Dangerous Habits

by Susan Hunter

  “I looked at it. It wasn’t as thorough as it should have been—”

  “Not as thorough? You must’ve just skimmed through it if you didn’t see the gigantic holes. Look, Lacey disappears on the night of the big DeMoss fundraiser. Half the town was out there, coming and going all night. No nuns, no staff, no students, no visitors, nobody noticed Lacey where she shouldn’t be? OK, give that it was a big night. Maybe most people wouldn’t realize anything was wrong even if they saw her.

  “But Ross does a half-assed investigation and doesn’t even ask the right questions, because he’s sure slutty little Lacey Nash just took off on her own. And pretty much everybody, including me, thinks he’s probably right. Then, when her body is found, oh-oh that doesn’t look so good. How to explain it? Oh, well, suddenly her roommate decides to come clean and confesses that Lacey went to a party with her and got wasted. Then, Ross and the medical examiner and Timmins all agree, she fell down the ravine in a drunken stupor and died of head injuries and exposure. Everything all tied up nice and neat.

  “Until Cole finally tells me the truth. She met up with him that night. She wasn’t going to any party. She was taking off, but for where? And she had a kid with her. What happened to him? Why didn’t he come forward? And where’s the money? She stole $1,500; she didn’t leave the grounds, but it’s gone? And her phone. What about her phone?”

  “What about her phone?”

  “It didn’t register until now. She wasn’t even supposed to have a phone. Students aren’t allowed.”

  “She wouldn’t be the first kid to get hold of a contraband pay-as-you-go phone.”

  “Sure, I know. But why wasn’t there anything on it? The police file said there were no emails, no texts. No record of calls. Really? No emails? No texts? What teenage girl isn’t texting? Where was her music, her pictures, or at least a few contacts?” I felt like I was channeling Sherlock Holmes, because I hadn’t even thought of those anomalies until that very minute.

  “If Lacey had a phone, why would she bother with Cole to get her out of there? Why wouldn’t she call your mom and ask for help?”

  “Because she’d be afraid Mom wouldn’t believe her. That she’d call the school and they’d stop her. Maybe it had something to do with the kid she had with her. I don’t know. But I know she did make a call. And it should have shown up on her phone. She called me. Only I didn’t pick up. I didn’t recognize the number. She left a voicemail.” I let the words hang there, stark and ugly. I’d never said them out loud. To anyone.

  Coop waited, not saying anything.

  “I was covering a big accident, lots of casualties and chaos. We worked all evening and into the night. I just flopped into bed when we finished, didn’t check my voicemail until the next morning. The connection was bad and kept breaking up. Lacey was talking so low, and she didn’t make any sense. It was kind of a drunk whisper. I thought—” I stopped for a minute, took a big drink of Jameson. Coop still didn’t say anything.

  I finished in a rush.

  “I thought she drunk dialed me. She just said Lee-Lee and then something like ‘It’s legal.’ It didn’t make any sense. I just felt so mad at her, Coop. I thought she had thrown out her last chance at DeMoss—that she was right back at it. And I couldn’t jump back in with her. I deleted the message and didn’t even try to call her back.

  “When Mom told me she was missing, and it looked like she’d run away, I didn’t say anything about the call. I didn’t want Mom to think I could’ve stopped her, and I didn’t bother to answer my phone. It didn’t seem to matter. It was just like all the other times, and she’d surface after a few days or weeks.”

  Only, of course, it wasn’t. I knew I should have picked up or at least called her back. That’s why when her body was found, I felt so guilty, I was physically ill. Maybe, if I’d called her back, I could’ve saved her.

  “You should have told Ross.”

  “You think I don’t know that? You—”

  He went on as though I hadn’t spoken.

  “I think you’ve got way more guilt than facts lined up here, Leah. It’s clouding your judgment. The things that don’t add up? Yeah, they do. Lacey took $1,500 and somebody at the party took it from her when she was drunk. Or, I’ll even give you that maybe she didn’t take it at all. Some other kid did and got lucky when Lacey disappeared the same day and the blame fell on her.

  “But the other stuff—this mystery kid and the sexual abuse—that’s all from Cole, nobody else. And he’s a con man who already told you he won’t stand by his story. Lacey’s rebellion, her drug use, her anger—well, sorry to tell you but that can be part of being a kid. And the phone call? You had reason to think she was drunk dialing – and Leah, do you get this? You still have reason to think that. Lacey backslid, got drunk, called you—same old, same old. That makes a lot more sense than this theory you’re floating.”

  He paused for a moment to see if he was making an impact. My crossed arms and the set of my jaw told him he wasn’t.

  He leaned forward and put his head between his hands in frustration for a second. The jagged scar running the length of his left index finger made a pale zigzag against his skin. When he looked up, he spoke in a much less understanding tone.

  “What are you doing here, Leah? You’re going to make yourself and everyone else crazy going over and over this stuff. I get it. You feel like you weren’t there for Lacey. But you were.

  “You were there every day of that kid’s life, and you and your mom gave everything you had to help her. But sometimes, some kids can’t be helped. It’s just the way it is. And making up some crazy idea about sexual abuse and cover ups and murder, for God’s sake, that’s not going to help anything. And no one is going to get behind you on this. Not the sheriff, not the D.A.—”

  “Not even you? What about you, Coop? Will you get behind me?”

  “Ahh, don’t do that. Don’t make this about our friendship. It’s not personal. I’m trying to help you here,” he said. The thing is, I knew that he was. But he was wrong.

  “Oh. I get it. You think I’m a delusional idiot. But nothing personal.”

  “That’s not what I meant, and it’s not what I think.”

  “Let me ask you this. If your sister died, and you thought there was something suspicious about it, would you stop asking questions?”

  “No, I wouldn’t. But I wouldn’t create suspicions either, just because I couldn’t deal with my own guilt.”

  We stopped talking then. I picked at my burger and fries, and Coop demolished his. Finally, I dug in my wallet for my share of the bill, then put it on the table.

  “See you.”

  He nodded, and I left.

  Instead of heading home I found myself driving toward the south end of town. When I pulled into the parking lot of Riverview Park, it was almost dark, and the grounds were deserted.

  The grass was shaggy and sparse, overcome by dandelions and brown patches and the shrinking Himmel municipal budget. I got out of my car and walked to a weathered wooden picnic table. The flaking brown paint bore scratched random messages: of devotion “AK loves JB,” self-promotion “Kiley 2010,” and judgment “John Z is an asshat.”

  I sat down and looked at the sun-faded plastic “safe” playground equipment that had replaced the multi-level jungle gyms and hand-over-hands of my youth. I got my first broken bone at the park trying to beat Coop’s time on the hand-over-hands.

  In the dimming light, I could see the railroad trestle crossing the river at the north end of the park’s boundaries, and beyond that JT’s Party Store, home of Sour Patch Kids, Charleston Chews and Slush Puppees, as well as more adult treats. I stared into space thinking about Lacey and what I’d done wrong. How I could have tried harder, been more patient, listened better, just have been a better sister.

  Why didn’t Coop understand? I wanted him to back me on this, help me figure it out, find the truth. But maybe he was right. Maybe Cole was just jerking me around. Once a con man alw
ays a con man. But why would he do that? What was in it for him? No. He was telling the truth. I just knew it. But I’d feel more sure if Coop could see things the same way.

  My thoughts went round in useless circles, until finally the repeated wailing of a train in the distance penetrated my consciousness and took my mind in another direction. To another spring evening when Coop and I were both 12 and he got that zigzag scar on his finger. We’d gone to the park after dinner and time got away from us. It was almost dark and we were supposed to be home before the street lights came on.

  “C’mon, hurry up. I’m gonna get grounded if I’m late again,” he said as I stopped to tie my shoe. I was wearing a cool pair of Adidas that my mother had picked up for half-price. The only flaw was that they were almost a full size too big. I tried to remedy the situation by tying the laces extra tight and double-knotting them. They weren’t coming off, that was for sure—though I was starting to lose circulation in my toes.

  “Chill. We can go the back way, across the trestle and save 10 minutes.” The trestle spanned a narrow spot on the Himmel River, just outside the park boundaries. It wasn’t very high or very long—maybe 18 feet above the water and 60 yards or so across. It only took about 10 seconds to scamper across, and there was rarely any train traffic. Nonetheless, my mother had forbidden me to take the shortcut. Then again, she had forbidden me to miss curfew, too.

  “OK.”

  We took off at a run across the park. When we were almost at the trestle, we heard the long, plaintive wail of a train whistle.

  “Crap, the train’s coming. We’re gonna have to go the regular way,” Coop said, turning to go back toward Main Street.

  “No!” I grabbed his arm to pull him back. “We won’t get home in time. That train’s miles away, we can make it, c’mon.”

  “No, I’d rather get grounded than creamed by a train.”

  “I’m going this way. You do what you want. I’m not getting grounded!” I said, impulsively, daring him to be as brave as me. Or as stupid.

  I ran onto the trestle. I could see the train way down the track ahead, but I wasn’t worried about it. What bothered me more was the simple act of crossing the narrow bridge. I’d always been a little scared of it—there were no guard rails, just open air on either side, and when you looked down, you could see the river below through the spaces between the ties. Other times, I’d kept my eyes straight ahead, looking at Coop moving confidently in front of me and just imitated his stride. This time, I was on my own.

  But buoyed by the notion that I was going to best Coop at something and beat him home, with my mother none the wiser, I felt agile as a mountain goat. I moved with quick hops over the wooden ties, skipping over scattered broken glass and sharp pieces of rusty metal.

  The train wailed again much louder this time, but when I looked up it was still a non-threatening distance down the track, and I had almost reached the far side. I looked over my shoulder for a second to give a victory fist pump to Coop, still watching me from the spot where I had chosen the road less traveled. I flashed a triumphant grin.

  But as I turned around again and took the last step, instead of landing lightly at the edge of the bridge, I sprawled forward, my arms flung out in front of me, my cheeks scraping the rough wood of the splintered railroad ties. I could feel the vibration of the train through the track and a corresponding shudder of fear ran through me. I scrambled up but only got as far as one knee.

  My left foot was caught and refused to break free. My foot in its too big shoe was firmly wedged between two railroad ties. I reached back and grabbed my ankle with both hands and gave a tremendous yank. My foot, and the shoe, stayed put. I dimly heard Coop yell, “Leah, Leah, the train!”

  I looked up. The engine that had been so far from me was coming at warp speed. My fingers fumbled as I frantically tried to untie my knotted laces. Tears streamed down my face.

  “Leah!” Coop was beside me. I felt the trestle shake as the train rumbled closer.

  “Get out of here!” I shouted above the din of the train’s whistle.

  He shoved my hands out of the way and sawed at the laces of my shoe with a piece of rusty metal.

  “Hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry!” I repeated in a frantic mantra, though he couldn’t hear me. I put my hands to my ears to shut out the sound and squeezed my eyes tight against the terror, but my entire body was filled with the noise and throbbing of the oncoming engine. I couldn’t tell where the pounding of my heart ended and the shaking of the trestle began.

  “I’m sorry, Coop, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

  He kept sawing, then gave a fierce tug and the lace broke. My shoe loosened, and with a tremendous yank, I pulled my foot free. At the same moment, I felt a hard shove in my chest. Then I was floating in open space. A half-second later the hot breath of the diesel engine as it roared past hit me with the force of a blow, and I fell.

  When I hit the water, it was with body jolting force. I plunged to the bottom of the muddy Himmel. I came up coughing, sputtering, and missing a shoe but otherwise fine. Wiping my eyes, I saw Coop clambering up the bank. I swam the few yards to join him. He was shivering and his finger was bleeding pretty badly.

  “You all right?”

  “You are such a dickhead,” he said.

  I had to agree.

  What with the police coming, and half the gawkers in town converging on us, and stitches, and tetanus shots, and a chewing out from Officer Darmody, who was first on the scene, any hope of keeping our parents from finding out died.

  Coop was grounded—though he was featured as a hero in the Himmel Times. I was under house arrest for a month with my Aunt Nancy keeping watch over me and Lacey, because as my mother said, “I can no longer trust your judgment, Leah Marie.”

  Coop had my back then, like he always did. And now, just because he didn’t agree with me about Lacey’s death, it didn’t mean he wasn’t on my side. Maybe it meant he was right. To be honest, this wouldn’t be the first time I crossed the line from reasonable doubt to unstoppable obsession. I just can’t give up when something doesn’t make sense. That’s what makes me a good reporter. It’s also what lands me in trouble more than I like.

  But this time I wasn’t pursuing a story, trying to get an exclusive. This time it was about my little sister and what happened to her and why. The anger and resentment I’d felt toward her for so long was gone. Coop was wrong.

  It wasn’t guilt that was driving me, though I had that in spades. It was a burning need to resurrect Lacey the way she had been, and perhaps, underneath all the rage and rebellion, the way she’d remained. I wanted to see her again, I wanted my mother to see her again, the way she really was. And I wanted whoever took that away from her and took her away from us, to pay.

  Ten

  When I got home, my mother was loading the dishwasher.

  “How was your run?” I asked. She tried to get in a couple of miles after work most days, and she was still wearing her running gear.

  “I was on my way out the door, but I wound up not going. The blood drive called their list of O negative donors and asked us to come in because they didn’t meet their quota or something. Ellie Schreiber was donating right next to me.”

  “Yeah?”

  “She seemed really worried, Leah.”

  “About Alex?”

  “No, no, he’s fine. She’s concerned about Max. She said he’s worrying himself sick trying to keep the paper going.”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s rough on him.” I knew where this was heading and tried to distract her. “Too bad you had to miss your run. Your time has really improved. Of course, you’d probably pick up an extra 10 minutes if you dumped that lanyard you wear. It kind of makes you look like a preppie coach from 1980.”

  She lifted it off the little nail by the kitchen door and waved it in front of me, then pointed with her finger ticking off the items.

  “I refuse to be shamed for being prepared. My front door key, my car key, my mini Swiss army knife. I
can get into my house, start my car, open a wine bottle, tighten a screw, defend myself or file my nails. Quit trying to distract me,” she said, hanging it back up and walking over to lean on the bar where I had pulled up a stool.

  “Ellie said Max got a call from Sister Julianna. She was concerned that the paper was questioning the school’s role in Lacey’s death.”

  “Yeah? Well, that’s not what happened today. Ellie should mind her own business.”

  “I think she thinks it is her business. She’s anxious. She’s afraid you’re making things harder for Max. She’s worried about his health, too. Max is under a lot of stress. His father died of a heart attack at exactly his age. Did you know that?”

  “Oh, come on. Ellie’s trying to play the health card? And if she’s really concerned, maybe she should make him cut down on his double burger baskets. Max will outlive all of us. And I’m just as concerned about Lacey as she is about Max. I found out some things today, and they’re not very good.” I struggled with how to tell her what I knew and what I suspected it meant. There wasn’t any easy way to say it.

  “What sort of things?”

  I explained my questions about the missing money, and told her what Sister Julianna and Father Hegl had said about Cole and the drugs. I didn’t say anything about the phone. I wasn’t ready to face the look in her eyes if she knew I could’ve helped Lacey that last night and hadn’t.

  “Leah, everything is so black and white with you, isn’t it? First, Lacey is a monster child you can’t wait to drop off at DeMoss. Now, she’s an innocent scapegoat? You know how much I loved Lacey, but I’ve had to face the fact that it wasn’t enough. Don’t forget, there was hydrocodone in her purse. She was drunk the night she fell. I’ve known since her body was found that she must have been using again.”

  “I’m not saying she was innocent. I’m saying something happened to her, something really terrible, and we didn’t see it. So, there was no way we could help her.” I searched for a way to soften the blow, to keep her from feeling the sharp, searing guilt I’d felt when Cole told me. But there wasn’t any way to make it less awful to hear than it was.