‘You ever think about leaving?’ I asked curiously. ‘Or do you think you’ll settle here for good?’
‘Are you kidding?’ Crystal snorted. ‘I can’t wait to get the hell out of this place. The day I get enough saved, I’m gone.’
‘Where will you go?’ I asked.
‘Anywhere but here. I don’t know, LA maybe?’
‘Sunshine and palm trees.’ I thought of the postcards my dad sent, back when he was pretending to care at all.
‘Sounds good to me. I figure, another six months maybe, then I’ll have enough.’ Determination skittered across her face. ‘Even if I don’t, I’m getting out of here, I don’t care if I have to hitch-hike the whole way.’
I knew how she felt, but my baggage wasn’t so easily hauled around.
I finished the lipstick and looked at myself in the mirror. It was different. Bold.
‘Hot.’ Crystal nodded with approval. ‘Your guy will flip. You’re still with that Ethan guy, right?’
I nodded.
‘And he’s got a brother too, what’s his name?’
‘Oliver.’ I blinked. ‘How do you know him?’
‘Saw him around at some bar. Good genes in that family.’ She waggled her eyebrows suggestively and I had to smile.
‘Pretty good,’ I agreed.
Crystal’s phone sounded with a message. She checked it and rose to her feet.
‘Your ride’s here?’ I asked, feeling a pang of disappointment.
‘On his way. You know, you guys should come to this party tonight,’ she suggested, ‘Out at the McNally farm, you know, past the highway? Just a kegger, the usual crowd, but it should be fun.’
‘I don’t know . . . ’ I demurred, thinking of the beer and smoke, and the guys who worked out at the quarry: stained ball-caps and plaid shirts. ‘It’s not really my scene.’
‘Swing by, check it out,’ she pressed.
I shook my head. ‘No, thanks. I don’t think so.’
Crystal looked amused. ‘You know, you should quit pretending like you’re above it all. You’re not better than us, not any more. High school’s long gone. We’re all the same now.’ She gave me a rueful shrug and then walked away, the door closing behind her with a jangle.
When I arrived at the precinct for work the next morning, something was wrong, I could tell. The main floor was hushed, the phones ringing, unanswered, while the deputies clustered in a tight knot by the coffee machine. They were eying the back interview room, talking in low voices.
‘What happened?’ I slung my jacket over my chair and walked over. ‘Anyone going to pick up a call?’
One of the deputies looked up. ‘You didn’t hear?’
‘Hear about what?’ I started to pour myself a cup of coffee.
‘There was a crash last night, out past the highway.’
I stopped, remembering the last time it happened, the sad wilted flowers on the side of the road. For weeks, I’d been filing paperwork about parking tickets and land disputes, but this was real. ‘Is everyone alright?’ I asked.
He shook his head. ‘It was Blake, riding with some girl. He’s real shaken up. Sheriff’s interviewing him now.’
I looked over to the closed door.
‘I don’t know why they’ve got him in there like some criminal.’ One of the other guys spoke up. ‘I bet it was her fault all along. Everyone knows those roads are dangerous.’
‘Chief’s just doing his job,’ another argued.
‘But Blake’s one of us, it’s not right.’
The phone started ringing again, and I could see the switchboard at my desk lit up on every line. ‘I’d better get that,’ I told them, backing away. They shrugged, turning back to the coffee machine.
‘Hello, sheriff’s depart—’ I barely got the words out before the voice on the other end of the line started demanding answers. What had happened? Was Blake driving drunk on duty? Were we pressing charges? A concerned citizen, they needed to know. I put her on hold, but the other lines were the same, all morning.
I scribbled the messages and then headed back. The interview-room door was shut, but I could hear voices inside, Blake, muffled but angry. ‘I wasn’t drunk, it was just a couple of beers. It was the ice!’
‘You blew point zero nine,’ Weber’s voice came. ‘Kid, I’m trying to help you here.’
‘Come on, Weber.’ Another voice spoke up. ‘That breathalizer was a joke. Your guy here couldn’t administer one to save his life.’
I cautiously tapped on the door.
‘Yes?’ Weber’s voice came.
I pushed it open. He was sitting across from Blake and a man in a sharp-looking suit. Blake looked like hell, slouched in his seat in an oversized sweatshirt, red-eyed, like he’d been crying all night.
‘I’m sorry, but the phones won’t stop.’ I waved the messages. ‘And there’s a guy from the District Attorney’s office on the line too . . . ’
‘Already?’ Weber hit pause on the recorder on the desk. ‘OK, we’ll take a break for now.’
‘Actually, I think we’re done here.’ The man in the suit stood up and nodded for Blake to follow.
‘Now, wait a minute . . . ’ Weber protested, but the man just took out a business card.
‘Either charge him, or call to set up another interview. Come on, Blake.’ He steered him out.
Weber watched them go, clearly frustrated, but saying nothing.
‘I’m sorry.’ I lingered in the doorway, feeling awkward. ‘I can come back.’
‘No, it’s fine.’ Weber waved me in, so I brought him the batch of messages. He stared at them, sighing. ‘What a goddamn mess.’
‘What happened?’ I asked, cautious.
‘A party out at the McNally farm,’ he sighs. ‘There was a keg, kids blowing off some steam, then Blake’s car winds up wrapped around a tree. He had his belt on, but the girl . . . ’ Weber stopped and gave a slow shake of his head. It wasn’t good.
‘So what happens now?’ I asked.
‘Who knows?’ Weber stared at the stack of messages. ‘He wasn’t on duty. I can suspend him, book him for reckless driving, try to get the DUI to stick . . . But they’ve got that lawyer from the city now.’ He shook his head too, looking regretful. ‘He’s a good kid, too. Good family.’