Free Lying in Wait by J. A. Jance Page B

from knocking the presumptuous little shit upside the head. I ordered burgers for Sue and me, then stewed while Jared unconcernedly ordered a cheesburger and chocolate shake. I waited until the waitress left the table before I answered.
    "Look, Buster. Your mother had to squander her lunch hour checking on a smart-mouthed kid who just happened to get his butt kicked out of school for the next three days. So for the record, I'm taking my partner to lunch. At the moment, however, I seem to be baby-sitting you, and it sounds to me as if you need it."
    Jared Danielson was used to dishing out free-floating hostility to any and all comers. He wasn't used to taking it, especially not from a complete stranger. My returned volley of dispassionate animosity caught him off guard.
    "I hate school," he said, as though that somehow justified his rude behavior. "I hate this town. I hate my mother."
    "So give her a break. Go live with your dad," I said amiably. "Good riddance. You'll be doing your mom a favor. What's stopping you?"
    For a moment, his chin jutted defiantly, then his face fell. "I can't," he croaked.
    "Why not?"
    Jared Danielson shrugged. The tough-guy mask disintegrated. His lower lip trembled, while his eyes filled with self-pitying tears. The surly, belligerent teenager faded into something younger and much more vulnerable.
    "We don't know where he is," Jared answered, while his changing voice cracked out of control. "He's supposed to pay child support, but he doesn't. He left town, and Mom can't find him. She thinks he went to Alaska."
    Sue Danielson came back to the table. "You two look serious," she said, her questioning glance shifting apprehensively between Jared and me. "What's going on? What are you talking about?"
    For the first time, Jared Danielson's eyes met mine in a silent plea for help. "Football," he finally mumbled.
    We were? I needed a second to take the hint. I took a clue from the WSU baseball cap still parked on his head and tried to follow his lead.
    "How about those Cougs," I said, feigning an enthusiasm for collegiate football that I don't feel. "We were wondering who would win the Apple Cup this year--WSU or the U-Dub. Who do you think, Jared?"

    As quickly as the boy had emerged from his hard little shell, he retreated back inside. "Who cares?" he muttered before lapsing once more into a stubborn, resentful silence, but not before I caught a glimpse of what was ailing Jared Danielson.
    I never knew my own father. He died as a result of a motorcycle accident eight months before I was born. Days before he and my mother planned to elope, my father was headed back to the naval base at Bremerton after a date with her when the motorcycle he was riding skidded out of control and threw him directly into the path of an oncoming truck. He died two days later without ever regaining consciousness.
    Faced with Jared Danielson's pain, I could see now how losing a parent you never knew was different from being willfully abandoned by a father you had grown to know and love. Having a parent die on you is a long way from having your father run away. One loss leaves a clean break that eventually heals. The other leaves in its wake a lifetime of hurt, of unanswered questions and emotionally charged blame.
    In spite of myself, I felt sorry for Jared Danielson--baggy pants, smart mouth, and all.
    I expected Sue to see right through the phony football ploy, but she seemed to fall for it. "Football," she said, sliding back into the booth. "That counts me out. Oh, by the way, that was Watty. Alan Torvoldsen called in and wants us to come by and see him sometime this afternoon."
    "We can do that later. I'd rather go see Else Gebhardt first."

    "Fine."
    Jared ate his cheeseburger and drank his shake in sullen silence. Sue and I talked some over ours, but by mutual-if-unspoken consent, neither one of us said anything more about the case. When we dropped Jared back at the duplex, he didn't bother to say thank you. Or even kiss