Free Thread of Deceit by Catherine Palmer

loaded accusations back there.”
    “Kids with bruises? Defend that.”
    “Half our kids come in the door with bruises. They get slapped, punched, burned with cigarettes, and worse. From their bedroom windows, they see drug deals, murders, uncles shooting up, mothers prostituting themselves. Our kids are dirty, hungry and sleep-deprived. I could go on.”
    “But guard dogs and metal detectors?”
    He stopped walking. “Fine. You want to find fault, go ahead. There’s nothing I can do about it.”
    She swung around. “Show me the good, Sam. Open things up for me. Take me to your appointment with Jim Slater. I want to hear why he supports the center. Let me come back tomorrow and talk to your kids. Your volunteers. Give me more of your own time and Terell’s. Show me Haven is a good place, a healthy environment. Prove what you’re doing is valid. Give me reasons why the city shouldn’t shut you down.”
    He let out a pent-up breath. “I don’t want you bothering our staff or our kids.”
    “Afraid they might say something negative?”
    “Absolutely not,” he barked. “They’re busy, that’s all. Besides, they don’t know anything about the lead paint. Jim…he’s on our board, and he’s a big supporter. He won’t want to talk to you about the paint problem, either. I’m visiting him today in the hope that he’ll give us a hefty pledge. If I can show the health department I’m closing in on the funding to fix the problem, they might allow me a few more weeks of grace. I need Jim’s support.”
    “He’ll give it to you, Sam. I know the man—and he knows me. He won’t have a problem answering a few questions about his involvement with Haven. He’ll trust me to treat the situation fairly.”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Look, I have to turn in a good series. My editor is on my back, and I need this interview, Sam. Please.”
    He frowned, then shrugged. “Okay, but if Jim doesn’t want to talk about Haven, you have to respect his wishes. I can’t jeopardize my relationship with him.”
    “Agreed. We’ll ease into things—talk about his adoption agency, maybe take a look around the place, discuss Haven for a few minutes, and then you can ask for the money. It’s a good agenda, and he’ll be comfortable with it.” She pulled a personal digital assistant from her purse and pressed a few buttons. “Yep, Ladue. Just double-checking the address. Whew—ritzy suburb. Must be a nice house. Jim was a building contractor before his wife died, you know. Colorado, I think.”
    “He told me he was in real estate.”
    “Could’ve done both.”
    “I don’t think so.”
    They were heading toward her car, and Sam wondered about her change in attitude. She seemed at ease now, her accusations and suspicions no longer an issue. Had she conned him?
    “If Jim got in early at Aspen or Vail,” she said, “he probably made a mint.”
    “A real estate agent is different from a building contractor,” Sam insisted. “Those are separate occupations.”
    “They both have to do with land and housing. You probably misheard Jim.”
    “I don’t mishear people.” He said it so forcefully that Ana flinched as she pressed the button to unlock her car. Still, the woman couldn’t refrain from arguing back.
    “What makes you so sure of yourself?” she challenged as she slid into the driver’s seat. “You’re not the reporter. You’re not trained to investigate things.”
    “Yes, I am.” He hunched into the seat beside her and immediately lifted the lever to slide it back. Even so, his knees touched the dashboard, and his head grazed the roof. “It was part of my work in the Marines. Reconnaissance. I was trained to watch people, to listen to what they say. I don’t forget.”
    As he latched his seat belt, he realized that her baiting had caused him to let down his guard. He didn’t want her to know him too well. Didn’t intend to give away the private, tender places inside himself that should be known only