Dangerous Lies Read online

  "A shame. Were any scouts planning on watching you play this week?"

  "Sure. They always are. But don't you fret, Mrs. Lamb. You throw an over-the-top sinker like I do, and nobody's going anywhere. Just giving them a chance to sit back and wipe the drool off their chins, that's all." He laughed and Mrs. Lamb joined in.

  I glanced sideways at Carmina, and while her gaze was fixed forward, I knew she wasn't serenely listening to the organ prelude, as she appeared. At last I drew her eyes to mine. We shared a meaningful look. She patted me on the knee. I wasn't exactly sure what the gesture was supposed to mean, but I felt a measure of solidarity. She was on my side.

  Chet wasn't in church, and I tried not to feel deflated as Carmina and I filed out of the chapel after the sermon. I wouldn't judge him if he'd gone out of his way to avoid me, but it didn't seem like his style. Chet was as likely to hide from me as I was to hide from Trigger. So where was he?

  Risking arousing Carmina's suspicion, I said, "I didn't see Chet today. Does he usually miss church?"

  "Why? Something happen between the two of you?"

  I should have known there was no such thing as slipping one past Carmina.

  I scoffed. "Of course not." Then, "What makes you think something happened?"

  "You sound guilty."

  Making a noise as though I were offended, I said, "Oh? And what do I sound guilty of?"

  "Keep talking and I'll figure it out. Didn't spend thirty years honing my interrogation skills for naught."

  A notable pause followed. At last I said, "If something did happen, do you think I should go over and try to set things right?"

  She seemed to weigh my question. "I don't."

  "But you don't like Chet," I protested. "Of course that's what you'd tell me. You'd like it if I never saw him again. Personal biases aside, what's the right thing to do?"

  "I don't dislike Chet. That was you putting words in my mouth. I think you're looking at Thunder Basin as a pit stop on your way to something better. And I think Chet is looking for permanence. Feels wrong to encourage a relationship with no hope of catching wind in its sails."

  "You're probably right," I said quietly. She had an uncanny way of seeing past the BS to the truth.

  "What about the other boy?" Her eyes were set straight ahead, but there was something perceptive and shrewd in her voice. "I read your file. I know there was a young man in Philadelphia."

  "Reed," I murmured, unsure how to deal with Carmina's directness. Were we allowed to talk about this? I'd been ordered to stick to the cover story at all times, even with Carmina. Why was she breaking the rules?

  "Perhaps you're hoping Chet will help you get over him?" she suggested quietly.

  "No," I said automatically. Did Carmina think that little of me? I wouldn't use Chet that way . . . would I? Would I admit it if I were? Why did everything have to be so confusing?

  "Chet has some flaws, but he's a good, hardworking, decent boy."

  "Why are you telling me this?"

  "So you believe me when I say I don't dislike him."

  I felt a hot wave of guilt. "You think I'll hurt him."

  "Chet's had a rough year since his parents' deaths. Getting involved with him is only going to end in heartache--for him, yes, but for you, too. You're gone in August, and you'll have to say good-bye all over again. Was it easy the first time? I doubt it was. Chet will be stuck here for another two years, raising that brother of his. I don't see a happy ending, Stella, and that's the truth. I think you'll hurt each other."

  "Why do you suddenly care about Chet's feelings?" I wasn't being confrontational; I really wanted to know.

  "Perhaps I've blamed him for things beyond his control."

  "I don't understand."

  "I knew his father. Chet resembles him in many ways. It can be hard to remember they're two different men."

  "You didn't like Mr. Falconer?"

  "Oh, it wasn't quite like that," she said with a troubled sigh. "But he's gone now. What does it matter?" Her eyes looked distant and deep with grief.

  "You really think it's best if I end things?"

  "I do."

  I grew quiet. I wasn't sure I could do that. Chet was my only friend in Thunder Basin. Without him, the summer would stretch on agonizingly long. No more teasing or silly jokes. No more softball games, since what was the point? If I was going to break away from Chet, I had to make it a clean one. I'd miss the way he looked at me, with those warm blue eyes, as if it were just me and him and the rest of the world had dropped away. I'd miss his leggy stride when we walked together. I'd even miss his stupid cowboy hat. But I didn't want to hurt him.

  Above all, I didn't want that.

  19

  "STELLA, CAN I TALK TO YOU? PRIVATELY?"

  I was tying an apron around my waist when Dixie Jo poked her head out of her office and beckoned me inside. It was my first day back at work since the attack, and one glance at her concerned expression told me exactly what this was about. I tempered my exasperation. I was fine. No one seemed to believe me, but I was. With enough arguing, I'd finally persuaded Carmina to let me return to work; the way I saw it, everything was downhill from there. I'd make Dixie Jo see she had nothing to worry about.

  "How are you feeling?" she asked, closing the door behind us.

  "I know you're worried about me, but I'm ready for this." I pulled on a wide smile. "Trust me, it beats sitting at Carmina's house and counting the fruit flies in the peach bowl."

  "I heard your doctor gave you the all-clear to come back to work," she said, sounding pleased, but I could tell she wasn't convinced.

  I raised my arms from my sides, dropped them back into place. "Good as new."

  "It's okay to be scared, Stella. It's perfectly fine to want more time. Inny and Deirdre are covering your shifts, so don't worry about us. Take all the time you need, and I really mean that."

  "Thanks for the offer, but I'm fine. Really."

  "That makes one of us," she said with a troubled sigh, and at that moment, I noticed how haggard and careworn her eyes looked. "I haven't had a restful night since you were attacked. I keep asking myself, how could this have happened? The Sundown is a family place. And I'm not just talking about our customers, but the employees, too. We look out for each other. The idea that someone could come in here and assault one of us is"--she shook her head, looking mystified and disconcerted--"unimaginable. Unthinkable. I'm sorry, so sorry."

  She opened her arms to me, and even though I wasn't used to being hugged, I let her embrace me. I didn't want Dixie Jo to feel responsible for what Trigger did to me. She couldn't have prevented him. She kept the doors unlocked because this was a family place; we trusted each other. We felt safe here. And Trigger had taken advantage of that.

  She held me at arm's length. "Let an old lady give you a word of advice. Sometimes it takes longer to heal here"--she laid a gentle finger against her head, just above her ear--"than here." She touched that same finger to her heart. "Look me in the eye and tell me you're really ready to be here."

  I met her gaze directly. I needed this. I had to send Trigger a clear message that I wasn't going to cower in fear. "Wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

  Still not looking entirely persuaded, she turned me by the shoulders to face the door. "Then go give 'em hell."

  I worked hard all night, shuttling trays of food to the street and leaving a trail of happy customers in my wake. I pocketed a five-dollar tip from a sweet older gentleman in orange suspenders who told me my smile was the best part of his meal. It felt good to smile, and I did it often. I wanted Trigger to hear that he hadn't left any permanent scars, inside or out. If he'd hoped to break me, he'd failed. In my mind, I drew up a scorecard. Stella one, Trigger zero.

  That's right, you SOB. I came out on top.

  At the end of the night, Deirdre took off early, leaving Inny and me to close up. Deirdre had seniority, not to mention two kids, so it didn't bother me. Inny and I worked side by side to clean and organize
the kitchen for the morning crew. We refilled the salt and pepper shakers, wiped down the ketchup bottles, and swept the floors. Inny dispensed the remaining ice cream from the machine and made us cherry shakes. We went out on the back steps to drink them, not wanting to create any new spills to clean up.

  "To the moron who laid his hands on you," Inny said, raising her malt cup in a toast. "May his balls rot and fall off, and be scavenged by vultures."

  "Tell me how you really feel." I clinked my cup to hers, then took a long pull on my straw. "How's that baby of yours doing tonight?"

  "Still kicking."

  I wondered if Inny ever wished it would die. No one wanted to give birth to a dead baby, but then again, no one wanted to be pregnant at sixteen, either.

  "Do you think the father will help out?" I asked, hoping I wasn't being too nosy. I had to tread carefully; as per Dixie Jo's directive, no pity parties were allowed.

  "Yeah," Inny answered. "He'll help out financially. He's made that clear. He's taking his role as provider real serious. And he'll be at the delivery." She sounded certain, but maybe she was telling herself lies to make the idea of having a baby at sixteen seem less frightening.

  We slurped our shakes in silence.

  "I think I know who attacked me," I said after a beat. "I told the police my suspicion, but far as I know, they haven't arrested anyone."

  Inny stared at me, wide-eyed. "How do you know who it was? I heard you never saw his face."

  "When he was attacking me, I kicked him in the leg. Hard. As he left the storeroom, I heard him limp up the stairs."

  "So we're looking for a bad leg."

  I drew a deep breath, hoping my next words didn't ruin our friendship. I liked Inny and I had her back. But I also wanted to give her some much-needed perspective. Even if that meant telling her something she didn't want to hear.

  "I think Trigger beat me up."

  Inny thought this over. She set down her malt cup, planked her arms on her knees, and shook her head back and forth. To my relief, she didn't leap to his defense or yell at me for jumping to conclusions. "Well, I'll be."

  "Trigger is the father of your baby, isn't he?" I asked cautiously.

  That jolted Inny out of her reverie. Her face screwed up in puzzlement. "What? Seriously? Did you really just ask me that? Now, why would I willingly encourage a disgusting animal like Trigger McClure to put his genetic material into the gene pool? You ever make that suggestion a second time, I'll break your arm--and your nose for good measure."

  "So . . . he's not the father?"

  "No." She made a face, curling her lips back over her teeth like a snarling dog might. "Think I'm gonna vomit now."

  "But he always asks for you," I protested. "And when I said he might be leaving town to play in the majors, you seemed depressed."

  "Jealous, maybe, but not depressed. Trust me, no one wishes that hairy butt out of town more than me. Just seems unfair that a dirty butt hole like him gets a ticket out, that's all. He should have to rot in this place. What good is karma if it doesn't work?"

  "So Trigger is definitely not the father," I confirmed one last time.

  "Told you I'd break your arm if you asked me that again," Inny said threateningly.

  "Then who's the father?"

  She gave me a look that said my attempt at snooping was a waste of time. "If my parents found out who he is, they'd kill him--but only if his own family didn't kill him first."

  I said, "You realize this is going to drive me crazy."

  She barked a laugh. "That's been my master plan all along: drive you batty so after I have this baby, I'm not in the loony bin all by my lonesome self."

  We resumed slurping our shakes. I felt dazed. I'd been so sure about Inny and Trigger . . . and I could honestly say I'd never been more relieved to be wrong. From where I sat, Inny's future had just gotten a whole lot brighter. Whoever the father was, he couldn't be as bad as Trigger.

  Figuring nothing I could say at this point would offend Inny, I said, "I think Eduardo might have helped Trigger. I think he might have let him inside, then told me to go down to the storeroom, where he knew Trigger would be waiting."

  She looked skeptical. "I've known Eduardo for years. He's not a bad guy."

  "Right before I was attacked, he asked me to go to the storeroom for napkins."

  Inny's frown deepened. "Why would he do that?"

  "He said Deirdre asked him to fill her napkin dispensers."

  "I filled Deirdre's napkin dispensers that night." Inny poked her straw repeatedly into her shake, thinking things through. "Damn. I like Eduardo. Have you told Dixie Jo?"

  "No. I want to be certain before I do. I like Eduardo too. I don't want to believe he would help Trigger hurt me."

  "Eduardo and Trigger aren't friends, don't run in the same circles. I can't see them having a single reason to go in on this together."

  "Maybe I'm wrong." I hoped I was. But I couldn't ignore parts of that night that weren't adding up.

  "Only one way to find out. Ask Eduardo. Spring it on him sudden-like, so he don't have time to throw you some act. He's an honest kid. You'll know right away if he was in on it."

  "If I'm wrong, he'll never talk to me again."

  "If you're right, he deserves what he gets. Tell me this. Do you want to be working the night shift with a guy who lets girls get the tar beat out of 'em? I sure as hell don't." She got to her feet, dragging me up with her. "Come on. Let's finish up here. Then I'm taking you to a party."

  I perked up. "Whose party?"

  "Ours. And did I mention you can drink as much as you want?" She rubbed her ballooning abdomen. "Got yourself a designated driver."

  I drove Carmina's truck and Inny rode shotgun. Even though I'd felt strong enough to bike to work, Carmina had insisted I take her truck. She hadn't seemed too pleased when I reminded her of her promise that I'd never drive her truck. What could I say? I wasn't one to pass up an opportunity to be a pain in the butt.

  Inny and I headed south of town, along the river. Houses thinned and the moon slipped behind a cloud, casting the streets in pools of darkness. After we turned onto a gravel road, dust drifted through the high beams like rising spirits. I'd be lying if I said it didn't send a chill up the back of my neck. You couldn't find a place in all of Philly as deserted or suffocatingly black as this. I kept a tight grip on the steering wheel, half expecting a creature from a horror movie to spring onto the road. At last I saw house lights ahead and my shoulders relaxed.

  Trucks and cars were parked this way and that in the field in front of the Craftsman-style house. As we stepped out, I marveled at how dark it was behind us. And how brightly the stars shone overhead. They glittered like radiant, polished gems. Having spent my whole life in the suburbs, with the lights of the city only a few miles away, I'd never imagined how utterly black the sky really was. How black, or how vast.

  Inny bypassed the house, heading instead toward a two-story white barn at the back of the property. Light flooded from the open doors, and there were people everywhere.

  So this was Thunder Basin's night scene.

  The barn smelled like sawdust and fresh hay, and it wasn't a bad smell. The roof was high and pitched, making the barn seem even roomier. Horse stalls at the far end, and a tractor just to my left. A ladder led up to the loft, which I could see stored neat, rectangular bales of hay. I could also see couples up there, flat on their backs, making out. I smiled, thinking some cliches would never die.

  As Inny and I weaved through the crowd, she nodded her head in acknowledgment at a few people, but she never stopped to talk. Without breaking stride, she grabbed a plastic cup from the stack near the cases of beer in the middle of the barn and headed for the spigot. I had a designated driver, but honestly, I wasn't a drinker. When Reed and I went to parties, he limited himself to one beer and nursed it for an hour. He didn't like to impair his judgment, and I simply didn't like the taste of it. That, and I had a deeply harbored fear of turning out like my mother,
whose switch to harder drugs could easily be blamed on excessive drinking during the divorce proceedings. So I followed Inny's example and filled myself a cup of water.

  "I gotta pee," she told me.

  "You just went before we left the Sundown."

  "Try getting pregnant. I've got a five-pound baby sitting on my bladder."

  "TMI."

  "Gonna go find a tree to squat behind. Gonna tell me that's TMI too?"

  While I waited for her to return, I decided to make the rounds. Maybe I'd see someone from my softball team. I wouldn't mind hanging out with Juan tonight--he seemed like he knew how to have a good time.

  Shouldering my way through the crowd, I looked for a familiar face, and suddenly he was right there, standing directly in front of me. He saw me at the exact same moment, his blue eyes locking onto mine.

  Slipping my hands in my back pockets, I rocked back on my heels, trying to pull off calm and collected, but really I was just trying to get my bearings. How many times had I practiced what I'd say at this moment, and now that it was here, my thoughts scattered. All I could think of was how his body was doing that faded T-shirt a number of favors. He'd ditched the cowboy hat; his mussed hair fell sexily into his eyes. And then I remembered I wasn't supposed to be thinking about his body or his eyes. Friends didn't think about friends that way.

  "Hey," I said, smiling brightly, just like pals would. "Is it just me, or are you avoiding me?" I laughed, letting Chet know I was teasing and I was all for sparing us both an awkward or humiliating moment by keeping our first official run-in since the kiss as light as possible.

  "You look better," he said, his face politely stoic. Eyes carefully avoiding mine. "The cuts and bruises are healing."

  "Yeah, and it kind of sucks. I'm afraid I'm going to lose the special treatment soon. Tonight was my first night back at work, and customers were standing outside the carhop door, ready to take their orders off my fragile, wounded hands. Going to miss that." I was joking, but Chet didn't laugh. Unlike me, it seemed he hadn't reached the point where he could joke about the assault. Which made my stomach do a strange flutter.

  "I'm happy to hear you're feeling better."

  "Yeah," I echoed, hating how formal and stilted our conversation sounded. I knew why that was, but I missed how easy it used to be to talk with him. Maybe if I kept talking I could lighten him up. "So. What are you doing here?"