Take a Chance on Me (32 page)

T he Volga . The Volga . The Russian river that empties into the Caspian Sea is the Volga , you total flat-liner.

"The Danube ?"

Augh!

"I'm sorry. That answer is incorrect. The question now goes to number forty-seven for the grand prize.

Would you like me to repeat the—"

Leelee jumped from her folding chair and headed toward the microphone before the man had to waste any more of everyone's time. "The answer is the Volga River ," she said softly, then returned to her seat.

As the last remaining geography bee contestant on stage. Leelee gazed out into the audience and tried to look ecstatic. Beckett was on his feet whistling like he did for all her correct answers, unfortunately. Emma clapped and smiled that great big smile of hers.

Leelee sighed. Maybe she should have intentionally missed that no-brainer question just to add a little excitement to this godforsaken stretch of nothingness they called Carroll County , Maryland , where the most thrilling thing she'd seen in a year was the girl fight at the tractor pull last night. Those lovely ladies had more tattoos per square inch of flesh than teeth in their heads. Plus, she'd enjoyed the interesting colloquialisms, like when the skinny one called the big one an "ass-faced heifer."

God, she missed L.A. ! God, she missed her friends and the smog and the noise and the variety of people and the energy that made her feel connected to something special.

God, she missed her mom. Craziness and all.

Leelee caught Emma's eyes and couldn't help but smile as her maternal figure gave a little wave and winked at her. Emma was cool—maybe the coolest woman Leelee had ever known. She was smart and pretty and responsible and had her own business and it was so awesome that she'd finally gotten rid of lame-o Aaron!

But why did Emma have to live here? Why couldn't they move somewhere halfway decent like Baltimore or D.C., even? For some reason, Emma had it in her head that this was where Leelee belonged, because it was where her mother was raised.

Like growing up here made Rebecca Weaverton a great person or something? Like that happened?

She looked down at Emma and Beckett and the most bizarre thing occurred to her: She was looking at her family. Well, her family in the way that Velveeta was cheese and AstroTurf was grass, but the only family she had now. The truth of that made her throat close up and her stomach flip.

"Number forty-seven, that is the correct answer! Congratulations!" Leelee heard the judge's voice get all excited and she knew she was going to have to stand. "This year's Carroll County Middle School Geography Bee Challenge Cup goes to Elizabeth Weaverton, a twelve-year-old from South Carroll Middle!

Congratulations, Elizabeth !"

She rose to a sputtering of applause—hey, she knew the parents in the audience weren't exactly thrilled that she'd made their offspring look like total retards. She accepted the lovely plastic marbleized trophy topped with a fake brass globe and thought about what a joke she was. She was too skinny and too smart and had seen way too much of the real world for any of the hayseeds around here to like her. They thought she was a mutant.

God, she hated it here.

Leelee plastered a smile on her face and waved stiffly as a yellow polyester sash came down over her head and a grocery-store bouquet of flowers appeared in her free hand. She stood patiently while a few pictures were taken, noticing how through it all Emma and Beckett never took their eyes from her.

"Thata girl, Lee!" Beckett hollered as she descended the stage steps.

"Congratulations, sweetie!" Emma threw her arms around Leelee and squeezed, and Leelee closed her eyes and let herself float in Emma's embrace. She always smelled wholesome, down-to-earth, like baby powder and sunflowers—something too simple and too real to be found in any Rodeo Drive boutique.

"Not much of a challenge for you, eh, kid?"

"I guess not." Leelee shrugged and looked up into Emma's pretty blue eyes. Her mother had had brown eyes, but lately that was about the only thing Leelee could still remember about her. She couldn't feel the exact pressure of her mom's touch, or recall the smell of her hair. It had only been a year and it was fading away. How long would it be before she'd remember nothing at all?

It was Beckett's turn to hug her. "We were thinking of heading over to the Waffle House to get us some lunch. Wha'dya say?"

"That totally rocks, Beck."

Leelee never cried—God knows Becca had always produced enough melodrama for several households, so why bother? She didn't cry the time they got evicted from the best apartment they ever managed to get.

Not when she had to transfer schools three times in fifth grade. Not when her mom got herself killed riding in some second-rate TV actor's car.

Leelee didn't even cry the day she got her butt dragged cross-country to live here in Soybean World.

What would crying accomplish? What had it ever accomplished for her mom? Nothing, that's what.

So it was a total shock to realize that she'd apparently picked right then to start. What was so overwhelming about walking out of the community college auditorium between Emma and Beckett, holding her trophy, heading out to the Waffle House?

The food there wasn't that bad.

So why cry now?

It felt weird the way the water trickled hot down her cheeks. She could taste her own tears as they pooled in the corner of her mouth—saltier than she imagined, like the Pacific Ocean off Malibu .

The real bad part was now that it had started, she was pretty sure it was never going to stop. Her knees felt shaky and her stomach felt heavy, like it had fallen too low in her belly. She thought she might choke.

Or hurl. All she knew was she had to get away. Get away from everyone, everything…

The next thing she knew she was in the middle of the parking lot, on her hands and knees, feeling the burn and sting of gravel under her palms and the skin of her knees. She was shaking. She couldn't stop sobbing. She'd dropped the trophy and it lay broken a few feet in front of her. The ugly flowers were spilled in an arc around her.

Then she heard a high-pitched scream—several long seconds of piercing sound coming out of her that she hadn't even known she could produce. Somewhere in the back of her head she knew it was the sound of not being able to stuff it down anymore.

"Oh, sweetie… " Leelee felt Emma's arms go around her and lift her to her feet. She gave in. She let Emma protect her, hide her, stroke her hair and mumble soft words that she couldn't really hear because of the buzzing in her own ears. Then Leelee sensed that Emma was leading her to the Montero, getting her buckled in the back seat and sitting next to her.

Leelee sobbed and sobbed as Beckett drove them home. After what seemed like forever, she looked up into Emma's face and was greeted with a handful of Kleenex and a smile she couldn't quite read.

"I'm sorry for acting like a complete diva." She wiped off her face and blew her nose.

"Oh, honey, there's nothing to be sorry about."

"I don't know what happened."

"I do."

Leelee took a quick gulp of air and shook her head.

"You're bleeding, Lee."

She brushed off her knees with annoyance. Her stomach hurt something fierce but she tried not to cry anymore. "It's okay. It's nothing. Just a scrape."

She felt Emma's fingers come under her chin and lift up her face. "Not there, sweetheart." Emma's voice was low enough that Beckett wouldn't hear. "You've just started your period."

* * *

He'd been such a jerk to Emma Jenkins.

And she didn't deserve it. That was the hell of it—she didn't deserve to be hurt. In fact, she may have been the first legitimately decent, nice—even special—person Thomas had met in a very long time.

And he'd been an idiot. A jerk. An ass.

Thomas sat at the conference table and watched the rest of the team straggle in. He could hear Stephano out in the hallway, his machine-gun laugh ricocheting down the uncarpeted hallways of the second floor of the Maryland State Police Headquarters. Paulie Fletcher was already at the other end of the table, clutching a cell phone to his cheek, apologizing profusely to his wife.

Thomas knew these Saturday morning get-togethers interfered with ballet recitals, peewee football games, and lawn mowing duties. He grinned to himself with smug satisfaction—as the only unmarried member of the team, he never had to worry about someone else crimping his style, making demands on his time. Not him.

Besides, they only had to suffer through these meetings a few times a year—before quarterly report deadlines and whenever there was a sudden spurt of new cases. September was often one of those times. It made sense, in a sick sort of way. The summer was officially over. People weren't distracted by barbecues, vacations, and weekends down at the ocean. It was a good time to start taking care of those bothersome loose ends they'd been putting off—like murdering friends and family.

Thomas looked up as Regina Massey strolled in, the homicide detective assigned to the Scott Slick case.

Regina was a fifty-something grandmother who didn't look—or act—her age. What she looked and acted like was the movie star Pam Grier—all sexy, street-smart, black alpha female. Reg didn't take shit from anybody. That's how she'd made it in a predominantly white-male line of work.

That's why Thomas liked her.

She winked at him. "Hey, hot stuff. Wild date last night? Looks like you need a nap."

Thomas rolled his eyes. She'd been giving him a hard time for more than a decade, first when he was with the Baltimore County State 's Attorney's office and then with the task force. It was part of their routine.

He took a steaming sip from his Styrofoam coffee cup and watched Regina get settled in the chair next to him, smoothing down her silk trousers and adjusting the belt at her trim waist. She sent him a flirty smile, her dark eyes flashing.

Thomas shook his head. "I'm putting the finishing touches on my sexual harassment complaint against you, Reg. I should have it filed this week."

She hooted with laughter. "Oooh, Tommy honey, you know I get all tingly when you use my name and the word sexual in the same sentence."

He glared at her—if anyone else had called him that, they'd be in pain now.

"Watch it, Reg." Chick Abels dropped his stack of files on the table with a thud. "He's got nothing against hitting women—remember the Amelia Pilcher case?"

"Sure do." She was still grinning. "Three years for trying to make sure her church choir director never sang again."

"I elbowed her in self-defense," Thomas growled. "She was going for my eyes with a paper clip."

Regina sighed dreamily. "You've always had a way with the ladies, Tommy."

Within minutes, all members of the Maryland Murder for Hire Task Force were gathered around the conference table, Captain Vince Stephano at the far end. The head of the Maryland State Police special operations division unceremoniously tossed a white bakery bag into the center of the table.

"Help yourself to some bagels," he said, and the grins spread around the table like a contagion. Thomas long ago learned this was how the captain apologized for bringing everyone in on a weekend—by providing a selection of the world's worst bagels—dense, inflexible O-shaped objects not fit for human consumption.

As Paulie often pointed out behind Stephano's back, it wasn't really the captain's fault—God never meant for Italians to shop for bagels.

"All right, people, we've got a lot of territory to cover and it's a beautiful Indian summer day and I know we all want out of here so let's get to it."

"You mean a Native American summer day," Manny Chaudury said.

"My apologies to your motherland," Stephano said. "And as you can see we have the pleasure of Lieutenant Regina Massey's company this morning. The lieutenant will be updating us on the Slick homicide." Stephano abruptly swung his gaze toward Thomas and smiled. "But first I gotta know—how's your special friend this morning, Tobin?"

Regina 's head snapped around. Everyone else began to chuckle.

"Did she recover?" Stephano asked way too nicely. "She sure was a pretty little bald thing."

"The thing is a he and he's fine." Thomas saw Regina 's eyes fly wide in shock. "It's a dog," he muttered.

Regina 's mouth fell open. "You got yourself a bald dog, honey?"

"No. Yes. Sort of." It suddenly occurred to Thomas that this could be the break he was looking for—

Regina was good with living things. She'd given birth to two kids and they were still alive, as far as he knew. So maybe she'd take Hairy. "You want it?"

She frowned. "What kind is it?"

"The real ugly kind," Paulie whispered, and the whole table cracked up.

"It's a hairless toy breed," Thomas muttered, dropping his gaze to the fascinating scarred wood of the table. "Scott Slick's dog."

The room went utterly silent. Stephano cleared his throat. "You didn't tell me you took Slick's dog to your place. Why didn't you tell me that thing was Slick's dog?"

"You never asked," Thomas said. "I waited for somebody to claim him, but as we found out, Slick didn't have anybody."

"So how did you end up with it?" Stephano asked, staring at Thomas in disbelief.

Thomas shrugged and nodded to Regina . "Once you guys showed up and the evidence techs got there, you said you wanted him out of the apartment."