His head falls back against the cushion.
“Can’t imagine that Trinity deals drugs,” says Finley.
“No?” I snap, harsher than I meant. “You’re an expert on Trinity all of a sudden?”
“No, but she—she runs a business. She’s a respectable—”
“Small business owners have more financial struggles than most people,” I say. “And I’m not suggesting she ‘sells heroin out the back door.’ I’m saying she gets an occasional package and simply drives it down to her brother, who does the rest. Or better yet, hasLukedo it—”
“That’s enough!” Luke says.
I tap his leg. “Whose idea was it thatyoudrive those clothes down to Max?”
He takes a long breath before he answers. “It was my idea.”
“Sure about that?” I ask. “You sure Trinity didn’t toss the idea out for you to bite? And then, when you took the bait, she batted her pretty eyes and acted all reluctant? ‘Oh, gee, Luke, you don’t have to do that—sure you don’t mind? You’re such a sweetie!’ Nothing like that?”
“You mean did she play me?” he says. “No, she didn’t play me.”
“I think you’re way off base, Allison,” says Finley.
How nice of Finley to be defending poor Trinity! Why am I not surprised?
“Then tell me, Fin,” I say, “since you know more about the law than me. Who’s a jury most likely to believe put those drugs in the car—Trinity, Max, or the Tooth Fairy?”
“Hey.” He glances back at me, wounded. “I’m just telling you what I think is likely and what isn’t. Don’t makemethe villain.”
No, you did that all by yourself, Fin. I push down that response, count to five, and look at my brother. “Your opinion, and Fin’s opinion, and my opinion are beside the point. So is the truth, for that matter. All that matters is what a jury will believe. And if we don’t give them an alternate suspect, they’ll assume you’re guilty.”
He shakes his head. “Trinity had nothing to do with this, and I won’t let you say she did. I don’t want you talking to her, either. Don’t contact her.”
I let out a laugh, not a happy one. “You’re blind, Smiles. You want in her pants so bad that you can’t see what’s right in front of you. And normally, I wouldn’t say a word. But your unrequited puppy love for Trinity Casto is about to cost you everything.”
He bites a nail, looks out the window. “ ‘Unrequited.’ Aren’t you the scholar.”
“And by the way, you’rewelcomefor keeping you out of jail.”
As we’re about to reach Luke’s house, I remind him, “You need to call Denise,” meaning Denise Schwartz, Mortimer’s athletic director.
“I know I need to call Denise,” he says. “You didn’t need to tell me that. Not that it will matter. She’ll have my back. It’s not Denise I’m worried about. It’s Crisham.”
That’s a story right there. Mortimer’s new chancellor, Elias Crisham, wants someone else to be the baseball coach—Crisham’s best friend and former college roommate. When he arrived two years ago, Crishamtried to get Luke to dump his assistant coach, Alan McIntyre, and hire Crisham’s buddy, touting him as a former major leaguer (though he only played a few games in the big leagues). Luke refused—he adores Alan—and by then he had leverage. He had turned a doormat of a team into a powerhouse, winning back-to-back conference championships and, last year, making it to the College World Series. Crisham knows he can’t fire Luke, but he wants his pal ready to take over if and when Luke moves on.
“This is what Crisham’s been waiting for,” says Luke. “He’ll fire me for cause. He’ll say he has no choice for the good of the school.”
“You don’t know that. We can fight. I’ll fight. We’ll take them to court.”
He doesn’t answer. This must be eating him alive. But if there is one thing Luke hates besides losing, it’s self-pity.
“I put together a statement for the press,” I say. “You had no idea there were pills in the car. You were doing a favor for a friend. You’re innocent and look forward to your day in court.”
“The press.” Luke bellows out a breath. “Alan said it’s already in the papers. Print edition and online at theTribandSun-Times.”
“Well, on the bright side,” I say, “Trinity’s documentary on you just got more interesting.”
13
Luke
