Walter stuffed a handful of buttery popcorn in his mouth, probably stalling to think through his options. “I was in the practice room and I wasn’t alone. I was with a woman. She left and I walked her to the door. I hadn’t gone back into the room yet when the delivery driver knocked on the door, so I opened it.”
“Who were you with?”
He shook his head. “I don’t want to bring her into this.”
“Walter, this is serious. If you have someone who can verify your alibi, then you should just admit it.”
He sighed. “Fine, but I want your word that you won’t tell anyone.”
I crossed my arms across my chest. “I’m not blindly giving you a promise like that.”
“It’s nothing illegal. I was meeting Lillian.”
“Lillian the harpist? Why? And why lie about it?”
He shook his head. “It’s not something I’m willing to discuss. But you can ask her if you want; she’ll vouch for me.”
Lillian lived in downtown Austen Heights, in a cute apartment building a few blocks from the park. I’d visited there once when she’d held a bridal shower for another member of the orchestra. I’d stop by tomorrow to see what she knew. In fact, I had the perfect excuse to stop by. I’d be willing to bet that the mixed-up coat belonged to her.
The crowd roared again as the players skated back onto the ice, and I found myself drawn in, even during the times when Ernesto wasn’t playing. The game moved quickly, but I was able to track the puck across the rink. At least most of the time.
A few minutes into the second half, Fred made a particularly impressive save and smirked at the Ice Holes player who had missed the shot. That player, #49, shoved him so hard hefell backward. The crowd roared, and I jumped to my feet, as indignant as the other fans in blue.
The rink became complete chaos as players from both benches jumped over the wall. I looked questioningly over at Walter, and when he leaned in to explain it, I turned off my ear buds. The noise of the crowd hit me like a sonic boom, but I could hear his words yelled into my ear: “Nevertouch the goalie.”
It looked like the whole game was going to erupt into chaos, but my eyes were only on Neto, who skated over to #49 and stared him down, his body pressed right up against the guy in the most intimidating display I’d ever seen. #49 tore off one glove and then the other, dropping them to the ice, and Neto did the same before unclipping his helmet. #49 unclipped his helmet, too.
The crowd let out a series of “ooooooohs” as Neto reached over and knocked the guy’s helmet off.
“What’s happening?” I asked Walter.
“They’re not allowed to take their own helmets off for a fight. This is a way to get around that rule.”
I gasped as Neto punched #49 squarely in the face. The crowd went wild as the two started pummeling each other. The fight probably only lasted fifteen seconds before an official broke them up and sent them to their respective penalty boxes.
“Reyes looks a lot like Ernesto.” Walter said, peering closer. “I’m pretty sure thatisErnesto.”
I brought my face close to his ear. “It is, but be quiet about it. He plays under an alias.”
“If he’s trying to keep his identity a secret, he shouldn’t take his helmet off like that,” Walter said.
“Then why would he risk it?”
He shrugged. “Both teams were about to get into it. Facing off against that other player made it so the rest of his teammates didn’t get into the fight.”
I turned to where Neto sat in the box. His posture was relaxed, though his bottom lip was rapidly swelling and he had a fresh cut over one eyebrow.
#49 skated toward us and his team’s penalty box, blood streaming from his nose.
I turned to Walter, whose face had drained of color. “You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said, breathing shallowly. “I’ve just got a thing about… a thing about…” His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he slumped against me.
I caught him and fanned his face, looking frantically around for some help but the crowd was still wild. A moment later, he resumed consciousness. I helped him to his seat and handed him a water bottle from my purse.
“Hey, I lost you for a minute there. Do you need me to go find a medic?”
“No,” he said, taking a long drag from the bottle. “I’m okay. I just pass out when I see blood. I think I’m okay now.”
