his locker. “Get dressed.”
Five minutes later Wes locked the gymnasium door behind them, securing the building for the night. “Bet anything school’s out tomorrow,” he remarked. Intermittent sleet was falling, along with a dreary rain that instantly froze on any surface. “Be careful where you step. It’s already getting slick.”
Cautiously they made their way to the faculty parking lot, where Wes had a premium space, reserved for the athletic director of Cleary High School, home of the Fighting Cougars.
The windshield wipers labored against the freezing rain on the tempered glass. Scott shivered inside his coat and pushed his fists deep into the flannel-lined pockets. His stomach growled. “I hope Mom’s got dinner ready.”
“You can have a snack at the drugstore.”
Scott turned his head quickly and looked at Wes.
Wes kept his eyes on the road. “We’re stopping there before we go home.”
Scott sank lower into his seat, pulled his coat close around him, and moodily stared through the windshield as they moved along Main Street. There were Closed signs in most of the store windows. Shopkeepers had left early, before the worst of the weather moved in. But it seemed no one had gone straight home. Traffic was heavy, especially around the grocery market, which was still open and doing a brisk business.
All of this registered with Scott, but on a subliminal level, until his dad stopped for one of Main Street’s two traffic lights. He was staring vacantly through the rain-spattered window when his eyes happened to
focus on the flyer tacked to the utility pole.
MISSING!
Beneath that bold headline was a black-and-white photo of Millicent Gunn, followed by a basic physical description, the date of her disappearance, and a list of telephone numbers to call with any information as to her whereabouts.
Scott closed his eyes, thinking about what Millicent had looked like the last time he’d seen her.
When he reopened his eyes, the car was once again in motion, the flyer no longer in sight.
CHAPTER
4