Death Indoors: Target Practice Mysteries 4 Read online

  Startled, I turned to look at him.

  "You need to move. My student was going to stand there."

  "Um..." My face burned with embarrassment. Had I broken some unspoken practice range rule? He continued to glare at me, and I decided to move. I stepped off the line, and he ushered a thin, redheaded girl to the line. I moved down toward the door and found another empty spot.

  I squared my shoulders and drew back my bow. People pressed in close on either side of the line. Parents milled about, talking loudly about their children's scores and training.

  Coach Ron was audible above the din, talking to his star redheaded student. "Aggressive shot. Hand in. Head still. Follow through. Move the sight two clicks to--never mind, let me do it." It was a series of commands given like a drill sergeant, and it grated against my ears.

  My front shoulder was set down in a relaxed, neutral position as I drew the string back to my face. The noise assaulted me, but I tried to focus. As my hand came under my chin to anchor, my bowstring bit into the corner of my jaw and the tip of my nose gently touched the string, Coach Ron barked loudly at someone to "Focus," and my bow hand jerked up, the sight lifted completely off the target.

  I let down, returning my hands to their starting position. Rolling my shoulders up and back a few times and adjusting my feet, I started over. When I got to full draw, my sight pin bounced and jerked all over the target, more than it had ever done in practice, and cold prickling went over my body. This was not how it was supposed to go. This was not how practice had been. I finished executing the shot and my hand came back behind my head for the follow-through, but I knew it wasn't the strong shot that I had been executing recently.

  I rolled my head to loosen up then shot three more arrows. None of them were any better, and I was covered in a cold sweat. I felt tears itching at my eyes, and I blinked them away. I was a thirty, no, thirty-one-year-old woman, an adult who would not cry like a child in a room full of real children.

  Liam was talking to a mother, and I snuck over to put my bow on the stand at his feet but avoided his eyes. The mother was carrying on about her son and his wonderful training schedule while Liam nodded at the appropriate times. She called Liam Lumberjack, a nickname he hated, which meant that she didn't know him well at all.

  I took a deep interest in my finger tab, carefully adjusting the length of shoelace that my middle finger slid through to avoid making eye contact while I waited for Mouse to blow the three whistles to allow us to retrieve our arrows. Liam put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed a few times. Did he know I was struggling? I felt jittery and nauseated, like I had drunk fifteen cups of coffee and washed it down with an energy drink.

  Mouse blew the whistle, and we went to pull our arrows. I hung back several steps so as not to be hit by others' arrows as they were removed from the target mats. Once a few people cleared, I stepped forward to grab my arrows, which littered the outer rings of the target.

  A teenage girl to my left caught my eye and smiled shyly. She was shorter than me and curvy, with cherub cheeks. I returned her smiled quickly and focused on removing my arrow.

  "Excuse me, you're Di, right? You work here," the girl said.

  "Yes." I gave her a big smile. "How did you know that?"

  Her face lit up. "I've been reading your blog. Mary's too. It so cool. Jess is a great coach. I would love to work with her."

  After returning from the OIT Show a few weeks ago, we had implemented the training blogs. They were in the early stages of development as we figured out how best to highlight the Westmound Training Center and the Westmound products.

  "Are you serious? I'll have to introduce you to Jess. She'll be thrilled to hear that you like the blogs."

  We were walking back to the line when she hesitantly put her hand on my arm to stop me. She looked around then leaned in close. "Ignore Coach Ron. He was totally out of line to tell you to move."

  I blushed just thinking about it. "Oh, I wasn't paying attention--"

  "No," she cut me off. "He is always throwing his weight around like that. He must not know who you are, because he's normally sucking up to everyone that's important. So gross. I went to a weekend seminar with him, and he wanted nothing to do with me."

  We crossed over the shooting line and continued talking while a few people were still milling around the target, pulling arrows. "What happ--"

  "You can't wear those pants." Coach Ron had snuck up on us. "They're not dress-code compliant."

  CHAPTER TWO

  I looked down at my cotton black athletic pants with "Westmound" written down the right leg. They were specially designed by Jess to be worn in tournaments, and it seemed unlikely that she didn't check the dress code. "What?"

  "Not you." He pointed to the girl I'd been talking to. "You. The rules say no 'oversized or baggy pants,' and those are. I assume you will be changing before the tournament." He crossed his arms and waited.

  The girl turned a bright shade of hot pink. "But, but... I always wear these pants."

  "Then you have always been in violation of the dress code."

  Her eyes were bright and shiny. "They're not that baggy. And I don't have any other pants. I only brought these and my jeans to wear afterwards." Tears started to roll down her cheeks.

  "You better figure it out. I'll make sure the judges know that your pants are in violation. We'll file a protest if they aren't fixed." He turned and walked off.

  The girl pulled the sleeves on her long shirt down over her fists and dabbed her eyes while turning to me. "What am I going to do? I don't have anything else to wear."

  "Can one of your parents go to get you something?" I suggested, though I was already trying to think of another option.

  She shook her head. "I didn't come with my mom. I came with Mrs. Johnston." The tears flowing down her face were making large black streaks from her clumpy mascara.

  Mouse came over. "What's going on? What did Coach Ron say?" She was glaring in his direction.

  Between sobs and gasps the girl said, "He says my pants are too baggy for dress code."

  "Do the rules say how baggy is too baggy?" I asked. Most of the dress code rules were very specific. Women could wear a sleeveless shirt so long as the thinnest part of the strap was at least three inches wide. The inseam on shorts had to be three inches as well. I now carried a tape measure in my purse so I was prepared when shopping.

  Mouse rolled her eyes. "No, just not oversized or baggy."

  "That's stupid. Who determines that?"

  "The judges," said Mouse. "Now the judges are awesome and try to do the best job they can, but Coach Ron could make a big stink and pressure them into kicking her out."

  The girl burst into tears again, and I patted her back. "Thanks, Mouse, real helpful. Come on, sweetie, I'll figure something out." I realized that I hadn't asked the girl her name and hoped that nicknames like "sweetie" would suffice. Putting an arm around her shoulders, I carefully maneuvered her around the people and their quivers.

  Maybe I had something in my apartment of the housing center or maybe... I looked down at my Westmound pants. "Of course. I'll get you a pair of pants like mine."

  She sniffled but looked at me hopefully. "I don't have any money with me."

  "Come on." I walked back to Liam. "I'll take care of it. Consider it a prize for being the first official blog reader that I've met. Hey, Liam, I need to head out for a second, do you want to stay or...?"

  "I'll go with you. I've got your bow." He turned to the lady who had been talking at him and excused himself.

  I followed the pants girl out into the hallway and waited for Liam and Moo to follow. "I'm going to buy Pants here some new pants so she doesn't have to worry about Coach Ron hassling her during the tournament." Our quivers at our sides banged and jostled in time to our pace as we started down the hall.

  Liam nodded, and Pants, as I was now thinking of her, smiled shyly at him. I jetted down the hallway to the stock room where the merchandise was stored and dragged
out a key. "Does Coach Ron have something against you personally, or is he like that with everyone?" I wrote out an IOU and pinned it on the board next to the inventory list. I dragged over two boxes. "Dig through here and show me the label on the ones you think you want."

  She dug through a box, holding up a couple of pairs to her waist. "He's like that with anyone that doesn't attend his program. Unless you're important, then he's a brownnoser. Here, I think these will fit."

  She showed me the tag, and I marked the size down on my IOU. "There's a private bathroom over here that you can change in. I'll hold your quiver." I left off the part that a murder had occurred over here as well. That probably wasn't the most comforting information to share.

  I unlocked a door and held it open and grabbed my bow from Liam as he passed by. He wasn't a mule to carry my stuff around for me all day. I unlocked the bathroom. "Here ya go, Pants, I'll hold that for you." I extended a hand, and she passed me her quiver then closed and locked the door.

  Liam raised an eyebrow at me. "Pants?"

  "Sorry. She didn't ever say her name, so I had to improvise." We scooted away from the bathroom door.

  "What did Ron say to you? I saw you move at the practice range."

  "He said I was in his student's spot and I needed to move. I thought maybe I..." I looked away, embarrassed by the entire confrontation. "Pants said he's like that with everyone."

  Liam's mouth was a thin line. Moo came over and pawed at my knee. I knelt down, carefully moving my quiver to the side, and scratched his ears. "I didn't shoot well."

  Liam slid down the wall next to me. "What?"

  "I didn't shoot well. There are so many people, and I got all flustered by what Coach Ron did. I'm..." I swallowed hard. "I'm kinda freaked out."

  He shook his head and put an arm around my shoulder, squeezing with his hand. "I know."

  I leaned into his side and stared at Moo. "I just want to make you and everyone proud."

  "You do and you will. Even if you have the lowest score out there, you will. This, what you're doing right now, helping out other archers, being a good example, that is what makes us proud. Continue to focus on that. Competing is secondary." He squeezed my shoulder.

  The bathroom door opened, and I stood back up. I didn't want to be a good example, I wanted to be an awesome archer, but it was nice to know that Liam supported me either way. Pants emerged hesitantly. "Thanks, they fit."

  "Awesome. Sorry about calling you Pants, but you never said your name." I waited for her to supply it.

  "No, I love Pants. I've always wanted a nickname, but nothing's ever stuck." She grabbed her quiver from me. "I need to get back to the range before Mrs. Johnston worries." She speed-walked out down the hallway, jingling and clacking as her arrows bounced in her quiver.

  We slowly followed behind her. I locked the door to the hallway behind us and slowly fell into step next to Liam. I wanted to just sit quietly next to him and talk about anything, but I also wanted to focus my energy on the tournament. "Do you have to work while you're here?"

  "Nope, I'm just here to celebrate your birthday and cheer you on." He smiled at me.

  "Okay, then I better try to get in another practice end before lunch." And this time things would go better. We walked down the hallway and back into the practice range. The crowd was even bigger. Mouse was shooting, and Tiger had taken over the whistle. Loggin was standing next to Pants, who was proudly displaying the Westmound logo down her right leg while he nodded along.

  Liam looked into the room and grimaced. "I might not be able to stay long. There's not much room for us." He gestured at Moo. I weaved through the crowd to an empty spot next to Mouse, who gave me a nod before returning to shooting. I pulled out an arrow from my quiver, my fingers feeling fat and awkward as I nocked the arrow on the string. Anxiety welled up in my throat as I drew back. Movements that were normally smooth were instead jerky. I swallowed down my disappointment and focused on my shot; strong execution and follow-through. If I couldn't score well, at least I could look good.

  As I concentrated on my form and technique, my shots smoothed out a bit, but they were still miles from what I had been doing in practice. I stepped off the line and moved back to Liam while others stepped up to practice.

  Liam jerked his head to the left at a man with a mustache, who was holding the largest spotting scope I had ever seen. He was talking to a teenage boy who had a quiver over his shoulder, attached to a belt with a buckle the size of my fist with a dragon on it. The family motto must have been "the bigger the better." Liam whispered, "Listen."

  Spotting Scope Dad was telling Buckle Son, "It'll be okay. We'll give Coach Ron the balance for the rest of the month and tell him that he can focus on his star students this tournament."

  Buckle Son flipped the bangs out of his eyes. "He'll be pissed, Dad."

  "No, it'll be fine. He's a professional, and these things happen."

  Coach Ron joined them. "Why are you late?" He handed Buckle a recurve bow all set up. "I finished tuning the bow. You need to shoot it so I can make minor adjustments. Go."

  Spotting Dad held up a hand. "Here's the check for what we owe you. Thank you so much for setting up the bow, but I think it's only fair to tell you that we'll no longer be attending the YAP program with you. I wanted to let you know so you could direct your attention to other students." He held out the check.

  Ron's eyes narrowed. "What? You're leaving my program after I spent all that time tuning the bow?"

  Spotting Dad hesitated. "We're paying you." He pushed the check out more. "But the program is a bit too intense for us. We'll gladly recommend it to others."

  Ron put his hand on the side of the riser, next to the arrow rest, and grabbed a black piece of equipment the size of a lip balm container and twisted hard. Then he snatched the check out of the dad's hand.

  "Hey, why'd you mess with the plunger?" Spotting Dad's face was red.

  "Tuning the bow was something I did out of the goodness of my heart. I just undid it is all. Good luck." Ron turned and walked away.

  Buckle's chubby cheeks were red, and he appeared to be fighting back tears. "Dad, I told you he'd be mad. What am I gonna do? There's no time to retune the bow. I need to get my qualifying scores." He ducked his head, his bangs flopping over his shiny eyes.

  Liam nudged me in the side. "Go on, you know you want to help."

  I turned to him and nodded. "Could we use the filming room? It's not a full eighteen meters, but that would help, right?"

  Liam nodded. "I'll meet you in the hallway."

  I called over to Mouse. "Hey, can you pull my arrows for me?"

  She nodded as I handed her my quiver. "No problem."

  I went over to the son-and-father duo as Buckle hid his tears and Spotting Dad fumed. "Hi, sorry to interrupt, but I'm Di, and I work here. If you want to try and fix the bow, we've a room we use for filming that has a target. It's not a full distance, but I think it would be enough to at least get your tune close enough to compete."

  Buckle nodded at me, his eyes ringed in red. And Spotting Dad looked relieved. "Thanks, Di, that would be great. I can't believe Ron was so immature about that."

  I wove my way out of the range. Ron had messed with Buckle's plunger. It was a button above the arrow rest that the arrow lay against. When the arrow was released, it bent into the plunger. By adjusting the tension on the button, you could make the arrow fly better and be more forgiving. A tuned bow didn't react as badly to a poor shot as an untuned bow did. We had spent about a week tuning my bow, and it would need to be adjusted every time I changed my setup.

  As I passed by Tiger, I leaned over and asked him, "If you see Jess, can you send her to the filming room to help us with something?"

  "What's up?"

  "Someone messed with this kid's plunger"--I gestured at Buckle--"and we're gonna see if we can help him."

  He gave me a wink. "Sure thing, hot stuff."

  I rolled my eyes at his flirting. We had quickly establi
shed that he meant nothing by it; otherwise I would have set him straight.

  I stood next to Liam, waiting for everyone to catch up. "At least he didn't change the center shot. I bet you can get it pretty close to tuned in no time."

  Spotting Dad grumbled as they followed me down the hallway. "I can't believe he did that. I'm going to report him or file a protest."

  "Can you do that?"

  He huffed but didn't answer.

  Buckle jogged up next to me. His large aluminum arrows clanked together in his quiver and sounded like wind chimes. "There has to be a rule against it, right? He can't mess with my equipment?"

  I shrugged. "I'm sorry, but I don't know. I'm new to all this." I turned the corner and followed the corridor to the right. I unlocked the door that closed off the rest of the hallway and propped it open. This was the area between the archery and firearms wings of the center. The firearm employees were gone this weekend, as they usually were during our events. I unlocked the door to the filming room and propped it open. We used the room to film ourselves shooting to evaluate our techniques. It was still in the process of being set up.

  We'd used it yesterday, so the archery target was still out. "It's not much, but you don't have to wait for everyone to pull arrows."

  "Thank you, this is perfect," Spotting Dad said then turned to Buckle. "Grab three fletched arrows and two bare shafts and get to shooting."

  "Hold on." Liam stepped forward. "Have either of you touched it since Ron turned the plunger?"

  "Uh, no." Buckle shook his head.

  Liam went over to Buckle and pantomimed grabbing the plunger and doing two half turns tighter then grabbed it and did two half turns back. "There. That should be at least close to where it was before he touched it."

  "Smart." I gave Liam a smile as he stepped back with Moo.