Tell Me No Lies (13 page)

He knocked on the rapper's nose and waited.

"Yeah?"

He braced himself, hoping for the best, expecting the worst, and let himself in.

Trey cut a glance toward the door, saw who it was, and went back to whatever he'd been doing. Drawing, it looked like. On a notebook he probably should have been doing homework in.

"Nana made apple pie. Want a piece?" He held out the plate.

"Already had some." Trey's hard tone said he knew the food for the bribe it was.

Hank bit back a sharp response and set the plate down. "You get the assignments from the classes you missed today?"

Trey shrugged but didn't look at him.

Hank sat on the edge of the bed. "Trey," he said softly, "this has got to stop. Fighting at school and breaking windows, vandalism... it's just going to get you more trouble. Trouble you won't like, believe me. You'll get kicked out of school for one thing. And if that's what you're hoping, trust me, you won't like the alternative. McPherson is a day in the park compared to Alterman."

He couldn't bear the thought of his skinny nephew thrown into the alternative school, moving among the druggies and the tough guys, all the kids whose lives had fatten apart.

Trey's chin sank to his chest. Over and over again, he rubbed the same sharp lines of the
basketball player he'd drawn on his notebook.

"Trey, your mom would be heartbroken if she were here. You know that."

His head snapped up, Maureen's blue eyes on fire. "She's not here. And don't give me that bullshit about how she's looking down from heaven."

"Trey "

"I'm sick of that stupid school. Sick of the stupid kids. I hate it."

"You didn't hate it six months ago."

Trey didn't respond.

"Everything's different now, isn't it?"

Silence.

"Life sucks, Trey. I'm not going tell you different. You caught the baddest break there is. But you can't keep taking it out on other people."

"Why not? What are you going to do about it? Lock me up?"

Hank studied the anger in his nephew's face, remembering another angry face he'd seen that morning In the interview room at the station. "I might, Trey. If you don't cut out the crap, I might end up having to. Is that what you want?"

Trey didn't answer.

"You know, that's pretty much the question here. What do you want?"

The obvious answer hung between them, pulsing and loud though it was unspoken. He wanted his mother back. He wanted his life to be the same as it had been and everything that happened to be one hell of a bad dream.

"I can't give you back what you lost," Hank said. "But if you figure out what you want now, from this point, playing the cards you were dealt, I'll break my back to see you get it."

Trey plopped down on the bed, turning away from Hank. "No thanks. I saw the kind of help you give. And so did my mother and father."

The words came out sharp as a knife blade. Hank felt them going in, the cut bone deep.

8

Morning broke cool and clear, a hard, crystal nugget of a day. Though it was Saturday and Hank didn't have to go in to the station, he was on call, so he hooked his phone to his jeans, turned it on, and hoped it would remain dormant. He had plenty of other work to do; Saturday was the busiest day of the week at Apple House, and everyone worked.

He roused the kids, and they ate a quick breakfast. By eight they were out at the farm stand, setting out cakes and pies, rolling heavy barrels of cold-storage apples to the front, heaping spring lettuce and peas from local farmers into attractive piles.

He was glad of the work. Anything to take his mind off the muck bubbling below the surface. The information Alex had provided was fascinating, but what was the connection between her international business deal and his small-town murder? Between Miki Petrov and Luka Kole? None as far as he could tell.

And yet the two things sat inside him, begging to be

linked.

And then there was Trey. The morning warmed as they worked, but Hank couldn't say the same about his nephew. He'd always liked the orchard and the fruit stand that, thank God, hadn't changed. He'd been coming there since Maureen strapped him to her chest in an infant carryall, and he still jumped in with enthusiasm, hauling apples and flats of spring flowers without a word of complaint. But aside from the necessary grunts, he spared no words for Hank.

Hank shrugged it off. He wasn't giving up, Christ, he couldn't give up. Not on his own flesh and blood. But he didn't have the energy for another confrontation, not after last night.

For a moment he gazed out at the orchard. The fruit stand was set in a cleared patch of ground surrounded by trees on either side. Blooming thick and fragrant, the branches wore their delicate flowers like young girls in new clothes. In the distance he could hear the faint buzz of the bees brought in to pollinate the blossoms. Another week and the flowers would drop and they'd pick up the bees and return them to their keepers.

The task was a routine part of apple growing, and it happened despite human catastrophe. Trees bloomed, bees propagated, apples grew. Regular and predictable, through death and loss and their aftermath.

There was comfort in that.

Maybe that was why Trey liked the stand and the orchard so much. He could depend on it.

If the weather held and the insects stayed away.

A gamble of a different kind, Hank realized. Still ruled by chance and luck, even here.

He gazed at the crates of apples to organize by color and type and the bales of hay to strew over the ground. The sun was up, the day brightening, and if he had to, he could pretend with the best of them that everything was fine. He got to work.

It was almost noon when he saw Alex. He was driving the tractor, pulling the hay wagon from the orchard to the stand. Every spring they gave Apple Blossom tours to people who came up from the city and the surrounding suburbs, families mostly with schoolkids. It was a way to draw business to the stand in the off-season, when the previous fall's apple crop was nearly gone and the coming harvest was still months away.

He was returning from a ride with a load of visitors in the hay wagon when he caught a familiar head bent over a display of pansies. He braked, swung down from the seat, and paused to observe, slipping off his heavy canvas gloves and readjusting his ball cap.

The sight of her in tailored slacks and a pink glimmer of a blouse set off a trip wire inside him. What was she doing hete? She looked as though she should be on a city street or in a fancy art museum, not a mud-strewn farm. Oblivious of his scrutiny, her face relaxed, the haughtiness gone, though the reserve remained. Did she ever truly unwind?

As he watched, Mandy appeared at Alex's elbow. Mandy was their flower expert, and she happily pointed to several pots. If Alex wasn't careful, Mandy would sell her the whole lot.

He helped his riders dismount, then strolled over just as his niece was claiming that the yellow pansies with the purple centers were her favorite.

"Purple's my favorite color," she said.

"I like purple, too." Alex's face had softened even further, sending an odd twinge through Hank's chest.

"I'm a red man myself." Alex turned, and he enjoyed the surprised look on her face when she saw him.

"Uncle Hank!" Mandy gave him a gap-toothed smile. "This is
my uncle Hank. Don't you think pansies are the cutest flowers?"

"Yes, I do, Mandy. How about you, Miss Baker?" He couldn't decide if he liked seeing her there, among the mire and the peasants, or if he preferred her pristine and remote in her stone-and-wood castle.

"They're very sweet," she said, recovering her composure more quickly than she had a right to.

"And yet, you don't seem like the sweet type." What was it about her that brought out the tease in him?

Her eyes cooled, and at the same time her face flushed, a combination that was unique in its ability to get to him.

Luckily, Mandy let her off the hook. "Everybody likes sweets," she piped in. "My nana makes the best apple pie. Have you ever tried it?"

Hank decided to let Alex off, too. "Why don't you get her one, Mandy. Pick out the best On us."

Mandy gave a whoop and ran off, leaving the two of them alone.

"What are you doing here, Alex?"

The question came out a little more belligerent than he'd intended, and she blinked at the tone, then slanted him an amused, catlike glance.

"Buying apples, Detective. What did you think that I was stalking you? That last night wasn't enough, so I've hunted you down for more?"

He smiled. "A guy can dream, can't he?"

"Not about me."

Shot down, right through the heart.

He looked away from her, squinting over at the new group of folks waiting for the next
ride. Just as well. He needed a reminder that flirting with her was risky to her and his case since he seemed unable to stop. 'Teafa, well, I guess I was surprised to see you here."

"I'm as surprised as you," she said briskly. "It's not every day you discover Sokanan's finest has a secret life."

"Not so secret. Just family."

"I come here often. I had no idea this belonged to you."

Her gaze scanned the area, and he followed it, seeing the colors pop out the apple reds, from cherry to crimson, the vegetables, pale green to forest, flowers, pert yellow and white and that deep velvet pansy purple. The spectacle sent a warmth through him, the kind of feeling that came with familiarity and belonging.

"Not to me, not per se. It belongs to all the Bonners. But mostly
to my
mother." He nodded over to the stand, where Rose was juggling fruit and customers, her stolid form in its red-and-white Apple House apron like the roots of a tree dug deep.

On the far side, Mandy was studying a display of cakes and pastries, as if picking one was the mqpt important decision in the world.

"Is that your niece? The one with the dinosaur for a body-guard?"

He nodded. "Amanda. Mandy."

"She's adorable." Just then, Mandy looked up and grinned, and Hank's breath hitched. Some days it seemed as if everything was going to be all right.

"Henry! You got people waiting!" Rose's voice boomed across the yard, and Alex's blue-gray eyes crinkled with laughter.

"Henry?"

It was good to see her laugh about something, even if it was him. He returned her mirth with a long, dignified look. "We all have our burdens to bear."

Rose strode up to them, the sharp-eyed look she threw Hank vying with the hint of a smile at the comers of her mouth. "Quit flirting with the customers and get back to work."

"Yes, ma'am." He tugged the brim of his ball cap, half-relieved and half-disappointed to be leaving. Putting his gloves back on, he went to load the hay wagon with kids and their parents.

Alex turned to the older woman, who stuck out a solid, no-nonsense hand. "I'm Rose Bonner, Henry's mother."

"Alexandra Baker, Henry's..." What? Suspect? Informant? Mystery? "Friend," she finished lamely.

A thick-set woman in jeans and a yellow sweatshirt, Rose was discreet enough not to ask the questions so obviously mere between them.
Who is this woman? How does she know my son?
Instead, she watched Hank help a toddler into the arms of her father, who was already in the hay wagon. Alex followed her gaze.

A pair of faded jeans were slung low on Hank's hips, a washed-out red T-shirt tucked into them. Muscles bunched as he lifted the child, and Alex found herself looking away so she wouldn't be tempted by the sight

She gazed around the fruit stand, trying to place Hank there. To imagine him growing up among the acres of trees that stretched outward from the stand in two directions, their blossoms deliciously scented and fluffy as clouds. Did he bring friends to the white farmhouse in the distance? Bring a girl to kiss under the apple trees? A keen nip of envy bit into her. What would it have been like to grow up surrounded by people who loved you? Who celebrated your greatest triumphs and saw you through your utter failures? To know you weren't alone and never would be?

For an instant she imagined what it would be like to live like that. To let go of hatred and revenge and live free of the past. But she'd spent so long pursuing justice, she wasn't sure she'd know how.

"Trey!" Rose called to a gangly teen who was crossing the field in front of them. "Go help your uncle Henry with the hay wagon."

The boy trudged over, and between the two of them, they got the tickets collected and the wagon loaded. The boy jumped to the ground, and Hank set off.

"That's my brother," a voice at her waist said. She looked down to find Mandy at her side, a brown paper bag at her feet

"Is it?" She studied the boy. He appeared to be three or four years older and completely the opposite in coloring light while Mandy was dark. "You're lucky. I always wanted an older brother."

"I always wanted a younger one," Mandy said.

"Oh, you just want someone to boss around." Rose's stern look was soft at the center.

"Well, sure," said Mandy. "Isn't that the whole point?"

Alex laughed. "I always thought a sister would have been nice, too."