One Perfect Lie

by Lisa Scottoline

  Sarah raised her hand. “My dad says the militia is allowed to have the arms, not the people. It says it right there, ‘a militia,’ doesn’t it?”

  “My mom says that’s from lobbying—” shouted another boy, but Chris shot him a warning glance, not wanting a gun-control debate. He knew more about guns than these kids ever would, and that wasn’t the point of the exercise.

  “Raz,” Chris interjected, “what do you think is the reason the Second Amendment is the most important?”

  “Well, um, see,” Raz fumbled. “Because you gotta live. You can talk about the pursuit of happiness, or free speech, but none of it makes any difference if you’re dead. Once you’re dead, you’re dead and gone … and it doesn’t matter what your rights were or whatever happiness you were pursuing because, let’s face it, you’re … like, dead.”

  The class burst into laughter.

  Sarah’s hand rose. “Raz, is your argument that if you’re dead, you don’t have any rights? Is that really the best argument you can come up with? That dead people don’t have rights?”

  “It’s not that.” Raz licked his dry lips, his dark eyes filming. “You have to be able to protect yourself! You have to be able to live! Do you want to die? Do you really want to die?”

  “What?” Sarah and the class laughed, but Chris waved them into silence, realizing that Raz was probably talking about his late father.

  “Okay Raz, time’s up. Thank you.” Chris gestured to Jordan. “Jordan, state your case.”

  Jordan faced the class, surprisingly poised. “I wrote that the Fourth Amendment was the most important. It says that citizens should be safe in their houses, and that the government is not allowed to have unreasonable searches and seizures.”

  “Good definition!” the boy in the back said pointedly, and the class chuckled.

  Jordan paused. “Most of the Amendments are about making sure you’re able to do something, like the right to speak freely or to practice whatever religion you want, but the Fourth Amendment says you don’t have to do anything.”

  “It’s the chillest Amendment!” another boy called out, and everybody laughed.

  Jordan smiled shyly. “In a way, it is. It says you have the right to be free and happy in your own home. The right to be left alone. Justice Brandeis of the Supreme Court said that, and that’s what makes the Fourth Amendment the most important. Thank you.”

  The class erupted into applause, which Chris silenced by motioning to them. “Okay, class, now that you have heard both arguments, it’s time to vote. Clap if you think Raz is the winner of the debate.”

  Only two students clapped, and the others giggled. Raz sagged, embarrassed.

  Chris gestured to Jordan. “Now clap if you think Jordan won the debate.”

  Everybody else clapped, and Jordan stood taller. Raz looked away.

  Chris made his decision. He was going with Jordan. The boy had risen to the occasion, overcoming his natural reserve to defend himself and his position, performing under pressure and thinking on his feet. The classroom exercise paled in comparison to what lay ahead, and Chris couldn’t rely on a boy who might fall apart when things got tough.

  And lethal.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chris chewed his sandwich, eating at his desk. He’d brought lunch from home to avoid the other teachers. He didn’t need an instant replay of yesterday and he could choke credibly only so many times. He had his laptop open as if he were working in his classroom, but he sat scanning his files on Jordan, confirming the correctness of his choice.

  “Chris, you’re working through lunch?” someone called out, and Chris looked up to see Abe, Rick, and Courtney standing in the threshold, holding trays of cafeteria food. Abe looked stylish, Rick looked organic, and Courtney looked tempting, but they were the last thing Chris needed right now.

  “Guys, I have to look over a lesson plan.” Chris hit a key so that the local newspaper, the Central Valley Patch, would come on the screen.

  “Listen to you—‘lesson plan’! I like when you talk dirty.” Abe pulled up three desks around Chris’s desk. “I came to talk about Cody with my new best friend!”

  “Ha!” Chris hid his dismay. He had gone online last night and learned as much as possible about Cody, Northwest College, and the Bighorn basin, but he didn’t know how long he could keep this up.

  Rick hesitated. “We don’t mean to bother you, Chris.”

  Courtney shot Abe a sideways glance. “Abe, I told you this was a bad idea. Chris has to work.”

  “Oh, sit down, everybody.” Abe set down the tray with sodas, a slice of pizza on a styrofoam plate, and a garden salad. “Chris, don’t be such a goody-goody. We’re the mean girls of Central Valley. On Wednesdays we wear pink.”

  “We’re not the mean girls, they are.” Courtney sat down. “They hate us because they ain’t us.”

  Rick smiled in his goofy way, as he took a seat. “We won’t stay long, Chris. We didn’t want you to feel left out.”

  Courtney’s phone started ringing in her purse, and she slipped it out and looked at the screen. “I swear, Doug has radar for when I get a minute to breathe.”

  Abe smiled. “Courtney, he knows your schedule. B Lunch is 11:15 to 11:45.”

  “Excuse me.” Courtney rose with the phone, answering the call on the way out of the classroom.

  “‘Hi Courtney, this is Lug,’” Abe said, mimicking a caveman voice. “He’s one big beefsteak patty, but she loves the guy, what can I say? And she’s loyal. She’s stuck with me through thick and thin. I was so sick a few years ago, and she was there, every step of the way.”

  “What was the matter, Abe?” Chris asked, to keep him talking about anything but Wyoming.

  Rick fell suddenly silent, eating his pizza, which turned the beard hairs around his mouth reddish.

  “I had anorexia. I was manorexic!” Abe fluttered his eyes behind his hip glasses. “My whole life, off and on, I just couldn’t beat it. For me it was about depression, anyway, blah blah, that’s my tale of woe.” He leaned forward. “So Chris, we’re sons of Wyoming! Tell me you had your first kiss at the reservoir, too.”

  “I swear, I didn’t.” Chris had determined that the body of water in Abe’s photo was a reservoir. “I had my first kiss at fourteen in the hayloft at my granny’s farm.”

  “Well, quite the junior achiever! Where was the farm?”

  “Little town on the west side of the state, Evanston.”

  “You ever get up to Jackson? Can you believe the changes in Jackson?”

  “Tell me about it,” Chris said offhand. No, really, tell me about it.

  “The place is so chichi now! The celebrities, ski-in developments, and the shopping. It even has its own Hermès! Courtney taught me how to pronounce it so I sound cool.”

  “And you do,” Chris said, tense. Sooner or later, Abe would figure him out, and he couldn’t deny it was a problem.

  “I took Jamie there on vacation and he said the only way he’d go back to Wyoming is if we went to Jackson. But I told him, Jackson is not Wyoming.”

  “Damn straight.”

  Rick finished his pizza. “Sachi and I were just talking about that trip last night. She loved it.”

  “Right?” Abe flashed Rick a happy smile, then returned his attention to Chris. “Where did your dad go to high school, Chris?”

  Chris had an answer, as of last night. “Sheridan.”

  “Whoa, small.”

  “Right. I didn’t get that far out.”

  “Nobody does, except cattle.” Chris had hoped as much, which was why he’d picked it online. He was trying to contain the damage.

  “So what’s it like?”

  “Mountains, mountains, and more mountains.”

  “I heard your parents died in a crash. Sorry about that.”

  Rick interjected, “Yes, condolences.”

  “Thank you.” Chris wondered if Abe could check his fake backstory with anyone he knew back in Wyoming.

  �
�And you have no brothers or sisters?” Abe asked, resuming the conversation.

  “None,” Chris answered, with growing tension. So Abe had heard that, too.

  “Unusual for out there. My parents adopted six kids. Three of us are black, and three are white. My dad said we were his retirement package and he was hedging his bets.” Abe chuckled. “My dad knows everybody. I emailed him about you but he hasn’t emailed back. He only checks his email when he remembers to.”

  “Uh, I forget.” Chris didn’t like the way this was going. He picked up his water bottle, and his gaze fell on his laptop, his attention drawn by a familiar name under the headline, LOCAL YOUTH ARRESTED:

  Central Valley resident Ryan Sematov, 19, was arrested last night by Rocky Springs Police Department for attempted burglary of the Samsonite factory store at the ValleyCo Outlet 11. Police were called to the scene when the burglar alarm sounded and nearby residents dialed 911. Sematov was charged with attempted burglary, vandalism, and malicious mischief, and was released on his own recognizance pending a preliminary hearing.

  “Oh no, look at this!” Chris said, seizing the excuse to change the subject. He realized that the arrest must’ve been one of the reasons that Raz was late this morning. “This is terrible news. I have his brother Raz in my class.”

  “What?” Abe came around the desk and read the screen. “Oh no, that is terrible. I had Ryan in my class last year. He was a terrific student. I have Raz now, he’s nutty. I feel bad for the family. The father died over the summer.”

  Rick joined them, looking at the laptop. “That’s too bad. I liked Ryan, and Raz is okay. He’s a free spirit, that’s all.”

  Courtney entered the classroom with her cell phone. “What’s the matter?”

  Abe answered, “Ryan Sematov was arrested for burglary.”

  “Are you serious?” Courtney grimaced. “I never had him, but that’s so sad about that family. The father died over the summer.”

  “I know.” Abe shook his head. “Ryan tried to break into a store at a ValleyCo mall. I seem to remember his mother is a higher-up at ValleyCo, in the corporate office.”

  Courtney came around the desk. “That can’t be good for her. What a shame.”

  “That’s tough.” Chris sounded troubled, but not about Ryan or Raz.

  About Abe.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mindy couldn’t get into her husband’s Gmail, so she was upstairs in his home office going through their credit-card receipts, since they had a joint Amex and Visa. Last night, he’d come home at eleven o’clock, and when she’d asked why he was late, he’d said only that he’d gotten held up at the hospital. But he wouldn’t meet her eye and bit his cuticle, which he never did. As a surgeon, he was meticulous about his hands and nails, even getting manicures to keep them neat.

  A wife always knows, her mother had told her.

  But that was completely untrue. Mindy had scrutinized Paul for clues about whether he was having another affair, but she had no idea what to look for. The last time, she’d had no idea that he was having an affair. She’d thought they were both happy, communicating well, and having sex as often as most married couples. She’d been fooled by an excellent liar, her own husband.

  Mindy’s cell phone rang, and she checked the screen. She only had until one thirty, when she had to leave for the game, bringing party trays, bottled water, and soda. Alcohol wasn’t allowed at the games, but nobody would know her reusable water bottle held a G & T.

  Her phone screen showed that one of the Boosters was calling, so Mindy answered the call. “Ellen, what’s up? I’m in the middle of something.”

  “Did you hear about Ryan Sematov?”

  “Is that Raz’s older brother?” Mindy asked, regretting having taken the call. She had more important things to do than gossip. Like play Nancy Drew.

  “Yes, he was arrested for burglary last night.”

  “Oh no.” Mindy felt a pang. She had adored Neil Sematov, who was one of the saner parents. She tuned Ellen out and eyed the credit-card receipt.

  “… and he broke into a ValleyCo outlet. You know the mother works for ValleyCo…”

  Mindy scanned the list of their credit-card charges, noting the name of the restaurants. They were all places she or Evan had been, so far. The only thing that had surprised her was that Evan was eating out so much at lunchtime. She didn’t know why he couldn’t buy in the cafeteria like everybody else. Or God forbid, bring a lunch from home. Maybe he really was becoming entitled, getting affluenza.

  “… I mean, I feel bad for her, truly I do, but let’s be real…”

  Mindy kept scanning, then froze. There was a charge from Central Valley Jewelers for $327.82, processed two weeks ago. She felt her gut twist. Paul had bought that nurse a bracelet from the same store, the last time around. And he had charged it on their joint credit card, which made no sense unless he were trying to get caught, a theory they’d discussed in approximately 172 therapy sessions.

  “… if your kids are having psychological problems, you can’t pretend it’s not happening, especially not these days…”

  Mindy felt her heart start to pound. She wanted to know if he was having an affair—and she didn’t, both at once. Was it really true? The charge was undeniable, its machine-printed numbers staring her right in the face. Did Paul buy this for another woman? Would he really do this to her again? At the same store? Did he really want her to divorce him? Or did he just want to hurt her?

  “… you can’t stick your head in the sand these days, as a mother…”

  Mindy flashed-forward to Ellen on the phone, calling everybody to gossip about her. Did you hear? Paul is running around on Mindy again. You can’t stick your head in the sand, as a wife today.

  “… but you know what they say, everything happens for a reason. So maybe now she’ll…”

  Mindy felt stricken. The dark obverse of everything-happens-for-a-reason was that the reason should have been identified, and prevented. If Paul cheated on her again, there had to be a reason, and it was her fault. Her weight, for starters. Mindy had let herself go. She could almost hear her mother saying it, right now. You blew up, dumplin.’ What did you expect?

  Mindy had thought she was over it, but she wasn’t, not if it was happening again. She had forgiven Paul, or at least she hadn’t asked for a divorce, because she loved their family. And she loved Evan, who loved them both. But she couldn’t go through it again. Everybody deserves a second chance, but nobody deserves a third.

  Mindy felt her thoughts racing, rolling into a giant bolus of anxiety, anguish, and confusion. And still, part of her reflexively wondered if she was jumping to conclusions. Maybe Evan had bought a gift for one of the girls he was dating. He was supposed to ask first, but he had done that before. Or maybe the charge was fraud or a clerical error. That had happened before, too; once somebody charged $150 worth of athletic equipment at a Footlocker in Minneapolis, using their credit card.

  “Mindy? Did I lose you? Mindy!”

  “Oh sorry, I think it cut out.” Mindy came out of her reverie. “The reception is bad upstairs.”

  “You have cold spots in your house? I have a wireless guy. I’ll text you his contact info.”

  “Great,” Mindy said, wondering about the cold spots in her house. Lately her entire house was a cold spot. She set the statement aside. “I should really go, okay?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Heather heard her text alert coming from her uniform pocket, but it was probably nothing. The only texts she got were from creditors, written in a deceptively friendly way; Oops, life happens! Reminder, your bill is ready. Blue Cross texted her, too; You have a private message waiting. Tap link to view. It sounded tantalizing, but it was the same message. You’re late with your payment.

  Heather hustled to the kitchen. She was working yet another luncheon, this time for the Women’s Service League of Central Valley. She entered the warm kitchen and grabbed three plated entrees, avoiding the new chef, a drama q
ueen. She pushed through the swinging door for outgoing, expertly balancing the plates on her forearms. She crossed the hallway, entered the Lafayette Room, and beelined for the table. Coincidentally, it was the one in the corner, where she had served Mindy Kostis yesterday.

  You look familiar to me.

  Heather dismissed the thought, sidestepping fancy handbags and managing not to elbow anyone in the head, though she might have wanted to, since the Women’s Service League had decided at the last minute to hold its speeches and raffles before the meal, backing up the entire schedule, so that Heather had no hope of getting out on time again. She reached the table with a professional smile, served as unobtrusively as possible, and headed back to the kitchen, hearing another text alert sound, which gave her pause. It could be Jordan. Something could’ve gone wrong at school.

  Heather stopped by the wall near the restrooms, sliding her phone from her uniform pocket. The banner on the screen showed the text was from Jordan, and it had the first three words, whoa mom u, which she didn’t understand, so she swiped to read the whole text.

  whoa mom u wont believe it im starting

  Heather read the text in astonishment, because something good had happened. Jordan had taken the top spot. Her heart filled with happiness and another emotion—hope. She felt unaccountably as if her son had lifted up their entire family in just one stroke. She texted back: you’re STARTING!?

  yes ☺

  Heather felt wetness come to her eyes. It was the emoticon that got to her, a generic representation of a smile that was too damn long in coming. On impulse, she scrolled to her phone function and called him.

  “Ma, hold on,” Jordan answered, his voice low. Heather assumed he was going where he could talk to his mother without fear of embarrassment.

  “Jordan, is this really true? You’re starting pitcher for varsity?”

  “Mom, do you believe it?” Jordan asked, his voice filled with happiness.

  “No, no I don’t!” Heather felt tears come to her eyes, but she blinked them away. “I’m so proud of you! You deserve it! You worked so hard, you practiced so hard!”