Free Trust in Me by Kathryn Shay Page B

uncle Linc. It was obvious that he’d been glad to see Margo. His eyes had lit up like the lights around the racetrack when she’d strutted her stuff into the room. Linc was a cool guy, and not afraid to show his feelings. He’d talked to Ron about sex a zillion times, and admitted his own needs as a man. For a minister, Ron thought that was pretty mag. Of course, Ron knew Linc had been hell on wheels when he was young, along with his mother and their friends. Hell, maybe his getting into trouble was genetic.
    When the mayor finished his speech, the head honcho running the meeting faced Ron. Joe Murphy—the guy who’d stopped traffic when he’d walked into the town hall. Jesus Christ, he was Annie’s ex. Ron didn’t have a clue what had happened between him and Annie—it was hushed up like state secrets. Whatever it was, though, made the nicest woman he’d ever met glower at the guy all night and made his mom and even Margo gasp when they saw him. “Ron, we need to hear a few things from you.”
    Ron nodded at Murphy’s comment. Be respectful, kid, and don’t let that chip on your shoulder show, or I’ll beat the crap out of you , Margo had told him.
    “Yes, sir,” he said politely.
    “We can all guess why you did this. But tell us in your own words.”
    There was a low murmur of voices among the group when Ron didn’t answer right away. He wanted to scream at them to leave him the hell alone. But this was too important to blow, so he battled back the urge. When he needed it, he had his mother’s grit. Besides, he was scared shitless of going to jail. In halting words, he told them what he’d done and tried to explain why. “It was like this anger just took me over—kind of a red haze, making everything fuzzy.”
    Murphy’s broad shoulders straightened. His intense eyes focused sharply on Ron. “Do you have a problem controlling your anger, son?”
    No, Sherlock, I smile when I mutilate cars, vandalize the school and steal from stores . “Yeah.”
    Murphy nodded. “And your anger at Mr. Quaid has to do with your father’s death?”
    Ron’s hands fisted.
    Murphy glanced pointedly at them. “You have to say it out loud, Ron, to have any chance of controlling what you feel.”
    “Yeah. It’s because of my father.” Though his mother and Linc had talked of forgiveness, had said it was a twist of fate that had caused the accident that Ron had witnessed when he was seven, no amount of rationalization could acquit Quaid in his mind.
    Murphy glanced behind Ron to the second row of chairs. Ron knew Quaid sat back there with Doc Holt, a little guy with a brush cut and dark, knowing eyes. He was the mastermind of three Winston Cup cars that flew like the wind. Ron had studied every single car Holt had ever worked on. Five years before the man had had some heart problems and retired from the racing circuit, and had come to live in a cottage on Glenora Lake, twenty miles away. Quaid was here probably because, in an article Ron had read about him, Quaid had called Holt a father figure. In racing books, they’d been compared to Clark and Chapman—the famous Formula-One driver-and-crew-chief team.
    “Mr. Quaid,” Murphy said. “You’ve stated that you don’t want to press charges.”
    “That’s right.” Quaid’s voice was deep. “Considerin’ what the boy just stated.”
    Murphy nodded. “Still, we can’t let this go.”
    That uptight son-of-a-bitch Pratt leaned forward. “Legally, that’s not an option. And Ron knows that. I’ll listen to the Council’s recommendation, but I’ll put it before the judge only if it’s acceptable punishment.”
    “Perhaps we should list our options,” Murphy suggested. Man the guy was cool as a cucumber in this room full of people who hated him. He wasn’t even sweating, like Ron was.
    The retired teacher, Mrs. Breed, who’d always told Ron he wasn’t living up to his potential, stood and crossed to a board behind the table. “I’ll list the choices as