“If they’re arrested, our season is over,” Skeeter mutters, stuffing his hands in his jeans. “We beat Wayne Prep, and they’re out for blood—”
“Jimmy Lockhart is the sheriff of Wayne County,” Lois grouses. “He’s a big Wayne Prep fanatic. We have no friends in that county.”
“What the hell were they doing way out there?” I ask. “It’s eleven at night.”
Skeeter grimaces. “Stealing the Huddersfield goat. You have to drive through Loch Ness Road. It’s a back road, and I’m guessing they were hoping to sneak into Blue Belle.”
“Dammit!” I roar and pace around the room. “They stole the mascot.”
“They say it’s a ram, but the horns aren’t right. It’s a goat,” Skeeter grouses.
Lois whips her hat off and glares at us. “We’re wasting time. My poor Milo. He’s only sixteen! We’ve got to save them.”
“How?” I ask.
“We go down there and beg. And pray the sheriff will listen. Skeeter’s car is at my place, so he’s with me,” Lois says, shoving her hat back on as she flips around. “You follow.”
“Where the hell is this lake?” I ask, grabbing my keys.
“I’ll show you,” Nova says, coming around to stand next to me.
“You want to come?” I ask.
She nods. “If you want. I’ll need to grab Sabine. We may be there awhile.”
“All right.” Relief hits that she’s coming. I’m not ready to let her go yet.
Lois and Skeeter walk out my front door. I lock it; then Nova and I head out to the garage. I open the passenger door to the Suburban for her, make sure she’s buckled, and then get in the driver’s seat and crank it up.
Five minutes later, Sabine comes out of her house, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, and crawls in the back seat, strapping herself in.
We pass through Main Street and go several miles; then Nova gives directions that lead to a deserted, wooded gravel road that’s barely big enough for two cars.
We go around a curve, and blue lights flash in the night sky. Bruno’s white truck is pulled off the side of the road with a police cruiser behind it. Lois and Skeeter are already out and talking to the sheriff. Leaving Sabine and Nova, I jump out of the car, my jaw clenching when I see a goat tied to a tree. Wearing an orange Huddersfield football jersey, he blinks at me, then dips his head to chew on the grass.
The boys sit in the back of the police car. Yeah, this is going to be tricky.
The sheriff is tall with a khaki uniform and a cowboy hat, a holster at his hip. He steps away from Lois, who had her hand on his arm, and meets me. He gives me a firm handshake. “Ronan Smith. Nice to meet you. Jimmy Lockhart.”
I give him as much of a smile as I can muster. “Heard my boys got in a little trouble.”
He jabs his finger at the white truck. “I was out here on a call and thought I’d check out the lake area. I saw Bruno Miller driving with a busted taillight, and I pulled him over for a warning citation, then saw the goat in the back seat. Thought it was a dog, but, well, it’s the Huddersfield mascot. It lives at the stadium. That’s breaking and entering and theft.” He gives me a hard look. “I called Lois out of respect for you. I’m a fan of the Pythons.”
“But not of the Bobcats?”
He scoffs. “I played quarterback for Wayne Prep. Born and raised in Wayne County. I was at the game when you beat us a couple of weeks back.”
Great.
“What happens now?” I ask.
“I’m gonna take them in and book them in juvenile custody. Call their parents. They’ll make bail, then go to juvenile court. Theft is serious business, Coach.” He looks pointedly at the goat. He’s brown with white spots and not very big, about the size of a German shepherd.
My eyes land on the guys in the back of the cop car. Their heads are turned as they look back at me with wide eyes. “They’re my starting lineup,” I say tightly. “The Huddersfield people trashed our field, and they’re reacting. They’re good kids, dedicated on the field, and usually uphold the law.”
“They didn’t tonight.”
“Is there anything we can do to handle this . . . in private?”
There’s a tense silence as frogs croak in the distance. His face flattens. “Are you offering a law enforcement officer a bribe?”
“Of course not, but I love to sign footballs.” Yes, this is a bribe.
Skeeter slides in next to me. “Come on, Lockhart, we used to face off on the field. We know each other. What would it take to forget this ever happened?”
He hooks his thumbs in his belt. “Nothing.”
I scrub my face, searching for words. “Don’t you remember how it was to be a football player and another team pulled a prank? They’re kids. Those hormones can get out of control.”