Paradise Lost

but I’m asking you to be her friend now. You can do that by helping us find out who killed her.”

“I don’t know how,” Jenny said in a subdued voice.

“Tell us whatever you remember,” Jaime urged. “Everything. Let’s start with Friday afternoon, when you went on the camping trip. What happened there?”

“Well,” Jenny began, “first we drove to Apache Pass. After we put up our tents, we ate dinner and had a campfire that wasn’t really a campfire—because of the fire danger. Mrs. Lambert had its use a battery-powered lantern instead of a regular fire. It was after that—after we all went to our tents—that Dora said we should go for a walk and ...”

Jenny paused and looked at Joanna. Sitting across the confer­ence table from her daughter, Joanna forced her expression to remain unchanged and neutral.

“And what?” Jaime prodded.

“... and have a cigarette.” Jenny finished the sentence in a rush. “I tried smoking one, only the taste of it made me sick—so sick that I threw up. It was after I barfed that we found that woman’s body—Mrs. Haskell’s body”

“Did you see or hear anyone nearby when you found the body?” Jaime asked.

Jenny shook her head. “No. There wasn’t anyone. She was lying there by the road, naked and all by herself.”

“Did you see a vehicle, perhaps?” Jaime asked. “Maybe there was one parked somewhere along the road.”

“No,” Jenny said. “There wasn’t, at least not that I saw.”

Next to Joanna, Ernie Carpenter stirred, like a great bear wak­ing from a long winter’s sleep. His thick black brows knit together into a frown. “You said a minute ago that Dora Matthews wasn’t nice. What did you mean by that, Jenny? Did she cuss, for instance, or beat people up?”

This time, instead of pouting, Jenny bit her lip before answer­ing. Lowering her eyes, she shook her head.

“By shaking your head, you mean she didn’t do those things, or do you mean you don’t want to answer?” Ernie prodded.

Jenny looked beseechingly at her mother. “Morn, do I have to answer?”

Joanna nodded and said nothing. Jenny turned back to Ernie and squared her shoulders. “Dora told lies,” she declared. “About what?”

Jenny squirmed in her seat. “About stuff,” she said.

“What stuff?” he asked.

“She said she had a boyfriend and that they like . . . you know.” Jenny ducked her head. A curtain of blond hair fell across her face, shielding her blue eyes from her mother’s gaze. “She said that they did it,” Jenny finished lamely.

“You’re saying that Dora and her boyfriend had sex?” Ernie asked.

“‘That’s what Dora said,” Jenny replied. “She said they did and that he wanted to marry her, but how could he? She was only thirteen. Isn’t that against the law or something?”

“Dora wasn’t lying, Jenny,” Jaime Carbajal said softly. “Maybe the part about getting married was a lie, but Dora Matthews did have a boyfriend and they were having sex. And that is against the law. Even if Dora was a willing participant, having sex with a juvenile is called statutory rape.” He paused. “What would you think if I told you Dora Matthews was pregnant when she died?” he asked a moment later.

Jenny’s eyes widened in disbelief. She turned to her mother for confirmation. Again Joanna nodded. “It’s true,” she said.

“So what I’m asking you now is this,” Jaime continued quietly. “Do you have any idea who the father of Dora’s baby might he?”

To Joanna’s amazement, Jenny nodded. “Yes,” she said at once. “His name is Chris.”

“Chris what?” Jaime