the same way my sister had always cried when our parents had played gladiators over the body of their oldest son.
Then he suddenly stepped on the concrete stairs. His weight was enough to make them wobble. I backed down to the ground. He reached back and jerked the door shut. That was when I noticed the tic in his left eye. Kids respond differently to parental warfare. The big tough football player had developed a tic. Heâd probably developed other problems, too, ones less obvious.
He blushed. Blood went up his cheeks like a rising elevator. âTheyâre just havinâ a little disagreement.â The tic got worse. Heavy fingers pawed at it as if they could destroy it.
âHow about walking over to my car? Maybe itâll be easier to talk there.â It wouldnât beânot with this battle going onâbut at least we wouldnât be right next to it.
âI donât know what youâre doing here.â
âIâm trying to find out who murdered your friend Vanessa.â
âYou know who murdered her.â
âI know who people think murdered her. That doesnât mean theyâre right.â
The baby face sagged in the brutal light of a ninety-two-degree day. For all his power, he looked drained. I doubted heâd slept much. âYou stick up for the hippies. I always told her not to go out there. I told her thereâd be trouble. Neil Cameron was crazy. You should read some of the letters he wrote her. He belonged in a bughouse.â
âTell me about the letters.â
The tic had slowed some. I had to give his parents one thingâthey had the strength of boxers who could go fifteen rounds easy. If anything, they were louder than ever.
âI only read a couple of them. But they were nuts.â
âThat doesnât tell me anything about the letters.â
âJust the way he said stuff. That heâd kill himself if she didnât come back to him. And that they had this sacred bond that couldnât be broken. And that sometimes he stood on her street late at night staring up at her bedroom window and that he thought about just getting a ladder and kidnapping her.â
His father shouted a particularly ugly word at his mother. Delaney glanced over his shoulder. When he turned back to me he resembled a little boy who had just heard something terrible but mystifying. Maybe his father had never used that particular word before. The tic got bad again.
âSorry you have to listen to that.â
âYeah, why would you give a shit?â
âMaybe because I heard things like that for a while myself when I was young.â
âYeah, wellââ He swiped his hand across the tic again. But for the first time agitation left his eyes.
âYou know the Mainwaring family.â
âNot for much longer. I think Mainwaringâs going to tell me he doesnât want me there anymore. He liked the idea of a football hero hanging around his place but I think the noveltyâs worn off.â
He was smarter and shrewder than Iâd given him credit for. âWere you in love with Vanessa?â
âWhat the hell kind of question is that? Itâs none of your damned business.â Then: âFor your information, I thought I was but when I saw how she treated me and every other guy around her, I just enjoyed the free ride and let her go her own way.â
âWhat free ride?â
A smile loaded with malice. He angled himself toward the house where the spiritual murder was taking place. âThe free ride of staying in a mansion where there was peace and quiet and eating better than I ever had. They even have a maid. All you have to do is say you want a Pepsi or a piece of pie and she goes and gets it for you. They even have guest rooms. Itâs like staying in a nice hotel. Mainwaring let me stay overnight any time I wanted to, and I wanted to a lot.â
I waited a moment before asking my next question. We just
Sharon Kleve, Jennifer Conner, Danica Winters, Casey Dawes