Sunken Graves by Alan Lee (thriller book recommendations .txt) 📕

“I’m only treating him fair. He’s doing the work.”

“If I don’t play him Friday, his old man’s gonna whip my ass.”

Jennings heard a subterranean dread. Coach Murray’s gaze was too fixed on the field—he worried about his job, something Jennings might hold in his hands. Perhaps Peter Lynch really was omnipotent on campus.

“He whipped mine yesterday.”

Murray, a half grin. “I heard. Like a damn rite of passage.”

“Tell Benji to keep coming to lunch. He’ll get the work in and I’ll make sure to update my grade book in time.”

“Appreciate it. We only dress twenty-six players. Fork Union dresses forty. Be good to have the big kid out there.”

Jennings nodded. “I bet.”

“You feel like addressing the team sometime? Green Beret and all. We could use the motivation.”

“Sure. I’ll tell them that reading is more important than football,” said Jennings.

“Aw hell.”

“It’s true.”

“Look at you, Jennings. Still built like a college safety. You didn’t get into the Green Berets reading damn books. I see you sweating in the weight room early mornings.”

“I’m compensating.” Jennings rapped twice on the metal shin rod connected to his left knee.

“I was in the military, you know. Failed out of college and joined up.”

“Which branch?”

“Air Force.”

“Oh.” Jennings smiled. “I thought you said military.”

“Yeah yeah.”

“Army wouldn’t let you in? You’re too little?”

“Nah, just didn’t want to get my foot blown off.”

“You think I did?” said Jennings.

“You see a lot of brothers in special forces?”

“Some.”

“But mostly white guys?” said Murray. “Black guys, we got common sense. Don’t need to get shot at to be a man.”

“You Air Force boys talk about that over pedicures?”

“Anyway, you want to address the team about overcoming hardship and perseverance, shit like that, let me know.”

“Will do.” The autumn sun hung low over the horizon. Jennings shaded his eyes with his hand, watching the players. He’d liked Murray since they met in August. They clicked from the start. “Lynch has me spooked, Coach.”

“What’d you mean?”

“I think he hits Benji.”

On field, the offense ran through the same running play four times, the assistant coaches howling.

Murray hadn’t replied. He’d gone still, as if he didn’t move the problem would vanish.

“You know anything about it?” said Jennings.

A sigh. Mixed with a grunt. “Yeah I know some.”

“What do you know?”

“I know Lynch’s a crazy bastard. That ain’t a secret.”

“What else?” said Jennings.

“Different men raise their boys differently. Some do it well, some don’t. Peter Lynch wants his sons tough. And they are.”

“You’re dodging the question.”

“You aren’t gonna like this, Jennings.”

“I already don’t.”

“I coached Benji’s older brother. Peter Lynch, Jr. We called him Junior. Mean kid. Junior told me his dad hit them with phonebooks. Started when they were little, smack them in the ass. Then the stomach. Eventually the face. Goal was to toughen them up. If Lynch saw tears, they’d get beat harder. Beaten until they stopped crying. Junior was proud of it, told me he was tough.”

“That’s child abuse, Murray.”

“I know it’s child abuse. I told that Sasquatch to his face.”

“How’d it go down?”

“I met him after practice. Told him I was worried about some marks on Junior. Kept my voice down, letting him know this was man to man. Told him, I kept seeing the bruises I might call the police.”

“What’d he say?” asked Jennings.

“Sonofabitch smiled at me. Said I was doing a good job and he drove away. Next day? I get called into the dean’s office. This was two years ago. Gordon told me some of the board of trustees were questioning my leadership. Gordon got up, closed the damn door, and told me that if the trustees saw fit to fire me then there was nothing he could do. He told me I couldn’t do the kids any good if I got let go and I should be careful.”

“Lynch shouldn’t be able to fire faculty for personal vendettas.”

“He spent millions on this place, Jennings. Guy can do whatever the hell he wants. And unlike you, single white dude, I gotta wife and a kid nearing college.”

On the field, one of the assistants called for the coach. Murray stood and brushed his pants.

Jennings rose too. The hill was tricky so he stood perpendicular to the slope. “Why didn’t you call the police?”

“I did. More or less.”

“And?”

“It’s complicated, my man. Trust me. There’s a lot to the story.”

“I read about the other stuff,” said Jennings.

“What other stuff?”

“Accusations I found online. Coach, I’m brand new. I’m not stupid enough to take on our school’s biggest supporter. But…shouldn’t somebody?”

Murray took a breath and let it out through his nose slowly. A muscle in his jaw flexed.

“You like it here, Jennings?”

“Love it.”

“Tell me why.”

Jennings shrugged. “A lot of reasons. A boarding school is similar to the military. But better suited to me, much better. It’s a built-in family. I’m trying to earn my place.”

“You need it.”

“I think I do.”

“Then let this thing go.” The coach turned toward the field and his waiting players.

“Pretend Benji isn’t being beaten?”

“He’s at boarding school now. The beatings are over. You’re too late, Jennings.”

“Lynch has a little girl at home,” said Jennings.

“He’s nice to her, I hear. Trust me. Let it go. Or they’ll let you go.”

6

The sun dipped behind the houses in Daisy Hathaway’s neighborhood and she parked her red Lexus IS convertible in the driveway. She hoisted two grocery bags from the trunk and carried them to the door. Carefully balancing the bags, she turned the knob and used her hip to bump open the door.

She dropped the bags onto the kitchen counter and put the dirty cups and cereal bowls into the dishwasher.

“Hi babe,” she called.

From down the stairs. “Hey! How’s your day?”

“Long. I got groceries.”

“Nice, thanks!”

Daisy returned to the car. Got the rest, closed the trunk, and distributed the supplies to cabinets and the fridge.

Finished. A weary sigh, stretching her back and considering dinner.

She and the guy in the basement, Byron Horton, lived on the outskirts of Grandin Village. A little ranch that reminded her of the house she grew up in. And a mortgage payment fat