Dangerous Habits

by Susan Hunter

  “Leah, what’s the point of this? I was interviewed by the Sheriff’s Department at the time, and whatever I said then was fresher than what I could hope to remember now. Do you really think anyone will be able to tell you anything useful at this late date? Is it worth reminding people all over again about Lacey’s problems, worrying good people who are trying to help other children like Lacey, risking the school’s reputation and its funding for an unprovable theory? Do you think your sister would want that?”

  “My sister would want justice. I don’t believe she got it. Why are you so interested in stopping me?”

  “I’m not trying to stop you, Leah. I’m just trying to get you to think through what is really in the best interest of you, of Lacey’s memory, and I admit it, of DeMoss Academy.”

  “And you, Miller? What’s in your best interest?”

  “Dad? Dad! Telephone. It’s grandma.” A girl’s voice sounded from somewhere upstairs.

  “I have to take this call, my father’s not been well. I think we’re finished here. Can you see yourself out?”

  “Yeah, sure. Thanks, Miller.”

  He nodded and walked out of the room and down the hall. As I left, a pretty girl in running gear came clattering down the stairs.

  “Oh! Hi,” she said. “I didn’t know Dad was with anyone.”

  “That’s OK, we were finished. Could you possibly be Charlotte?” I asked, as I noted her big brown eyes and remembered the solemn little girl Lacey used to bring to the house sometimes.

  “That’s me,” she said, sweeping silky blonde hair into a pony tail and securing it. “Who are you?”

  “Leah Nash. Lacey’s sister.”

  “Oh sure, I remember you now.”

  “It’s been awhile. The last time I saw you, I think Lacey brought you over to see her cat Zoey. You couldn’t have been more than—”

  “Ten. I was 10. That was just before Lacey stopped coming. Sebastian and I felt really bad. We loved her.”

  We had walked through the door and were standing on the flagstone path leading to the drive where my car was parked.

  “Did she ever tell you why she stopped babysitting?”

  She shook her head. “No. We used to see her at least twice a week—Mom and Dad are pretty social. I thought she liked us. Then one day Dad said Lacey told him she wouldn’t be coming anymore. She was too busy. I called her and asked if she could visit us some time, but she just said no, she didn’t think so.

  “I was really bummed. And Sebastian cried that he wanted his ‘Wacey’ every time a new sitter came. He was only five. For a long time, we thought we did something wrong and she didn’t like us anymore. But when I got older, I figured it out.”

  “What did you figure out, Charlotte?”

  “Mom fired her because we all liked her so much—me, Sebastian, even Dad. Mom doesn’t like it when she’s not the center of the universe.”

  “But Lacey wasn’t fired, she quit. That’s what she told us—my mother and me.”

  She shrugged.

  “Well, then she quit because Mom was such a bitch to her. Mom told us Lacey wasn’t our friend, she was only nice because she was paid to be, and we should get over it. I’m sorry about what happened to Lacey, Leah. She was always great to us, and that’s how I remember her, no matter what people said.”

  A car pulled into the drive just then and a very beautiful woman, the image of Charlotte in 20 years, got out. Georgia looked surprised—and not in a good way.

  “Leah, what are you doing here? Charlotte, I really need you to go back inside and change into something more suitable.”

  Her daughter’s tight-fitting tank top and shorts were more revealing than I’d choose, but with her lithe body and long legs, Charlotte looked good, and she was dressed pretty much like other girls her age.

  She had begun inserting her earbuds as Georgia approached, and now said, “Sorry, Mother, can’t hear you. I’ve got to run. Literally.” She gave me a small wave and took off with a steady stride, her ponytail bouncing behind her.

  Georgia trained her icy gaze back on me and repeated her question. “What are you doing here?” She pressed her carefully outlined lips into a thin pink line as she waited for my answer.

  “Miller asked me to stop by. He wanted to talk about Lacey.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “Why would I lie?”

  “Why do reporters do anything? To dig up dirt. To make trouble. To ride on the coattails of people who are better and smarter than they are. But I’m sure my husband did not initiate a conversation about your delinquent, dead sister.”

  “Why did you dislike her so much?”

  “Dislike a predatory, oversexed teenager who couldn’t leave my husband alone? What’s not to like?”

  “That’s not true, Georgia. Lacey was a kid. She was 14 years old when she babysat for you.”

  “Lolita was 12, right?”

  “You really are a horrible person, aren’t you?”

  “You don’t know the half of it. And trust me, you don’t want to know.”

  The carefully cultivated mask of wealth and privilege fell away for a minute. Underneath I could see the viciously ambitious girl from the poor side of Himmel. Not Georgia then. No, she was plain old Crystal Bailey before she clawed her way up the social ladder and snagged the son of the wealthiest family in Himmel along the way.

  “Your sister was a little bitch who tried to worm her way into my family and turn my own children and my husband against me. I knew her game. I’m telling you, you’d better not make any trouble for us. I didn’t get here by playing nice. Miller is going to win his state senate race and that’s only the beginning. I won’t allow you to tie him to that little slut and her drunken death.”

  “Do you even know how pathetic you sound? Lacey was in ninth grade! She was into Justin Timberlake, not some guy old enough to be her father, like Miller. You know what, Georgia? If I were you I wouldn’t invest too much in my campaign wardrobe. Because it could be that when I get the answers I’m looking for, Miller might be fighting for his life, not for a state senate seat. You may find that your future is not very bright at all.”

  I had nothing to base it on. I was just trying to give back a little of the trash talk she had thrown at me.

  I was too slow on the uptake to see it coming. She stepped back to give herself room then shoved so hard she knocked me on my butt. As I sat staring up at her in surprise, she turned and marched to her front door, high heels clicking on the pavement.

  Seventeen

  I’d been calling and leaving messages at the number Sister Margaret gave me for Delite Wilson’s sister, Brandee Holloway, for a few days, but she wasn’t picking up, and she wasn’t answering my voicemail. When I got home from the Caldwells to change for work, I gave it another try. After three rings, someone answered, but it sounded more like an adolescent boy than an adult woman.

  “Yeah?”

  “Hello. May I please speak to Brandee Holloway?”

  He didn’t answer, but there was a slight clunk as the phone was tossed down, and I could hear him yell.

  “Ma! Phone!”

  “Who is it?”

  “I dunno. Sounds kinda like the counselor from my school.”

  “Whadya been doin’? I told you I ain’t got time to go runnin’ to your damn school every day. And I told you, don’t answer my phone!” There was the sound of a whap! And a sharp cry of “Oww!”

  Then, “Who is this?”

  I talked fast, trying to get my question in before she hung up on me.

  “Hi, Brandee, this is Leah Nash. I left a couple of messages. I’m trying to reach your sister Delite. Does she still live with you?”

  “No. Whadya want her for?”

  “She was my sister Lacey’s roommate at DeMoss Academy. I don’t know if you know this, but Lacey died in an accident there, and I’m trying to talk to some of the people who knew her then.”

  “What for?”

  “Lac
ey and I weren’t close when she went to DeMoss, but I miss her a lot. I just feel if I could talk to people who knew her then, I might feel closer to her, might understand her better. You know how it is with sisters.” I’d decided to play the we’re-all-sisters card, but now that didn’t seem like such a great idea.

  “I know how it is with my husband-stealing, lazy, lying half-sister, if that’s what you mean. I threw Delite out two months after she got here from Loserville. Right after I caught her screwin’ my old man. Him, he’s a piece of shit. But my own flesh and blood? I tossed her little bitch ass right out, and I ain’t talked to her since.”

  “Uh, I’m sorry to hear that. Do you know where she went?”

  “Last I heard she was workin’ at a casino in Michigan up to Mixley. I gotta go. I don’t know nothin’ about Delite. Don’t call me anymore.”

  Before she clicked off, I could hear her yelling at her kid again. “Don’t you goddamn pick up my phone you little fucktard! I don’t have time for your—” and she was gone.

  My mother walked into the kitchen dressed for work as I hung up.

  “Leah? What are you doing home? I thought I heard you leave over an hour ago,” she said, tilting her head as she fastened in a silver hoop earring.

  “You look good, Mom.” She did, dressed in a bright green blazer and knee-length skirt—she still has great legs. I thought of Brandee and her harangue at her unknown son, and I walked over and gave her a hug.

  “What’s that for?”

  “Because you’ve never called me a little fucktard.”

  “At least not when you could hear me.”

  “Funny.”

  “But what are you doing back home at 8:30? I did hear you leave once already, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, I had an early coffee date.”

  “Hmm. Dressed like that I guess it’s safe to assume it wasn’t with one of the royal family.”

  “Actually, it was. Himmel’s anyway. Miller Caldwell asked me for coffee at his house this morning.”

  “Miller called you?” The look of astonishment on her face changed to suspicion. “Why? Leah, you didn’t accuse him of hurting Lacey, did you?”

  “I asked him a few questions. Look, Mom, like I said, he’s the one who called me. He heard I was asking about Lacey and wondered why. Sister Julianna put him up to it.”

  “Leah, you haven’t said anything about that for the past few days. I was hoping you’d dropped it.”

  “I haven’t said anything, because I don’t want to fight with you. I know you’re angry, and I’m sorry if I messed things up for you with Paul I—”

  “Leah, it’s not just that—have you thought at all about what Paul said? This could be a lose-lose situation. If you’re wrong, you can hurt a lot of innocent people. Like Paul. If you’re right, ask the wrong person, and it could be dangerous. I’m worried about you.”

  “Well, maybe if someone tried to kill me, I’d finally convince you and Coop and Max that I’m on to something.”

  “That’s a terrible thing to say, Leah.”

  She was right, but I never stand stronger than when I’m wrong.

  “Look, let’s not talk about it anymore, OK? We’re not going to agree, and neither of us is going to change her mind. Besides, you’ll be late for work.”

  “We’re not through with this conversation, Leah. You don’t need to be sarcastic with me and treat me like I’m some kind of overprotective nitwit. Karen is worried too. And she mentioned something I hadn’t even thought of—possible libel or slander suits. You think you’ve got career and money problems now—you ain’t seen nothin’ yet if Georgia Caldwell decides to take a swing at you.”

  Now didn’t seem the time to confess that indeed Georgia already had.

  “Mom. I don’t think you’re a nitwit, and Karen isn’t either.”

  Karen had been like a second, less guilt-wielding mother to us growing up. She tried to help Lacey almost as much as Mom and I did, but Lacey cut her off just like she did us. I knew it hurt her, but she never said a bad word about my sister. She stayed a good friend to us when some others didn’t.

  “But just think about this, Mom. You’re afraid I’m not being objective, that I’m seeing connections that aren’t there, because I feel guilty. Isn’t it possible that you’re refusing to see things that are there for the same reason? I’ll be late tonight. There’s something I have to do after work.”

  Instead of heading to McClain’s for our usual post-production drink and dinner, I jumped in my car after we put the paper to bed, ready to head out for a four-hour drive to Shining Waters Resort Casino in Mixley, Michigan. According to the staff person I spoke to, Delite Wilson was working a 9 p.m. to 3 a.m. shift. That was my best chance of catching up with her. A rap on my window made me look up from buckling my seatbelt.

  “Chica, where are you going?” Miguel’s expression was similar to that of a golden retriever hoping for a trip to the park.

  “To the casino in Mixley. I’ve got a line on Delite.”

  “That’s at least an eight-hour round trip. You won’t get back here until morning!”

  “That’s OK. I don’t have any assignments until afternoon. If I get too tired driving back, I’ll just pull into a rest area and catch a nap.”

  He ran quickly around the car and jumped in the passenger seat before I could say anything. “I’m coming with you. We can split the driving.”

  I turned to face him and started to protest but he waved me off. “No. You need me. You don’t see Frodo without Sam, Buffy without Willow, Abercrombie without Fitch.”

  “No. Seriously. Thanks, but no. You’ve already done enough.” He continued as though I hadn’t said anything.

  “Lilo without Stitch, Holmes without Watson, Jerry without George—”

  “OK, OK, OK. Enough. Buckle up and let’s go.”

  I reached over to plug in my iPhone for some music, but Miguel grabbed it away. “No-no. I am so not listening to Adele for four hours. I’m in charge of the tunes for this road trip. Hey, don’t you believe in security, chica? Your phone should be password protected.”

  “I know. But it’s too much trouble. I don’t like to keep putting the pass code in every time it’s idle for a few minutes.”

  “Oh, dios mío. It’s worse than I thought. Journey? Seriously?” he said as he scrolled through my song list.

  “You know my secret, now I have to kill you. Besides, you’re the one with Susan Boyle on his playlist.”

  “I’m not ashamed. The voice of an angel. Ohh, OK, here we go, let’s go retro.”

  Soon the Bee Gees started pouring out of the speakers, and by the time we pulled out of town, we were both singing and car dancing to Stayin’ Alive. Almost four hours later when the lights of the casino lit up the night sky, we weren’t quite as lively. It was about 11 when we pulled into the parking lot.

  If you’ve never been to a casino in rural Michigan, let me hasten to assure you it is not Monte Carlo. Or Las Vegas. Or even Atlantic City. There is no glamour and precious little excitement, unless it excites you to watch people who look like they haven’t a dime to spare, wheezing their way around game tables and slot machines on electric carts. There’s an air of noisy desperation about the whole scene that I find extremely depressing. Miguel, I discovered, did not share my feelings. Bouncing out of the car, he almost danced his way through the big double doors and immediately pulled me over to the dice table.

  “C’mon, chica, let’s roll the dice. I feel lucky tonight.”

  “Roll away, buddy. I’ve got work to do. Life’s a big enough gamble for me, thanks. Besides, I haven’t the faintest idea how to play craps. It looks way too math-y to me.”

  “No, no, chica. It’s so easy. You never played?” His eyes lit up. “Then you’ll be super lucky. Here, just roll the dice, please?”

  “No. Seriously. You go ahead and make new friends. I’m going to look around for Delite.”

  The room was dark and the air redolent with smoke despi
te the air purifying system. I wasn’t sure I’d recognize her. I’d only seen her once before, when DeMoss brought a contingent of kids to Lacey’s funeral. I remembered her as a pale ash blonde with flat blue eyes and a discontented mouth. I scanned the gaming tables. Outside of the dice table only three were open; a raucous three-card poker game staffed by a skinny young guy with glasses, a let-it-ride game with a balding dealer and two hard-bitten women playing, and an empty blackjack table with a female dealer. Something about her cocky stance made me think I’d found her. As I got closer, I could see that her nametag read Delite. Jackpot.

  Her hair wasn’t ash blonde any more, instead it was a streaky yellow-orange color not found in nature. Her eyes were the same though, hard and dull.

  “Delite. Hi. I’m Leah Nash. Lacey’s sister.”

  “Yeah, so? You wanna play or what?”

  “Yeah, sure.” I placed a bet and then said, “Actually I wanted to talk to you. To ask you about Lacey. Lacey Nash,” I added, as she showed no sign of recognizing the name.

  “What about her?” She shuffled the deck and dealt me a card, and turned over her own.

  “You and Lacey were roommates. You must have talked a lot. Did she ever tell you that she was worried, or afraid?”

  “No,” she said, giving me another card.

  “Did she seem unhappy?”

  “Everybody was unhappy. We was at Dumbass Academy, wasn’t we?” She looked at her second card. Ace. I busted.

  “She never said anything to you about before she came to DeMoss? About what happened to her when she was younger? Did she ever say anything about being sexually abused?” Her face kept the same disinterested stare.

  She shrugged. “She mighta said somethin’ about some big shot makin’ her screw or something. Too bad, so sad, we all got somethin’.”

  “Lacey said she was abused? Think, did she say who?”

  “I don’t know. It’s not like I really cared, I got my own problems. You gonna play another hand or not?”