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He wags his brows. “But it was a fun distraction, though. Maybe we should go back and investigate again”
“Stow it, Lothario.”
The way he’s flirting tells me he’s back to his regular self. He really scared me earlier.
“Besides,” I go on. “Mark’s back teeth are shot. He wouldn’t chew Éclat d'Érable even if he could afford it.”
“Maybe he chews with his front teeth?” Owen suggests.
“He’s also allergic to nuts. One of the ingredients of Éclat d'Érable is almond extract.”
“I still can’t figure out why you like it.”
“It’s not bad. Kind of a cross between Almond Joy, maple candy, and licorice.”
“You lost me at licorice.”
"Why would Mark steal the trophy only to just bring it back and hide it in his own office?" I add, getting back on the subject. "That's idiotic. Almost like someone planted it there to frame him."
"Someone who wants to make the team look sloppy and disorganized." Owen muses. “Like Rousseau.”
My mind starts spinning. "Do you still think it could've been him? Trying to ruin our reputation before playoffs?"
“I’m not ruling him out yet. I do think we would have found the trophy at his house if Coach Knight hadn’t interrupted us.”
"What about your dad?" I say carefully. "The timing of the trophy suddenly reappearing right after he left the arena is a little sus. Maybe he’s blackmailing Mark."
Clearly, I’ve watched too much Murder She Wrote reruns.
Owen lets out a harsh laugh. “I wouldn’t put it past him, but he doesn't have the brains to pull off something like this.”
“We should talk to Coach Knight,” I say. That old grump might have more info.
“Talk to Coach Knight about what?”
We turn to see Coach emerging from a nearby doorway. He crosses his arms over his broad chest and stares us down. “You two aren’t still playing cloak and dagger, I hope. I thought I told you I’d handle it.”
I crane my neck to look him in the eye. “You don’t actually believe Mark stole the trophy, do you? The gum?—”
“Nobody knows about the gum but us. And no, I don’t believe he stole it. But I can’t have my star center playing Hardy Boys all over Canada. So drop it.” He jerks his chin at Owen. “Emergency team meeting in five.”
He shakes his head while walking away. With all the excitement over the Hart Memorial Cup, I wonder if he knows what Owen went through earlier. The panic attack. Perhaps Owen wouldn’t want him to know. Small mercy for Owen that tonight’s not a game night.
“I am SO not dropping it,” I say.
“Me neither.” He kisses me briefly. “I need to get to that meeting. Will you wait for me?”
My heart twists in my chest. I would wait for him forever. The thought scares me like crazy. But it’s the good kind. The thrilling kind. Like that final clicking ascent up a roller coaster right before the steep drop kind.
“If I say no, you’ll skip the meeting and follow me home.”
“Correctamundo.”
I shake my head, trying to hide a smile. “Then I’ll wait.”
23
OWEN
