Free Never Sorry: A Leigh Koslow Mystery by Edie Claire

finally.
    "What story?" Warren demanded. "Why haven't I heard about this before?"
    Leigh looked at him and sighed. "I didn't think the future President of the United States would look too kindly on a teenage drug trafficker."
    "Don't be ridiculous," Warren said irritably. "What really happened?"
    Leigh had no desire to relive the experience that had ruined her senior year of high school, but in comparison to what she'd been through the last twenty-four hours, it seemed trivial.
    "It was just a few months before graduation," she began. "My dad was at a veterinary conference out of state, so my mom let Cara and I drive to school in his car—a major coup at that age, as you can imagine. I had just let Cara out at the front door when Carmen came running up."
    Leigh could picture the seventeen-year-old Carmen quite clearly. Medium height, thin as a rail, with Cher-like black hair cascading over her shoulders. Her cheeks had been flushed with excitement—rosy circles on her smooth, olive skin. "Leigh!" She had said, flustered. "Scoot over!"
    Carmen had opened the driver door and started to slide in behind the wheel. Leigh had the choice of either moving over or having Carmen in her lap. She had moved.
    "I left my history paper at home!" Carmen had bleated. "I've got to get it fast!" She had pushed the accelerator, and they were off.
    "Didn't you protest?" Warren interrupted, surprised. "If somebody tried that now, you'd poke their eyes out with the car keys."
    "Maturity helps," Leigh said with regret. "I didn't have the guts back then. Carmen was like an alien being to me. She was so unlike anyone else I knew—she was fascinating."
    The years rolled back in Leigh's mind. She herself had been a plain, book-smart, and sheltered youth. Carmen, who thanks to alphabetical seating had been assigned to the next desk every morning during homeroom, was a wild woman. From the seventh grade on, Carmen had regaled Leigh with tales of older boyfriends, petty theft, promiscuity, and generally raucous independent living. Leigh knew better than to believe it all—but the entertainment value was high, regardless. Over time, Leigh became a regular confidant for Carmen's escapades, living them vicariously from the safety of her orange plastic chair.
    So when, that fated morning, Carmen had wanted a favor, Leigh felt compelled to help. She didn't trust Carmen, and she doubted that the teenaged Morticia look-alike had ever completed a history paper, much less worried about turning one in late. But she couldn't say no. Carmen wouldn't understand why—and that could be a problem, since they had no choice but to sit next to each other every morning till graduation.
    Leigh sighed again at the memory, and at her own idiocy, then returned to the story.
    "Carmen drove in the opposite direction from her house almost immediately, but since she didn't really care if I believed her story, she didn't bother to explain the inconsistency. She drove to the parking lot of an apartment complex about three miles from the school, then took the keys and jumped out. A scummy-looking guy in his mid twenties was sitting in the front seat of some rusted old gas guzzler, and she hopped in the passenger door. She sat there about a minute and a half, then popped back out with a collection of plastic bags."
    "Did you know what she was up to?" Warren asked.
    "I wasn't that sheltered," Leigh answered. "I was furious. We were going to be late to school, and I was going to get detention. I'd never had detention, and I certainly didn't want to get one just so Carmen Koslow could get high. When she got back to the car, I ripped the keys out of her hands and took over the wheel."
    "Much better," Warren grinned. "That's the Leigh we know and love."
    "Carmen just shrugged and smiled," Leigh went on. "She had what she wanted, and my outrage only amused her. I drove back to school like a bat out of hell—I was mad, and I was not going to rot in detention with a bunch of delinquents