Bill Crider - Dan Rhodes 08 - Winning Can Be Murder by Bill Crider Read Free Book Online

week.”
    “Brady Meredith doesn’t,” Rhodes said.  “He won’t be there.”
     “He’ll be there in spirit,” Deedham said.  He sat up straighter.  “That’s an idea, Jasper!  We can dedicate the game to Brady.  The kids’ll be so fired up, we’ll win in a walkover.  Hell, we can dedicate the rest of the season to him!  This could be our ticket to the championship!”
    Rhodes didn’t know Deedham very well, but he thought he could grow to dislike him without putting too much effort into it.  He was about to say something, but Knowles beat him to it.
    “We can’t capitalize on Brady’s death like that, Bob.  It wouldn’t be right.  I don’t want to win that bad.”
    “I do,” Deedham said.  “I don’t like losing.”
    “Hardly anybody does,” Knowles said.  “But if you don’t win the right way, what good does it do you?”
    Deedham gave a short, barking laugh.  “Nobody cares how you win, Jasper.  As long as you’ve been coaching, you ought to know that.  They just want you to win.  I’ll bet Rhodes finds that out before long.”
    Rhodes had an uneasy feeling that Deedham was right.
     

Chapter Five
     
    N ancy Meredith was nowhere nearly as big as her husband.  She was a small-boned woman, about five-four, with mousy brown hair that hung to her shoulders.  She didn’t ask Rhodes in after he told her who he was.  She just stood and looked at him.
    Finally she said, “Was there an accident?”
    “No,” Rhodes said.  “Do you mind if I come in?”
    “Oh.  No.  Of course not.” 
    She stepped back into the house, opening the door wider.  Rhodes went inside, and she closed the door behind him very quietly.
    “We can go in the kitchen,” she said.
    That was fine with Rhodes.  Maybe the kitchen was where she was most comfortable.  He followed her down a short hall, through the den and into the kitchen, which was also the dining area.  There was a chrome table with a yellow Formica top and four matching chairs.  A cut-glass salt and pepper set sat in the middle of the table.
    “Would you like some coffee?” she asked.
    Rhodes declined.  “I have to talk to you about Brady,” he said.
    Nancy pulled out one of the chairs and sat down.  “He’s hurt, isn’t he?  That’s why you’re here.”
    “I’m afraid it’s worse than that,” Rhodes said.  “He’s dead.”
    She didn’t faint or scream or even start crying.  She just sat down in one of the chairs and looked up at Rhodes as if she were expecting him to say more.
    He waited until she asked, “How did it happen?”
    “Somebody shot him,” Rhodes told her
    She shook her heard.  “A hunting accident?  Brady didn’t even like to go hunting.”
    “It wasn’t an accident.  Somebody shot him deliberately.”
    “Who?”
    “I don’t know that yet,” Rhodes said.  “I was hoping that you might be able to give me some idea.”
    “How could I?  Do you think I did it?”
    Rhodes didn’t think that, but it was always a possibility.
    “I thought you might know if there was anyone who might have reason to want him dead,” he said.  “Does he have any enemies?  Has anybody been threatening him?”
    “No.  Everybody likes Brady.”  She clenched her hands in her lap.  “He never got any threats, even last year when the team wasn’t playing so well.  Is this a joke?”
    “I wouldn’t joke about something like this,” Rhodes said.
    “Brady likes playing jokes, but this isn’t very funny.”
    “I wish it were a joke, but it’s not.  I’m sorry.  Brady’s dead.  Someone killed him.”
    Nancy Meredith started crying then, putting her face in her hands to hide the tears.  Rhodes didn’t have a handkerchief to offer her, but there was a roll of paper towels sitting by the sink.  He tore one off the roll and handed it to her.  It was all he could do.  He was glad to hear the doorbell ring, knowing that one or more of the other coaches’ wives had arrived.
     
    N elson