Hawk Moon (2 page)

"Hi, Myra."

She jumped in her seat, spun around. "My God, you scared me. What are you doing in here? How did you get here?"

She saw a blur of movement and something heavy slammed against her head. She groaned at the terrible pain that exploded in her head. She reached for the door handle, struggling to escape, but then she was struck again. Her hand fell away and she sank into a vast sea far below the waves of pain.

A
s he went through the lunch line, almost everyone had an encouraging word for Will, and he couldn't help enjoying his fame. All week long, kids he didn't even know had greeted him in the hail and wished him luck in the big game.

Not only was the conference championship at stake but also Will needed to gain only sixty-two more yards and he would be in the school's record books. Since he'd been averaging over 150 yards a game, he was sure today would be his day.

He looked for Myra as he carried his tray into the lunchroom, expecting to see her at the table where she and her friends from the art crowd usually sat. He wondered if she would act as if he didn't exist or, worse, act as if he was just another student, as if nothing had ever happened between them. Whatever, he knew it was going to be awkward. But she wasn't at the table or anywhere else in the lunchroom.

"
Lansa
, get over here," a familiar voice called out. Claude Kirkpatrick, the star tackle, waved at him.

At six foot four and 225 pounds with curly red hair and freckles, Kirkpatrick was hard to miss. "We're planning our victory celebration."

"Don't you think it's a little early for that?" he said, sitting down between Kirkpatrick and Aaron Thomas, the quarterback.

"Coach would call it positive reinforcement," Thomas said, running his hand through his thick, blond hair, which was parted in the middle and cut short on the sides. He had steely, blue eyes, a square jaw and, by most accounts, was the most popular kid in school, especially with the girls.

"So when are you going to break the rushing record, the first quarter or are you going to make us wait until the second?" Kirkpatrick asked, slapping Will on the shoulder.

"Hey, I'll be happy just to make the record."

"Oh, listen to Mr. Modest," Paige Davis said as she stopped behind Will, resting a hand lightly on his back. She was tall and slender and had the looks and grace of a fashion model, the kind who appeared on the covers of magazines.

Paige and Aaron were both children of celebrities. Her mother was a movie star and her father a producer, while both of Aaron's parents were actors. Claude's father, Bower Kirkpatrick, was Pitkin County Sheriff, and his name and face seemed to be everywhere since he'd launched his campaign for a third term.

Will's father, Pete
Lansa
, also worked in law enforcement, but his territory—the Hopi reservation—was a world away from Aspen. He had promised to come here for the big game, and Will hoped he'd make it.

"Have you seen Myra?"

Paige shook her blond hair off her shoulder. "Not today. She probably skipped lunch to work on her sculpture. She's such an
ar-teest
,
you know." Paige was joking, but Will thought he heard a hint of jealousy in her voice.

Myra was from a well-to-do family that had been involved in banking and politics for decades in Aspen. Like a lot of longtime residents, her parents had mixed feelings about the influence of Hollywood stars on Aspen. But Myra got along with everyone and was one of the best liked students in the school.

Paige bent over and whispered something in Claude's ear, then kissed him on the cheek and rubbed his curly hair. They'd been nearly inseparable since the first day of school this fall. Claude managed to see Paige almost every day after football practice, which meant that he wasn't doing much homework, if any.

Will thought about Myra again. Everything had just gotten too complicated, and he felt he'd been ignoring her. But now he wondered if he'd made a mistake last night. When Will and Claude were the only ones left at the table, he told Claude what had happened.

"I'm not surprised. Things really haven't been the same with you two since you came back. I bet that Hopi girl from the summer is still on your mind."

Will had told Claude about Ellie
Polongahoya
and the strange incident involving the Hopi prophecies, but he hadn't said anything about the pilgrimage he'd taken with his father or the visions he'd had of the powerful being known as
Masau
.

He shrugged. "It's not that. It just seems like Myra and I can't talk to each other anymore. I have a hard time telling her about the things on my mind, and, I guess the truth is, I haven't taken the time to listen to her."

"That happens, Will. But don't let it get to you, not today. Hey, look at the time. We better get down to the locker room." They were done with classes for the day, but they had a team meeting before they dressed for the game.

"You've got to stay focused. That's what's important," Claude said for the third time as they headed for the locker room. It was almost as if he were telling himself as well as Will. "You can make it all in the first quarter, but if you don't, don't worry about it. Keep your focus."

It wasn't like Claude to harp on a point, but Will figured that his breakup with Myra had gotten Claude thinking about his own future with Paige.

Just as they reached the stairway leading down to the locker room, Will caught sight of Myra's mother as she entered the administrative offices. Maybe Myra was sick and Mrs. Hodges was picking something up for her. He considered going over and saying something to her, but Claude called to him from the doorway of the locker room.

"Will, we're late." They crossed the empty locker room and opened the door to the adjoining classroom. The meeting was already under way, but Will's thoughts were elsewhere. Seeing Myra's mother had left him feeling unsettled.

He looked for an empty seat and saw one next to Aaron Thomas, who momentarily played an air guitar, then made a passing motion, moving his hand back and forth next to his ear. It was Aaron's signature, his way of saying "Let's play ball."

Coach
Boorman
shot a stern glance at Will as he slid into a chair. The coach was a former lineman at the University of Colorado who, at thirty-seven, still looked and acted fit to play. He was an authority figure that no one on the team dared to challenge. He called all the plays, on the field and off. You did what he said or you didn't play, no matter how big, how fast, or how capable you were.

His talk began with his usual salvos about team spirit, pride, and honor. But this time he also said that individual goals must not interfere with the team effort. He looked right at Will when he said it. Chairs scraped against the floor as players moved in their seats. A few coughs filled the uneasy silence. Sure, Will would give up the record for the team effort, but he didn't see how not making the yards he needed would help the team.

"That said, I want the entire offense to do everything necessary for Will to get the school rushing
 
record as quickly as possible,"
Boorman
said. A cheer went up, breaking the tension, and players pounded their hands against their desks. "Then all we have to worry about is winning the game and the conference title. I know we can do it."

Just then, the phone in the room rang and

Boorman
answered it. He listened a few moments. Will was close enough to the front of the room to hear his reply. "Is it anything serious? . . . I see. I'll tell him."

He hung up. "
Lansa
, you're to report to the office immediately. Then get right back here when you're done with your business. You've got a game to play."

W
ill pushed away from the desk, walked across the empty locker room, then took the stairs two at a time. He guessed it was his father calling from the reservation to say he wouldn't be able to make it to the game. Will knew that between his job and his ceremonial duties in the Bear Clan and Two Horned Society there was little time left over for travel.

But when he arrived at the office, there was no call awaiting him. The secretary at the front desk gave Will an appraising look, then pointed to the conference room. The only time students were taken to that room was when serious disciplinary actions were meted out, and usually the student's parents were on hand to witness the event. But Will hadn't done anything and the coach had told him to come right back, so it couldn't be anything like that.

He knocked on the door, and it was opened by Mrs.
Tarpin
, the principal. She was a stout woman with short, straight hair streaked with gray and round glasses with black frames. "Please, come in, Will."

Myra's mother and Taylor Wong, Myra's best friend, were seated on opposite sides of the table. Neither of them smiled as he entered the room. Sheriff Bower Kirkpatrick stood behind them, his arms crossed. His six-foot-three--inch frame seemed to fill the office, making it feel more crowded than it was.

"Hello, Will," Kirkpatrick said in a professional voice that was neither friendly nor accusatory. "Take a seat."

"Sure. What's going on?"

Will sat opposite Taylor, who looked as if she'd been crying. She had long ebony hair and expressive features with dark, almond eyes and full lips that made her look like she was always pouting. "Hi, Will," she muttered.

"Will, do you know where Myra is?" Laura Hodges asked. She ran a hand through her auburn hair, hooking strands behind her ear.

"No. I haven't seen her all day."

"What about last night?" Mrs.
Tarpin
asked, sitting down to his left. "Taylor thought you might have been with her."

"I was, for a while. We met at Ashcroft."

"Ashcroft?" Laura Hodges leaned forward. "Myra didn't say anything about going to Ashcroft. She was supposed to go to Taylor's house for the night. Now I get a call an hour ago and find out she didn't show up at school and Taylor never saw her last night."

Will recalled Myra's mentioning that she was going to stay at Taylor's. They were going to study together for an art history test. "Didn't you call her house to see what happened to her?" Will asked Taylor.

Taylor frowned. "Myra told me she was going to see you. When she didn't show up, I just thought"—she shrugged—"that it got too late and she decided to go home."

Kirkpatrick moved around the table toward Will. "Why did you go to Ashcroft?"

"It was Myra's idea. She wanted to meet me there, so I drove over as soon as football practice ended."

Kirkpatrick stopped in front of him. "What time was that?"

He looked up at the sheriff. "About six-thirty."

It felt odd to be questioned by Kirkpatrick. Will thought of him not so much as the sheriff but as his friend's father. He had known the
Kirkpatricks
since middle school when he and Claude first played together. Kirkpatrick was a stern but dedicated father, who had mapped out his son's future. He wanted Claude to become an all-American tackle in college and play in the NFL by the time he was twenty-two.

"How long were you there?" Kirkpatrick asked. "Maybe an hour. We walked around the ghost town for a while, then went back to the parking lot." The sheriff placed a hand on the table and leaned forward. "How long did you stay in the parking lot?"

"Not long. I walked her over to the minivan. We talked awhile, then we both left." He waited for the sheriff to ask what they talked about, but he didn't. "Did you see Myra drive away from the parking lot?" He thought a moment. "No, I think I left first."

"You think?"

"I did leave first."

He leaned closer to Will. "Is there anything you're not telling me, Will?"

He shook his head. "No, sir."

Kirkpatrick straightened up and looked over at Myra's mother. "I'll have one of my deputies head over to Ashcroft and take a look around. Hopefully, she just went to someone else's house for the night, since you knew she was staying out, then skipped school this morning."

"I'll check the list of absentees and we'll call every one of them," Mrs.
Tarpin
said.

"What else can you do, Sheriff?" Laura Hodges asked. "I'm really worried about her. She's never run away."