Tell Me No Lies

Sara buried her face in his waist. “I don’t want to leave Mom.”

“How about if you visit alone with Mom for a few minutes, then you come with us.”

“Okay.” Letting go of him, Sara crept to the bed and perched on the side.

Molly skipped over to Dan. “Come on, Dad.”

“We’ll go keep Aunt Janey company. Sara, five minutes.”

His little girl nodded. As he left the room hand in hand with Molly, he saw Tessa wince again as Sara, albeit gently, went into her mother’s open embrace.

Janey was fixing iced tea when they came down to the kitchen. “All ready to go?” she asked Dan.

The roses sat on the table, reminding him that it had been their anniversary only a few days ago. Everything had been fine then. Now, his wife was bruised as a boxer, and he’d discovered there was something more to that accident in her past that he didn’t know about.

Molly snitched a cookie from the jar and said, “I’m goin’ outside to wait for you and slowpoke.”

“Go ahead, Mol.”

When she left, Dan watched Janey fuss with a tray filled with tea and crackers, which was all Tessa wanted to eat. Though Janey wasn’t any bigger or heavier than her sister, she always seemed sturdy and strong, whereas Tessa appeared fragile.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

He folded his arms over his chest. “I overheard you two in the hospital when you thought you were alone.”

If he wasn’t sure before that something was going on, he was now. Janey went pale.

“Don’t bother to deny it. I heard you talking about what happened fifteen years ago. I assume it was the accident that caused Tessa to hate to drive. The one you and I discussed.”

“Dan, I—”

He held up his hand. “No, I’m not asking you to betray a confidence. As soon as she’s better, I’ll get it all out in the open myself. Now, she’s too raw.”

“All right.”

“I love your sister.” He gave her a smile because she looked so sad. “Almost as much as you do.”

Janey’s return smile was weak.

“Now take the roses upstairs, too, so Tessa can enjoy them. And send my other daughter down.”

As she walked by him holding the tray, Janey stopped and kissed his cheek.

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I won’t upset her now.”

“Thanks, Dan.”

When Sara joined him a few minutes later and they went out to find Molly, Dan put his cause for concern out of his mind. Since he’d become an expert at repressing negative thoughts, he was able, for the time being, to forget this one.

“SO, FRANKIE, your walkaway day’s coming up next week.”

Frankie was sitting at a table in the cafeteria with Shank, sipping hot tea that tasted awful. But he’d been to the infirmary again for this damned cold, and they told him warm liquids would help. The consistently loud din in this place hurt his ears and the bright lighting made him squint. “Yep, it is.”

“How’s it feel to be getting out?”

“Feels right, Shank.”

“I’m gonna miss you.”

“Me, too.” That was a lie. Frankie couldn’t wait to be done with this place. He couldn’t wait to see Trixie again.

“She coming to get you?”

Shank had some crazy obsession where Trixie was concerned. If they were on the outside, he’d beat the crap out of any guy for thinking about her that much. Frankie was a jealous man—and proud of it. Trixie was his, and if any other guy got near her, he’d bust the jerk’s face open.

“Is she coming for you, Frank?”

“Um, no. She can’t get off… She isn’t… I’m gonna surprise her.” His vision blurred some. He blinked hard to clear it. “She don’t know the exact date.”

But he did. He’d been counting the days. It was fifteen years ago today since the stupid accident and only a week more on his sentence. During the trial, the judge had had it in for Frankie and was jonesing to put him away. In the end, they separated Frankie from Trixie because everybody hated him. But she didn’t and that’s all that counted now. He’d see her soon.

In a line of prisoners, he left the cafeteria. A guard at the front took a group of them and veered off to the library. Since he was about to be paroled, they’d started letting him use the Internet. He got right online after the assistant read him the dumb-ass rules again; he clicked into his hometown Web site, Iverton, Ohio. The Iverton Banner was posted every day.

Same old, same old. New superintendent of schools. An issue up before the city council on paving the streets. Minor break-ins and petty larceny on the police page.

He stopped short at the headline on section B. Fifteen Year Anniversary of Tragic Accident. Shit, small towns. They never forgot nothing. You couldn’t make one single mistake without it following you for life. He was going back there to get Trixie, but he planned to leave that hick town in the dust. Morbid curiosity made him read the article.

Fifteen years ago today, Franklin R. Hamilton ran a red light and drove his car into the back end of a Chevy truck, killing Mrs. Serena Summers and her daughter, Joanna, age five. Shock filled our small community when it was discovered that both Hamilton and his companion, Tessa Lawrence, had been smoking marijuana and drinking alcohol. An undisclosed amount of cocaine was also found in the trunk of the car.

Frankie stopped reading. Tessa? Who was she? For a minute he didn’t remember. Then he did—her sister called her that. Frankie had given her a nickname. To him, she was always Trixie. His Trixie.

Hamilton was sentenced to twenty years in a federal penitentiary for negligent homicide and possession of a controlled substance, and Lawrence received three years in a federal prison camp on the possession charge. Lawrence was released on probation after serving eighteen months. Hamilton is up for parole as this article is being written. He refused to talk to reporters at the prison. The husband and father of the slain family could not be reached for comment.

The reporter then went on to enumerate statistics about drunk drivers and increased penalties for DUI and drug possession, and ended with a comment about never being able to make up for such an atrocity.

Screw them, Frankie logged off the Web site. His life was gonna be just fine, as soon as he could get out of here and be with Trixie again.

Hmm. It was time for another letter from her.

CHAPTER THREE

DAN WANTED A CONVICTION on Eddie Cramden in the worst way. As the defendant sat in the witness chair, wearing a spiffy suit his rich father had most likely bought him and his hair slicked back in a ponytail, Dan had to curb the vehement urge to nail the guy. He forced himself to wait until his assistant district attorney brought in the new evidence that had come to light last night.

Cramden was on trial for a VOP, violation of probation, and Dan was losing his case. The witness who was to testify that Cramden had completed a drug transaction had recanted, so Cramden was off the hook not only for that crime, but for the VOP, which had been hinging on the drug deal. For his entire career in the D.A.’s office, Dan had fought to get drug dealers and users off the street and away from innocents, like his family.

The judge sat behind her oak bench, her face inscrutable, and nodded to him. “Mr. Logan, would you like to cross-examine the witness?”

In his peripheral vision, Dan saw Karen Jackson, his assistant D.A., enter the courtroom carrying a folder and, better yet, smiling.