Change of Heart (11 page)

“What odds?” I asked.

“The one-in-a-million odds.” When I still looked puzzled, she rolled her eyes. “Do you have any idea how many guys play minor hockey?”

I shook my head.

“Thousands,” she said. “Tens of thousands. Maybe more. And they all dream of making it to the NHL. But the reality is that one in a thousand will ever get drafted—and a third of them won't ever play an NHL game. Only two in ten thousand will actually last a few years and have a shot at the big money. Everyone dreams, but hardly anyone makes it. Sean was going to make it, and everyone knew it. The thought of having to play NCAA for four years was really getting to him. It drove him crazy that his mom wouldn't let him play major junior like his brothers did. I talked a producer here into letting me do a special feature on him. I had a budget for it, everything. Sean agreed to it. Then, when we broke up—”

“I heard he dumped you.”

Her cheeks turned red. “When he replaced me with that new little chicklette of his,” she said, “he also backed out of the project. Do you have any idea how that made me look? I pitched my bosses on the piece. I promised them that I could deliver the goods. I told them he'd agreed to being interviewed and to having a camera on him during the lead-up to the playoffs. Then, at the last minute, he tells me to forget it.” She shook her head in disgust.

“That must have made you angry,” I said.

“You have no idea. I was ready to ki—” She looked at me. “Yeah, I was pretty mad.”

Charlie Hart had asked Morgan where she was between ten and midnight the night Sean was killed. That had to mean that the police had narrowed the time of death to those two hours.

“Tamara, where were you the night Sean was killed?” I said.

She laughed. “What are you? A junior cop? I was here until midnight. I was editing a tape for an upcoming show. I had to give it to my producer the next day. You want to check with him?”

“Everyone liked Sean,” I said. “Everyone said he didn't have an enemy in the world.”

“Well, he had at least two,” she said.

I waited.

“Your friend Billy, who killed him,” she said. “And Jon.”

“Jon Czerny? But he and Sean are—were—on the same team.”

“Are you for real?” Tamara said. “Just because two guys are on the same team, that doesn't mean they're best buddies. Especially if they were both up for team captain and the one who got beat out is a bad loser. And if the one who got beat out had been pretty much guaranteed the position until the other one started making moves. At least, that's what I heard.”

“Are you saying—”

“I'm not saying anything. Look, the cops have the guy who did it. I hear your friend is a lovesick puppy. But just for the record, Sean wasn't the angel everyone thought he was. He may have played like Gretzky on the ice, but he definitely didn't act like him off it.” She turned back to her work, dismissing me once and for all.

I went back to where I had left Dennis. He hadn't moved a muscle. He was so engrossed in reading something on a clipboard that was sitting on a stack of paint cans that he didn't even look up when I approached him.

“Are you coming back to school, Dennis?” I asked.

It took a moment before he pulled his eyes away from whatever he was reading. I glanced at it—a schedule of some kind.

“Thanks for your help,” I said as we rode back down to the main floor.

“I hope they let Billy go,” he said. “Spring migration is going to start soon. The birds need him.”

I admit it: after seeing how aggressive Jon Czerny could be on the ice, I was a little afraid of him. But according to Tamara, he had a strong reason to dislike Sean. And I remembered how he had shoved Sean during the game. It wasn't hard to picture someone who was that physical grabbing something and hitting Sean over the head with it.

I looked for Jon in the cafeteria. He wasn't there. I looked outside. He wasn't there, either. Then the bell rang and I had to go to class. As soon as classes were over, I did the rounds of the school—no Jon. Then I thought,
He's a hockey player, the championship is coming up, and his team has just lost its captain and star player. If I were Jon, what would I be doing now?

I headed for the arena.

Sean's team was on the ice. At first no one noticed me. Then the coach skated over and waved me to the boards.

“This is a closed practice,” he said.

“I just wanted to talk to Jon,” I said.

The coach looked at me as if I were simple-minded. “He's not available right now.”

“When is practice over?”

“We'll be another hour at least. If you want to wait for him, you'll have to wait outside.”

As I left, I saw the coach skate over to Jon and gesture in my direction. Jon turned to look at me, but I couldn't read his expression from that distance.

It was chilly out in the early spring afternoon. The sun was already sinking toward the horizon. An hour later I was still huddled outside the players' entrance and was starting to worry that the team had gone out the main door instead. But there were still cars in the parking lot, and I hadn't seen anyone inside except the hockey team. I stomped my feet to stay warm and waited some more.

Eventually the door burst open and hockey players poured out. They were loud and boisterous, jostling and teasing each other. Jon was the loudest of the bunch, but he broke away from the pack when he saw me and loped over to where I was standing. His eyes ran over me, and he smiled.

“You were at the funeral,” he said, chewing and snapping a wad of gum. “Sean's girl, what's her name—”

“Morgan,” I said. Morgan would have been livid if she had heard herself referred to as What's-her-name.

“Whatever,” Jon said. “She was screaming at you.” He seemed to enjoy the memory. “Coach said you wanted to talk to me. What's up? You want an autograph?”

“Actually,” I said, “it's about Sean.”

The slick smile slipped from his lips. “Yeah. Too bad about what happened, huh? The guy was loaded with potential.”

“I heard he was big-league material.”

Guys were getting into cars and driving away. The coach was standing a few meters behind Jon, watching us.

“Czerny,” he called. “You want a lift or what?”

Jon looked me over again. “There's a place across the street. Can I buy you a coffee or something?”

The way he was leering at me gave me the creeps, but I put Billy first and said, “Sure.”

Jon turned to the coach. “Change of plans,” he said.

“But we need to talk,” the coach said.

“Later.” Jon's tone made it clear that he considered himself to be in charge.

The coach stood there a moment before shaking his head, wheeling around, and heading for one of the few cars still left in the parking lot.

Jon and I crossed the street to a brightly lit diner and took a booth near the window. When a waitress appeared, Jon ordered a burger with fries and a chocolate milkshake.

“Practice,” he said. “It takes a lot out of you, especially when it's playoff season.”

The waitress turned to me.

“Hot chocolate, please,” I said.

“So, you're a hockey fan, huh ...” Jon began. He looked vaguely at me, and I realized that he had forgotten my name.

“Robyn,” I said. “To tell you the truth, I don't know much about hockey, other than that everyone said Sean was going to be the next Gretzky.”

Jon snorted. When I gave him a look, he shrugged unapologetically.

“Hey, I know you're not supposed to speak ill of the dead,” he said. “But you know what? There isn't a hockey arena in the world that's big enough to hold Sean Sloane.”

“I don't understand.”

“His ego. It was huge. Yeah, he came across as Mr. Nice Guy. Sucked up to all his teachers. Sucked up to the coaches. Sucked up to those college scouts who were here. Mr. Suck-Up—that's what they should have called him. Or Mr. Manipulation. Hockey wasn't the only game he knew how to play.”

“Are you saying he didn't deserve all the attention he was getting?”

The waitress arrived with my hot chocolate and Jon's food. Jon reached for the ketchup and drowned his burger in it. Then he poured ketchup all over his fries. I tried not to look at his plate when he dug in.

“I tell you what he didn't deserve,” Jon said, his mouth full of burger and fries. “He didn't deserve to be team captain.”

“But I thought—”

“At the end of last season, Coach told me he was going to make me captain. I care about my career, sure. But I also care about the team. A hockey team isn't just about one guy getting to shine. It's about the whole team battling its way to the playoffs and then getting a shot to prove that it's the best—not just one player. Sean—okay, so for a while he was a team player. But then he got the word that the scouts had an eye on him. A couple of them came up here, watched him, talked to him. They look at hockey skills first. But they also look at academics and character, that kind of stuff. Coach decided Sean would be a shoo-in if he was team captain. You know, if he showed real leadership skills. The next thing you know, I'm bumped.”

“What do you mean, bumped?”

Jon shoveled a gigantic handful of fries into his mouth. “Coach calls me in and tells me, ‘Hey, Jon, I know I promised you, but here's the deal with Sean.' You get it? Because the coach is ready to do anything it takes to make sure Sean gets his shot. Sean, not me.”

“Did schools scout you, too?”

Jon stopped chewing. He glowered across the table at me, and right then I understood why, as Morgan had said, some guys were afraid of him.

“I got some interest,” he said. “But with my grades ... hell, who cares what my grades are like? I want to be a hockey player, not a brain surgeon.”

“I guess some of those schools care—”

I shut up when he glowered at me again.

“Yeah, well, if Sean was such a great guy, how come that kid offed him? And I bet he wasn't the only person who wished Sean Sloane would drop dead. Look, I'm sorry for his parents. I'm sorry it happened. But you know what? It makes me sick how everyone is acting like the guy was a saint. He wasn't. Not even close.”

“Now that he's gone, does that mean the team has no captain?”

He took a hearty sip of his milkshake. “I'm captain now. And it's my job to help the guys believe, really believe, that we can win without Sean. And you know what? We can. Sean was just one guy.”

“But he was the best.” When Jon scowled at me again, I hastily added, “At least, that's what everyone says.”

“Yeah, well, everyone is just going to have to wait and see.”

I thanked him for the hot chocolate.

“You got a boyfriend?” he said, looking me over again as I stood up.

“Yes.” It seemed easier to lie than to have to fend him off.

He shrugged and turned his attention back to his food.

“Can I ask you something, Jon?”

He looked up from his plate.

“The night Sean died, he was at the arena alone, practicing. How come the rest of the team wasn't there?”

“It wasn't a practice night.”

“Then why was Sean there?”

“His head hit the ice pretty hard when he had that accident. He was going to have to sit out a few games—you know, before he could get medical clearance. I guess he was afraid he'd lose his edge. Maybe he was also afraid the scouts would lose interest in him if they saw how well the team did without him.”

“What was the rest of the team doing that night?”

“How would I know?”

“What were you doing?”

“What's it to you?”

“I was just wondering.”

“Because of your friend, huh?” He shoved more fries into his mouth before answering. “I went downtown to pick up some protein-shake mix. Then I just walked around. You want to know what I was thinking about? I was wondering where I was going to be next year at this time.”

“What do you mean?”

“I graduate this year. I don't want to go to college. I want to play hockey. I'm still hoping to make it to the major juniors, but who knows? For sure I have a shot. And it's the best way to make it, you know?”

I didn't.

“But, hey, after that last game, we're looking good for the championship. If we make it, that could be good for me. And now that Sean's not around to hog the limelight, maybe I have a shot at getting drafted.”

“Drafted?”

“You really don't know much about hockey, do you?”

I admitted that I didn't. After he explained the hockey draft to me, I said, “But what does Sean's death have to do with your chances of getting drafted? You said Sean was planning to go to college. He was going to play NCAA. He promised his mother.”

Jon laughed. “You don't know hockey, and you don't know Sean. I said Sean could go to the college of his choice—if he wanted to. But all this season he was boasting that he could get his mother to do anything he wanted. She never let up about getting a good education, especially after the way his brothers turned out. But it wasn't just college scouts who were interested in him. The major junior scouts came around, too. And the NHL. He started to hear rumors about the draft and how he'd be a first-round pick for sure. How he'd get a great contract, make some serious money. Trust me, he was going to go for it.”