Mia’s face closes almost instantly. “Why do you ask?”
“His name has come up in connection with some things.”
“What kind of things?”
“Drugs.”
She nods almost imperceptibly.
“Are you nodding because you know Marko’s involved in drugs?”
“Just keep talking. I’ll answer what I can.”
“Maybe.”
“Were you there?”
She looks at her fingernails. “Maybe.”
“Was there a lot of Ecstasy there?”
“There could have been.”
“What about LSD? See any of that?”
Mia draws her legs up beneath her and sits Indian-style on the ottoman. She’s wearing loose gym shorts over a skintight Nike running suit. With her careful expression, she looks like someone judging a gymnastics competition.
“In what capacity are you asking these questions?” she asks with a strange formality. “Is it just for your personal interest? Or are you asking as a member of the school board?”
Mia slowly shakes her head. “I can’t say much about that subject.”
“Why not? Are you afraid?”
Another long pause. “It wouldn’t be cool. A lot of people could get in trouble.”
“What’s your personal opinion of Marko?”
Her jaw muscles work beneath her tanned cheeks. “He’s a psycho. I’m serious, Penn, he’s completely amoral. Right and wrong don’t register in his mind. But he covers it well. He’s smooth. A lot of people think he’s fun.”
“But not you?”
“I think he’s a self-absorbed prick. I used to think he was fun. He had me snowed like the rest. Not now, though. I saw through him.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
“Not really.”
“Okay.”
Mia gets to her feet and looks at me with her wide, dark eyes. “If you’re going after Marko, be careful.”
Her severe gaze unsettles me. “What do you know, Mia? It sounds like I need to hear it.”
“Marko’s not like the rest of us, okay? We’re soft.
“Understood. Tell me, have you ever heard of Cyrus White?”
She mulls over the name. “No. Who is he?”
“A drug dealer. Don’t ask around about him. I’m serious, okay? He’s not a Nancy Drew project.”
Mia looks offended. “I know when to talk and when to shut up.”
“I’m sorry.”
She takes her CD out of the boom box and walks past me to the door.
“I haven’t paid you yet,” I remind her.
“You can catch up tomorrow.” She reaches for the doorknob, then looks back at me. “I heard Ellen Elliott freaked out. Is she really dumping her husband’s shit all over the lawn?”
I shrug noncommittally.
“I also heard you were over there.”
The cell phones of Mia and her friends are like native drums on a Pacific island. Every significant event is instantly known by the tribe.
“I guess Ellen thinks he did it, huh?” she asks.
“Did what?”
“Got Kate pregnant, for one thing.”
I close my eyes in dismay. If this is public knowledge already, Drew is so screwed, it’s beyond belief.
Mia says, “Do you think Ellen believes her husband killed Kate?”
“Of course not.”
“Some people are going to think that.”
“Probably so.”
“Except for the pathologist finding two guys’ stuff inside her, right? That makes it more complicated.”
“Jesus, Mia, is there anything you don’t know?”
“Not much.” She gives me a sad smile. “Sometimes I wish I knew a lot less than I do. I wonder what that would be like.”
“They say ignorance is bliss.”
“Not ignorance. Innocence. That’s what I was talking about. Innocence.”
Mia sighs, then passes through the door to the street.
Chapter 12
I’m standing outside my daughter’s bathroom door, feeling strangely adrift between two extremes. Splashing behind this door is Annie, at nine years old still truly innocent, while driving away from my house is Mia Burke, an eighteen-year-old who knows far more about the adult world than I would ever have guessed yesterday. How long will it be before that world begins chipping away at Annie’s innocence? And how will she react when it does? How will
An image of Kate Townsend suddenly fills my mind. Mia said there was no way Kate was going to “be with” a boy her own age. Did Drew Elliott seduce and corrupt that girl? Or was it the other way around? No jury would ever see it that way, of course, but right now I’m only interested in the truth. And my best shot at discovering it may be opening the shoe box hidden atop the armoire in my guest room.
After walking softly down the hall, I climb onto a chair, pull down the shoe box, and carry it to the bed. The scent of perfume wafts upward when I pull off the lid, exposing a jumble of letters, cards, ticket stubs, USB flash drives, videotapes, and various other knickknacks. There’s cloth in the bottom, which turns out to be a pair of men’s bikini underwear.
Beneath the briefs lies a photograph printed on computer paper. It shows Drew and Kate standing in front of a mirror-a hotel bathroom mirror is my guess. They’re naked and laughing, and Drew has his right arm around Kate’s waist. Kate is holding her right arm high in the air, and in the upper corner of the mirror I can just see the blue star of the flash from the camera she’s holding. Drew’s stomach muscles stand out in rigid relief, and Kate’s breasts are firm and erect. Her torso is marked with small red ovals, probably caused by the recent pressure of Drew’s fingers. It’s disquieting to see Kate this way after seeing her mostly from a distance: on the tennis court in conservative whites or wearing a cheerleader uniform on the gym floor.
“Daddy?” calls Annie. “Are you up here?”
“Yes!” I call toward the hall. “Are you ready to get out?”
“Almost!”
“Just call me when you’re ready!”
As I stare at Kate’s body, something else catches my eye. At the bottom of her shoe box lies a multicolored
