The Game Changer, стр. 63
I studied the receipt again to make sure I was seeing what I thought I was seeing.
“Holy what?” Daisy had gotten closer, and then closer still. Soon she was bent over the receipt, her curiosity winning out over her frustration with me. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Esther nodding with satisfaction.
“Do you see what I see, Daisy?”
“Mister Wok.” She was quiet for a minute and then said, “What am I missing?”
“This,” I said, placing my finger near the order. “Look closer.”
She squinted. “Sweet and sour chicken—hold the pineapple and green pepper—an egg roll, and a soda to go. So? I mean, their cashew chicken is better than their sweet and sour. The sweet and sour kind of reminds me of chicken nuggets with barbecue sauce. But it’s not bad. Better than China Steve.”
“And look at this.” I stabbed the top of the receipt.
She leaned over farther, then sucked in a breath. “The date.”
“And time,” I said.
It took her a minute, but then I felt the electricity of alarm surge between us. “It was bought right in the middle of that football game.”
“Which means Evangeline didn’t buy it,” I said. “I was talking to her during the game. This receipt could have belonged to the person who hit her. It could have blown out of the car window or something.”
Daisy sucked in another breath. “Someone hit Evangeline Crane?”
“Hit-and-run,” I said. “Just like Farley. Only she survived. I got this from the scene.”
“Paulie?” she whispered. “But why?”
I shook my head. “Not Paulie. And if the same person who hit Farley hit Evangeline, we know for sure he didn’t do that, either.” I tapped the date and time again.
“We’re back to square one?”
I shook my head again. “Nope. I think I know who it was. How many more lemon recipes have you got?”
She grinned. “So many.”
There was an awkward pause between us as we tried to navigate the make-up of our first argument. Would it be this easy? Best friends don’t hold grudges, right? “Does this mean you forgive me?”
She shook her head, her smile turning soft. “There’s nothing to forgive. We all have to blow off steam from time to time.”
“But I shouldn’t have blown it at you,” I said. “You’re my best friend.”
She put her hand over mine. “Which is exactly why a little argument could never tear us apart. Besides, we can’t break up. We’re the voice of this town.”
We locked eyes. “This speck,” we both said at the same time, and then laughed, which made Brant pop awake. He instantly started stretching for the muffin case again.
“He’s stubborn,” I said.
“Just like his mama.”
“Truth!”
“And, for the record,” Daisy said. “I don’t care if Parkwood is a speck or a dot or a spot or a blob. It’s home.”
I liked that. In fact, there was something about a speck that made a home more…homey.
“You know,” the man behind me said. This time Daisy and I both turned our attention toward him. “That quarterback wasn’t the only one who wanted Farley gone.” Everyone at the table except the guy who didn’t know the story nodded. “A lot of people hated him.”
“That’s what I keep hearing,” I said.
“He was a cheater,” he said.
“I keep hearing that, too.”
“He still owes me money from last year’s homecoming game.”
“He owes you money?” Daisy asked. “Are you saying he bet on the game?”
The guy nodded. “Oh, yeah. Definitely. Goes to places like this when his team’s about to play in their town, makes bets with people like us, then cheats to make sure he wins. Comes collecting the next day.”
“But when he doesn’t win,” the guy across from him said, waving around a French fry, “he just disappears.”
“Except he’s in Parkwood all the time,” the third guy at the table said. “I saw him just about every day driving in. Used to go right past my house.”
“Now why would he be coming here every day?” the French fry guy said. “And why would he be driving through your neighborhood?”
My questions exactly.
I didn’t hear his answer, because it suddenly all clicked into place for me.
I knew who killed Gerald Farley.
And I knew why.
Chapter 23
“I have to take Brant home,” Daisy said, half resisting as I pushed her along. “I don’t get what all the hurry is about. I left my favorite delivery basket in there. Hollis. Stop!” Brant stirred, then drunkenly dropped his head back onto her shoulder. “Tell me what is going on.”
“It all makes sense now,” I said breathlessly.
“Maybe to you.”
“Think about it,” I said. “The assistant coach said Farley would be moving on soon, right?”
“Right.”
“But do you remember what else he said?”
She thought about it. “Um…other than get out of my office?”
I nodded, impatient. “Think. What did he say about Farley coming to Parkwood?”
“Okay.” She closed her eyes. “Oh, yeah. He said that Farley came here for lunch.”
“Not just lunch, though,” I said. “Long lunches. He always came alone so Wilma Louise wouldn’t get in his way. And he wouldn’t let her come to the games here, either.”
She nodded, remembering. “Because Paulie Henderson was such a loose cannon. And he never had time for beers with Kermit, even when they won games.”
“Exactly. The guys in there said he was in town every day, right?”
A gust of wind kicked up, making Brant stir again, this time with a little whine. She rushed to the van and shut him inside. For the first time in maybe ever, he went into his car seat without a fuss. “Right.”
“Did you ever see him around town?”
“Only during games,” she said. “I don’t get where this is going.”
“Where would you expect someone to go for lunch in Parkwood?”
We both turned and stared at the Hibiscus.
“And that guy in there said he saw Farley driving through his neighborhood every day. Which means—”
“He was lunching at someone’s house…wait.” She gasped. “No.”
I nodded excitedly. “Yes. Evangeline said the Farleys don’t cook. Like,