J.A. Jance - Skeleton Canyon: A Joanna Brady Mystery

PROLOGUE

Hands on her hips, youthful breasts outthrust beneath thebulk of her red-and-gray sweater, seventeen-year-old Roxanne Brianna OBrien,captain of the Bisbee High School pep squad, tossed her long blond hair and ledher six-member team in a strutting parade around the end of the football field.

On a clear crisp late-November night, this was the end of halftimefestivities and the beginning of the third quarter in a hard-fought footballgame between two teams whose long-term rivalry stretched all the way back to1906. A ragtag marching bandcomprised of mismatched players from both theBisbee and Douglas music programshad just delivered a faltering, musicallychallenged performance. Now it was time for the uniformed yell squads of bothschools to travel to opposite sides of the field. There each would give anobligatory and good-sportsmanlike cheer in front of the opposing teams fans.

The Bisbee Pumas might have been two touchdowns behind atthe half, but there was no sign of that in the proud carriage of theircheerleaders as they marched down the sidelines toward the part of thebleachers reserved for visiting Douglas supporters.

At the fifty-yard line, Brianna, who much preferred hermiddle name to the old-fashioned Roxanne, glancedtoward the reserved-seat section where her parents usually sat. David OBrienswheelchair was parked in the bottom aisle. As the cheerleaders paraded past outon the field, Bree noticed that her fathers silvery- maned head was inclined toward his program, studying it with frowning concentration.Brianna hoped hed raise his eyes and at least glance in her direction. Shelonged for some acknowledgment from her father, for some sign of parental prideor approval. As usual, David was too preoccupied with something else to bothernoticing her.

The same did not hold true for Brees mother, Katherine.She smiled and nodded encouragement as her daughter went by. Katherinesbeaming pride and unfailing enthusiasm were almost as hard for Bree to handleas her fathers studied indifference. Under the harsh glare of the ballparksnewly installed field lights, Bree was careful not to let the hurt showthrough. After all, to those around herfellow students who had elected herhead cheerleader, homecoming queen, and the girl most likely to succeedBriannaOBrien had it allmoney, looks, and brains. Brianna alone knew the hurt anddisappointment that lurked behind those outward trappings of youthful success.

Leading; the girls down the field, Bree kept her smilingmask carefully in place. Once at the far end of the visitor section of thestands, she stopped and waited for the other girls to find their proper places.When the line was perfectly straight, she raised her arm like a conductorraising his baton to signal the beginning of a concert.

Ready, girls? Bree had to shout to be heard over the rising hubbub inthe stands as the teams on the field began to form up in anticipation of thesecond-half kickoff. Two bits, four bits, six bits, a peso. All for Douglas stand up and say so.

A the applauding Douglas fans surged to their feet, the Bisbeegirls turned a series of handsprings up and down the sidelines. Then theyresumed a parade stance and headed back toward their own side of the field viathe end zone holding
what were now Bisbees goalposts. The cheerleaders backs were turned to theplayers on the field when a referee blew his whistle, announcing the resumptionof play.

The second-half kickoff flew high in the air, sending theball tumbling toward the Bulldog offensive unit, stationed at the far end ofthe field. Fifteen yards from the goal line, the ball plummeted into thewaiting hands of Douglas quarterback and team captain Ignacio Salazar Ybarra. He paused for a moment, searching the field for anysign of weakness among the Bisbee defenders. Seeing a hole, he clasped the ballfirmly to his chest and started down the field, deftly dodging between other playersfriendand foealikewith all the grace and agility of a fleeing white-tailed deer.

As both teams rumbled down the field toward the marching cheerleaders,there was no hint on Roxanne Brianna OBriens shadowless face that in the next thirty seconds her young life would be inalterablychanged.

Afterward, newspaper accounts of the game reported thatthroughout the first half of the game on that crisp fall evening, Bulldog Iggy Ybarra had played nothing short of inspired foot-ballwith a confidence that came from knowing every yard gained carried him thatmuch closer to winning a coveted football scholarship, one that would pay hisway to college.

Pounding toward the goal line, Iggy angled across the field and then stayed just inside the sideline markers. Hehad out-distanced most of the Puma defenders and thought he was almost homefree when, five yards short of the goal line, he heard someone gaining on himfrom behind. Dodging out of the way, he went one step farther than he meant to,crossing over the sideline marker in the process. He had just stepped out ofbounds when someone smashed into him from behind. The two players crashed tothe ground only a yard or so from the cheerleaders.

Bree was close enough to the action that, even over theraucous roar of enthusiastic fans, she heard the bone snap. Turning her headin horror, she saw a Douglas player crumple to the ground with Bisbee defenderFrankie Lefthault on top of him. The awful groan thatcame as the Douglas boy fell seemed to have been wrenched from his very soul.Bree saw him lying there, writhing and helpless, moaning in agony while penaltyflags blossomed and referee whistles sounded all over the field.

Long before anyone else reached the injured player, longbefore Frankie himself scrambled to his feet, Bree OBrien was kneeling at thefallen boys side, holding his hand. She responded out of instinct, out of aninborn compulsion to go to the aid of anything or anyone in need. It was onlyas she knelt there that she realized player number eleven on the DouglasBulldog team was someone she actually knew.

The previous summer, Brianna had attended a two-week linearts session at the University of Arizona in Tucson. There, she had net NacioYbarra, as he called himself. The two of them had wound up in the same dramaworkshop. In an honor bestowed by their peers, they had been paired to play theRomeo and Juliet balcony scene for the end of-session grand finale.

In the process of working together, they had establishedan easy friendship. That night, after the performance, they had taken a longwalk, ending up at the fountain by Old Main. There they had exchanged severallong unstaged kisses. The next morning, before goingtheir separate ways, they had promised to keep in touch, but they had not doneso. The hubbub of respective senior year activities and the twenty-three milesbetween them had proven insurmountable.

Nacio, she whispered. Its me, Bree. Hang on. Help iscoming.

He looked up at her, but there was no sign of recognition inhis pain-filled eyes. Oh, God, he sobbed. My leg. Its broken. I know its broken.

Its not my fault, Frankie wailed behind them. 1 didntdo it on purpose. I didnt mean to hurt him.

By then coaches, trainers, managers, and referees were allconverging on the scene. One of them brusquely thrust Bree out of the way. Sheretreated to a spot behind the goal line where, for the next few minutes, sheand the other cheerleaders stood rooted to the ground. Around them, the entireballpark went deathly still. The only sounds to be heard were the heart-wrenching,involuntary moans that periodically escaped Ignacio Ybarras tightly clenchedteeth.

One of the Douglas coaches popped out of the group huddledaround Ignacio and gestured frantically toward a waiting ambulance that spenteach home game parked just inside the ballpark gates of the far end of thefield. Accompanied by the low growl of a siren, the ambulance picked its waydown the visiting teams sidelines through clumps of stunned players from bothteams. Two uniformed EMTs leaped from the ambulance.One brought out a stretcher while the other cut through the cluster of anxiousonlookers.