The Second Lie (18 page)

Deb was worried about once a week. I hadn't been held in...well, this wasn't about me.

"In most cases, after the first year or two of a relationship, the sex settles down to a level that can be sustained through a lifetime together."

"But it doesn't seem like settling in. It seems like he's lost interest in me. Which is what I told him."

"What does he say about that?"

"That he still wants me. That there are just times when other things take precedence. He said that when guys are focused on changes at work, the economy, finances, sex sometimes doesn't happen as often."

"That's true."

"It is?"

"Of course."

"But...studies say that men have sexual thoughts once every seven seconds and--"

I shook my head. "Studies don't say that. Urban legend does. The Internet does. Any studies I've read only point to the fact that men
report
a higher percentage of sexual thoughts than women. Just as women report a higher percentage of emotional thoughts than men."

As I might have mentioned, I was not fond of the Internet. For all the good it might do, what I saw was the huge amount of damage created by too much easily accessible, dangerous information.

The damage created when kids like Maggie felt safe speaking with pedophiles.

I saw the cesspool hiding behind the websites. From sexual deviants to psychological statistics, incorrect self-diagnoses and self-cures, even companies manipulating people's fears for financial gain through fancily skewed statistics and surveys...

But I couldn't get sidetracked right now.

"A lot of things affect the male sex drive." I told my friend what I'd learned in books, because they were really all I had on this one. "Financial worries are one of the biggest desire suppressors. Job and life changes also affect sexual desire. A lack of sleep, lack of exercise, hormonal imbalances and diet are a few others."

"So you don't think it's me?"

"It doesn't sound like it. I'd guess it's the economy and work."

"Really?" I hated the doubt and hurt I saw in her eyes because it reminded me once again of the fragile state of the human psyche. Deb was questioning her attractiveness.

"Really."

"Cool!" Deb smiled and I did, too.

"I'm happy to speak with him if you want me to."

"No." Deb relaxed back into the couch, as though relief had left her exhausted. "I don't want to put any more pressure on him. I'm good with once a week. I was just scared I was losing my husband."

"There are no guarantees, you know," I felt compelled to tell her. "Without speaking with Cole, I can't be sure...."

"No, it's okay. I feel a lot better. Cole said the same things you did. I just thought he was, you know, making excuses because he didn't want to hurt my feelings by admitting that I didn't do it for him anymore."

"Once a week is hardly not doing it." I said drily, because she was my friend. "Anyway, I could have told you this weeks ago. Why didn't you just ask?"

Deb's expression sobered. "Because...people...they take advantage of you. A lot. I'm not going to do that."

People didn't take advantage of me. "I help because I want to, Deb." This was new--the idea of someone looking out for me. Even with Sam, I was always the caregiver. "Please, come to me anytime. It'll hurt my feelings if you don't."

"Well, hopefully I won't need to, but--"

She was interrupted by the pealing of the office phone and she waited while I jumped up to answer it.

"Lori, thanks for calling me back," I said, recognizing Maggie's mother's voice on the other end of the line.

Turning back to let Deb know I'd be a minute, I saw that she'd already left the room.

"I would've called sooner, but Mags has been around," Lori said, and I could tell from the long breath she took that she was smoking a cigarette.

I started to ask her about Maggie's volunteer activities, but she cut me off.

"Listen, I was going to call you, anyway, to thank you," she said, sounding more up than I'd ever heard her. "I don't know what you said to Maggie, but it worked. It's like I have my daughter back. I went to work yesterday morning and said goodbye to this girl all done up like a tart and came home last night to a fourteen-year-old in jeans and a baggy T-shirt with no makeup and her hair back in a clip like she used to wear it."

"Maybe she'd just gotten comfortable for the night."

"No. She went to school that way this morning, too. And she told me that I was right about not wanting her to get all dolled up and that she was going to be more careful."

Inexplicable behavior change.
Maggie's file was on my desk. I jotted the note on the inside cover. In red ink. I hadn't encouraged Maggie to change her appearance.

So who had?

"Are you aware that Maggie spends time in the park with the kids she babysits?" I asked instead.

"Yes." Was that sharpness I heard in the woman's tone? Or a quick intake of nicotine?

"And you're okay with that?"

"What? Yeah, I played in that park as a kid."

"Times have changed."

"Not that much. Not in Chandler. Besides, Maggie's a great kid. I just... I might overreact to the guy thing, but I'd rather overreact than have my kid end up like I did. I called you because I needed a professional opinion--you know, in case I missed a sign or something, since I didn't do so great in that area myself."

The woman was rambling.

"Being a single parent is mostly okay, but I know how easy it is to fall into the whole being-loved thing and not realizing that it's not love at all until it's too late. But other than that, there's nothing to worry about with Maggie. She doesn't do anything wrong and wouldn't get into trouble. She's the best."

"I agree--you've got a great daughter, Ms. Winston. You're very lucky."

I just wished I felt that Maggie was equally blessed. Or even half as certain that Maggie was okay.

I wished Samantha Jones would call with news on Mac.

16

A
fter exacting a promise from Nicole Hatch that she would never again knowingly be in the vicinity of illegal drugs, and getting it in writing, Sam finally told the distraught girl that she was not going to press charges.

"But I can't let you get away without paying for your crime," she said.

Nicole's tears had stopped, but she glanced up nervously from the table where she'd written her statement in elaborate cursive that looked as much like art as it did handwriting.

"You can't?"

"No. You have a choice. You can volunteer at either of the two assisted-living places in town one day a week, for two hours, until the end of the school year. You'll be reading to older folks who have trouble seeing."

The arrangement had already been okayed by Nicole's mother.

Frowning, Nicole said, "You told me I have a choice. What is it?"

"You can decide which place you're going to volunteer."

"So I don't really have a choice."

"That's right."

"Okay, but I don't know if my mom will let me..."

"She'll let you, Nicole. This is the law talking. You do understand that, right?"

"Yes."

"And if I ever, ever see your name anywhere near a police report in the future, I'm coming after you personally, you got that?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Okay, now tell me how you got connected with Shane Hamacher."

"I just know him. You know, from school."

Shane was in high school. "You mean from last year?"

"And before that. He's just one grade ahead of me."

"So how did you know you could get drugs from him?"

She had Shane's version through Chuck and wasn't satisfied.

"I didn't. There was this number to call if you were having troubles with a class and needed help."

"Where'd you find it?"

"Kids were passing it around. It wasn't like a secret or anything."

Sam was confused. "Where did they pass it around?"

"At school. In classes, or the lunchroom--whatever."

"In front of teachers?"

"Yeah. I thought it was like tutoring or something. I'm really good at English, but not so good at math, and I have algebra this year and I got my first B ever. Daniel doesn't have as much time to help me since he's working now and still staying in shape for track, and my older sister, Tanya, she's babysitting all the time to make extra money and she's not so good with math, anyway. And Mom's working and always has chores to do when she gets home even though we all help out, so I called the number."

I liked the kid. She communicated.

"And Shane gave you the number?" So much for notes in his locker. "Or did he answer when you called?"

"No." Nicole shook her head, her eyes clear as she looked at Sam. "It was a recording. You could leave a number and what you needed and someone would contact you."

"So did someone call you back?"

"Uh-uh. There was a note in my locker that told me if I wanted help, to wait after school on Friday by my locker. So I did. And this girl showed up from the high school."

"Do you know who she is?"

"Nope. I've never seen her before."

"Did she tell you her name?"

"No."

"Did you ask?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. She was from high school. You know, a lot older than me. Like a teacher, sort of. And...I didn't ask your name. I just see Jones." Nicole glanced at the name bar pinned above Sam's left breast.

Point taken.

"So then what happened?"

"We talked about my problem and stuff, and after a while she told me that there was this drug I could take that would help different functions in my brain to work better so that I could get straight A's no matter what the subject. She told me it was perfectly safe or else we wouldn't be able to get hold of it so easy. She asked me if I wanted to try it."

"And you said you did."

Nicole nodded. "Then she told me how much it was."

"And that's when you took the money from the emergency fund in your mother's bedroom." Sam had already heard all about the family theft.

And had cautioned MaryLee against keeping any substantial amount of money where her kids had access to it.

"Right. She told me to wait behind the bleachers at the football game and someone would come. That's what I did, and then Shane came up and told me he'd been sent to help and to kiss him, and I did, and then you were there."

Sam had to find the older girl. And to trace the phone number.

And to acknowledge that Chuck had been right about Shane.

Thank goodness. She should have known.

"Why'd you kiss him?"

"I don't know. Because he's cute. And...I don't know."

Sam wanted to relent, to give the girl a hug, but as tough as it was being an adult in today's world, it was tougher being a kid. Nicole Hatch had to be able to hold her own. To discern right from wrong a whole lot better than she'd been doing.

"I'm going to bring you some yearbooks and you see if you can find that girl for me, okay?"

"'Kay."

"And I want the phone number you called, too."

"I don't have it anymore."

Sam frowned and Nicole's eyes filled again. "I promise, sir...ma'am, I'd give it to you if I did. I'd give you anything you asked for. I threw it away as soon as I knew I was in trouble because I didn't ever want to call it again."

No worry. Sam would find it another way. If it was that easy to come by at school, she shouldn't have too much trouble.

Sam opened the door, heading for the records room where five years' worth of Chandler yearbooks were on file.

By Friday morning, Zodiac was almost back to normal. She was up before Kyle, nudging his arm at the side of the bed before the alarm went off. And she ate a full breakfast. She watched as he fed Grandpa, who hadn't recognized Kyle and was not able to get out of bed that morning. Then, after greeting Clara, the dog trotted next to Kyle when he went out to the barn to take care of the horses. She stood just inside the fence as he worked with Rad. And watched as he oiled and adjusted the tractor, readying it for Monday's harvesting of the experimental corn.

He'd been on the phone the day before with an ethanol manufacturer who'd agreed to run Kyle's corn through a line he wasn't currently using, with the agreement that if the corn produced as well as Kyle suggested it should, then he would get first refusal on all of Kyle's future production.

It was a shot in the dark.

But then pretty much everything great that had happened in history had been the same. You didn't get to new places by walking along the same old roads.

Out of all the ethanol manufacturers he'd contacted, one had returned his call.

Sam called Friday morning, just as she had each morning that week. She was checking up on Zodiac and, Kyle figured, on him, too.

He hadn't contacted her. He'd screwed up. Betrayed her trust. And she still didn't know the whole of it.

The fact that she didn't trust him now, when he needed her protection, was partly his own fault and partly a product of who Sam was--a cop, no matter what. Even if it meant investigating her lifetime best friend at the first hint of criminal activity rather than automatically believing in him.

Sherry Mahon and fires and chemicals and meth labs aside, they'd broken up all those years before for good reason. He'd been stupid to let himself fall back into friendship with her.

"I interrupted a drug deal under the bleachers at the football game two weeks ago today," she said, seemingly out of the blue. Normally, Sam's conversational twists amused him. Today he figured her statement was leading him up a row he didn't want to hoe, so he said nothing.

"A thirteen-year-old girl called for help with algebra and ended up stealing a hundred dollars from her mother for a bag of meth."

Thirteen. Holy Christ. When he'd been in junior high, they'd been hard-pressed to find an opportunity to down a swig of beer without getting caught. Later, in high school, there'd been a little pot circulating. How in the hell had that progressed to football drug deals?