Why Isn't Becky Twitchell Dead? by Mark Richard Zubro Page B

sort of wrestled for a minute, but they ended up laughing.”
    Eric talked for a few minutes about Jeff’s performance on the basketball court. Jeff was an above-average player except when his father showed up. His dad tended to yell and carry on, causing his son to freeze on the court. Soon after Dad would start, Jeff lost his temper over something in the game. Eric said, “I don’t see the big deal about being yelled at. Montini does it all game every game. On the bench, we used to laugh behind his back. On the court, the starters ignore him. I guess Jeff can tune out the coach, but it’s hard to ignore my dad, he’s such a pig.”
    Eric laughed. “Montini used to yell at me because I’m six eight, and I think he had visions of state championships with me as a center. But I’m a klutz and stupid. It took him a couple years to get used to that.”
    â€œYour mom said Coach Windham called.”
    He looked surprised and guilty. “That was to see if he could
help Jeff.” All my teacher instincts told me he lied. I wished I knew why.
    I asked how Montini treated the kids, especially Jeff and Paul. Eric said that the ones colleges recruited got special attention and extra practices. Also, Paul, Jeff, and some of these guys hung around after practice to bullshit with Montini. The coach wanted to get kids placed in colleges. Montini told them his dream was to coach at a major university, then the pros. It seemed that the more players he placed in colleges, the better his chances were of moving up.
    The last few losing seasons must have driven him nuts. More loses, less recruiting, I guessed.
    Eric concluded, “I like the guys on the team. That’s why I was there Sunday. I’ve known Paul since grade school. I’m two years older than he is, but he was always on our teams because he was so good.”
    I asked about Susan.
    â€œShe’s quiet. Never bothered me. Seemed to be more with it this year.” He shrugged. “I can’t figure why somebody’d want to kill her.”
    â€œI’ve been having trouble with the other kids. They won’t talk about what happened Sunday.”
    â€œThey’re worried about Becky. She talked to everybody, me included. She wants us to keep our mouths shut.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œIt’s hard to tell with Becky. She’s pretty weird. She threatened to get revenge on anybody who cooperated with you. She lives in a dopey little world of cops and robbers, good guys and bad guys.”
    â€œHow’d she threaten you?”
    â€œShe said she’d tell about the time I ‘borrowed’ a car last month.”
    â€œYou’re not back to stealing cars!” I said.
    When he was a freshman, one of the cars he’d stolen had been mine. I told you he wasn’t too bright. Even back then, my
car had a penchant for breaking down at inopportune moments. When it was stolen, it chose to die a block from school. He’d been seen by half the student body either when he’d taken the car, while driving it, or as he kicked at it when it wouldn’t go. Rust now covered most of the places he’d managed to dent in his frustration. I didn’t turn him in to the cops. I wound up talking to him about it. When he got arrested for the same thing several years later, the cops wouldn’t turn him over to his buddies who tried to bail him out. He refused to call his parents, so he’d tried me. I’d shown up, saved his ass. I’ve already mentioned the drug incident, which occurred a few months later. He’d promised to get help.
    Now he shook his head vigorously. “Honest, Mr. Mason, I really borrowed it from a guy. He’s a good friend. You don’t know him. He told me I could use it anytime. I took his word. As soon as he found out it was me, everything was cool.”
    If Becky called the police about it, I didn’t think they could do anything to Eric, but