Easy Innocence (9 page)

Melinda stiffened just for an instant. “Let me check.” Her voice was tight.

“I’m sorry,” Georgia said. “I was out of line.”

Melinda gave her a curt nod.

“Please. Let me buy you a cup of coffee.”

Melinda looked at her watch. “I’m off in twenty minutes, but I have to go home and start dinner.”

“I can meet you at your house.”

“I—I don’t know. I don’t think it’s such a good—”

“Fifteen minutes. That’s all.”

Melinda started over to Zebra lady. Then, “Fifteen minutes. No more.”

***

Georgia pulled up to a small house in western Wilmette, an area some considered the “wannabe” section of the North Shore. Just inside the boundaries of Newfield High School, the neighborhood consisted of mostly split-level homes on tiny lots, although realtors inexplicably called them colonials.

The bricks on the house needed tuck-pointing, and the white shutters could use a coat of paint. There was an older model blue Camaro in the driveway. Still, it looked like the kind of house Georgia’s parents aspired to, once upon a time. Georgia remembered her mother chattering on about how they’d move to the suburbs, live in a house with a garage. Georgia would take the bus to school every morning, and her mother would meet her every afternoon when she came home. They’d make cookies together in winter, play in the back yard in summer. She was little, maybe five or six. Even then, had she believed any of it would happen?

Melinda led her into a living room so choked with furniture that Georgia pulled on the neck of her sweater.

“I’ll make a pot of coffee,” Melinda said. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Georgia squeezed past an oversized sofa patterned in red and blue and sat gingerly in a large red-brocade chair. The fabric on the arms was frayed. Framed family photographs sat on an end table. A foursome, then the two kids by themselves. The pictures of Sara looked recent.

“Thank you for letting me come,” Georgia called.

“Actually, I was wondering how long it would take for someone to get around to it,” Melinda answered from the kitchen. “Now that the hazing’s out.”

“What do you mean?” Georgia noticed some brownish stains on the white carpet. She hadn’t seen a dog.

“When you live in an area like this, you learn to size it up pretty fast.” Melinda came into the living room carrying only one coffee mug. She sat down on the sofa and took a sip. “We knew moving out here was a risk.”

“In what way?”

“We knew the kids would be exposed to—to different values. That they’d be around people with a lot of money. But Newfield is a good school. We wanted them to have a chance.”

“Where were you living?”

“In the Austin neighborhood. Jerry and I grew up there. No, that’s not true. I grew up on the East side near Cal Park but moved to Austin when we got married. The schools down there... well, we knew we could do better. So we scraped together what we could, and moved up here...” She looked around as if seeing the room for the first time. “We’re hanging on, but barely.”

Georgia nodded, unsure where Melinda was going. “You said you were wondering how long it would take...”

Melinda took another sip of coffee. “I wait on women who come into New Ideas and drop a grand on clothes as casually as you and I—well me, at least—drop a couple of bucks for a latte. Then they come back a week later and do it all over again.” She hesitated. “When people throw money around like that, I wonder what else they’re throwing around.”

“What do you mean?”

Melinda gazed at her. “I mean there are people around here who, because of their wealth or their position, expect certain things... to be taken care of. Fast.”

“Do you mean covering up the hazing or coming up with a suspect in your daughter’s murder?”

“What’s the difference?” Melinda set her mug on a dark wood coffee table with a thud. When the coffee sloshed over the rim, Georgia realized where the carpet stains had come from. “Sara was a little girl when we moved up here. Her brother was even younger. They didn’t know why certain kids never invited them to birthday parties. Or sleepovers. Jamie didn’t care so much, but I remember Sara crying when she discovered a party she hadn’t been invited to. That happened less as she got older. But there were always some girls who excluded her. And then, when she got so pretty, those same girls—well—they resented her. They were jealous.”

Georgia glanced at the family photographs. With her long blond hair, blue eyes, and clear, rosy skin, Sara
was
beautiful. “What girls?”

Melinda shook her head.

“Mrs. Long, I can’t do anything unless you can be more specific.” When she still didn’t answer, Georgia leaned forward. “Do you have any reason to believe Cam Jordan didn’t kill your daughter?”

Melinda fixed Georgia with a grim look. “Look. I knew what they were planning to do in the Forest Preserve. And I wasn’t the only one.”

Georgia arched her eyebrows.

“The rumors were flying for weeks. Ever since school started.”

“Did Sara tell you?”

“No. Actually, I heard it in the store. Customers—some of the mothers—were talking. It had been two years since the last hazing incident. The girls had learned their lesson. They were going to resurrect the game. After all, it was a school tradition. But it would be harmless this time. Well, maybe a little teasing. But nothing major. Nothing violent.”

“Did you know Sara would be one of the targets?”

“Of course not.” Anger hardened her face. “Sara might not have been part of the ‘in’ crowd, but she had friends. Enough, or so I thought, to keep her from being picked on.” Melinda went on. “She wasn’t like them, anyway. She had a job. She worked after school and on weekends.”

“Where?”

Melinda picked up her mug. “At the café in Old Orchard. Inside the book store. She paid for all her clothes. And cell phone. Got discounts on books, too. She knew the value of a dollar.”

“So you weren’t aware of any problems.”

“What are you getting at?”

“One of Sara’s friends said Sara was too involved in everyone else’s business. Reading diaries. Stealing notes. There was some talk about teaching her a lesson.”

“Sara? That’s just—ridiculous. Sara spent her time, except when she was working, trying to look like them and sound like them... it’s got to be gossip. High school girls being bitchy.” But Georgia saw the hurt spilling out of her eyes.

“Who were her friends?” Georgia asked gently.

Melinda struggled to regain her composure. “Heather and Claire, of course. She’s known them since grade school. And Lauren Walcher.”

“Do you like them?”

Melinda shrugged. “I—I accepted them. Maybe I shouldn’t have.” A faraway look came into her eyes. “You know, now that I’m thinking about it, that was why she went there in the first place.”

“Went where?”

“To the Forest Preserve. She said she wanted to talk to Lauren.”

“She said that?”

Melinda nodded. “I was surprised. She’d said the night before she wasn’t planning to go.”

“Did she say why she wanted to talk to Lauren?”

“No.”

“You didn’t ask?”

“I didn’t want to pry.”

“Do you know the Walchers?”

“Andrea, Lauren’s mother, comes into the store sometimes.” She looked down. “She pretends she doesn’t know who I am.”

“So you haven’t talked to any of Sara’s friends since...”

“Even if I wanted to I couldn’t. Their parents have locked them down tight. That’s my point.”

Georgia cocked her head.

“The hazing. It was a such a brutal... savage act. Throwing a bucket of fish guts on her head? Threatening her with a baseball bat? Can you imagine the hatred they must have had toward my daughter? And then, when you realize the same thing happened two years ago, and several girls went to the ER, well, I just don’t understand. Why didn’t anyone anticipate it could happen again? Why didn’t the school prevent it?”

“They did forbid it.”

Melinda shook her head violently. “No. They issued an edict. Then they buried their heads in the sand, and prayed like hell it wouldn’t happen again. Can you imagine the stupidity? Where were the counselors? The social workers? No one, not the school, not the parents, ever tried to get to the bottom of it. No one took the responsibility to make sure a child would never be hurt from this—this...” Her voice cracked, and she didn’t finish her sentence. “My daughter paid the price for their—incompetence.”

“Are you saying you think one of the girls killed Sara?”

“I don’t know who killed Sara. Maybe it was that... excuse for a man they found in the woods. Maybe it wasn’t. The problem is I don’t think we’re ever going to find out. Everything’s ‘solved’. Done. That’s what’s driving me crazy. I need to know the truth. And I don’t think I’m gonna get it.” Tears rimmed her eyes.

Georgia waited until she pulled herself together. “Mrs. Long, would you mind if I looked at Sara’s room?”

She looked at her watch. “I don’t know. It’s almost five—”

“I’ll be fast.”

“The police were here, you know. They took her laptop and her cell phone. It was one of those camera phones. She just bought it.” After everything she’d endured, Melinda’s voice still held touch of pride. “You won’t take anything...”

“Of course not.”

Melinda hesitated, then stood and led Georgia down a hall. Sara’s room was the second on the right. It felt as oppressive as the rest of the house. Wallpaper teeming with tiny flowers. A double bed. A bureau with several drawers open, a closet with a bi-fold door.

“I haven’t been able to go through her things,” Melinda said, her voice raw.

When Georgia opened the closet door, she was greeted by a pile of clothes on the floor. She rummaged through shorts, tank tops, halters, and high-heeled sandals. She checked the shoes. Manolo. Then she moved to the bureau. Two pairs of Guess jeans. More tops, some of them glittery and revealing. A price tag was still attached to one: Fifty-nine ninety five. Opening the bottom drawer, she found a large mint green purse. The label said Marc Jacobs. Next to it was a digital camera and an iPod. She closed the drawers. Sara must have made a lot of lattes.

“Do you remember if Sara took her cell phone to the Forest Preserve?”

“No. It was here on her bureau when the police came.”

Georgia wondered if the police had checked the call log on the cell. If so, it would have been in the discovery documents, but she hadn’t seen anything. Which either meant they hadn’t checked it or they hadn’t gotten the log back yet. Knowing Robby Parker, she’d bet on the former.

Georgia turned around. “Okay, Mrs. Long, I think that about wraps it up. Thank you. I know this wasn’t easy.”

Melinda stepped heavily back down the hall. Georgia followed her back to the living room.

“How was Sara doing in school?”

“She had a B average. Mostly level three classes. Which was good considering how much she worked. Truth was, between her work schedule and ours, we didn’t see that much of her.”

“She always did her homework?”

“She had a couple of free periods at school. She did her homework there.”

“Who was her advisor?” Georgia recalled that Newfield girls shared the same advisor during all four years of high school. Advisors were teachers who met with small groups of students before class every morning. With over three thousand students at Newfield, daily advisories were like homeroom, designed to give students a sense of belonging to
something.

“Ms. Beaumont. Jill. Teaches social studies. Nice woman. She’s called a couple of times.” Melinda faced Georgia. “Tell me. What are you looking for? You obviously think the guy they arrested didn’t do it.”

Georgia weighed her response. “I do know that Cam Jordan is not considered a violent man. And while he is a registered sex offender, his offenses never involved direct physical contact with anyone. I also know his sister is convinced he didn’t do it. And that Jeff Ramsey seems to be rushing this through the courts.”

“Ramsey,” Melinda said. “He’s the prosecutor, isn’t he?”

Georgia nodded.

Melinda tugged on a lock of hair. “If it turns out this man didn’t kill Sara, if it turns out that the girls—that this idiotic
hazing
was responsible—you’re going to hear about it. I know a few parents sued the school two years ago when it first happened, but believe me, that’s nothing compared to what I’ll do if that—that caused my baby’s death. This has got to be stopped. Once and for all. No parent should ever have to go through— to suffer like us. It’s—”

A key rattled the front door. The door opened, and a male voice called out, “Mel, whose car is in the driveway?”

Melinda went to her husband, a stocky, tired-looking man somewhere in his forties. As she explained who Georgia was, the lines on his forehead deepened. He brushed by his wife and planted himself in front of Georgia. “I don’t know if this is a good idea. I don’t think we should be talking to you.”

“Jerry,” Melinda pleaded. “We talked about this possibility. It’s not so far-fetched. Please listen.”

Jerry shook his head. “If you’re working for Cam Jordan, we have nothing to say to you. Our daughter is dead. Someone has got to pay.”

“But what if they have the wrong person?” Georgia asked.

“No. We’re not going there.” He placed his hand on her arm and guided her toward the door. “It’s time for you to leave.”

LAUREN COULD
always tell when her parents argued. There were no screams or shouts; her parents didn’t yell. Instead a frigid hostility would permeate the air, like some unseen but deadly toxin. Her mother, the ice queen, had perfected the technique. She could rip your insides out with a few wintry words, then turn around and talk to a stranger on the phone, all warm and honey charm.

Her father was either too gutless or indifferent to stand up to her. Lauren had only heard him raise his voice once in sixteen years, and it had been at her, when she rode her bike into the side of his new Porsche and scratched the paint. Even then, she suspected the only reason he got so pissed was because her mother was.

She closed the door to her room, a little surprised her parents were home together at the same time. That didn’t happen often. She went to her iPod and turned it on. Sarah McLachlan poured her heart out from the speakers. Her father said the singer reminded him of Linda Ronstadt and Bonnie Raitt. Lauren tried not to focus on McLachlan’s first name.