Buried in a Book (9 page)

I felt a rush of gratitude toward Griffiths. I’d only met him this morning, and yet he was being so kind, so gentle with me. In my hour of need, this veritable stranger was stepping forward as my friend. If he’d been in the room with me at that moment, I would have thrown my arms around his neck and kissed him.

Instead, I thanked Griffiths and asked him to call me Lila henceforth. After I put the phone down, I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the framed photograph of seven-year-old Trey on my dresser. He was dressed as a cowboy and wore a faux leather vest and red boots with silver plastic spurs.

Even then, his eyes glimmered with mischief.

A line from
The Tale of Peter Rabbit
flitted into my head. I picked up the photograph and murmured, “‘But Peter, who was very naughty, ran straight away to Mr. McGregor’s garden, and squeezed under the gate!’”

I touched my fingertip to the glass protecting the photo as though I was caressing my son’s cute little face. “Oh,
Trey. I’m afraid you’ve lost more than a blue jacket with brass buttons this time.”

TEN MINUTES LATER
, a dark blue Ford Explorer pulled into my driveway. Officer Griffiths got out and opened the passenger door for me. Looking at his tired face and concerned eyes, I resisted the urge to sag against his broad chest in the hopes he’d wrap his arms around me. Instead, we drove to the Dunston Police Department in silence.

Inside the station, our footsteps echoed on the tiled floor. Vacillating between anger and anxiety, I searched for Trey. In the main area, two policemen at steel desks were typing on computers. Behind a counter sat a stern woman in uniform who looked up as we approached, holding out papers. Officer Griffiths handed me a pen and showed me where to sign, then pointed to one of four empty chairs set in a row against a wall.

“Wait here,” he directed, giving my arm a quick squeeze. “I’ll get Trey, and then I’ll drive you both back home.”

“Thank you,” I said, disconcerted at how weak my voice sounded. Lowering myself into the plastic seat, I thought about what to say to Trey. His obstacle course would cost me a fortune. I’d never be able to afford that charming cottage on Walden Woods Circle now. In fact, I’d be lucky to have a dime left to my name once I’d covered the school’s damages and paid Trey’s court costs.

A bark of laughter disrupted my brooding, and I glanced up. The two officers were chuckling at something on a computer screen. Movement in the hall made me turn to see Officer Griffiths and Trey walking toward me. Trey shuffled
with his head bent, a mop of shaggy hair obstructing his face. His UNC Tar Heels shirt was covered with dirt and grass stains. I rose from my seat, resisting the urge to hoist up his baggy jeans.

“Trey, what were you
thinking
?” Despite my resolve to stay calm, my voice blared loudly in the room.

He shrugged. “I dunno.”

Officer Griffiths put his hand on Trey’s shoulder. “Let’s get you two home,” he said, looking at me. “I’m sure you’d rather hash this out in private.”

The drive was uncomfortably quiet. I wanted to blast Trey and had to bite my lip to stop my anger from pouring out. Instead, I aimed piercing looks in his direction. Officer Griffiths tactfully kept his eyes on the road and said nothing. Trey sat in the back, with his mouth pinched in what I hoped was remorse. The tension was palpable, and I think we were all greatly relieved when Griffiths pulled into our driveway.

Trey shot into the house before I even stepped out of the truck. Turning off the ignition, Office Griffiths opened his door. “Go easy on him,” he said as he walked me up the front path. “He seems like a good kid. And at least he had the sense to not drink and drive.”

I nodded, appreciating his voice of reason. “I’ll try. Thank you so much for everything, Officer Griffiths.”

“You’re welcome. And please, Lila.” He tilted his head. “I think we can dispense with the ‘Officer Griffiths,’ don’t you? Call me Sean.”

I nodded. “I’d better go in. Thanks again…Sean.” His name tasted good on my lips, like I’d just sipped a fine glass of wine.

We shook hands, even though what I really wanted to do
was lean into him for support. The warmth of his fingers lingered on mine as I watched him back his truck out of the driveway. Taking a deep breath, I walked into the house.

Trey was lying on his bed, earbuds firmly inserted and eyes closed. Still dressed, one of his blue-jeaned legs rested on the other, a foot bobbing in time to the beat. Swallowing my irritation over seeing his shoes on the bed, I touched his shoulder. “Trey,” I said loudly.

His eyes popped open. He yanked out the earbuds and sat up. “Mom.” He stood, reached down, and hugged me. “I’m totally sorry. It was really stupid. I’ll never do anything like that again.”

This show of repentance derailed my planned reprimand, and for a moment I was at a loss for words. Perhaps sensing my retreat, he offered, “Do you need a drink or something? Wine, maybe?”

That did it. “No, I do
not
want a drink! Trey, you took the car without permission. What you did at the school was not only stupid and irresponsible, it caused a lot of damage. Someone could have been really hurt, even killed. What were you thinking?”

He shrugged. “Guess I wasn’t.”

“You could be charged with trespassing and the destruction of public property. We need to get a lawyer. You’ll have to go to court.” My heart was racing as these thoughts tumbled through my mind. I glared at him. “Not thinking isn’t a defense.”

“Aw, Mom, you know how it is. A couple of guys get together and there’s beer involved, then things can get crazy.” His eyes widened in an attempt at innocence. “Not me! I didn’t have beer.
I
was the designated driver.” Looking absurdly righteous, he continued, “We’re young. We do
stupid things. It’s like a rite of passage or something. We can’t help it.”

He grinned, a mischievous twinkle in his brown eyes taking the place of contriteness. In that moment, I saw his father in his features—the pointed chin, tousled chestnut hair, and dark eyebrows.

“You can’t absolve yourself because you’re a teenager, Trey. There are consequences to your actions. They impact other people.”

Shrugging, he picked at the apple-shaped hole in his jeans just above his right knee. “Nobody was hurt.”

“Well,
I
was! First of all, I was terrified that something had happened to you. Secondly, because of your recklessness, my car’s totaled. The school equipment and football field are seriously damaged. Who do you think is going to pay for all that?”

“Insurance?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

I glowered at him. “
I
have to pay, Trey.
I
have to find another vehicle to get me to work.
I
have to deal with the school’s damages. My insurance premiums are going to skyrocket because of this.” I sank down on the edge of the bed.

Trey sat beside me and put his arm around my shoulder. “You’ll manage, Mom. You’ve got that new agency job. You’re gonna make millions—”

“I’m just an intern.” I pushed his arm away. “And you aren’t getting off scot-free. You will get cracking and find a summer job, and you will hand over your paychecks to help cover the costs.”

“But that’s not fair!” he whined, his bravado faltering.

“Don’t tell me about fair,” I said, getting up and starting
for the door. “You made this mess, and now you’re going to help me clean it up.”

Trey sighed. “At least I learned something from all of this.”

“What’s that?” I asked, thankful that this disaster would have at least one positive outcome.

He leaned back on his elbows, grinning at the ceiling. “Hondas aren’t so good at three sixties.”

I TOSSED AND
turned for what was left of the night. Trey and his transgressions, my financial worries, Marlette’s murder, the pile of queries I’d brought home, the agents at Novel Idea: they were all tangled in angst-filled dreams.

When the sky finally lightened, I dragged myself out of bed, had a hot shower, and brewed a very strong pot of coffee. I needed to figure things out before Monday. Without a car, I’d have to take the train to work every morning, and that was too expensive. Moving to Inspiration Valley was the solution, of course; a prospect that had excited me Friday evening when I’d stood before the cottage for sale on Walden Woods Circle. After last night’s fiasco, I knew I could never afford it.

As I was refilling my coffee mug, the phone rang.

“I flipped around in bed last night like a fritter in the fryer!” My mother greeted me dramatically. “What happened at work yesterday? I was right about somethin’ bad comin’, wasn’t I? I got a real case of the shivers, like a spirit was standin’ right behind me, breathin’ down my neck!”

Sighing, I admitted that her prediction had been accurate. I’d expected her to be triumphant over the successful
demonstration of her physic abilities, but she fell strangely despondent.

“Poor soul,” she whispered. “He was all alone in this life.”

I started. “You knew Marlette?”

“Not well enough to trade recipes, but the whole valley knew him, hon. He stood out, like a low-cut dress in church.” I heard a shuffling sound in the background and knew Althea had her tarot cards in hand. “But you’ll set things to rights, Lila. People can’t just pluck a string from Fate’s brilliant tapestry and not pay the price.” She went on before I could interrupt. “I do believe you were gonna call and ask me somethin’ this fine mornin’. The answer is yes, of course. You and Trey can live with me so you can fill up your piggy bank again. Maybe livin’ in the country will keep that boy outta trouble!”

My jaw came unhinged. “How’d you know about Trey?”

A satisfied cackle emitted from the earpiece, and then I recalled that my mother was great friends with the police chief’s wife. In fact, she was one of my mother’s most loyal customers and often spread news of a juicy arrest before the most dogged journalist could get a jump on the story. I suspected the woman slept with a police scanner by her bed.

I didn’t feel like further questioning Amazing Althea’s sources, especially since her invitation was a godsend, so I simply said, “I
was
going to ask if we could spend the summer with you. I’m going to put this house up for sale, hope it sells right away, and pray that three months without mortgage payments, thanks to living with you, will keep my head above water.” I stared at the papers on my kitchen table, which included bank statements, insurance policies, and the business card of a real estate agent I’d met while working
at the
Dunston Herald
. “Between Trey’s tuition bill, the house payment, and whatever I’ll have to fork out in damages because of my son’s unbelievable lack of judgment, I’ll be lucky to have enough left over to buy a bicycle, let alone a car.”

My mother clucked her tongue. “Trey’s just helpin’ you go green. Now tell your mama everythin’ that happened last night. And don’t forget the part about the good-lookin’ man. I turned up the Lovers card in the Future position, and I want to know who this hot new number is. I can already tell he’s got enough electricity to fuel a power station!”

I hedged the question, wanting to keep Sean to myself for a while, and went on to describe how I’d spent the midnight hour. When I was done, she offered to drive her vintage turquoise pickup into Dunston late on Sunday afternoon and bring Trey and me back to her place. Trey could look for a summer job in Inspiration Valley, and I wouldn’t have to worry about commuting to Novel Idea come Monday.

“I love you, Mama.” A rush of affection and gratitude flowed through me. Amazing Althea might be eccentric, but she was a bighearted woman who’d do anything for us. For the first time since I found Marlette’s body, I felt like things might turn out okay.

I’d barely hung up the receiver when the phone rang again. “I’m still not going to answer your question about the Lovers!” I exclaimed, assuming the caller was my mother again.

“Oh? Which lovers?” a male voice quipped. “This is Sean, um, Officer Griffiths?”

Immediately, my exasperation disappeared and I smiled. “Oh, good morning.”

“I wondered if you’d like to meet me for coffee,” he said. “At Java the Hut? Say in half an hour?”

I stared at the empty mug in my hand. Any more caffeine in my veins and I’d be bouncing off the walls, but the thought of saying no didn’t occur to me. “I’d love to,” I replied, thinking fast. Trey wouldn’t be awake for hours yet, and I’d still have the afternoon to read through my pile of queries.

Hurriedly changing out of my sweats, I fiddled with my hair and applied makeup. Under close scrutiny in the mirror, I looked pretty good, despite what I’d been through over the past twenty-four hours. I’d been told more than once that I bore a close resemblance to Marilyn Monroe when she was still Norma Jeane Baker, but that’s only partially true. I’d kill for Norma Jeane’s perfect lips or luminescent skin, but our smile was almost identical, and I definitely had Marilyn’s curves.

Even with the additional primping, I managed to arrive at Java the Hut in thirty-two minutes. Sean was at the counter, looking attractively authoritative in his uniform.

“I took the liberty of ordering you a caramel latte,” he said. “That’s what you were drinking yesterday, wasn’t it?”

In the midst of all the excitement at the agency, he’d noticed what kind of coffee I drank? This man was a keeper.

“Yes, thank you,” I said, trying to conceal my astonishment. “It’s my favorite.”

We sat down at the corner table by the window. Across the street, the
Dunston Herald
building seemed to mock me. I looked away, preferring to meet Sean’s guileless blue eyes.

“I have some news,” he said. “I had a quick chat with the principal and a member of the school board’s legal team.
They called an emergency meeting this morning to discuss the damage to their field.” He grimaced. “Doesn’t sound like a fun meeting, does it?”

“No,” I said with a groan, thinking about how often Trey and I had met in the principal’s office over the past few years. “Are they going to press charges?”

“Actually”—he paused, and his mouth stretched into a wide smile—“I pleaded your case. I mean, er, Trey’s case. I assured them that his blood alcohol level showed that he hadn’t been drinking and suggested his actions were not malicious. I tried to toss out the ‘boys will be boys’ excuse.”