Tell on You Page 5

  The investigator studied his card and frowned. “You’re Mr. Barrett’s attorney?”

  “A friend of the family.” He flashed her a disarming grin. “Please, have a seat.” He motioned her toward an armchair, nudged Jeremy onto the sectional sofa, and sat down beside him.

  Smooth, Jeremy thought.

  As Ms. Price pulled a pen and legal pad out of her tote bag, his attorney reached into his jacket pocket. “Ms. Price, if you don’t mind…?” Winkelman’s lapis cuff link gleamed a soft blue as he displayed a small voice-activated recorder.

  The guy came prepared.

  The investigator frowned again. “Mr. Winkelman, you realize this is only an inquiry? No charges have been filed against Mr. Barrett.”

  The attorney smiled, teeth white and perfect. “Quite so. Jeremy is voluntarily assisting with your inquiry. And we appreciate your accommodating us by coming here.” He held up the small recorder, waving it in the direction of her legal pad. “Unfortunately, my handwriting is indecipherable.” A rueful chuckle. “My parents always wanted me to go to medical school. This is my way of taking a few notes of my own.” He placed the device on the coffee table and switched it on.

  Pursing her lips, the investigator gave a nod of assent.

  Got her outgunned, Jeremy thought.

  Speaking quickly into his recorder, Winkelman noted the date and names of the assembled parties. “For my records.”

  Leona Price cleared her throat, then glared at the recorder when it activated in response. She fixed her gaze on Jeremy, who felt a twinge of anxiety. “Mr. Barrett, the mother of one of your students has lodged a complaint with the Forrest School principal that you made sexual advances toward her daughter, Heather Lloyd.” She turned to a fresh page in her legal pad. “I’ve conducted a preliminary interview with the student and I would like to hear your version of the situation.”

  “I never—” Jeremy began.

  A discreet hand gesture from Winkelman cut him off. The lawyer turned to Ms. Price. “If I may…?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “If you may what?”

  “Perhaps you’ll allow me to walk Jeremy through his account of the recent events. Then you can ask him your questions.”

  This must be the “follow my lead” part, Jeremy thought.

  Leona Price pursed her lips, then waved a “whatever” assent.

  “Jeremy,” the lawyer asked, “are you acquainted with this Heather Lloyd?” Jeremy nodded. Winkelman pointed at the recorder and he said, “Heather’s a student in my Advanced Placement English class.” He waited for his attorney’s next cue.

  “How would you assess her caliber as a student?” Winkelman asked.

  Jeremy pondered the question. “Well, by definition, everyone in an AP class is good. I’d put Heather in the lower percentile, in terms of her written work.”

  Winkelman nodded slowly. “I see. Have you had any previous problems with Ms. Lloyd?”

  “Problems?” Jeremy echoed. “Actually, yes.” He and his lawyer were dancing, he realized. His own job, to follow and avoid stepping on any toes.

  “What sort of problems?” Winkelman prodded.

  Jeremy contemplated the Oriental rug, composing himself. His in-laws had exquisite taste, even if it wasn’t his. “We were studying The Great Gatsby.” He described the message he’d found in Heather’s paper, and how he’d responded. “Then, yesterday Mr. Donnelly called me in and informed me of Mrs. Lloyd’s complaint.”

  “I see.” Winkelman shook his head, grimacing. “And what was your reaction, Jeremy?”

  Step, two, three. His lawyer had deftly implied that the complaint was triggered by the incident with Heather’s paper. And it was, wasn’t it? “I was shocked,” Jeremy replied. “Horrified.”

  The DCPP investigator made no comment, jotting notes on her legal pad.

  “Did you at any time speak or act in a manner that might encourage this young woman’s infatuation with you?” Winkelman asked.

  “Absolutely not,” Jeremy said. Sort of, he thought.

  “Did you say anything to Ms. Lloyd of a sexual, romantic or suggestive nature—in or out of the classroom?” Winkelman arched his eyebrows, implying the absurdity of such a notion.

  “Never.” This might turn out all right.

  “Did you make any physical contact at all with the young woman?”

  “No, never.” Jeremy shot a glance at the DCPP worker, still busy writing.

  Winkelman gave him a quick nod and turned to Ms. Price. “Any questions?”

  She perused her legal pad. “Mr. Barrett, were you in the habit of staring at Heather Lloyd during your class lectures?”

  “Of course not.” The back of Jeremy’s neck prickled. He adjusted his shirt collar.

  “So you didn’t look at her?” The investigator raised her eyes to Jeremy’s face.

  “I make eye contact with my students.” He forced his gaze to meet Ms. Price’s. “You know, try to connect, engage them in discussion.” He fidgeted in his seat, caught himself, sat still. “Possibly Heather was—impressionable.” Jeremy caught a glimpse of his attorney’s eyes narrowing in warning.

  “And you never singled out Heather for any special attention—in or out of class?” Ms. Price asked.

  Jeremy shook his head. “No.”

  She contemplated her notes. “Mr. Barrett, did you stroke the back of Ms. Lloyd’s neck?”

  “No!” Jeremy shouted, aghast.

  “Did you pat her on the buttocks as she was walking out of the classroom?”

  “What? Never! Did she say I did that?” Christ, he’d never done that to anyone in his whole life.

  “Did you encourage Heather’s romantic attention in any way?” the investigator asked.

  “I did not,” Jeremy said.

  She lowered her pad and stared at him. “Why do you suppose she made such claims about you?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe because—”

  “Mr. Barrett is not a psychiatrist, Ms. Price,” Winkelman interrupted. “It would hardly be appropriate for him to speculate about the motives of a possibly unstable young woman.”

  Jeremy let out a breath. Wonderful thing to have a lawyer. He wondered if his father-in-law might let him keep the guy on permanent retainer.

  “Now then, Ms. Price, do you require any further assistance from Mr. Barrett with your inquiry?” Winkelman asked.

  She shook her head, closing her legal pad. “Not at this time.”

  Winkelman reached over and turned off the recorder.

  The investigator stood. “Thank you Mr. Barrett.” A cool nod at the attorney. “Mr. Winkelman.”

  “What happens now?” Jeremy asked her, drawing another warning look from his lawyer.

  She shrugged. “The inquiry will continue.”

  “But what else will—?”

  “Jeremy…” Winkelman cautioned.

  Ms. Price chuckled. “You two are mighty smooth. But the fact is, this is an official investigation.”

  Jeremy’s heart sank. It wasn’t over yet.

  FOURTEEN

  “SO!” PETER WINKELMAN TURNED to Jeremy as the DCPP investigator took her leave. “Would you rather debrief with me privately, or shall we invite your family in to join us?”

  Jeremy hesitated, debating. “Sure,” he said, “bring them in.” Nothing to hide. That was the way to go.

  Winkelman grinned. “Atta boy! You sit. I’ll go get them.”

  Bingo. Right answer, although Jeremy suspected the attorney merely wanted a bigger audience to hear his take on the meeting. Moments later, Winkelman returned to the living room with Melissa and her parents. Melissa took a seat next to Jeremy on the sectional, while her parents settled into two armchairs. Winkelman headed for the other end of the sofa and perched on the arm. They all looked up at him expectantly.

  “Well?” Howard Milton demanded.

  “I think you can all put your minds at ease,” Winkelman declared. He turned to Jeremy, arching an eyebrow.
“Unless you’re expecting any surprise witnesses to come forth to corroborate the girl’s allegations…?”

  Jeremy shook his head. “Impossible.”

  “Well, then.” Winkelman shrugged. “There’s nothing to support her charges. Obviously the girl projected her romantic fantasies onto Jeremy, then lied to save face.” He reached over to collect his tape recorder from the table and replaced it in his jacket pocket. “Who knows? Her mother may have egged her on. I’ve seen it happen. But now DCPP will conduct an intensive interview with the girl—without Mama present.” The corners of his mouth curled. “You think the girl will stick to her story in the face of that?”

  Melissa clutched Jeremy’s hand. “Mr. Winkelman, do you think this will go to trial?”

  “I highly doubt that.” The attorney sniffed. “It takes a psychopathic liar to stand up under cross examination. Think your girl is ready for that, Jeremy?”

  “No.” Jeremy felt an unexpected wave of pity for Heather, picturing Winkelman grilling her on the stand.

  “I’ll tell you, Peter.” Howard Milton leaned forward and spoke up in his usual tone of authority. “I’m wondering if we might have grounds for a slander suit.”

  Winkelman rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Could be, Howard. I’ll have one of my private investigators nose around. See if he can dig up anything on the Lloyds.”

  “Why would you do that?” Jeremy blurted out, unnerved by the notion of a private detective sniffing anywhere in his vicinity.

  “Oh.” The lawyer waved a hand dismissively. “You never know. Sometimes you find a pattern of allegations with people like this. You’d be surprised.” He chuckled. “‘Let he who is without sin,’ huh?”

  “Good point, Peter.” Howard nodded.

  “Please.” Jeremy cringed. “Can we hold off on doing anything like that? I mean, you sounded like you thought things were under control, Mr. Winkelman.”

  “Peter,” Winkelman corrected. “Might as well give it to the end of this week, see what happens.”

  “Well, I think this whole thing is simply too awful for words.” Beth Milton shuddered. “The idea of my daughter having to go through this in her condition…”

  “Mom!” Melissa broke in. “Please! It’s a little early to start announcing it!”

  Winkelman shot a quizzical glance at Howard.

  Here it comes, Jeremy thought.

  Howard beamed. “We’re expecting our first grandchild.”

  “Well now!” Winkelman smacked his own thigh hard enough to make Jeremy wince. “Congratulations! Wonderful news.” He bounded over to pump Howard’s hand. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anyone spoil this happy time for you folks.” Moving on to Beth Milton, the lawyer leaned down to kiss her cheek, then crossed over to buss Melissa. He completed his rounds by giving Jeremy’s hand a hearty squeeze. “It’ll be fine, son.”

  Did they all have to call him that? Jeremy nodded, carried out to sea by a huge wave of helplessness.

  “Jeremy, Melissa,” Beth said, “why don’t you two stay for dinner?”

  Even if Jeremy had any appetite, the prospect of a second dinner with his in-laws in as many days would have killed it. “Melissa and I should be getting home,” he said. Catching sight of his father-in-law glowering, he realized how ungrateful he must sound. He walked over to Howard. “Sir, thank you for—for everything. And, uh—about last night…”

  Howard clapped him on the shoulder, a bit too hard. “Don’t mention it, son. You’ve had a lot thrown at you the past couple of days. But we’ll get you back on track.”

  They shook hands, as if they’d just wrapped up a business deal.

  “Melissa,” Beth said, “why don’t you ride home with Jeremy and leave your car here overnight? I’ll pick you up in the morning and we can go see those houses. Then you can drive home from here.”

  “Houses?” Jeremy frowned. That again?

  Melissa clutched his arm and pulled him toward the door. “We’ll talk about it on the way home.”

  “Right,” he said under his breath. He turned to the attorney. “Mr.—uh, Peter, I really appreciate…”

  “Don’t give it a thought, son.” Winkelman smoothed his jacket and shot his cuffs.

  As he walked out with Melissa, Jeremy heard Howard say, “Peter, stay and have a drink. There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

  Later, he’d remember those words.

  FIFTEEN

  “DAMMIT, NO!” JEREMY POUNDED the steering wheel. “There’s not gonna be any slander suit, Mel. Forget it.”

  “I don’t understand!” she protested. “Why are you letting her get away with—”

  “For crying out loud! Give it a rest. She’s a mixed-up, hormonal kid.”

  “What about her mother?” Melissa demanded. “She at least should know better than—”

  “I said, drop it!” The tires squealed as Jeremy braked hard for the traffic light at the bottom of the steep hill below their garden apartment complex. “I’m not suing anyone.”

  Melissa folded her arms and turned away.

  The light turned green and he drove up the hill, taking a right into their development. He found a space, pulled in and turned off the engine. He looked over at Melissa, who stared ahead in sullen silence.

  “Mel…” He broke off.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” Jeremy massaged his forehead, a headache starting.

  “You know,” Melissa said, “you haven’t asked a single question about my obstetrician appointment. Not even when my due date is.”

  Her hectoring tone set Jeremy’s teeth on edge. “So? When is it?”

  “Do you actually give a fuck?”

  “Christ, Mel!” Jeremy exploded. “I’ve had a few other things to deal with, in case you didn’t notice.” He took a breath. “Are you going to tell me the damned due date, or not?”

  Melissa reached for the handle of her door. “Call the doctor and find out for yourself!”

  “Melissa!”

  She sprang from the car and stalked off toward their building,

  Jeremy rubbed his forehead again and opened his door. Melissa had already entered the vestibule. He trotted up the walk and caught up with her mounting the stairs to their apartment. Hadn’t they played out this stupid scenario only yesterday?

  “Has it occurred to you,” he said, following her up, “that I’m having the worst two days of my life?”

  At the top of the stairs, Melissa pulled out her key and turned to him, sneering. “It’s always about you.”

  “Wha-at?” He froze, halfway up the flight.

  “My mother wanted to show me houses today. Houses they offered to buy for us, Jeremy! For us and our child!”

  “Oh, hell!”

  Melissa’s voice got that put-upon tone he hated. “And I didn’t let her. You know why? Because I was afraid you’d be upset!”

  “I would have been.”

  “You, you, you!” she cried. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about! Why do you have to make it such a big deal? Lots of parents buy their kids houses.”

  He let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, but with yours there’s always a catch. They fucking own us, Mel.”

  “That’s not true!”

  “Look,” he said, “can we not argue about this on the stairs?”

  “I don’t want to talk to you at all!” Melissa fumbled with her key, agitation making her clumsy.

  “Fine,” Jeremy fumed. “Then don’t. I’m going for a walk.” He ran back down the stairs.

  A blast of cold wind hit his face the moment he stepped outside, giving him second thoughts. He shivered. The temperature was dropping. Would winter never end?

  Or this lousy week?

  He pulled the car key from his jacket pocket. Better a drive than a walk in this cold. He got in the car, started it up, then sat, letting the engine idle.

  Where was he going?

  The gas gauge showed under a quarter tank. He’d go fuel up while he figured ou
t his next move. He was drowning. Why didn’t he have any say over the course of his own future? No one bothered to ask whether he’d like to be a father or a homeowner. Nobody would ask. Along for the ride, that’s what he was.

  As usual.

  His thoughts drifted back to Nikki in his car that morning—her wide, blue eyes gazing into his. Why couldn’t they have met when he was free to love her?

  He pulled into the gas station and up to the pump. When he lowered the window, the attendant said, “Vrong zide,” his accent so thick that he had to repeat it three times before Jeremy realized he’d parked with the gas cap facing away from the pump. With an abashed apology, he restarted the engine and maneuvered around to the other side of the pump. He passed the attendant his credit card and closed the window. On a day this cold, Jeremy appreciated New Jersey’s ban on self service. Pumping your own gas might be a rite of manhood, but he preferred to stay warm.

  Again he thought of Nikki.

  She wouldn’t have wanted him back then. None of the pretty girls ever had, Melissa the exception. He’d been so awkward, always self-conscious. Jeremy doubted Mel would have given him a second glance if they’d met under more mundane circumstances. A miracle she’d chosen him over Rick that summer in France.

  They all chose his friend Rick.

  Jeremy had been his wingman. Women only ever paid attention to Jeremy in hopes of getting next to his buddy. He grimaced, remembering a cruel case in point. What was her name? Catherine? Slender, long dark hair. The prototype of Nikki.

  Bile choked his throat. Catherine, or whatever-her-name, had been all over him at that party. He’d crashed the event along with Rick—wouldn’t have dared brazen his way in there except with Rick. Big house, nice furniture. Way better neighborhood than his own, or Rick’s. In no time at all, girls had surrounded Rick, as if he emitted pheromones.

  But that night, Catherine had clung to Jeremy’s side. She’d allowed him to fetch beers for her, leaned into him, and laughed at his lame jokes. Touched him when she talked. He’d floated through that evening in a haze.

  The spell was broken when she gave Jeremy her phone number as she left with her girlfriend. “Tell your pal to give me a call,” she’d said, borrowing Jeremy’s pen to scribble her number on the back of his hand.