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grunt. It was about as communicative as a lot of teenage boys got.
    “Come on into the kitchen.” Jackson continued to lead the way. “I’m getting dinner ready.”
    It smelled good; Zach’s stomach growled. The kitchen was nice. Really nice. Lots of brick and wrought iron. It had the look of a kitchen that got a lot of use, too.
    “So you want to talk to me about Max Shelden,” Jackson said as he stirred something on the stove. “It’sbeen a long time. I’m not sure what I can tell you at this point.”
    “Tell you the truth, we’re a little worried about that ourselves.” Frank pointed at one of the kitchen chairs. “You mind if I sit? My dogs are barking.”
    Jackson bit back a smile. “Sure. Take a load off. Haven’t heard that phrase in a long time.”
    Frank shrugged. “I’m kind of an old-fashioned guy.” He pulled one of the chairs out and sat down heavily. Zach stayed leaning against a counter.
    “So do you remember Max at all?” Frank asked.
    “You bet.” Jackson turned from the stove. “I had him on the squad for two years before his parents took him out of the public school system.”
    “What kind of kid was he?” Zach asked.
    Jackson twisted his shoulders as if to work out a knot. “In what way?”
    Why the sudden caginess? “Coach Jackson—”
    “Call me Derrick,” he interrupted.
    Zach started over again. “Derrick, we’re trying to find someplace to start investigating what happened to Max. Nothing you’re going to say is going to hurt him now. I’m sure you know that.”
    There wasn’t a news outlet in town that hadn’t led with Max Shelden’s identification. The picture that Veronica Osborne had given them was running on pretty much every major news outlet today.
    Jackson thought for a moment. “Max was a pretty ordinary kid. He was good at basketball, good enough to make the team, but it wasn’t going to get him a free ride to a university. He wasn’t stupid, but he wasn’t exactly a brainiac, either. He was a kid.”
    “So if he was so normal, why’d his parents yank him out of the school and send him up to that Sierra School?” Zach pressed. Most parents didn’t send their kids off to residential schools unless it was really necessary.
    Jackson snorted. “Have you met Max’s stepfather? Him I remember all too well.”
    “We’ve had the pleasure,” Frank said dryly.
    “Well, I think he’s your first clue as to why Max got sent away. He was always looking for any excuse to knock Max down a few steps. There’s a lot of hate in that man.” Jackson leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “I only met him a handful of times, but I sure haven’t forgotten him.”
    “You have run-ins with Osborne?” Zach asked, more interested now.
    Jackson dropped his head. “I wish they were just run-ins. It’s more like I got run over. I was a relatively new teacher back then. Nothing they taught me at Sac State prepared me for a man like George Osborne. The man charged into one of my practices looking for Max. He was livid. There was some choreMax had been supposed to do before he came to practice—something stupid like taking out the garbage or sweeping the porch. Anyway, Max had blown it off. Osborne hauled him out of my practice practically by his hair, screaming obscenities at him the whole time.”
    Jackson looked over at both men. “You know how there are moments in your life when you have to act fast to do the right thing? If you hesitate, the moment’s gone and you’ve blown it?”
    Frank and Zach both nodded. Zach knew those moments all too well. His days were full of them. Every cop’s were. His nights, too, sometimes. Nightmares where he reacted too slowly to save someone, or too quickly and his rash behavior endangered someone. Too often it was a lose-lose proposition.
    Jackson said, “This was one of those moments. I didn’t know what to do. I’d never been confronted by a parent who acted like that. Before I could do