Lying With Strangers

by Jonnie Jacobs

  “Why? What do you owe them money for? I thought we were doing okay.”

  “We were. We are. Or we will be.”

  Trace was talking nonsense. “We aren’t doing okay if you owe money. Especially if you owe more than we’ve got. And you still haven’t told me why you owe them.”

  “It’s more like they think I took what was theirs,” Trace said. He was breathing faster, not looking at her, squeezing the Coke can so it made little popping noises.

  “Did you?” Chloe asked.

  “It was mostly a misunderstanding. But the thing is, they aren’t guys you argue with.”

  “A misunderstanding?” The sick feeling intensified. “What’d you do, Trace? What were you involved with?”

  He shrugged. “It was a deal we did a couple of months back. A business deal, really. We had this truckload of merchandise—”

  “Stolen merchandise?”

  “Yeah, I guess. Wasn’t like we actually stole it or anything, but we got it cheap.”

  She’d been about say I can’t believe you are so stupid, but caught herself. She didn’t want to sound like the customer who’d yelled at her that afternoon. “I don’t understand why you’d do something like that, Trace. I thought you said you were going straight.”

  “I am. This is left over from before. I got to get right with these guys first.”

  “And what about shooting Hector? How are you going to get right with that?”

  He made a dismissive gesture with his arm. “It was a deal gone bad. I didn’t have a choice.” He finished off his Coke and crushed the can with one hand. “I got a plan to get the money.”

  “What is it?” she asked, trying to keep the uncertainty out of her voice.

  “That DA that messed up the robbery? He’s got to have money, right? And you have his house key. It was in his bag.”

  “We don’t know any of those keys are for his house.”

  “One of them has got to be. So what I’m thinking is, you go there, check it out, and get a feel for the wife’s schedule. Then when we know it’s safe, we’ll let ourselves in and take what we can.”

  “No.”

  “I don’t mean clean the place out. Just take enough to make us even.”

  “No, Trace. That woman’s husband is in the hospital. He might die. I am not going to go rob her house.”

  “It’d be burglary, not robbery.”

  “I don’t care what it is, I’m not doing it.”

  “Do it so we can make a clean start. You love me, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “I need to get these guys off my back or they’ll kill me. Please, Chloe. We don’t have a choice.”

  There was always a choice. Even Chloe knew that.

  “I’ll make it up to you,” Trace pleaded. “We’ll start fresh—you, me, and the baby. Please, Chloe. I need you.” His hand caressed the side of her face and traced the outline of her lips with the lightness of a feather. “I really, really need you.”

  She closed her eyes. It was hard to say no when Trace was being so nice to her. “I get off early tomorrow. I’ll go have a look. But that’s all I’m promising, just a look.”

  “That’s my girl. I knew I could count on you.”

  He had it backward, Chloe thought. She should be the one who could count on him.

  Chapter 17

  Chloe stuck her hands in her pocket and wondered how she was supposed to watch a house without being watched herself. She couldn’t believe she’d agreed to such a fool’s errand. She wasn’t going to be part of any burglary, no matter what Trace said. There had to be another way to get the money he needed.

  She’d almost backed out at least a dozen times, but then she’d remember the desperation in Trace’s eyes, the pleading fear in his voice. She didn’t have the heart to straight-out refuse. Or the nerve. It was easier to appear to go along with this harebrained scheme and then find some reason the plan wouldn’t work. That way Trace wouldn’t be angry with her and she wouldn’t feel she was letting him down.

  But in truth, she was letting him down, wasn’t she? Trace meant everything to her. How could she stand by and not help him?

  Chloe felt confused, or as Rose, the supervisor of the group home, used to say, conflicted. Whatever the dilemma, Rose was able to cut through the confusion and lay things out in simple terms. “You may feel conflicted,” she’d say, “but if you step back and think, it’s pretty easy to separate right from wrong.” Chloe had learned a lot from Rose, but she was finding that the differences between right and wrong weren’t always as clear as Rose made it seem.

  Chloe had agreed to check out the DA’s house and neighborhood. But she’d left the ring of keys at home.

  She’d taken the bus—several buses in fact—across town to the well-to-do neighborhood where the lawyer lived. And now she stood on a quiet, tree-lined street, across from a gabled two-story house that looked like something out of a children’s storybook. There was even a rocker on the front porch, barely visible through the flowering vines that climbed the side of the house. Painted a soft blue-gray with charcoal trim, the house was at the same time elegant and welcoming. As was the whole neighborhood. It was the sort of home on the sort of street Chloe had always dreamed about, and known would never be hers. She experienced a pang of, well, of what she couldn’t quite say. Nostalgia maybe. Nostalgia for what might have been in her life with a different roll of the dice.

  A woman wearing designer jeans and pushing a fancy baby stroller walked by and smiled at Chloe.

  “Glorious day, isn’t it?” the woman said.

  Chloe agreed, and took a surreptitious peek into the stroller. A sleeping bundle of pink—pink booties, pink blanket, pink cheeks. She felt a flutter in her chest like champagne bubbles rising to the surface. Instinctively, she placed her hand on the swell of her belly. Her own decidedly non-designer jeans were already so tight she couldn’t fasten the top button. Five more months, and she’d have a pink bundle of her own.

  But the similarities ended there. Chloe took a deep breath. How wonderful it would be to live in a nice neighborhood like this and take an afternoon walk with your baby, free of worries. It was a fantasy she found as captivating as it was impossible.

  She shook herself free of her dream world and started walking in the opposite direction from the woman and her baby. She couldn’t stand there and watch the lawyer’s house all afternoon. What had Trace been thinking? Although to be fair, Chloe hadn’t exactly seen that pitfall either. This was clearly the sort of neighborhood where a stranger would stand out.

  She walked two blocks and then turned left. At the corner she passed a woman in a wide-brimmed hat deadheading flowers in her front yard, and farther on, an elderly gentleman walking his equally elderly beagle.

  Chloe touched her belly. “What do you think, Cassidy? Pretty nice, huh? Don’t get your hopes up, though. I’m afraid we’re not this lucky.”

  Cassidy? The name had a nice ring, but kids might joke about Butch Cassidy and horses. Chloe couldn’t give her daughter riches, but she could give her a name that didn’t invite teasing.

  She turned left again, circling back toward the lawyer’s house. She liked to think of the man as “the lawyer” because it made him seem less real, but she knew his name—Roy Walker. She knew his wife’s name too—Diana. It had been on the news.

  Chloe again stood across the street and down a couple of houses from the Walkers’. A woman was out front now, watering plants, her little terrier sniffing the grass nearby. Chloe wasn’t close enough to see if it was the same woman she’d seen in the photo in the lawyer’s—in Roy Walker’s—gym bag, but it had to be Diana. She wore jeans and a T-shirt and had her reddish, shoulder-length hair clipped back from her face.

  The sharp reality of what had brought her here made Chloe’s knees weak. Trace had shot this woman’s husband. And she, Chloe, hadn’t done a thing to help him. A wave of nausea washed over her. She felt suddenly flushed and lightheaded. Dear Go
d, what had they done?

  An older woman came from the house next to the Walkers’ and started talking to Diana. She reached down and petted the terrier.

  As Chloe watched, captivated by the simple charm of the scene, she debated what to do next. She couldn’t stand here forever without raising suspicion. Suddenly a cat darted across the yard and into the street, and the terrier took off after it. Diana Walker called the dog, then looked in the direction Chloe was standing and yelled something else. Chloe turned just in time to see a boy on a bike flying down the sidewalk.

  What happened next happened so fast Chloe didn’t have time to register it all. The boy swerved to avoid the dog and instead crashed straight into Chloe.

  She went down hard, landing on her left knee and then her cheek, before skidding across the cement. For a moment she lay without moving, without breathing. She saw flashes of dancing light before her eyes and then large, black spots.

  Pain came slowly at first, then swiftly and fiercely. She tasted blood. She caught her breath and moaned between hard, quick gasps.

  The boy had fallen, too, tangled in his bike, but he’d landed on the grassy parking strip and was already up and moving. Diana Walker and the neighbor woman rushed to Chloe.

  “Oh my God,” Diana said, “are you okay? No, of course you aren’t.” She turned to the boy. “Jeremy, haven’t I told you a thousand times to slow down? What were you thinking? You have to watch out for people.” And back to Chloe. “Oh dear God. Shall I call an ambulance?”

  The terrier moved in and nosed Chloe’s cheek, its tail wagging a mile a minute. The boy was in tears.

  Chloe blinked at the worried faces hovering over her, wanting to assure them she was fine, or would be in a minute or two. But the effort was too great. Instead, she closed her eyes and imagined she could ride away on a puffy white cloud.

  *****

  Diana had seen the teenaged girl with the ponytail walking down the street. Not someone she recognized from the neighborhood, and she wondered if the girl might be lost. It was unusual to see a girl her age simply strolling the street alone. More often, teenage girls strode with purpose and sure athletic steps, or walked in packs accompanied by high-pitched chatter. So the girl had caught Diana’s eye, but she’d been immersed in conversation with Judy from next door and hadn’t really paid much attention until she’d seen Jeremy riding unsteadily down the sidewalk. Diana had been about to call to him to slow down when Digger had unexpectedly taken off like a shot. The rest was a blur that had come to a crashing standstill with the moaning, bleeding girl on the sidewalk in front of her.

  “Oh my God,” Diana cried. “Are you okay?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth she realized how stupid the question sounded. Of course the girl wasn’t okay.

  She’d seemed alert in the first moments after the accident, but then her eyes had closed and Diana worried she’d lost consciousness. She held the girl’s head, and stroked her forehead. “Can you hear me, honey? Talk to me.”

  The girl opened her eyes and regarded Diana blankly.

  “I’ll go call nine-one-one,” Judy said.

  “Yes, I think you’d better.”

  The girl grimaced. “No. No, please. I’ll be fine.” She struggled to sit up.

  “Can you move your fingers and toes?” Diana asked, helping her to a sitting position.

  The girl made a rippling movement with her long, delicate fingers, as though she were playing the scales of a piano.

  “Jeremy, run into the house for some towels,” Diana said. “And take Digger with you.”

  The girl tried to stand and would have fallen if Diana hadn’t held her.

  “What hurts most?” Diana asked.

  “My knee.”

  “Can you walk on it?”

  “I think so.” With Diana and Judy supporting the girl on either side, they managed to get her to her feet. The girl tried putting weight on the leg and winced, but she managed a few shuffling steps.

  “Come on,” Diana said. “Let’s get you inside and cleaned up.”

  It took all three of them to get the girl across the street and into Diana’s kitchen. She sat silently in the straight-backed chair at the head of the long wooden table, while Diana took wet towels and gently mopped the girl’s wounds. The flesh on her cheek was raw and scraped but luckily the damage was confined to the surface. It looked ugly and would hurt like the dickens for days to come, but Diana thought there’d be no permanent scarring. She felt less sure about the knee. She gave the girl an ice pack, but already the area looked swollen.

  “Let me drive you to emergency,” Diana said. “You really ought to get that knee looked at. They probably have some stronger salve for the scrapes, too.”

  The girl’s eyes widened with trepidation. She shook her head. “No hospitals.”

  Standard response of the young or something more? Diana sensed something close to genuine terror in the girl’s reaction. “If it’s an insurance thing, I’ll pay—”

  “No,” the girl said sharply. “I’ll be fine, really.”

  “What’s your name?” Diana asked. “Who should I call?”

  “Please, there’s no need to call anyone.”

  Jeremy was standing in the doorway, his head hung low, his expression contrite. Digger pushed past him and started sniffing the girl’s feet.

  “What’s your name? Diana asked again.

  “Chloe.”

  “I’m Diana.”

  Chloe offered a tepid smile. She touched her belly for probably the third or fourth time.

  “Do you feel sick?” Diana asked in alarm. She was already envisioning internal bleeding or other major injury, and was more convinced than ever that Chloe ought to be checked out by a doctor.

  Chloe’s gaze swept Diana’s kitchen, then circled back. “I don’t feel sick. It’s a nervous habit, that’s all.”

  “Do you live nearby? Let me call someone for you.”

  “Really, I’ll be just fine in a minute.” Chloe held her hand out to Digger, and when he’d sniffed her fingers some, she reached behind his head and scratched his ears.

  “I’m so sorry,” Diana said. “My dog is usually very well behaved, and my son knows he’s not supposed to go so fast.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” Jeremy said, inching toward them. “I didn’t mean to hit you. I didn’t want you to be hurt.” He looked at Chloe and then at Diana. His eyes filled with tears.

  “Hey,” Chloe said with a genuine smile this time. “It was an accident. I know you didn’t mean to hit me.”

  “Do you want a cookie?” Jeremy asked.

  “A cookie?”

  “You know, to stop the hurt.”

  “Ah.” The bewilderment that had been so apparent in Chloe’s expression lifted. “That would be great. Maybe some milk, too.”

  Jeremy scampered to the cupboard for a cookie while Diana poured a glass of milk and set it on the table.

  “I really think you should see a doctor,” Diana said. “I can call my own doctor if you’d like.”

  Chloe gave a determined shake of her head. “Thanks, but I don’t need a doctor.”

  Jeremy returned with a box of Chips Ahoy and another of frosted animal crackers—hardly the comfort food of teenage girls. But Chloe nibbled a cookie from each box, then finished off her glass of milk.

  “You’re sitting in my dad’s chair,” Jeremy said solemnly after a moment.

  “Oh,” Chloe said, and shifted as if to move to a different chair.

  “It’s fine,” Diana assured her. “Roy wouldn’t mind.”

  Chloe lowered her gaze, and again, Diana detected a flicker of something like fear in the girl’s eyes.

  “He’s in the hospital,” Jeremy continued. “I went to visit him but he couldn’t see me because he’s in a co—” He looked to Diana for help.

  “A coma,” she explained.,

  “It’s what happens,” Jeremy said, “when someone is very, very sick.”

  Chloe studied her hands.
“I’m sorry to hear that. It must be terrible for all of you.” She finally looked up. “I think I feel strong enough to leave now.”

  “You ought to sit a bit longer.”

  “No, I really need to go.”

  “Where do you live?” Diana asked. “I’ll drive you home.”

  “You don’t have to do that. I can just—”

  “Walk? Drive? I don’t think you can. If you’ve got a car nearby you can come back for it another time.”

  A look of panic flashed on Chloe’s face. “No, please, it’s really not necessary.”

  Diana was both intrigued and disturbed by Chloe’s reaction, but she wasn’t about to let an injured young woman wander off alone.

  Diana reached for her keys. “Come on,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument. “Driving you home is the least I can do. I feel guilty enough already about what happened.”

  *****

  By the time Chloe had hobbled up the three flights of stairs to her apartment, her heart pounded as hard as her head. Her knee was swollen and stiff, and the scrapes on her cheek felt like they were on fire. All she wanted to do was climb into bed and be left alone, but she knew Trace would hound her with questions.

  It had been hard enough explaining to Velma what had happened. Chloe had had Diana drop her off near the new condos a block from the Craft Connection, steadfastly refusing Diana’s offer to see Chloe to her door. From there, Chloe had limped to the store to beg a ride from Velma, who clearly doubted Chloe’s story about being hit by a boy on a bike. But while Velma had been wise enough not to push the issue, Trace would be a different matter.

  The sound of the TV greeted Chloe as she opened the front door to her apartment.

  “Hey,” Trace called out. “How’d it go?”

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “What did you learn? Did you get in?” Trace took his eyes off the screen to glance at Chloe. “Holy shit, what happened to you?”

  “I got knocked over by a bicycle.”

  “A bicycle? What’d’ya do, walk right in front of it?”

  Chloe explained how she’d been watching the house the way she was supposed to when the boy on the bike came out of nowhere.