“No, she is. It’s not that the girls are mean to her because she’s not pretty. She’s always been one of Syd’s group.”
“Until she started coming onto TJ,” Ashton said.
Ah ha. I scribbled faster, underlining as I went. This sounded better the longer they talked.
“But TJ wasn’t interested in her?”
“TJ was never interested in anyone but Syd,” Ashton said.
I studied Tiffany, her face half-hidden behind unwashed hair.
“And Sydney didn’t like her friend being interested in her boyfriend.” It wasn’t a question, because the answer was obvious.
“Who would?” Tiffany said. “She came home from a party last fall, and I’d never seen her like that before. She was sobbing and screaming at the same time. Evelyn kissed TJ. It crushed Sydney.”
I turned to Ashton. “TJ didn’t kiss her back?”
“He told us he pushed her down. He felt bad because he made her cry. He said they were talking while Syd went to get drinks and then Evelyn kissed him.”
“So what happened to Evelyn?” Having been to high school, I had a good guess, but I needed them to say it.
“They froze her out of their group.”
I nodded.
Popular girl to social pariah overnight. It was worse, in some ways, than having never been popular at all.
“She emailed and texted TJ for months,” Ashton said, and Tiffany and I both looked at her.
“Why?”
“It varied. Sometimes she was professing her love for him and telling him Syd would never be good enough for him.” Ashton shot an apologetic look at Tiffany. “Other times, she said she was sorry and she didn’t mean to kiss him and would he just talk to Sydney and help her explain? TJ finally came to me with it because he didn’t know what else to do. He kept telling her he loved Sydney, that there was nothing he could do, and if she wanted to talk to Syd they needed to work it out.”
“You said the other day that you studied psychology.” I let the words hang in the air.
Ashton shook her head. “It’s so hard to tell without talking to the person. But some of the messages I saw? She could be imbalanced.”
Imbalanced enough to kill them? I didn’t say it, but the looks on their faces said they were thinking it. The boy I’d talked to in the gym flashed through my thoughts. “What about Luke?” I asked.
“Luke?” Ashton furrowed her brow.
“There’s a boy on the baseball team, another pitcher. I’m pretty sure the coach called him Luke,” I said. “I talked to him when I went by the school the other day, and it was a weird conversation. Seemed like he didn’t like TJ too much.”
“Oh, the Bosley boy?” Ashton shrugged. “I don’t really know him, and TJ never talked too much about him.”
“He was the kid Sydney told me was mouthing off about TJ getting hurt last fall. How he would finally get his shot at baseball,” Tiffany said.
I nodded. “The coach told me his dad was a baseball player in high school and does some major vicarious living through the kid. Puts a lot of pressure on him.” I paused, a puzzle piece dancing on the edge of my brain. “Ashton, how did TJ hurt his knee?”
She tossed her hands up helplessly. “He fell. It happens. The grass was wet. He said his cleat slid right out from under him and he twisted his knee. Tore it all to hell.”
“Do cleats slip?” It was an honest question. That was one kind of shoe I’d never had occasion to wear. “I thought the whole point of cleats was to give you traction.”
“Tony said TJ’s were too worn,” she said. “That we should have bought him new ones. I didn’t know.”
I jotted that down. “Anyone or anything else that’s stood out to you?” I asked.
“Not really. They were so happy. Sydney’s been gone all semester. She should have stayed in Paris.” Tiffany’s face crumpled again, sobs shaking her shoulders.
“I think this gives me something to go on,” I said, standing as Ashton moved to comfort her friend. “If only I could figure out how to get these kids to talk to me.”
“Come to the street dance,” Ashton said.
“The what?”
“Next Friday night, right in the middle of town. It’s the welcome for the growing season. One of the biggest things the town does every year. Everyone talks to everyone. Dress in western wear and you’ll fit right in. It’s dark.”
I smiled and patted her shoulder. “Perfect. Thank you.”
She reached up and squeezed my hand. “No, thank you.”
I let myself out quietly and inched back through the gang of reporters at the gate without literally steamrolling any of the competition. My thoughts raced for where I could find some help with the promise I’d just made.
It was time to suck it up and call Kyle.
11.
Torn between two hotties
I made it back to the freeway before I dialed Kyle’s number. We’d been to dinner several times over the winter, and it was fun, getting to know him again. But I had blissfully not had to talk to him about work in months. And I didn’t want to start again.
“Hey, you,” he said when he picked up.
“Hey, yourself,” I said. “You have a few minutes?”
“For you? Sure I do.”
I checked the clock on the dash. Almost nine, and it would be another hour before I got back to Richmond. But I’d rather talk in person. I had a way better chance of convincing Kyle I might be onto something if I could look him in the face.
“Are you going to be up for a while? I’d kind of like to come by.”
“Oh, yeah?” His voice dropped a full octave. “From dinner and drinks to booty calls? I mean, not that I’m complaining.”
“For the love of God, Kyle. Way to jump to conclusions. Because a booty call is so me. I need to talk to you.”
“I know I’m irresistible. Waiting for you to catch up.” He paused. “Nothing? Okay. Talk about what?”
“I’ll tell you when I get there.”
“I’ll open a bottle of wine.”
“You’re impossible.”
I clicked off the call and spent the rest of the drive to Kyle’s apartment mentally rehearsing five different ways to keep him from blowing me off. I stopped in front of his building still unsure any of them would work.
Tapping my foot through the ride up the rattly old elevator to Kyle’s loft, I took a couple of deep breaths and tried to calm my jangled nerves. At least I didn’t still sound like death.
He opened his front door before I knocked, a smile playing around his lips.
“I saw you park the car.” He slid one hand into the back pocket of his well-worn jeans, flexing his impressive upper arm as he did so. My eyes widened at the way his red t-shirt hugged every line.
“You sure you just want to talk?” he asked, watching my expression.
I cleared my throat and tore my eyes from his shoulders. “I’m sure.” My voice hitched between the words.
“No, you’re not.” He grinned. “But come on in.”
He waved me toward the big olive sectional that dominated the living room space, disappearing into the kitchen and returning with two glasses of white wine.
“Kyle.” I tried my best to sound like I was giving him a warning, but wasn’t sure it worked. Dammit, he looked good.
“No means no. Got it.” He handed me one glass and retreated to the corner of the sofa with the other. I put three cushions between us, just in case, and sat down, kicking my copper Manolo peep-toes to the polished wood floor.
“What are you into now?” Kyle’s smile went from sexy to intrigued as he studied me over the rim of his wine glass.
“Why do I have to be into anything?”
“Because you’re sitting way over there. Which means you didn’t call and invite yourself over at ten o’clock on a Saturday night because you’re lonely. So you’re working. I know you.”
I laughed. “I guess you do.” I took a deep breath. “I�
�ve been following this story out in Tidewater,” I began.
“I’ve been reading it. Teen suicides.”
“Well…” I drew the word out. “I’m not so sure about that.”
“Oh, yeah?” He sipped his wine nonchalantly, but his ice-blue eyes were interested. “Why not?”
“The whole thing has seemed off since the first time I went out there,” I said. “Why does a kid like TJ Okerson kill himself?”
“It happens more often than you’d think,” Kyle said. “Especially with kids involved in sports at that level. It’s a lot of pressure.”
Just like Aaron. And Sheriff Zeke. Was all of law enforcement so jaded?
“I thought about that. But I don’t think the Okersons were putting crazy pressure on TJ. His baseball coach doesn’t, either. And Grant Parker from our sports desk is good friends with Tony Okerson. He says no, too.”
“Girl trouble?”
“The girl is the second victim.”
“I saw. I’m saying, maybe it was guilt? They fought, he killed himself, she couldn’t live with it?”
I sighed. Kyle was a great devil’s advocate. “The parents say no. That’s actually my strongest argument. I just came from talking to both moms. They say they don’t buy it. The girl’s mother says the note the sheriff is pinning his ‘suicide’ label on wasn’t in her daughter’s handwriting.”
He set his glass on the table and leaned back into the deep cushions. The expressions playing across his face said he was trying to figure out how to convince me I was wrong.
I raised one hand when he opened his mouth. “I get it. You think I’m nuts. But can we consider, just for a second, that I might not be?”
He raised one eyebrow. “I’m reluctant to encourage you. You have a history of getting yourself hurt.”
“Only when I’m right,” I said. “Which, can I just point out, I was last time. And you didn’t believe me then, either.”
“Nicey, I’m not sure what you want me to do about this even if you are right. Which I’m not conceding. This is so far from my jurisdiction your dead kids might as well be in Constantinople.”
“I’ll get to that in a second.” I needed to ask him about the moonshine, but I was pretty sure he was going to palm that off on the ABC police, and I’d gotten nowhere there. If he believed me about the kids, he’d want to help me with the moonshiners. “For now, can I just bounce this off you? You’re Captain Supercop. I need to know if I’m missing something.”
“It sounds to me like you’re seeing something that’s not there, not missing anything. Of course the mothers don’t want to believe their children took their own lives. I don’t have kids and I get that.”
“Stop judging and just listen for a minute,” I snapped. The words were sharper than I intended, but he was making me regret calling him in the first place. The mental tug-of-war between that irritation and my apparent inability to ignore the sliver of his toned abdomen I could see where his shirt had ridden up was making me testy. I gulped my wine and tried to steady my voice. “Sorry.”
“You have the floor.” He spread his hands, staring at me with a casually curious look.
“Thank you. So, the mothers say there was a girl. Another girl. Who was creepy-stalkering TJ and hated Sydney.”
He tipped his head. “You know anything else about her?”
“She’s a cheerleader at the high school. Used to move in the same social circle, but she got blackballed last year when she kissed TJ at a party.”
Kyle’s hand moved to his chin, raking over the bristles of his barely-there auburn goatee. “Being demoted to social outcast is a powerful motivator for a high school girl. But it takes a certain kind of person to be capable of murder.”
“I know. I want to talk to this girl, but she’s not exactly going to sit for an interview, especially if she did do something. Which is where you come in.” I widened my eyes and smiled earnestly.
Kyle blanched. “I can’t go out to Tidewater flashing my badge and haul a teenage girl in for questioning. Are you kidding? I’ll end up in a manure truckload of shit. I don’t care how cute you are.” He smiled, shaking his head. “Stop looking at me like that.”
I sucked my cheeks in and batted my lashes, and Kyle laughed.
“I’m not asking you to question her,” I said seriously. “Not officially. But there’s a big town street dance next weekend. I want you to come with me. Help me chat up the locals. In that kind of a setting, people will talk, right?”
“Like, on a date?” He leaned forward, putting himself in arm’s reach, and let his eyelids drop halfway.
I sipped my wine. Oh, why the hell not? I wasn’t committed to anyone. Joey was hot in a different way than Kyle, and I liked him a lot, but there were no promises on the table. Besides, I had never once in my twenty-nine years played the field. Maybe I should ask Parker for pointers.
“Sure.”
“Yeah?” He grinned. “All right. I don’t know how close we’ll be able to get to teenagers without looking fairly creepy ourselves, but I’m game.”
“We’re younger than most of the people who play teenagers on TV,” I said.
He chuckled. “I don’t feel old. You ever wonder how the hell we got to be almost thirty?”
“Dude, a reporter mistook me for Sydney Cobb’s mother tonight,” I said. “I’ve wondered about nothing since.”
“You don’t look a day over twenty-one.” His eyes locked on mine, a sexy smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
I leaned toward him, my hair falling into my face. Kyle reached up and brushed it away, his fingers trailing electricity across my cheekbone. His touch was thrilling and familiar at the same time. Like coming home to fireworks. I leaned my cheek into his palm, and he drew the pad of his thumb across my lips. My breath stopped.
“Nicey.” He slid toward me.
I let my eyelids fall. “Kyle,” I whispered.
The couch cushions shifted as he leaned in. Just as my Blackberry erupted into the theme from Peter Pan. My eyes snapped open. Kyle slumped into the sofa and let his head fall back, his breath coming like he’d been for a run. I knew the feeling.
“What?” I grouched at the phone, yanking it from the side pocket on my bag. “Oh, shit.”
“What?” Kyle’s head popped up.
“Hey.” I put the phone to my ear.
“You sound better,” Joey said.
“I feel better.” And a little like a jerk. I shot a guilty look at Kyle.
“I think I might have a friend who knows a guy who knows something about your moonshiners. But you’re not going to talk to him alone. When are you free? I’ll set it up and come along for the ride.”
“Really?” I grinned. Kyle’s eyebrows shot up, and I tried to calm myself. Talking about going to a meeting with the Mafia in front of the ATF. I had some titanium cojones, too.
“Who is that?” Kyle mouthed.
I shook my head. Good Lord, what a can of worms. I turned my attention from the hunky guy on the couch to the one on the phone.
“I’ll make time on Monday or Tuesday. I’m going with Parker to TJ’s funeral, but that’s all I have in stone right now. Er. You know what I mean.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow?”
“I’d like that.”
“Sweet dreams.”
He hung up and I turned back to Kyle, the spell broken. “Tell me what you know about moonshine.”
He laid one arm along the back of the sofa and sighed. “Why?”
“That’s my other theory. I think TJ was drinking it the night he died. I’m pretty sure Sydney was, because I saw the jar in the stuff the cops retrieved from the scene. They said it was near her. I did some reading, and it seems improperly made moonshine can kill people.”
“It can. That’s one of the reasons it’s illegal to sell it unregulated. People think the government just wants their cut of the money. But the laws are there to keep people safe, too.”
“So how is it that people
still get away with making and selling it in the twenty-first century?”
“Funnily enough, the same kind of crafty evasion that has been in place for a hundred years. That, and there are aspects of the law that protect them. Or that they hide behind. For example: agents can go right up on a still, but if it’s not running, there’s nothing we can do. Moonshiners know that.”
“But why not stake them out?”
He shook his head. “First, that’s expensive, and a lot of resources going into cracking what’s usually a small operation. We have a budget just like everyone else. Second, it’s harder than it sounds. Most of that stuff is made out in the country. You can’t scratch your ass without everyone in three counties knowing. An unmarked sedan full of strangers with crew cuts? They’ll keep everything shut down until it rusts before they’ll run a still if we send a team out there. The best way to work moonshiners is to get undercover. But that takes for-bloody-ever. It’s hard to get those folks to trust new people.”
“But what if that’s how these children died? What if more people die if you don’t do something? Is it worth the money then?”
“Possibly. But slow your roll, Lois. There’s also the whole business of placing an agent undercover. You’re talking more money, time away from the guy’s family. An operation like that can take months—hell, years—to infiltrate. And, it’s not my jurisdiction unless it’s crossing state lines. It’s an ABC police matter unless I can prove that. “
“Of course it is. That’s like, the one police agency in town where I don’t know anyone. I don’t suppose you have a friend over there who might talk to me?”
“I haven’t been here long enough to make any good friends over there, but I know a couple of guys. I can vouch for you and see if they’ll give you a few minutes. Does it have to be on the record?”
I bit my lip, considering that. It would help. Especially with new cops I didn’t have a history with. Not everyone is a solid source. Ashton Okerson’s gaunt face flashed through my thoughts. I wanted the information more than I wanted an attributable quote.
“I’d prefer it, but if the only way you can get them to talk to me is to tell them it’s not, go for it.”
Small Town Spin Page 11
