Free Buried in a Book by Lucy Arlington Page A

had destroyed my only means of transportation. “It would appear that Trey and his friends got together at East Dunston High, drank some beer, and then decided to create an obstacle course on the football field. They broke into the shed containing the outdoor athletic equipment and helped themselves to the football team’s blocking sleds, agility dummies, throwing nets, and a handful of orange cones. They then took turns driving the course at reckless speeds. During your son’s turn, he lost control of the car and slammed into one of the metal supports beneath the bleachers. That section collapsed, effectively crushing the car. Fortunately, your son had already exited the vehicle when this occurred.”
    Closing my eyes, I said a silent prayer of thanks. My hands were shaking so badly that I had to hold the receiverin a white-knuckled grip, otherwise it would fall to the ground.
    Trey!
I cried his name to myself and exhaled loudly, but my relief was quickly replaced by fresh anxiety. I could easily picture the destruction created by Trey and his friends. I could see the pristine turf of the football field marred by muddy tire tracks and ruined equipment. And my car. My reliable little red Honda Civic. Flattened beneath pounds of steel bleachers. In the ten years I’d owned it, that trusty vehicle had never broken down, never failed to start, and never left me stranded. It pained me that such a dependable friend had met such a violent end.
    All at once, the financial ramifications of Trey’s tomfoolery hit me. “Oh, God. The school’s going to sue me for damages. And my car! My insurance premium!” I wanted to howl in anger, but I knew Griffiths was only doing his job and didn’t deserve to be the recipient of my wrath.
    “Don’t think about that now,” Griffiths counseled. “What’s important is that none of the kids were hurt. However, you’ll need to come down to the station and sign some forms.”
    “But I don’t have another means of transportation,” I told him. “My mother has a pickup truck, but I can’t call her at this time of night. Besides, she lives in Inspiration Valley.” I allowed a bit of ire to rise to the surface. “Maybe Trey should spend some time in a cell until I can find a ride. It would give him a chance to think about what he’s done.”
    Griffiths spoke softly. “If it makes you feel better, ma’am, your son is not being charged with driving under the influence. His Breathalyzer test showed him as not having alcohol in his system.”
    “Well, I guess I should be grateful for small miracles,” I said with a sigh.
    “Trey could face charges of trespassing and the destruction of public property.” Griffiths sounded as though he regretted having to give me more bad news. “Ms. Wilkins, I’m not officially on duty right now, but when I can’t sleep I often tune to the police scanner. When I heard what had happened at the high school, I called the station and learned that Trey was your son. Considering how we met earlier today, I know you’ve already had one hell of a day, so…I wanted to see if I could help in any way. For starters, I could pick you up and bring you to the station.”
    I felt a rush of gratitude toward Griffiths. I’d only met him this morning, and yet he was being so kind, so gentle with me. In my hour of need, this veritable stranger was stepping forward as my friend. If he’d been in the room with me at that moment, I would have thrown my arms around his neck and kissed him.
    Instead, I thanked Griffiths and asked him to call me Lila henceforth. After I put the phone down, I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the framed photograph of seven-year-old Trey on my dresser. He was dressed as a cowboy and wore a faux leather vest and red boots with silver plastic spurs.
    Even then, his eyes glimmered with mischief.
    A line from
The Tale of Peter Rabbit
flitted into my head. I picked up the photograph and murmured, “‘But Peter, who was very naughty,