Sky High (A Nicki Valentine Mystery Book 2) (19 page)

Twenty-Four

After leaving Abby’s mansion and driving a mile, I pulled into a garden center parking lot to touch base with Dean. Ostensibly, it was about the case, but really, I wanted to touch base with my present—and hopefully my future.

“How’s it going?” he asked. “Any news with Mia or Lydia?”

I filled him in and added that Lydia was trying to get into a C. diff study, avoiding the subject of where I’d been.

“It’s maddening that there’s an easy solution for Lydia, but it’s so hard to accomplish. Heck, I told Frank I’ll be a donor if they need someone to step up.”

“Are you serious?” I felt silly for not volunteering myself. In the early years, parenting is basically the equivalent of managing a poop factory. I shouldn’t be squeamish about sharing the wealth. Then again, donating to someone involved with a case would be a strange conflict of interest.

“Yes, I’m serious. Nicki, I was in the Army. I’ve seen things in latrines that I’ll never speak of. This wouldn’t be a big deal. I get that Frank wants no part of it since they’re divorced, but Lydia’s got to have other people who can help.”

“It must be awkward to ask, though, and there are certain criteria for donors. She thought she had Bruce and Mia. Meanwhile, she’s sick, and her son is gone.”

“You’re right. Hey, you said Mia’s stopping by later. Do you want me there for that? I can swing by.”

I visualized my house and realized that with Dean back in town, I’d have to improve my cleaning (or not-messing-things-up) habits.

“She’s calling before she stops by,” I said. “If she gives me enough warning, I’ll let you know and see if you can make it.”

“Sounds good.”

Not knowing what the day would hold, I texted Mom about her babysitting availability. She offered to supervise dinner and bedtime for the kids, even if I didn’t end up going out, but she couldn’t stay late.

I put the van in gear and hoped my home’s natural disasters were the only ones in store.

I set my purse in the hallway and cleaned the only way I know how: by focusing on one small area at a time and cranking up the tunes. I stuck my phone in my pocket (with the ringer on high) and hoped no one came to the door, mainly because they might hear me belting out rap lyrics. I trusted the curtains would hide my dancing free-for-all.

When the only evidence of first-floor chaos included stuffed trash cans and the scent of cleanser, I took a lunch break and called Kenna.

“So, any big
Dicki
news?” she asked.

“What?”

“You know. Like if you and Dean were a celebrity couple. You’d be
Dicki
.”

I laughed. “That’s not right. What about…” I couldn’t come up with anything. “Nean?”

“Nope. It’s Dicki. I’ve been thinking about it all morning.”

“How about Deanki?”

“No! That’s worse. You can keep trying, but I’ve got this covered.”

“Okay. Fine then. You guys are
Kandy
.”

“Ha. You got me. And it sounds like a pole dancer, too.”

Between Sky’s frequent interruptions, I told Kenna I was feeling stronger than ever about Dean—and more at peace than usual about Jason. She was stunned by my visit with Abby, and she let Sky get away with a lot just to continue our conversation. Finally, she said Andy had confided in her about his article, but she wasn’t supposed to discuss it, either.

We hung up when Mia called to say she was about ten minutes away. I texted Dean and then called when he didn’t answer.

“Mia’s almost here,” I told him. “Is this a good time for you?”

“Yeah. I was on my way to the PI Academy, but I can be at your place in fifteen minutes.”

“Great. See you soon.”

I took one last glance around the house—and one in the mirror—before starting the coffeemaker, boiling water, and setting out assorted tea bags and mugs. I wanted Mia and Dean to feel at home. While waiting for them, I straightened the kids’ photos and artwork on the fridge and checked the clock. An hour and thirteen minutes until bus stop time.

The doorbell rang, and I hurried to answer it, curious who would arrive first.

“Hey, Mia,” I said, welcoming her with a hug. “That hug is from Liz, too. Come on in.” I walked her to my freshly sanitized kitchen table and offered her a seat. Her long, blond hair was clean and tucked behind her ears, and even without makeup, she looked impeccable. “Can I get you coffee, tea, water, ginger ale? Anything?”

“Tea would be nice.”

She chose a soothing herbal blend, and I poured hot water into her cup.

“Dean’s on his way,” I said, watching her bob the bag up and down. “How was your time with Lydia?”

She gave a flat “okay” and pulled a sealed, white envelope from her oversized purse.

“This is a copy of the passwords I found at Bruce’s,” she said. “I left the original where I found it and gave a copy to the police.”

“You didn’t check any of the accounts first?”

“Oh, no, I did. Most of it was a bunch of business stuff I don’t understand. But there were a few disappointing sites.”

She stared into her mug, which I was pretty sure she could have filled with tears.

“Disappointing in what way?” I asked softly.

“I’m sure you can guess. Porn. All his viewing history was there, and there was a lot of it.”

“Porn isn’t that unusual,” I said, hoping that would comfort her. In recent years, Liz had mentioned increasing problems with porn addiction among parishioners and priests alike, and I knew from other parents that it was a disturbing problem among tweens and teens. “Did you find anything out of the ordinary or illegal?”

“I don’t think so.” Tears filled her eyes, and I reached out to touch her hand.

“Mia,” I said. No one wanted her significant other looking elsewhere for satisfaction, especially in secret.

“It’s okay.” She took a napkin from a stack on the table and wiped her nose. “I just feel like an idiot.”

“I felt that way about my relationship with Jason, too,” I couldn’t help saying. She was probably thinking it anyway. My history was no secret, and Aunt Liz had shared it with her.

She crumpled the napkin and looked up. “How can someone fool someone else so easily?”

I didn’t want to answer honestly. For me, it had seemed easier to ignore problems with Jason than to fix them. In the long run, of course, it wasn’t. And in Mia’s case, fear may have entered the equation.

“Were you ever afraid of Bruce?” I asked.

Her deer-in-the-headlights expression spoke volumes.

“I know this sounds dumb,” she said quietly, “but I thought I’d be okay if I stayed with him. If I left, though, I didn’t know what he’d do. He had a jealous streak. I thought getting married would help.”

Despite her alibi, was there a chance Mia had done something to Bruce, seeing it as her only way out? And if so, how would I broach that topic with her?

The doorbell rang, and we both jumped at the sound.

“That’ll be Dean,” I said. “Are you okay if he comes in?”

She nodded
yes
, so I went to the door and explained the situation.

“We have another problem on our hands,” Dean said. “Can we talk privately?”

“I’ll be right there,” I called to Mia. “I’m just going to talk with Dean in my office for a minute.”

We closed the French doors to my study and shared the chaise across from my desk.

“What’s up?” I said.

“Frank just left me a message, and he wants us to call him right away. He isn’t happy.”

“I’m sure he’s distraught,” I said.

“No. I mean, he’s not happy with us and our investigation.”

“What? Did he say why?”

“No. Based on our conversation about PreTechTion earlier, I’d asked him a few business-related questions. Nothing specific that would give away anything you told me. I just hope I didn’t stir up something accidentally.”

“Let’s call him back now,” I said. “But we need to tell him that Mia is here and we can’t keep her waiting.”

Dean found Frank in his contacts, dialed, and activated speakerphone, raising my heart rate considerably.

Frank answered on the first ring. “Dean?” he said. “Is Nicki with you?”

“We’re both here,” I said, adding that Mia was, too—although in the other room. “I understand you have some concerns.” I winced in anticipation of his response.

“You don’t need to pursue a conversation with her. I don’t need your services anymore. Just send me your final invoice today.”

“This came out of nowhere, Frank,” Dean said. “What’s going on? Whatever the problem is, we want to fix it and make things right.”

“It’s too late. You screwed up,” he said bluntly. “And I’m pissed.” Visions of him slamming the hotel conference room door and pounding on the table filled my mind. I was thankful this conversation wasn’t in person. “I don’t know what you were doing in Florida,” he said, “but you missed something. Something big. Thank God it supports Eli’s guilt and not anything else.”

I looked at Dean. Frank knew exactly what we’d been doing in Florida, because we’d sent him a minute-by-minute breakdown. The only details we left out were my popcorn disaster, my dog rescue, and our few blissful moments in the ocean. A guilty knot formed in my stomach.

“What did we miss?” Dean asked.

“Eli’s been threatening to do this for years.”

“To come after Bruce?” I clarified.

“Yes, Nicki. To kill him. His ex-wife not only
says
it, but it’s why they divorced, for God’s sake. She’s got emails to back it up. Every piece of evidence, including Bruce’s blood in Eli’s car, points to him. There’s no reason to waste more time and money on this.”

I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. Andrea suspected her parents’ divorce was the result of Bruce’s actions and their effects. Eli and Suzanne hadn’t told her that, but why would they? They wouldn’t want her to feel responsible. And there was no reason for Eli to tell us something so incriminating. It was our fault we hadn’t spoken with Suzanne. Eli had given us her number when he’d been arrested, and we hadn’t followed up. We’d let Andrea do it. Frank was right.

I was mortified, and the expression on Dean’s face said he was too. Yet I was still surprised Frank let us go so quickly. I trusted Dean, but maybe he
had
upset Frank by questioning him about PreTechTion. Or maybe Frank had something to hide.

“I completely apologize for not meeting your expectations,” I said. “Is there any way to make it up to you?”

“No,” he said. “Just email me your invoice today and let the police take it from here.”

“What would you like us to tell Mia?” I asked tentatively.

“Tell her she can rest easy, because the right person is in jail.”

As much as I wanted to comfort Mia, those words couldn’t pass my lips, because something abstract…something I couldn’t quite put my finger on…was niggling at my conscience.

“Is everything okay?” Mia asked when Dean and I entered the kitchen, a touch of justified annoyance in her voice.

“I’m sorry. We had to return a call,” I said. “To Frank.”

Mia sucked in her breath. “Is there any news about the case?”

There was, but not the kind she meant.

“He’s confident the police have the right person in Eli,” Dean said. “So he doesn’t feel Nicki and I need to keep investigating.”

I watched Mia intently, curious how she’d react. She inhaled deeply and blew out a long sigh.

“I’m relieved,” she said. She rested her head in her hands. “I trust Frank’s opinion. He’d do anything for Bruce, so if he believes Eli is guilty, so do I.” She looked up. “What do you think?”

Dean and I needed to discuss that. I wasn’t sure we’d give the same answer.

“We wish we could have done more,” I said. “We just want to make sure you and Frank are comfortable with how the police are handling things. If there’s anything else we can do for you, Mia—ever—just let us know.”

“I will,” Mia said. “I promise.”

“Actually,” Dean said, “There might be something else I can do.”

Oh, no, not again. He’d already surprised me once by volunteering with this case. I tilted my head, trying to look interested, not irritated. As it turned out,
dumbfounded
would have been more appropriate.

Twenty-Five

“I’d like to be Lydia’s fecal transplant donor,” Dean said. Silence from me and Mia. “If she doesn’t get into that study, that is. I have a friend who’s a doctor, and I went to see him yesterday. He wrote a STAT order for my lab tests, and some of them had already been done when I got back from overseas.”

Dean explained that when he’d returned to the U.S., he’d gotten a full physical, which included a battery of tests. So far, he was the picture of health. “It’s ludicrous that Lydia has to wait so long,” he said. “Volunteers should be coming out of the woodwork.”

I was quiet, and Mia was sniffling.

“Are you okay?” I asked, moving closer to rest a hand on her back. “I hope that didn’t upset you.”

“I’m okay,” she said. “It’s a miracle. Or it will be if it works out. Those tests are expensive, though. Are you sure about this, Dean?”

“Absolutely. If nothing else, I’ll get the most thorough checkup of my life.”

“You haven’t taken any antibiotics recently, have you?”

“No. Would that eliminate me as a donor?”

“It might. Other than that, you’re healthy?”

“As a horse. I’m lucky. My doctor screened me well, and Lydia’s doctor is welcome to do the same.”

“No matter what, Mia, we care about how you and Lydia are doing,” I said. “So please stay in touch.”

“I’ll call you as soon as my tests are back,” Dean told her. “It shouldn’t be long.”

“Thank you both,” she said, standing to go. As she hugged me, I noted the microwave’s clock over her shoulder. Fifteen minutes until the kids would be home.

“The kids are going to be here soon,” I warned Dean after Mia left. “But we have to talk about that conversation with Frank. I’m in shock.”

“I am, too,” he admitted. “We told him we were in over our heads from the start, but I still feel like crap about it. There’s no question we should have talked with Eli’s ex, but it’s too late now. I’m really sorry things ended this way.”

“But I don’t feel like they’re over.”

“Nicki. The police are convinced. Frank is convinced. And so is Mia. It sucks that we didn’t do more, but what’s done is done. And I really think this is
done
.” I wasn’t sure what to say, so I stayed quiet, maintaining eye contact. “What?” Dean probed. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m a mom and a widow of a cheater. I have a lot of experience with lying. I take one look at Jack and Sophie and know if they’re guilty, and I don’t need a lie detector to tell me to trust you,” I said. “Obviously, Eli is different, but my gut says he’s telling the truth, or at least part of it. If I ignore that, it’s like ignoring everything I know is right.” Now it was Dean’s turn to stare. “Also, I’m worried about what else we might have missed. Like we never visited the crime scene.”

“They wouldn’t have let us in at first,” Dean said. “And then we were in Florida.”

“We’re back now, though,” I said. “And even if we don’t learn anything big, you could give me some crime scene tips.”

“If visiting the scene will make you feel better, I’m okay with that. When do you want to go?”

“I don’t know. The kids will be home any second.”

“Bring them,” he said, “if it’s not too awkward. There’s a playground there.”

It was about as awkward as anything could get. Kids at a crime scene. Dean in my minivan. Then again, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“It’s cold out…” I stalled. The kids wouldn’t care about the temperature, and they’d love seeing a new playground. The exercise would do them good, too. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll just tell them it’s a work thing.”

“Should I walk to the bus stop with you?”

I imagined the looks I’d get from other moms. Or, more accurately, the looks
he’d
get and the questions I’d get later. I answered with a casual “Yeah” and said I had to “get something out of my car” (meaning a year’s worth of dust and crud) before meeting him outside.

I’m not sure who was more surprised to see Dean, the parents at the bus stop or Jack and Sophie. Everyone greeted him with smiles and interest, and I felt guilty for not giving my friends a “hot guy” alert. Almost anything except perfection was understood at the bus stop, including PJs, unwashed hair, and lack of winter gear—on parents, not students. If the kids showed up looking like their worn-out moms and dads, social services would be called regularly.

When the bus pulled up, Sophie got off first and greeted Dean with a surprising, adorable hug, followed by Jack, who high-fived us both. I liked Dean’s reaction, which was to give Sophie a gentle squeeze and Jack a friendly “How ya doing, dude?”

“This is my friend and colleague, Dean,” I told the moms who lingered with their kids and looked especially curious.

He shook hands and flashed a smile that made my knees weak. I almost giggled at the thought of us pulling up one day on his motorcycle. I could hop off, kiss him goodbye, and say, “Hello, ladies!” The conversation wouldn’t be about teachers, fundraisers, or dioramas that day, I can promise.

As we walked away, I asked whether Jack and Sophie would like to visit a new playground after stopping at home, knowing the answer would be
yes
.

“You have to
work
at a park?” Jack asked.

“Yep,” I told him. “We can go for a walk and check out the play equipment.”

“Cool,” he said, bolting ahead of us with Sophie trailing behind, her purple backpack slapping back and forth as she tried to keep up.

“They’re awesome,” Dean said. I didn’t know what prompted the compliment, but I thanked him and agreed.

At home, I grabbed pretzels and drinks and asked the kids to use the bathroom before we left.

“You too, Dean,” I teased.

“Hey, whatever you say.” He did a comedic, obedient march to the bathroom that made all of us laugh.

At the last minute, I grabbed my digital camera for high-quality photos of the scene—and possibly of the kids.

Kids and crime scenes. A horrible combination. I was glad Dean was along for the ride, messy minivan and all.

The park access road was deserted except for scattered joggers, bikers, and walkers. While the kids kicked rocks and took nature pictures with my phone, Dean and I surveyed the area, snapped photos, and discussed crime scene basics, which I’d reviewed in PI class and mostly forgotten when they didn’t come in handy.

“There are really two crime scenes,” Dean said. “The primary one—here—and the secondary one, the riverfront where Bruce was found. Unfortunately, we can’t explore that now. I drove by earlier, and it’s pretty steep and muddy.”

“Okay. But we could take a look at the bridge where his body might have been thrown over.”

“We can do that on the way home. I wish I’d gotten anything helpful out of the Parks and Rec guy who found Bruce’s car. He just came into work, found the car, and called the police. No one is supposed to drive back here except workers.”

“It makes sense that Bruce would meet Eli here. It’s quiet and out of the way.” If it weren’t a crime scene, I’d have called it peaceful. The kids looked adorable in their bright, easy-to-spot winter coats, surrounded by trees while they collected pine cones and searched for bugs.

“You know what?” Dean asked. “If I were Bruce, I might have picked a more public spot. Somewhere Eli wouldn’t go wild on me.”

“I guess. But offering him money might have attracted some unwanted attention.”

“Yeah.”

Dean set his jaw and looked around. I scanned the trees for lampposts but didn’t see any.

“Can you imagine how dark it must have been here at night?” I said.

“Ideally, we should visit then, too. Let’s walk through a scenario. Eli said he got here early—just before two a.m., and Bruce was already here. Bruce’s car would have been ahead of Eli’s, probably pulled in that way.” He pointed to a forested area where the service road ended and a path led through the woods. We both looked at the ground, where no tire tracks were evident. “Unless he turned his car around when he got here, but the grass doesn’t look disturbed.”

“Right. Then Eli pulled in after him, facing Bruce’s car. He said his headlights were on, and that’s how he saw the green money bag.”

“Then they talked, or argued, and according to Eli, he slapped Bruce and made him fall backward.” Dean did a mock tumble, which the kids found hilarious.

“Except the police say he did a lot more than slap Bruce. More like hit him with something. Then Eli would have transported Bruce in his rental car to wherever he was dumped.” I despised the word
dumped
, but it accurately described the killer’s deed. “I’m surprised there wasn’t more evidence in Eli’s car. All we heard was ‘blood on the driver’s seat.’ There had to be more than that.”

“Where’s the playground, Mom?” Sophie called out.

“I don’t know, actually,” I said to Dean. “Do you?”

“Come on, Jack and Sophie,” he answered. “Let’s find it.”

We trudged down the wooded path and stumbled onto an enormous playground. Dean must have known where it was. If only we could stumble into more valuable finds.

The kids played happily for almost an hour while Dean and I asked every mom, dad, and passerby about the case. The police had done the same, but there was no reason not to do it again. Almost everyone had heard about Bruce, but no one had anything to add.

Cold and failure were getting to me when I approached a mom whose little girl was pushing a toy stroller toward the park.

“Hey,” I said, waving to them. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” the mom replied. “Stop here, honey,” she told her toddler, who struggled to control the stroller.

I explained that I was a PI and asked a few questions, thrilled that she wanted to chat.

“All the parents in my neighborhood are talking about it,” she said. “This is usually such a safe area. We hate knowing something awful like that happened.”

“Do you live nearby?” I asked.

“We do.” She pointed at some townhomes. “That’s our street, through the trees over there. Do you know anything about the case? I hope it wasn’t a random thing.”

I understood, since explicable crimes make life feel in control.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” I said.

“So you’re really a PI?” she asked.

“I am,” I said, “and a mom.” I nodded toward Jack and Sophie being chased by a “monster,” a.k.a. Dean.

“What a great dad,” she said, catching me off guard. If Dean and I lasted, we’d probably get a lot of that. I smiled in response, feeling like Kenna when someone says, “Your daughter got your beautiful blond hair.” It wasn’t true, since Sky was adopted, but the truth wasn’t really a stranger’s business. “You know, if you’re an investigator I should tell you something, even though they’ve already arrested the guy.”

“What do you mean?” I said.

“This mom I know was driving her son to the ER last Friday night, and she saw a car parked on the bridge around three a.m. She didn’t think anything of it until later when she heard where a body had been found. She told the police, and obviously they’ve already charged someone. But it just freaks us out that she might have passed him. Can you believe that?”

“Wow. What kind of car did she see?”

“An old, four-door sedan. Maybe silver. She wasn’t sure about the color.”

“Did she see anyone in or around it? Or the license plate?”

“No. She wasn’t paying much attention because she was focusing on her son. It turned out he had appendicitis and needed surgery.”

“I hope he’s okay.”

“He’s fine. He came home the next day, and he’s doing great.”

“I’m so glad.”

Once we’d covered everything I could think of, I pulled out a business card and noted her and her friend’s contact info on it.

“Tell her that we met,” she advised. “I know she won’t mind talking to you.”

“Thank you so much.”

I took out another card and handed it over. She flipped it back and forth, reading both sides. “Huh. A PI who’s a mom. I might call you to find out how to get such a cool job.”

“Feel free,” I said. “It’s probably easier than you think.”

Getting the job
, that is.
Not doing it.

I waved goodbye and motioned Dean over, eager to share the news. I was pretty sure Eli hadn’t been driving an old car, but I needed to check our case notes.

“I know witness accounts aren’t particularly reliable,” I assured him. “But something tells me we should look into this.”

“It’s not our job, Nicki,” Dean said, breathing hard from so much running with the kids.

“I know, but I’ll never be able to stop thinking about it if we—or I—don’t follow up.”

Dean smiled. “There’s no ‘I’ in this. Do you think it’s a good time to catch this mom at home?”

I’d learned she was a stay-at-home parent whose middle schoolers played lacrosse. I glanced at the nearby, empty soccer fields. It was still a little early for sports practices. “I think we’ve got a good shot at it.”

“Let’s do it now. You’ll probably have more success than I will. Do you want me to hang out with the kids?”

“Let’s drive over and see how things look first.” I wanted to minimize Dean-kid alone time. It was bad enough to worry about what Jack and Sophie would say in my presence, never mind my absence.

The kids begged to stay, but I held firm. “There might be another park in the neighborhood we’re visiting. Let’s go see.”

“I’ll chase you to the car,” Dean tempted them.

Dang. He really was irresistible.

The mom wasn’t home, but there was a tot lot nearby, so Dean generously played with the kids while I parked and called her cell.

After a brief, reassuring introduction, she was willing to talk.

“It was the scariest night,” she said. “I was so worried about my son, and I only noticed the car on the bridge because it was the only other one on the road. It was 3:05 in the morning when I left home, and I only live a few minutes from there.”

She restated what I’d heard at the park and confirmed she’d spoken at length with the police.

“Did you see the driver at all?” I asked. “Even in your rearview mirror?”

“A little. He—or she, I guess—was balding or super short-haired. But that’s all I noticed. I remember the car looked like an older model with a flat back end—like it had been hit with a frying pan, you know? Not rounded. And it was light, like silver or champagne. I’m pretty sure it had four doors.”

I took notes as quickly as I could.

“Were its headlights on?”

“I don’t remember. I’m sorry. Its hazards weren’t, though, because it didn’t look broken down or anything.”

When the conversation didn’t yield more insights, I thanked her and called the kids and Dean back to the car.

“What do you think about what she said?” I asked Dean as we pulled out of the lot. I had something to tell him, but I wanted his perspective first.

“I don’t think it was Eli on the bridge.”

Jack and Sophie were singing Kidz Bop versions of risqué songs behind us, and I hoped Dean could tune them out.

“I agree,” I said. “Eli’s hair isn’t that short, and I doubt his rental car was old.”

“Do you know what she meant by a flat back end? When was that in style?”

“I had a car like that a long time ago, but it doesn’t matter when, because you know who still has one?” I glanced over and made eye contact.

“Who?” Dean asked.

“Mia’s ex, Austin, and his grandmother, Betty. They share it. Remember? It was in the driveway. It’s an old, light-colored, four-door sedan.”

“I think you’re right,” he said slowly.

“I’m sure of it. And I hate to say this, but they’re both kind of bald looking.”

Dean laughed. “There’s no way Grandma Betty was out at three a.m.”

“You never know. I hope when I’m a grandma, I still have some three a.m. nights left in me.” I peeked at the kids in the rearview mirror to make sure they weren’t listening. “Let’s drive by the bridge, and then we’ll look into this. We both thought Austin was hiding something. What if this was it?”

“I don’t know what you mean by ‘look into it,’” Dean said, “but we’re not just popping in on a potential killer.” I appreciated that he whispered that last word. “I have to stop by the PI Academy, so while I’m there, I’ll check with the police and see what they have to say. Then we’ll go from there.”

Sounded reasonable.

I slowed as we approached the bridge—trying not to think of our swim in the canal—and, in language I hoped the kids would ignore, discussed how challenging it would be to throw someone into the chilly river below. It would depend on Bruce’s size, which was average, and the perpetrator’s strength and height. Austin and Eli, not to mention football teams in general, didn’t lack either.

I pulled over to let Dean hop out and take a closer look at the railing, which he determined wasn’t much of a barrier. When he got back into the car, I negotiated a break from Kidz Bop and singing (in exchange for gum) and turned on a 24-hour news station, curious if Bruce’s case would be a headline. What I thought was unrelated surprised me, and when I heard the name
PreTechTion
, I turned it up so we could hear every word.