Game Change: A Nina Bannister Mystery (The Nina Bannister Mysteries Book 3) (28 page)

Same response.

Dong
DONG
dong
DOOOOOONG
!

She became aware of the ticking of a clock in the room before her.

No one was at home.

She reached once more for the doorbell, which glowed reassuringly pink, and seemed to draw her index finger to it by a warmth that, if it did not really exist, at least produced a kind of imaginary antidote to this world of stillness and shadow.

Ring again?

Why bother?

The door had ornate glass designs, backed by wisps of hanging curtains, dark now like everything else…and a black space of slightly more than an inch separated it from the door jam.

She peered through the glass and could see nothing.

Reaching forward, she felt the smooth mahogany of the door frame scratch the tip of the same finger she would have used to press the doorbell button.

Go home. Go home. Just go home. Something’s not right here. Just go home.

She pushed.

The ponderous, lead-weighted door swung inward, brushing over a throw-rug lying just inside, the door itself now two inches open, now four, now six…

A vast and dimly lighted room spread before her like the set of a movie. Plate glass window far across the Angora carpet…she did not know what an Angora carpet was, but if there was such a thing, soft and giving and firm and colorless and never-spilled on at all…this thing sponging beneath her shoes was it; furniture of dark green leather and black-iron tubing, books like soldiers guarding every inch of wall space, separated from other books only by paintings, which hung perfectly straight, like windows with Dutch sailors and English ships looking out of them.

She could hear behind her the sound of a plane overhead, probably on a landing approach to Bay St. Lucy’s small airport. Far down the street there was the occasional baying of a dog; and beyond that she could make out traffic noise, muffled and distant, on the Interstate circling the city.

Why was the door unlocked?

The room stared back at her, grey and inert, its sharpened corners and clear lines blurred now by darkness and near silence. But the clock, almost as tall as the ceiling itself, stood watch, pendulum swinging easily within its panel-casing, a face surrounded by Old English numbers.

Seven thirty five.

She stepped further inside.

The room grew more distinct as her eyes accustomed themselves to its half-light. A staircase beyond and to the right, leading up into complete darkness; a decorative cupboard on the wall opposite, circular shapes that must have been dishes gazing out into the center of the room; several feet beyond that, the doorway leading into the kitchen, where she could see counter, shelves, refrigerator, a table.

In her purse was a cell phone.

She felt a mad desire to call the police.

And tell them what?

She had been stood up?

There was no one here. And that was all.

“April?” she shouted.

Her voice echoed back at her.

But there was no response, of course.

Was there something wrong here?

No.

No, of course not!

This was completely like April van Osdale. Nina did not exist to her.

Someone important had called. Someone from the state educational center, perhaps flying into Bay St. Lucy on the very plane that she had heard only moments ago.

April had received a dinner invitation and had simply forgotten once more about little Nina, the woman she’d met years earlier at The University of Mississippi and not retained the slightest memory of.

This was the nature of Aprils. To completely forget Ninas.

And that had happened once again.

Nothing was wrong here.

No need to call the police.

But, why was the door open?

The door was open, she told herself, because April had simply forgotten to close it securely.

Happens all the time.

She took a deep breath, then another.

Then she turned, walked out of the house, closed the door firmly behind her, and pushed on it.

It had locked itself.

“Just one of those things,” she whispered to the knob. “Wasn’t in a mood for shrimp anyway.”

She walked away, wondering what April would have to say to her the following day.

She did not know that she was not to see April the following day.

Or any other day.

Ever.

CHAPTER 17: THE WILDS OF MISSISSIPPI

“Before us the thick dark current runs. It talks up to us in a murmur, becomes ceaseless and myriad, the yellow surface dimpled monstrously into fading swirls travelling along the surface for an instant, silent, impermanent and profoundly significant, as though just beneath the surface something huge and alive waked for a moment of lazy alertness out of and into light slumber again.”

––
William Faulkner
,
As I Lay Dying

The following morning, Saturday, Meg Brennan arrived at Nina’s shack driving a recreational vehicle with two kayaks on it, announcing: “Great weather! Love this weather! Dramatic!”

Nina, who’d arisen some time earlier, stepped out onto her porch and sniffed the air.

It was not great weather, but somber, wet, gray weather.

Still, Meg’s exuberance seemed to warm it up and dry it out.

“You had breakfast, Nina?”

“Yep. Bacon and eggs. What’s going on, Meg?”

“Congratulations on the Logansport game! I heard all about it!”

“Thanks!”

“Can’t believe you got tossed! Took me two years coaching before I had my first ejection!”

“Yeah, well, I’m a fast learner!”

“You sure are! Hey, wanna talk about Hattiesburg?”

“Of course I do!”

“I’ll tell you everything I know. I’ve only got about a hundred or so pages of notes and play diagrams to use against them.”

“Ok then, come on up.”

“I’ve got a better idea; let’s go kayaking!”

Nina shook her head:

“I don’t know how to kayak.”

“You don’t know how to coach basketball, either. But somehow, you do. You’re wonder woman.”

“I don’t want to drown.”

“You won’t drown. I’ll teach you how to kayak—and we’ll talk Hattiesburg!”

She thought about it; what was the harm?

It would get her mind off April van Osdale, off being stood up, and off the ridiculous examinations that she’d been forced to administer the day before.

“All right. What do I wear?”

“Wear your kayaking stuff!”

“Got it.”

She went back inside, changed into her ‘kayaking stuff’—which consisted of a pair of Nikes, a pair of blue jeans, and a pair of sweatshirts, one worn over the other—and in five minutes, Meg was sliding open for her the door of the van.
 

Nina felt as though she was staring into a sporting goods store.

There were tennis rackets, bowling shoes, golf clubs, kayak paddles—two of which Meg grabbed casually and threw behind her out on the driveway—and softballs. There were running shoes and running shoes and more running shoes. There were dumbbells and barbells and hats and caps and sunglasses and tubes of suntan lotion (which, thought Nina, neither of them could have ever needed).

“My God, you’ve got everything in here!”

“Jenn and I like to be ready for all emergencies, sport wise.”

“Where is Jennifer?”

“She’s running the shop.”

“I must say, Meg, you guys seem to be taking this pretty well.”

The two women had climbed into the van by now; Meg started the engine, backing carefully out of the driveway while nodding and saying:

“We’ve been through worse. We’ve been through a lot worse. I was just caught off balance the other day at school. But I’ll get another job. In a way, I’m kind of glad to be out of this one. I loved working for Paul, but this…”

“Don’t say it.”

“I know. Hey, let’s talk Hattiesburg.”

And they did.

They talked about nothing but zones, pick and rolls, press strategies, psychological ploys, players’ strengths and weaknesses, and every other possible matter, while pine forests grew denser on either side of the two lane road as they wound their way north.

They also talked, of course, about the McNulty sisters.

“They’re both six four, Nina. And believe me, they’re mucho tough. Theresa and Nicki. One of them slapped twenty four on us last year; the other eighteen.”

“How do you stop them?”

“You don’t stop them. Nobody stops them. That’s why Hattiesburg won state last year. All you can do, maybe, is slow them down. But when they alternate down low and move the way they can from free throw line to baseline—and given the fact that Hattiesburg has superb guard play as well, it’s just tough.”

“How much did you lose by last year?”

“We lost by eighteen, but it felt like more. Of course, we were at their place; this year they have to come to us.”

“Well. That’s something.”

“You plan to get thrown out again?”

“No, but I’ll have my say.”

“You know the whole town’s talking about you.”

“It seems like that’s happened before; twice in fact.”

“Yeah, but that was about solving murders. This is about sports; it’s serious. You’re everybody’s hero. I can tell you, the gym’s going to be packed Friday night. Oops! Here’s our cutoff!”

Meg braked and turned into what appeared little more than a cow path. The van bounced for half a mile or so, and came to a stop at the edge of a clearing.

“The stream’s down there! It’s almost white water for two miles or so, then it flows into a small lake. We’ll kayak down into the lake, then hike back and get the van. There’s a way to drive back to the lake where we’ll pick up the kayaks so that we don’t have to carry them back. This kayak trail was the first one Jenny and I tried after we’d moved to Bay St. Lucy. Come on! Help me get these kayaks off the roof of the van!”

She did so to the best of her ability. There were two kayak beasts for them to battle against, one bright yellow and the other an even brighter red.

The fight was uncertain for a time but ultimately they won. Finally, the boats lay begging at their feet. The two women passed a quiet moment of mental exultation, after which Meg clapped a palm on Nina’s shoulder and said:

“Now we have to get you outfitted. Primary rule among kayakers: life jacket. Here’s one that fits me pretty well. We’re about the same size. Put it on.”

Nina took it in her hand, unclamped a few elastic bands, slipped it around her, snugged it back down to her, thumped her palms once or twice on her now greatly expanded chest, and deemed herself ready.

“It’s good.”

“Not too tight?”

“Nope.”

“All right. Try this helmet.”

The helmet was a good thing too, because rain was starting—she could hear droplets spattering on its vinyl surface—and because it, along with the jacket now protecting and enlarging her torso, made her feel like a football player.

She almost wanted to take off running toward the stream, which she could hear running beneath them, somewhere hidden in the dense forest.

But that was impossible, of course, because of the kayak lying there.

“First,” shouted Meg, above the roar of an increasing wind, “stretch a bit. Do what I do; you don’t want to pull a back muscle.”

She could not do what Meg did, of course, but she could do half of it, bending halfway to the ground, twisting halfway into a pretzel, etc.

But finally it was time to attempt the job at hand:

“Have you ever picked up and carried a kayak?”

“No.”

“It’s not that hard. This one just weighs forty pounds. So, stand right in the center of it.”

“Here?”

“Yeah, that’s good. Now crouch down, and pull it up so that the cockpit opening is against you.”

“Cockpit?”

“The hole in the middle where you’re going to sit.”

“Why don’t they just call it a hole?”

“I don’t know. But do it.”

“Ok.”

“There you go, that’s good. You’ve got it snug against you. Now bend down low and get your shoulder under the edge of the kayak. When you feel that edge cutting into your shoulder just a little bit, then plant your feet, take a deep breath, and stand up.”

“Can I do this?”

“Sure you can! All the lifting’s going to be done with your legs. You’d be amazed at how strong they are. Nina, you could probably lift a double kayak. Come on now, do it!”

She braced herself, took a deep breath, counted one, two…

…and stood up!

And she could do it!

She was doing it!

“Hoorah for Nina!”

“Wow,” she said, rocking back and forth from one foot to another, “it’s not that bad!”

“Told you so!”

The weight of the kayak was cutting slightly into her shoulder, but all in all the boat seemed much lighter than she’d expected.

“Wait for me a second…”

Meg hoisted her own load as though it were a sack of groceries and said:

“The stream is down there to our right. I’m pretty sure I remember the path; it’s a little overgrown but not too bad. Now come on, follow me.”

And off the two of them trekked.

Nina had not gone ten feet before the forest had surrounded them. The already dark morning closed in, rain spattering on dense foliage, and the ground springy and soft beneath her sneakers.

She fell into a march rhythm, one two one two behind the steadily pacing form in front of her, and she began to realize a sense of—what was it?

It was near exultation.

The wind, strong as it was, was not actually cold, and the rain was movie rain: she could watch it and hear it but not feel it. It had no effect on her.

What did have an effect on her was the adventure of the thing, though. She was not feeding her cat; nor sipping tea in Margot’s garden; nor reading a book nor walking idly along the beach.

She was doing this entirely outrageous and unplanned thing, a thing she’d never done before or even dreamed of doing, a thing that other people did, bizarre people, people who squinted against the sun and climbed mountains and sailed around the world and caught marlin and––well, those kind of folks.

Just like two nights ago.

She was a basketball coach…and she was a kayaker?

What would Frank have thought?

“How you doing?”

“Good! Doing good!”

“Maybe a hundred yards more and we’re there! You up for it, Nina?”

“Sure!”

“All right then!”