Scar Tissue by William G. Tapply Page A

Brady.”
    â€œOf course you wouldn’t. Do you have any idea why Jake would leave suddenly like that and go rent a room in a motel on Route Nine?”
    â€œNo. I’ve been trying not to let my imagination get the best of me. I don’t think I want to know. I can’t think of a good reason. A lot of bad reasons, but no good ones. I guess he just needed to be alone for a while. Away from me.”
    â€œHe called me on Tuesday,” I said. “He sounded excited, as if he’d learned something. He wanted to meet with me. We made an appointment for the next day, but he didn’t show up.”
    â€œWhat could he have learned?” she said.
    â€œI don’t know. I was hoping you might have an idea.”
    â€œWell,” she said, “I don’t. Not a clue.”

    â€œIt might be important.”
    â€œI know. But as far as I know, the only person Jake might’ve wanted to kill was himself.”
    â€œHow did Jake and Sprague get along?”
    â€œGet along? Like would Jake want to shoot him?” She laughed quickly. “They got along great. Jake liked Ed. Respected what he did. He coached Brian’s soccer team. He was a good coach. The kids had fun playing for him. Ed really cared about kids. Jake appreciated that.”
    â€œThat morning,” I said. “Sunday. The day he left. Was anything different?”
    â€œDifferent?”
    â€œDid he mention Sprague?”
    She shook her head.
    â€œDid Jake say or do anything unusual? Anything that might explain why—?”
    â€œWhy he left?” She shrugged. “Not really. He went upstairs, and when he came back down he had a suitcase. Said he was leaving, and he left.”
    â€œDid he seem angry?”
    â€œNo. Sad, distracted, maybe. Depressed, I guess. We both were. But no, not angry.”
    â€œHe stayed in Brian’s room longer than he usually did, you said.”
    She shrugged. “It seemed like it.”
    â€œAnd you saw him lying on the bed.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œBefore he went upstairs, did you have any sense that something was different?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œSomething bothering him? Other than …” I waved my hand.
    She shook her head.
    â€œSo something happened upstairs.”
    â€œWhat could happen?”

    â€œI don’t know. Something to make him decide to leave.”
    â€œI assume he just got the idea he wanted to leave, that’s all. He thought of it, and he lay down on the bed to think about it some more, and then he decided to do it.”
    â€œSure,” I said. “Maybe he’d been thinking about it for a while.”
    â€œMaybe,” she said. “But if he had been, I didn’t have a clue. I still don’t. Not a clue.”
    While we were talking I finished my burger and Sharon emptied her wineglass. She hadn’t touched her salad. The waitress appeared and asked us if we were finished. Sharon waved the back of her hand for the waitress to take away her salad and asked for another glass of wine. I asked for more coffee.
    â€œI’m drinking too much,” Sharon said after the waitress left.
    â€œIs it helping?”
    â€œYes.”
    The waitress brought Sharon’s wine and my coffee, and we lapsed into a silence that was not uncomfortable. I drank my coffee and smoked a couple of cigarettes, and Sharon sipped her wine. She kept touching the condensation on the outside of the glass, staring down into it, and I watched her, thinking how young and pretty she looked, too damn young to have to endure the sudden death of her only child and the strange disappearance of her husband, who was now a murder suspect.
    When we slid out of the booth to leave, she grabbed my arm. “Geez,” she said. “I maybe shouldn’t’ve had that last glass of wine.”
    I helped her into her jacket, and she held on to my arm as we walked out.
    â€œI’ll