LAST KISS

a novel

 

© 2017 by S.W. Blayde

All Rights Reserved

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

 

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Book cover image "58" (modified) by Kserina of Fotolia.com

Inspired by the song "Last Kiss" written by Wayne Cochran

BOOKS by S.W. Blayde

Sexual Awakening

romance murder-mystery on Bookapy & Amazon

Steele Justice

thriller (Lincoln Steele book 1) on Amazon

High School Massacre

thriller/mystery (Lincoln Steele book 2) on Bookapy & Amazon

Death of a Hero

thriller (Lincoln Steele book 3) on Amazon

The Breeder

western/romance on Bookapy & Amazon

Conflicted Nun

romance on Bookapy

Last Kiss

romance mystery on Bookapy

 

 

CHAPTER 1

My seventeen years hadn't prepared me for Jenna's question. The answer was stuck in my gut and wouldn't pass through my parched mouth. I licked my lips. I did it again. It was a simple question.

"Well?" she asked.

Why was it hard to say the words? I had known the answer since we were little.

Sitting under the bleachers on the first base side of the high school's vacant baseball field, Jenna's eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms. "Cory Trent Masters, will you love me forever?"

Even with the bleachers above us casting a mid-day shadow on Jenna's face, I saw that her eyes were now shinier. It would break my heart to see a single tear roll down her cheek. All of a sudden I said it, loud enough to be heard in deep center field where I had caught so many fly balls.

"Yes!"

"Yes what?"

I pulled her hands out from under her crossed arms and, pressing them together as if she were praying, carried them to my lips. Her eyes got bigger when I kissed them.

"I will love you forever. More than forever. We'll grow old together and then spend eternity in heaven together. I will always love you, Jenna, always. Now. Forever. On earth. In heaven. For eternity."

The tear rolled down her cheek. With her hands still clasped within mine, I extended a finger to brush it away. My heart didn't break. On the contrary, it threatened to burst with happiness.

BANG … BANG … BANG

I jumped and spun around. The assistant principle, Mr. Fargo, was pounding on the aluminum bleacher bench. He stepped back and stood with feet shoulder width apart and hands on hips. His tie flapped in the warm breeze.

"Mr. Masters, Miss Wayne, what are you two doing?"

"Just talking," I said.

"It looked like more than that." Pointing an accusing finger at me, he said, "I know about you, you and your family. Nothing but a bunch of—"

"All we were doing was talking."

"Don't talk back to me."

I was about to say more when Jenna's fingers squeezed my forearm. I turned. The look on her face expelled my anger. She was like an angel.

"I'm sending notes to both of your mothers," Mr. Fargo said. Before I could respond, he added, "Miss Wayne, get back to class." Once again he directed a finger at me. "And you, my office. You know you're not allowed out of the building during your lunch period."

Jenna and I scrambled out from under the bleachers.

"Why can't Cory just go back to class like me?" Jenna asked.

"Talk back to me one more time, young lady, and you'll be suspended."

My fingers curled into fists as I took a step toward Mr. Fargo, but a quick shake of Jenna's head stopped me. She placed a hand on my shoulder and stared into my eyes before rushing back to the building, twice glancing over her shoulder at us. I followed Mr. Fargo to his office and was told to wait outside.

Joe Birch was sitting in a chair in the anteroom. He was there so often I wondered if there was a nameplate on the chair with his name on it. The left side of his head was shaved, starting where a part would be. The rest was long, swept to the other side and hanging over his ear. The hair was blue.

He looked up at me with a smirk. "What are you doing here? You never get in trouble."

"I was outside with my girlfriend."

"Yeah, the mayor's kid. Has she spread her legs for you yet?"

"Go to hell!"

"I heard that!" Mr. Fargo yelled from his office. "That's another mark against you. Get in here right now."

Joe Birch slumped down in his chair with his legs straight out. He clasped both hands behind his neck and, with elbows out, tilted his head back and closed his eyes with that same smirk on his face. I shrugged, stepped over his outstretched legs, and entered Mr. Fargo's office where I plopped down in one of the two chairs in front of his desk.

Mr. Fargo scowled while tapping the eraser side of the pencil on his desk. I started to cross my legs, but stopped and sat up straight. I stared back. He put the pencil down and leaned on his forearms.

"Seen your old man lately?" he asked.

"We go to Woodland every Sunday. That's when they have visiting hours."

"Too bad we don't have a jail here in Waynetown. Would save you the drive."

"It's not far."

"Did he tell you where the money is?"

"He didn't take it! He's innocent!"

"So he says. So he says. All I know is he stole money from almost everyone in town. When he embezzled from the company pension fund he—"

"He didn't do it!"

"So he says. We'll see what the jury says. People here need their pensions to live. To put food on the table. You know, if he were to give the money back they would go easier on him. People just want their money back."

"He can't give back what he didn't take."

Mr. Fargo glowered before sitting back. "We're done. Get to class."

Being a year older than Jenna, we shared no classes so I didn't see her the rest of the day. I did see Mr. Fargo when he stormed into my math class. My teacher stopped talking mid-sentence with her mouth gaping. He made a big production of handing me the note and announcing that I would not be allowed back in school without it being signed by my mother. The snickers around the room were, I'm sure, what he sought. They hurt.

It's impossible to get a second chance in a small town. Jenna and I would have to find our way elsewhere. Maybe Woodland. But that was too near. And the other towns in the surrounding area weren't much bigger than Waynetown. They were filled with some farmers, but most of the jobs were in forestry and cutting down trees which were hauled to Waynetown. We had the only mill. Junction City would be better. Disappearing in a large city was what we needed.

The day dragged. Boys who used to be my friends no longer spoke to me. I felt so alone, except when I was with Jenna. She was my whole world.

When I got home, I handed my mother the note and waited with my hands stuffed inside my jeans pockets.

"Cory, you never used to get in trouble. What's gotten into you?" she asked while reading.

"It's not me. I'm just getting picked on. People blame me for— It'll be okay."

My mother looked up. "It's that Wayne girl. Why do you bother with her? She'll only give you trouble."

"I love her."

"You're seventeen. You don't know what love is."

"What's age got to do with it?"

"It has everything to do with it. I fell in love with your dad when I was seventeen. Look what good that did."

My eyes watered, but I wasn't going to fight with her again. "He's innocent."

My mother shrugged.

"You don't believe him?"

She stared into my eyes before looking away. "I don't know what to believe anymore."

"Well, I believe him. He wouldn't lie to me."

She looked back at me. "He was the company's CFO. Everyone in town thinks he's guilty. And the Waynes, they—"

"Jenna isn't like her parents," I said in a voice louder than I had intended.

"I don't care. Those stuck-up—" My mother stamped her foot. Her face was red and the veins on her temples protruded. "Just because he's the mayor and rich—" She pounded her foot onto the floor again, but this time she took a deep breath and let the air out in a loud whoosh. In a calmer voice, she said, "They're ruining our lives. Don't you understand that? I don't want you to see that girl anymore. Ever. She's no good for you."

I was about to object when she added, "It's making it harder for me, too. I have to live in this town. And almost everyone here works for that damn Wayne Lumber Company. Even those who don't depend on it for their livelihood. Don't you get it? I forbid you to ever see her again."

I bolted from the kitchen. What could I do? Promise never to see Jenna again? I wasn't a liar. Not the bad person the whole town thought I was. Sitting on my bed, my anger subsided somewhat. Well, not everyone. Not Jenna. Without her, there was no reason to live. We'd move to Junction City. Start a new life away from everyone in Waynetown.

I slammed my palm on the mattress. What was I thinking? My father was innocent. The jury would realize that. Then everything would go back to normal.

 

CHAPTER 2

The next morning, I waited for Jenna at our usual meeting place before first class. I skulked behind the big oak tree until her long, black limo drove off. Only then did I step into the open and wave. She always teased me when my smile caused my ears to lift up. Seeing her trot toward me, I felt them do just that. When she was close enough, I gave her a peck on the lips. She grabbed both sides of my face and plastered her lips to mine with her tongue inside my mouth.

"Do you have your signed note?" I asked.

Jenna nodded.

"So everything's cool?"

She looked at her feet. I waited.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

She looked up. "My father said I can't see you anymore."

"So did my mother. So what?"

Jenna's eyes opened wide. "Your mother doesn't want you to see me?"

I felt my face flush. "It's, um, it's not you. It's your parents."

"Oh."

"So?" I said.

"I don't care what they say. I can't live without you."

With a finger under her chin, I tilted her head back and stared into her eyes. My heart was about to burst. "I love you."

Jenna giggled. "Yeah, you said that yesterday."

"When we get married we'll leave this place. We'll start a new life."

"Married?"

I stepped back. My jaw dropped. "Don't you wanna marry me?"

She rubbed her chin while scanning me from head to toe. I couldn't breathe. Then her smile threatened to split her face in two.

"You bet I do. And I'm going to hold you to that."

"Guess what?" I said.

"You love me."

"No."

"You don't love me?" Jenna stepped back and crossed her arms. She pressed her lips together to hold back the smile.

"Stop that. This is big," I said.

"Bigger than loving me?"

"Jenna, Coach said some college baseball scouts will be at Saturday's game."

Her arms uncrossed and she jumped up and down. "Really? Which ones? How many?"

"He didn't say. Just that they'll be there."

"You'll get a scholarship. I know you will. You're so fast and can hit so good."

Jenna stopped talking and looked down. I waited. She shuffled her feet.

"What's the matter?" I asked. "Thought you'd be happy."

She looked up. "We'll be apart. You'll be in college and I'll be here."

Closing the gap, I wrapped her in my arms. I held her tight with the side of her face against my chest. I didn't know what to say. I hadn't thought about us being in different schools. Different cities. Apart.

Jenna wrenched free and ducked behind the tree. I stared at her with my mouth hanging open. When I looked around, I saw Mr. Fargo walking from the parking lot to the school. I waited until he was out of sight and then joined Jenna.

"Is this the way it's gonna be?" I asked. "Not able to be together in public. Always hiding?"

"I'm sorry. When I saw him I panicked. He'll tell my folks."

"So?"

"So you know how they are? They'll ground me. I won't be able to see you." Then her face lit up. "Hey, what are you giving me for my birthday?"

"You have a birthday coming up?"

Jenna punched my shoulder. For a small girl she sure packed a wallop.

"We better give Fargo the signed notes and get to class," I said.

"Don't ignore me. There's time. Tell me. You do have something planned, don't you?"

"Your birthday is a long way off."

"Not so long." She pouted. "Don't you have something planned?"

"Jenna, you know I do. But if we don't get to class you'll be grounded and I won't be able to take you to—"

Jenna leaned forward. She bounced up and down. "Where? Where to?"

"You'll have to wait. It's not your birthday yet."

This time I deflected Jenna's fist before it made contact. Then we walked to the building separately. Sometimes life isn't fair.

Once inside, I headed for Mr. Fargo's office. The crowded halls were noisy with students running in all directions. I dodged a few and then someone slammed into my back. Stumbling forward, I dropped the backpack that I'd been swinging from one hand and spun around to see Morgan Wyle getting high-fived from some others.

"What was that for?" I asked.

"You should be more careful."

"You bumped into me."

"Then you need to get out of the way."

"Morgan, we're teammates. We used to be friends. Do you really wanna do this?"

"You don't belong here anymore. Why don't you just leave?"

Morgan Wyle and I were the two best players on the baseball team. We both expected college scholarships, him with his 90-plus MPH fastball and me with my hitting. But right now his stare was cold. Searching the faces of my other teammates, I found them to be the same. I bent over to retrieve my fallen books when the tightness in my gut returned. It was a common occurrence lately. My fingers curled into a fist. I stood up and swung. The blow landed on Morgan's jaw, jerking his head back.

Everyone stopped. The hall became hushed. And then someone lunged at me, tackling me to the ground. Fists pounded my body. Feet kicked me. I flailed my arms and legs to no avail. The blows kept landing all over my body. And then I felt a thud to the side of my head.

When I opened my eyes, I looked around at the yellow walls and squinted at the bright florescent ceiling lights. I was lying on a cot. Something clogged my nose forcing me to breathe through my mouth. I pulled two bloody gauzes out of my nostrils and stared at them. I sat up and swung my legs over the side. Dizziness made me lie back down.

"What do you think you're doing?" a female voice said.

I turned my head to see the school nurse walking toward me. She placed her palms over my ears and stared into my eyes, lifting one eyelid at a time with her thumbs. Then she let go and held up a finger in front of my face.

"Watch my finger," she said. When it moved to the side, I followed it. "No, with your eyes. Don't move your head. Only your eyes."

I did.

"I don't think you have a concussion," the nurse said. "Sit up slowly."

When I did, the room spun. I closed my eyes until everything stilled. Then I peeked between slit eyes before opening them all the way. The nurse took my hand and steadied me as I stood up.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"Fine…I guess. A little wobbly, but okay." I pulled the bottom of my bloody tee-shirt away from my body to look at it.

"You were bleeding pretty badly. I guess that shirt is ruined. If you need more time you can stay here."

"No, I'm fine. My side hurts though."

"It's bruised. If it doesn't get better you'll need x-rays. A rib or two may be broken. Can you walk?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"You'll have to see Mr. Fargo."

I nodded and thanked the nurse. After grabbing my backpack, I went to the assistant principal. When I entered the area, I expected to see Joe Birch sitting in the chair outside Mr. Fargo's office. He wasn't. I leaned over to check for a nameplate. None there. While stooped over, I looked over my shoulder.

The receptionist raised an eyebrow and said, "Mr. Fargo is waiting. Get in there."

I shrugged and went through the open door. Mr. Fargo looked up. "Well, if it isn't the troublemaker."

"I didn't start it."

"Of course you didn't. The Masters family is never at fault. You're all innocent."

"The nurse said you wanted to see me."

"I could suspend you for fighting, you know."

"I didn't start it."

"So you say. So you say. Did your mother sign the note?"

I dug it out of my back pocket and laid it on Mr. Fargo's desk. He unfolded it and checked her signature. Then he looked up at me. "Next time you will be suspended. Get to class."

The halls were so different with classes in session—empty, peaceful. I strolled through them, inspecting the artwork on the walls and glancing at the school announcements behind locked, glass barriers. Interesting. They protected the announcements that could be reprinted with a couple of keystrokes, but not the students' one-of-a-kind drawings and paintings.

As I neared my classroom, I coddled my sore ribs while shifting the backpack to the other shoulder. A glance at my watch stopped me. The visit to the nurse's office had taken longer than I realized. It was second period, not first. I turned and, holding my side, sprinted toward the other classroom. When I saw the bright red lights of the exit sign I slowed down and changed direction.

I looked over my shoulder before pushing the steel door open. Skipping class was new to me, but I needed to clear my head. To think. So much had changed. When I stepped outside, I looked up. The sky was blue and the breeze warm. It was nicer to be outside than inside a stuffy classroom where everyone hated me. I scurried away from the school. When I rounded the utility building, I tripped over a pair of outstretched legs. Pain shot up my side when I hit the ground. The legs belonged to Joe Birch.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"I could ask you the same thing. Hey, what the hell happened to you? That black eye is a doozy."

My hand shot up to my eye and felt around. It was tender and swollen. I looked at Joe. "Just some kids who used to be my friends."

"You can sit here if you want."

Noticing several cigarette butts in the grass next to his right side, I sat on his left, leaning against the wall with my legs straight out. He lifted the pack of cigarettes lying in his lap and flipped the lid of the box.

"Want one?" he asked.

"I don't smoke."

"Yeah, an athlete."

"You shouldn't either."

"I shouldn't do lots of things."

"But you do them anyway," I said.

"Yeah, life sucks."

"I agree."

Joe studied me, his eyes locked on my face. "Your dad, huh?"

"He's innocent."

"That doesn't mean shit in this town."

It was my turn to stare at the boy with blue hair. The boy everyone hated. The boy always in trouble. The boy who didn't fit in. The boy who was different. The boy who I would have avoided the day before. The only boy asking me to sit with him.

"May I ask you something?" I asked.

"Why's my hair blue?"

"No. Well, yeah. Never mind that. I want to know, um, well, why do you want people to hate you?"

Joe snickered. "You were born in this shitty town, right?"

"Yeah."

"I wasn't."

"So?"

"So people here don't welcome outsiders. After a while I didn't try to fit in."

"Was I one of those people?"

Joe pursed his lips. "I guess you had your own friends."

"I'm sorry."

"Forget it. You didn't know no better. You grew up here."

"So why's your hair blue?"

"It pisses people off."

I couldn't prevent the laugh that erupted. I grabbed my aching side as I leaned forward, but no matter how much it hurt, I couldn't stop laughing. Joe giggled next to me. I never went to class that day. Joe and I chatted for hours.

 

CHAPTER 3

Each day my ribs improved, but would I be able to swing a baseball bat on Saturday for the big game? It was my chance to get out of Waynetown. I hated that name. What a stupid name for a town. Maybe it made sense in the frontier days, but even back then it was Wayne's Town. Somehow, like Charles Town became Charleston, we ended up with Waynetown. The name should be changed, but the Wayne family liked it. It was a daily reminder that it was their town. They owned it and everyone in it.

On Thursday I gripped a baseball bat, opening and closing my fingers around the handle. I took a deep breath and let the air out before venturing a swing. No pain. So I dug the ball of my right sneaker into the dirt and swung hard. The bat slipped from my fingers as I dropped to a knee while clutching my side. I could still play, but I'd be hitting singles rather than home runs. Thankfully the left side didn't affect my throwing.

There was no change at school, other than exchanging smiles with Joe Birch when our paths crossed. After my father would be found innocent and everything went back to normal, I was going to help Joe. Waynetown had victimized him long before me. Hopefully it wasn't too late. Of course Jenna didn't want me to associate with him. The first time she had seen me talking to Joe she had yanked my arm and pulled me away so hard I stumbled behind her as she dragged me down the hallway.

"What are you doing?" she had said once we were by ourselves.

"What do you mean?"

"That weirdo. Why are you talking to him?"

"Joe's not bad."

"He's a weirdo. And he's always in trouble. He's no good."

"Jenna, we made him that way."

"Who?"

"The town. Everyone."

Her eyes had widened. Her mouth opened and snapped shut, and then she had said, "That's not possible. That's the way he is. He's different."

I had stopped arguing. I needed to get her away from Waynetown. It affected everyone living there, even Jenna. Maybe her more because of who her father was.

Saturday finally arrived. I sat in the locker room on a wooden bench, dressed in my uniform with a big seven on the back, ankles taped, black grease smeared under my eyes, and ready. Today was my day. My big chance. I leaned forward with my forearms on my knees, head down, dangling my baseball glove between my calves. I prayed to do well. Up until then my prayers had been for my father and mother. They needed God's help. But today I asked for one more favor.

The coach clapped his hands, silencing the room, but I stayed bowed, praying.

"Listen up," he said and clapped his hands a few more times. "Longbow's pitching is weak. They have some good hitters, but Morgan's pitching today. We should beat them. But play hard. Any team can beat any other team on any given day. Stay focused. Don't play down to their level." He clapped once more and said, "Play hard."

People started talking again, and then Coach said, "Listen up. One change to the lineup. Jennings will be in center field."

My head shot up and I jumped to my feet. "Where am I playing?"

"You're not."

"Why?"

"You're suspended for one game for fighting."

The tightness in my gut returned. My jaw clenched. I heard the snickering all around me and turned to see Morgan Wyle once again being high-fived. I brought my arm back as if I were throwing a runner out at home plate from center field. My arm whipped forward. The glove bounced off Coach's face. He staggered backwards with his hand covering his nose.

"You're off the team!" Coach yelled. "Get out of my locker room! Everyone else, onto the field. Move!"

Cleats scraped the tile floor. Metal locker doors slammed. All around me, my teammates scrambled toward the exit that took them to the field. In no time, the only sound was the air passing through my parted lips as my chest expanded and contracted with each deep breath, raising and lowering my shoulders.

I was alone.

My mother wouldn't be at the game, having to work on Saturdays. But Jenna would. She'd be worried when I wasn't in the lineup. Before changing, I called her on my cell phone.

She answered with, "Cory? Why aren't you on the field? Where are you?" I heard someone talking to her and then her saying, "Leave me alone. I need to talk to him." Then the phone went silent.

I ripped my uniform off. Shirt buttons flew in all directions. I slammed it onto the floor like someone spiking a football. My pants followed. Then I banged the metal locker with the side of my fist. The sound echoed throughout the room, but no one was there to hear it. I wanted to scream. Instead, I grabbed the bottom of the wooden bench and pulled up and out. It twirled in the air before landing upside down on the other side of the room.

I tried to calm my breathing. Panting was more like it. Deep breaths, shoulders rising and falling, mouth open. After a few minutes, I changed into my jeans, tee-shirt, and sneakers and headed for the outside door. I stopped. The baseball shoes and glove were mine. I snatched the glove off the floor and found one shoe at the base of my locker. The other one took longer to locate. It was near the entrance to the showers. After tying the shoelaces together, I slung my shoes over my shoulder and stormed out the door with my glove tucked under my armpit.

I snuck around the building like a criminal, hugging the wall. I knew where Jenna always sat so I headed that way. I saw her. She wasn't watching the game. She was looking right and left and behind her. Her father kept pushing down on her shoulder, but she kept popping up. Then she was looking directly at me.

I waved.

When her head stopped moving, her father followed her gaze. I ducked behind the wall with my back and palms flat against it. I slid down and sat on the ground.

I waited.

So many thoughts passed through my mind. How happy I had been. How many friends I used to have. How much I loved playing baseball. It was all gone. But not everything. I still had Jenna. Her parents had looked down their nose at me before my father's problems began, but now it was worse. I hated the sneaking around. I loved her so much.

I leapt to my feet when someone flew around the corner of the building. I raised my fists, ready to fight anyone and everyone. But my fingers relaxed when I saw Jenna.

"What happened?" she said.

"I'm off the team."

"Why? You're the best player."

"Two guesses."

"Your father."

"I'm sure of it. They said it was because of the fight, but Morgan is playing."

"You should have told them who it was."

"Wouldn't have done any good. They were after me. And then I lost my temper. Jenna, I screwed up. I threw my glove at Coach and he kicked me off the team."

Jenna wrapped her arms around me with the side of her face pressed against my chest. My hands flew to her back to hold her tight. She was all that mattered. As long as I had her I'd be okay.

"Why'd your father let you come to me?" I asked.

There was silence and I felt Jenna's arms tighten around me. "I told him I was going to the bathroom."

"So you need to go back soon."

She leaned back to look up. "I'm sorry. But he'll ground me and then we won't be able to be with each other."

I broke the hug and stepped away. "You better get back."

Jenna's bottom lip stuck out and quivered. "Don't be mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at everyone in this damn town. I hate everyone here. I can't wait to get out of this place."

"With me, I hope."

"I wouldn't leave without you. You're my everything. I told you that under the bleachers. I'll love you forever."

Jenna smiled and used the back of her hand to first wipe one wet cheek and then the other. "What about after I'm dead?" she asked.

"I'll probably die first."

"But what if I do? Then what?"

"I'll still love you. I'll love you for eternity."

"I'll wait for you in heaven. Promise me you'll be good so you come to heaven too. Promise me."

I laid my hands on her shoulders and, with my arms straight out, stared at her face. She was serious. I pulled her to me and hugged her tight.

"I promise. I'll meet you in heaven if you die first. But you better get back. I don't want you grounded for your birthday. Your father—"

She pushed back from me. "Where are you taking me? Tell me. Where?"

"It's a surprise. You'll have to wait." I swatted her butt. "Now go. I need to go home. I have to think."

Jenna got onto her tiptoes to kiss my lips. It a flash, she was gone.

I was alone again.

 

CHAPTER 4

It was Sunday, the day I longed for all week, visiting day at the Woodland prison. I missed my father so much. It took his absence to realize that. As usual, my mother found me buried under the covers fast asleep. She shook me. I kept my eyes closed and wriggled into the warmth of the bed.

"Cory, get up."

I shrugged my shoulder under the cover.

"Come on," she said and shook me again. "It's Sunday. Church. Get up."

When I didn't answer, she flipped the cover down. I rolled onto my back and smothered my face with the pillow.

"Breakfast will be ready in half an hour."

My mother left without another word. She knew I'd get up.

An hour later, we drove to the church. The steeple was easy to see in the horizon. It was the second tallest man-made structure in Waynetown. Only the Wayne mansion sitting atop a hill on the outskirts of town was higher. Our tires kicked up loose gravel while finding a vacant spot in the parking lot.

People were gathered outside the church talking to one another. As we walked past them, they stopped talking. Every group. We continued on in silence. As we got closer to the entrance, the crowd thickened and bodily contact was made, but no one said anything. When we climbed the three steps leading to the front door, the people lingering there quieted.

Pastor Harding placed a hand on my mother's forearm to stop her. "Margo, how have you been?"

My mother looked at the scowls around us and then she covered the pastor's hand with her own. "As best as can be expected. Thank you for asking."

Pastor Harding looked at me. "And you? How are you doing?"

I lowered my head and shrugged.

"Cory, look at me." I did. "How are you doing?"

"I got kicked off the baseball team."

"What!" my mother called out. Then she lowered her voice. "You didn't tell me that. Why didn't you tell me? What happened?"

"Margo," the pastor said in a hushed voice, "this isn't the time. Wait until you are alone." Then Pastor Harding draped an arm over my shoulders causing his parishioners to whisper among themselves while staring at his arm. He looked at me.

"Cory, come see me any time. We'll talk. But now we should go inside."

I looked up and smiled. When he returned it, my ears lifted more. Nodding, I followed my mother into the church. Some said it was quaint. Not me. It was tiny and rundown. Mayor Wayne controlled the purse strings. The benches were old and uncomfortable. The stained glass cheap. My mother stopped at the third pew from the rear. Only two people were sitting in it, at the end next to the aisle.

"Excuse me," my mother said and waited for them to let us in. The couple, Mr. and Mrs. Jonas, people I'd known my entire life, scowled at us. We stared back, not moving. Mr. Jonas operated a saw in the lumber company, as did his father before him. They stood up and stepped into the aisle. My mother thanked them without getting a response and we entered the pew, sidling until we were in the middle. When we sat down, Mr. and Mrs. Jonas moved to a different pew. They whispered to the people there who looked over their shoulders at us. I used to hate being squished between bodies in the cramped church. Now we had all the room we wanted, not that we wanted it.

Pastor Harding began his sermon the way he had so many times lately. Love thy neighbor. Be compassionate. Don't judge. All the crap no one listened to. I got into the habit of blocking him out, lowering my head, and doing my own praying. I believed in God. I believed in heaven. Even if Jenna and I weren't happy on earth, we would be for eternity in heaven. It was filled with good souls, compassionate souls, like Pastor Harding's.

Jenna always sat in the front pew with her father in the aisle seat, her mother next to him, and then Jenna. She kept twisting around to look at me, and her father would lean over her mother to make her turn back. After a while, her mother stood up and her father dragged Jenna next to him. Now she was sandwiched between her parents. Her father draped an arm over Jenna's shoulders, but not with the warmth Pastor Harding had shown me. He kept jerking her into his body until she stopped looking over her shoulder.

After the service, my mother congratulated Pastor Harding on his sermon. I kept my head lowered, staring at my feet.

"Remember, Cory, any time," he said.

I shrugged without looking up.

"I'm sorry," my mother said, "he's…"

The pastor patted my shoulder. "I understand. Today's visiting day, right?"

"Yes, that's where we're going now."

"Then you best be going. Say hi to Peter for me."

The drive to Woodland wasn't long and soon we approached the prison. If not for the tall trees around us, the thirty-foot walls would have been seen for miles. Trees God used to shield the eyesore. But once through the trees, the massive structure jumped out at you. Rough, gray stones blackened by time that were set in the frontier days. The razor sharp barbed wire along the top was added some time later. Woodland was a prison town and the residents wanted to feel safe.

It wasn't until you passed through the main gate that the coldness of the facility struck you. Inner walls made of gray concrete formed a structure within a structure, the ground between them like a castle's mote. High on the towers, guards watched both inside and outside the inner walls. Locked iron doors fortified the prison. Only a few windows could be seen, all covered with steel bars.

We checked in at the main gate, and then again at the inner one. After signing in, a tedious process, we were led to a table in the visiting room with one chair on one side and two across from it. My mother and I sat down in the two side-by-side chairs and waited. There was always so much waiting.

Two guards sat in the corners of the room on the side we had entered from. My eyes were fixated on the door on the opposite wall, the one my father would emerge through. I only saw him for a couple of hours once a week. I jumped to my feet when he appeared.

"Sit down," one of the guards said, his voice emotionless, but firm.

I didn't bother turning to look at him. I sat down. I once made the mistake of arguing with a guard and my father was immediately ushered back through the doors he had come through. I had lost the two hours to visit with him. So had my mother.

My father plodded toward us wearing a khaki jump suit. A white tag with black numbers was stitched over a single shirt pocket on the left side of his chest. His shoes dragged on the tile floor and his shoulders drooped. I almost didn't recognize the pale and drawn face with dark lines under his eyes. A faint smile appeared, but his eyes were dull. He sat in the chair on the other side of the table. I almost reached out to hold his hand, but that's what got me into trouble the day we lost our visiting rights. No touching was allowed.

"You look awful," my mother said.

"I'm fine."

"We need to bail you out. I'll get a second mortgage."

"No!" My father's eyes darted to the corner of the room, and then he said in a softer voice, "No, you can't take on more debt. You have just enough to get by. Don't worry about me. I'm doing fine."

Then my father looked at me and smiled. Not an ear-lifting smile, but a warm one. "And how are you?"

"Okay."

"Just okay? Did you guys win yesterday?" When I hung my head and didn't answer, he asked, "What's wrong?"

My mother put her arm around me. "He didn't play. He's not on the team anymore."

"You quit?"

While explaining what happened, I stared into my father's eyes. I saw sadness and guilt. All he did was tell me to be patient and that everything would be fine. Then he and my mother talked about the house, her job, and many other mundane things. I listened and waited for my turn. I missed him so much.

"My trial is Tuesday," my father said. We knew that. "I don't want either of you to be there."

"What do you mean?" My mother's voice was so loud that my father's eyes shot to both guards.

I clenched my fists and stared at him.

"Margo, you have work and Cory has school. Nothing you can do at the trial anyway. So it's best if you didn't come."

"But I want to be there," my mother said.

I sat up straight. "Me too."

My father's tired eyes darted back and forth between us. "No. It would be easier on me if you weren't there."

We argued with him a while longer before giving in. I hadn't expected that. Afterwards, we chatted until our two hours were almost up.

"Margo, I want to speak to Cory alone. Do you mind?"

My mother raised an eyebrow. She looked at me and then back at my father and then back at me. "I'll be in the waiting room." She got up and kissed the air in the direction of my father and left.

"Cory, I may need your help," my father said in a hushed voice. "I may need you to do something for me."

"Sure. Anything. What?"

"Not now." He scoped out the guards and leaned forward. "Hopefully I won't need it. But if things don't go well, I'm going to need help on the outside and there's no one else."

"Okay. I'll do whatever you need."

He smiled, but this time it was a crooked smile. He pressed his lips together as if he wanted to say something else, but all he told me was that he loved me and said goodbye.

 

CHAPTER 5

Our small school only had two lunch periods; Jenna and I shared one. This time we didn't sneak out of the building to be together. We sat across from each other at a small table against the wall in the school cafeteria.

"How's your dad?" Jenna asked.

"He looks like shit."

"What do you mean?"

"I dunno. He looks tired and…" I lowered my head.

Jenna reached across the table and placed a hand on top of mine. I looked up. Her smile warmed my heart.

"It'll be okay," she said, patting my hand.

"What if they find him guilty?"

"Did he do it?"

I yanked my hand out from under hers and frowned. Her eyes were wide and her mouth open. The blood had drained from her face. I took her hand in both of mine and squeezed it.

"I'm sorry," I said. "It's just that everyone thinks he's guilty." She didn't say anything. "He's not. I'm sure of it. He wouldn't lie to me and he told me he didn't do it."

"Then everything will be okay. I saw you and your mom in church. I wanted to talk to you."

"I know. But your parents were there."

"They can be a pain sometimes. I wonder what they'll say when we get married?"

"They'll have a fit and make my life miserable."

"You really think so?"

"Jenna, will you move with me to Junction City? Will you leave Waynetown? Leave your parents?"

First her eyes dropped and then she lowered her head. I waited. People were talking all around us, but my attention was fixated on her. I was sorry I had asked, but I needed to know.

Jenna looked up. "We won't have to. Your father will be found innocent and then everything will be back to normal."

"You still want to live in this town after the way everyone treated me?"

"Things will be better. It'll be back the way it was."

I slapped the table. "It'll never be the way it was!"

Jenna looked around at my outburst. I followed her gaze. The other kids were staring and whispering to each other. Jenna covered her face in her hands with her elbows on the table. I sat in silence, dumbfounded and angry. Why was she hiding her face? Ashamed to be with me? My fingers clenched into fists once more, something happening a lot lately. I needed Jenna to be strong. I jumped to my feet, toppling my chair over backwards.

"Go to hell!" I yelled at nobody and everybody, and stormed out of the cafeteria.

I bolted down the hallway until the pounding of my heart made me stop. Placing my palms flat on the wall above both shoulders, I banged my forehead on the wall. A hand on my shoulder made me spin around with fists raised. It was Jenna. I dropped my hands to my sides.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"I can't take it anymore."

"Sure you can."

"Can you?"

Jenna's eyes widened. "Me? What do you mean?"

"I need you to be on my side."

"I am."

"No you're not. You think everything will be back to normal. Normal for who? You? Your family owns this damn town. You're a Wayne. You'll never leave."

"You're talking crazy. You're scaring me."

"Maybe I'm seeing you for the first time," I said.

"What does that mean?"

"I, I need you to, to be on my side."

"I am."

"No you're not. You're a Wayne."

"That's the second time you said that. What does that mean?"

I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what I meant. All I knew was that I needed her to stand up for me and she wasn't. My world was upside down.

"Tell me," she said, "what did you mean?"

About to answer, I looked over Jenna's shoulder to see two boys sprinting toward us. They slowed down and one said, "Masters, they want you back in the cafeteria."

"Leave me alone."

They strolled toward me, shoulder to shoulder. "Now!" the other one yelled.

Both charged.

A shoulder plowed into my belly. I flew backwards, landing on the floor with the back of my head slamming into the linoleum. The boys punched me. Jenna screamed for them to stop, but they kept pounding me. Then one was pulled off. I shoved the other one aside and saw Joe Birch wrestling with the first one. I turned to the second one and released all my anger. Blow after blow battered his face, my knuckles hitting soft skin and the hard bone beneath it, sometimes getting scraped on teeth.

A tap on my shoulder caused me to spin around with my fist raised. Joe backed up with hands in the air, palms facing me. "I'm on your side, dude."

I turned to look at Jenna. She stood with her hands at her mouth, her eyes wide. I reached out to her with a bloodied hand. She watched it approach and then turned and raced away.

"Jenna! Jenna!"

She didn't stop.

"Let's get out of here," Joe said. He placed a hand on my shoulder. I shrugged it off. "Dude, we better go."

"I need to talk to her."

"Later. Now we need to get out of here."

The two boys lay at my feet, writhing and moaning. Joe looked up and down the hallway. I nodded and trotted after him when he headed for the exit.

When we were a block away from the school, I stopped and sat on the ground leaning against a tree. Joe waited while I dialed Jenna's cell phone. It rang and rang. I hung up and sent her a text. Staring at the screen, I waited until the image faded. I tapped it and waited again. It faded without getting an answer. I shoved the phone into my pocket and crossed my arms.

"Life sucks, don't it?" Joe said.

I didn't answer. My chin was pressed to my chest, my eyes closed, and my head throbbing. Jenna and I had never fought before. Not once. Did I lose her? I had acted like a jerk. I dialed her again. Still no answer.

"I need to go back," I said.

"Dude, you should wait until things cool down."

"I can't wait. I need to talk to Jenna."

"I'm gonna hang out here. Not going back today."

I jumped to my feet and held my hand out. "Thanks." Joe shook it. I winced and looked at my bloodied knuckles, opening and closing my fingers.

"Yeah, you hit that kid really hard," Joe said. "Good thing I was there to stop you."

I gave him a half smile and nodded, and then I trotted back to the school. Once inside, I searched for Jenna, peeking through the window of each door I came to until I spotted her. I waved, but she didn't see me so I opened the door. The teacher stopped talking and looked at me. All the kids turned my way and gawked.

"What do you want?" the teacher said.

"I need to talk to Jenna."

"You can't disrupt my class. You'll have to wait."

"I can't. It's important."

The teacher said to a boy sitting in the front desk, "Steve, get Mr. Fargo."

He bolted from his seat. I leaned to the side as he ran past me and then I walked toward Jenna. A boy leapt out from behind his desk to block my way.

"Marcus, sit down!" the teacher said.

When the boy did, I walked up to Jenna. "We have to talk." She didn't answer. "Jenna, please." Still no answer.

"I think you better leave," the teacher said. "You've caused enough trouble."

I turned and looked at the teacher. It was Mrs. Dudley. I had her the previous year. I hadn't even noticed who she was.

"I'm not leaving until—"

Mr. Fargo stormed into the classroom. He fell back against the door jamb, huffing and puffing. Then he said, "Mr. Masters, come with me." When I didn't move, he said, "Right now, mister!"

I looked down at Jenna. Her eyes were burning a hole in her desk. I turned and walked up to Mr. Fargo. As we were leaving the classroom, I said over my shoulder, "Mrs. Dudley, I'm sorry."

Nothing was said while I followed the assistant principal through the empty halls. He ushered me into his office and sat behind his desk. I stood at the doorway. He made his fingers into a steeple and pressed the fingertips to his chin while studying me.

"I was going to call the police," he said.

I shrugged.

"Miss Wayne saved you. She told me the other boys started it. That they attacked you."

I took a step into the room. "Jenna stood up for me?"

"Is that what happened?"

"Yeah. They started it."

"That's why you're not going to jail. But I warned you about fighting. You and Mr. Birch are suspended for a week."

"Joe only helped me."

"Doesn't matter."

"How about the other two?"

"Don't you worry about them. That doesn't concern you. Your mother will need to pick you up."

"She can't. She's working."

"You should have thought of that before—"

"For how long? When does the suspension end?"

"A week. You can return Monday, a week from today."

"Okay, I'll be back next Monday."

I turned and fled the office.

"Come back," Mr. Fargo shouted after me. "You can't leave without a parent."

Ignoring him, I ran through the hallways and out of the school. I didn't stop until I was in front of my house. Tires screeched behind me. I spun around. My mother jumped out of her car and slammed the door shut.

"What's going on? Cory, what's the matter with you?"

I shrugged.

"Mr. Fargo called me at work. He said you were fighting. That you are suspended. And you ran out of school even though he told you you couldn't. What's the matter with you?"

"I didn't start it."

"You never got into fights before." My mother was toe to toe with me now.

"Things were different before—"

"Before Dad's problem? That's what you were going to say. Isn't it?"

I shrugged.

"You're making it worse by fighting. It's hard for me too, but the way you're behaving makes it worse. Don't you understand? Why are you acting like this?"

"I didn't start it."

"That's no excuse. You should have walked away."

"I couldn't."

"Why? Your pride? I've swallowed my pride. Why can't you?"

"I couldn't walk away. They tackled me and started hitting me."

"That can't be. Why would you be in trouble if you were defending yourself?"

"Go ask Fargo. He has it in for me. He was going to call the cops, but didn't because Jenna told him they threw the first punch."

"Jenna? You were with her? Didn't I tell you not to see her again? That only makes it worse."

"I love her."

"You're too young to know what love is. I don't want you to see her ever again. Her family is trouble."

"She's not like her family."

My mother took a deep breath and let the air out slowly. She did it again. In a calmer voice, she said, "I know she's not. But her father. He'll make it even harder on us. Don't you understand? We have to live in this town."

"It doesn't matter. We had a fight. She's not talking to me. So you got your wish."

My mother pulled me to her by my shoulders and then wrapped her arms around me. "Cory, we have to be strong. We only have each other. When the trial is over everything will be back to normal."

That's what Jenna had said.

"Mom, do you really believe that? Do you think it will ever be like it was?"

She put her hands on my shoulders and stood at arm's length. "We'll see."

My mother returned to work and I went to my bedroom. I plopped on my bed with my back on the headboard and my knees up. The phone was in my hand. I sent Jenna a text and waited. And waited. She hated me. I lost the only girl I would ever love.

 

CHAPTER 6

The morning sunlight streaming through a gap between my bedroom windowsill and the bottom of the shade zeroed in on my closed eyes. Rolling over, I yanked the cover over my head. But before I wiggled to a comfortable position, my eyes popped open and I sprang up to look at the clock. My mother hadn't woken me. I guess she didn't have to since I was suspended from school. Or maybe she still wasn't talking to me.

Dinner the night before hadn't been enjoyable. Who was I kidding? It was a disaster. My mother didn't understand what I was going through. First Jenna wasn't on my side and now my mother. We had argued and yelled and slammed our hands on the table until a glass toppled over and rolled off. It shattered. One more round of shouting had followed before we stopped talking, not looking at each other as we finished eating in silence.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed. After succumbing to a single yawn with my arms stretched to the sides and my fingers extended and apart, I got ready for the day. It was time. My mother kept the coffee cups upside down in the kitchen cabinet claiming it kept them free of dust. One by one, I moved the front row onto the countertop. Then I lifted the cup in the back left corner. There they were. My father's car keys and my mother's spare car keys. I grabbed my mother's since my father's car was in the shop.

After putting the cabinet back in order, I hopped on my bike and rode through the streets. A quick glance at my watch caused me to pedal faster. My thigh muscles burned as they pumped up and down, but the breeze blowing my hair off my forehead evaporated the sweat. It was early so most people were at work or school. I smiled when I saw Mr. Weaver's German Shephard pulling him down the street. The old man tugged on the leash as the large dog strained to run. Mr. Weaver raised his hand halfway up before recognizing me. Hauling it back down, he looked away. I leaned forward over the handlebars and, with my butt in the air, peddled faster.

When I reached the building where my mother worked, I chained my bike to a tree and headed to where the employees parked in the rear. I strolled to my mother's car pretending I was doing no wrong, but my heart pounded as my tongue searched the inside of my mouth for any moisture at all. Standing at the side of her car, I looked left and then right and then left again before opening the door and ducking inside. It started on the first try. Throwing it into drive, I weaved through the parking lot until the front bumper was at the street. I gunned it.

I was halfway to my destination when I saw the flashing police lights in the rear view mirror. "Damn! Damn! Damn!" I said while punching my thigh. The car lurched forward when I pressed down on the gas pedal. How stupid it would be to try to outrun a cop car. I eased up on the pedal and coasted to the side of the road where I waited with my fingers clenched around the steering wheel. If last night's dinner was bad, tonight's was going to be hell.

The police car zoomed past me.

I watched until the blinking red and blue lights disappeared in the horizon. Only then did I pull back onto the road. From that point on, I must have checked the speedometer every few minutes.

A crooked smile crossed my face as I approached the two bullet-ridden signs on the side of the road. It wasn't the "Welcome to Woodland" one, even though the little round bullet holes didn't seem welcoming. It was the second one, the one that said, "No shooting within city limits."

Woodland wasn't much better than Waynetown.

My heart sank when I saw the turn-off sign to the prison. What was it really like for my father? He wouldn't say, but by the look of him it wasn't good. I continued on the road until a lower speed limit sign signaled that I was in town. With one eye on the speedometer and the other on the road, I continued on to the courthouse.

Even a small, backward town like Woodland had security scanners at the entrance to the court building. Then again, they had invested so much to build the prison it made sense. Although getting its start in the timber industry like its neighboring communities, Woodland's fate was to be a prison town.

After stepping through the scanners and collecting my keys and loose change from the tray, I strolled through the tile floor lobby. The room was massive. For such a small town, they sure built a huge prison and court building.

When I entered the courtroom slated for my father's trial, I paused just inside. It wasn't packed. Quite the contrary, other than the court employees busy on the other side of the gate that separated the gallery from the proceedings, it was rather empty. Two men in business suits stood in one rear corner. They stopped talking to glance at me and then resumed. A man wearing a press badge sat against the wall, slumped down, pecking away on his iPhone. The only other person in the gallery was Mrs. Wayne who was sitting in the front row. Where was her husband?

I plopped down in an aisle seat two rows from the back. The reporter peered at me over his glasses before returning to his phone. The jury was already seated. Six men and two women, none of whom were from Waynetown. My father would get a fair trial and be cleared. For the first time in longer than I could remember, hope filled me.

My father, dressed in the navy suit and light blue tie he wore at weddings and other special occasions, entered through a side door, escorted by an officer of the court. I shrunk down in my seat, but he never looked at the gallery. His eyes were locked on the jury. One of the men who had been conversing in the back flew by me, his left arm swinging and the leather briefcase in his right hand banging against the side of his leg. He slid to a stop and swung the gate open. He joined my father at the desk on the left side of the room and shook his hand. Both sat. My father whispered something to the man who I assumed was his court appointed attorney. The lawyer, who didn't look much older than me, dismissed my father with a raised hand and a shake of his head.

Someone stepped up to the front of the big mahogany desk sitting on a platform and said, "All rise."

My father's attorney jumped to his feet. My father got up slower. The man sitting at the other table also stood up. When Mrs. Wayne and the man with the press badge stood, I did as well. Glancing over my shoulder, I noticed the man my father's attorney had been talking to had left.

A man with white hair and round, metal wired glasses wearing a long black robe entered from a back door. The judge took the single step onto the platform and sat behind the mahogany desk. He said, "Be seated."

Everyone sat down.

"Mr. Pernski, is the defense ready?" the judge asked.

My father's attorney jumped to his feet again. "Yes, Your Honor."

The judge pursed his lips and I saw a slight side to side movement of his head. He looked at the other table. "And the prosecution?"

"We are."

"Then let's begin. Mr. Waglin, opening remarks please."

The prosecuting attorney straightened some papers on his desk and stood. He walked slowly toward the jury box. All eyes were on him. Now standing in front of the jury, he said, "First, thank you all for taking time out of your busy schedules to see that justice is served. This country was founded by men and women just like you who were called upon to serve justice."

Men and women. Didn't he attend the same classes I had? Women? Not in the founding fathers' days. Women couldn't vote and surly not sit on a jury. What other lies was he going to spin?

"You will hear testimony about an evil man who stole from almost every soul in an entire town." There was a pause. Several jury members leaned forward. "He was responsible for the people's pension fund, money they all depended on to retire and to live off of when they did retire. He not only stole their money, he stole their futures."

After another pause, with even more jurists leaning forward, he said, "Those good townsfolks are expecting justice and you're the ones to provide it. Thank you."

The prosecutor walked back to his desk as slowly as he had approached the jury box. After he sat down, the judge looked at my father's table and said, "Mr. Pernski, your turn."

The court appointed attorney pushed his chair back. Several jurists cringed at the scraping sound the chair made. As he stood, he knocked a pad off the desk. A few men in the jury box chuckled as he stooped to pick it up. He finally made his way to the front of the jury.

Reading from his pad, he said, "My client is innocent. The charges are false. To have justice served you must find him not guilty. Thank you."

He turned and walked back to his table. My father covered his face with his hands and shook his head. Many in the jury box looked at each other. That was all he had to say? My father leaned next to Mr. Pernski to say something, but was dismissed once again with a raised hand and a shaking head.

"Mr. Waglin," the judge said, "call your first witness."

"The State calls Constance Huggins."

I had known Mrs. Huggins my entire life. A sweet old lady who had always been kind to me. She walked through a side door wearing a frumpy white dress with black polka dots and stared at my father until placing her hand on the Bible to be sworn in. Then she was seated in the witness chair.

"Do you know the defendant?" the prosecutor asked.

"Yes."

"How do you know him?"

"I worked for him."

"Then did you have access to the pension fund?"

"No."

"No? In what capacity did you work for him?"

"I'm a bookkeeper. I keep the books."

The prosecutor turned to face the jury while asking the next question. "Did you discover a problem with the books?" When she didn't respond, he turned back toward her. "Mrs. Huggins, did you discover a discrepancy with the books?"

"Yes."

"Will you elaborate?"

"Money was missing from the pension fund."

"And no one else had access to the fund?"

"No, that was Pete's, um, Mr. Masters' job. He managed the fund."

The prosecutor looked up at the judge. "No more questions."

"Cross exam?" the judge asked my father's attorney.

The man placed both hands flat on the desk and half stood. "No, Your Honor."

My father tugged on his attorney's suit jacket sleeve. Mr. Pernski shook his head and tried to pull free, but this time my father didn't stop until his lawyer leaned over. My father whispered something in his ear.

The judge placed an elbow on his desk and cradled the side of his face on his upturned palm. "Is there a problem, Counselor?"

"No. No, but I do have one question."

"Well make up your mind. Go ahead."

The attorney walked up to the witness stand. "Mrs. Higgins—"

"Huggins."

"Huh?"

"My last name is Huggins."

"Oh, sorry. Mrs. Huggins, you said only the defendant had access to the pension fund."

"Yes."

"Didn't Rufus Wayne also have access?"

"He owns the company."

"That's not what I asked. Did he have access to the pension fund?"

"He has access to everything. He owns the company. But he—"

"That's all. No more questions." Mr. Pernski returned to his seat.

The judge excused Mrs. Huggins and then turned to the prosecutor. "Next witness."

Mr. Waglin stood up. "The State calls Rufus Wayne IV."

Jenna's father strutted through the same door Mrs. Huggins left through. He wore a tailored suit that could not have been purchased in a local Waynetown store. He might have bought it mail order, but more likely had it custom made on one of his business trips. He took a lot of those trips.

After he was sworn in and seated, Mr. Waglin asked, "Mr. Wayne, what position do you hold?"

"I'm mayor of Waynetown."

"I mean at the Wayne Lumber Company."

"Oh. I'm the owner and CEO."

"And does the defendant work for you?"

"He used to."

A few jurists chuckled. The judge tapped his gavel on his desk and glared at them so they quieted. My fingers curled into fists. I wanted to run up there and punch Jenna's father.

"So Mr. Masters reported to you?"

"Yes."

"You hired him?"

"My father did."

"What were the defendant's responsibilities."

"He handled the financial aspects of the company. He was the CFO."

"Chief Financial Officer?"

"Yes."

"Was one of his responsibilities managing the company's pension fund?"

"Yes."

"Was he the only one who had access?"

"Yes."

The prosecutor strolled to his desk and picked up a bottle of water. After twisting the cap off, he took a sip. He turned back to the witness stand.

"How did you learn of a shortage in the fund?"

"Constance told me."

"Mrs. Huggins?"

"Yes."

"What did you do when you found out?"

"First I didn't believe it. But Constance showed me the numbers so I hired an investigator."

"What's the investigator's name?"

"Lowery Merkins."

"Were you satisfied with his findings?"

"Satisfied?"

"Did you concur? Did you believe what he uncovered?"

"Yes. He was very thorough."

"One last question, Mayor Wayne. Will the Wayne Lumber Company be able to pay everyone their full pensions?"

"Only if he," Rufus Wayne pointed a finger at my father, "returns what he stole."

Mr. Pernski jumped up from his chair. "Objection! It has not been proven that my client stole any money."

"Objection sustained," the judge said. He turned to the witness chair. "Only answer the questions asked."

"Sorry, Judge."

"No more questions," the prosecutor said.

The judge looked at the defendant's table. "Counselor, your witness."

My father held onto Mr. Pernski's arm as he whispered in his ear. The attorney tried to get up several times, but my father didn't let go.

"Whenever you're ready," the judge said. "You should have prepared before we began."

Mr. Pernski shrugged out of my father's grasp. "Sorry, Your Honor." He raced up to the witness stand.

"Mr. Wayne, was Mr. Masters a good employee?"

"Yes, until…"

My father's attorney waited and then said, "Until what?"

"Until he stole from the pension fund."

The attorney looked at the judge. "Your Honor, please tell the witness to only answer what's asked."

"He did answer what you asked."

Turning back to the witness, Mr. Pernski said, "Wasn't Mr. Masters such a good employee that you sent him and his family on a paid trip to the Cayman Islands?"

"Yes."

"What was that reward for?"

"He worked out the financial details of a major deal. He made the company a lot of money."

"So he was qualified for his job?"

"Yes. Pete was great at financial deals. He was a whiz at numbers. Could make good things look great and bad things look good."

"Mrs. Huggins said you have access to the pension fund."

"I guess I have access to everything."

"Guess? Don't you know?"

"I'm not the financial whiz Pete is." He chuckled.

"What's so funny?"

"I was being kind to myself. But since I'm under oath I guess I have to admit I couldn't tell the difference between the pension fund and the payroll."

Most of the jurists giggled. The judge raised his gavel, but laid it back on his desk when they quieted down on their own.

Mr. Pernski looked down, then over his shoulder at my father, and then at the judge. "No more questions."

Jenna's father left the courtroom and then the judge said to the prosecutor, "Next witness."

"The State calls Lowery Merkins."

That was someone I didn't know. Not from Waynetown. I scooted to the edge of my seat. The reporter sat up and all eyes were on the door leading to the witness room. Soon a man emerged wearing a light blue, short sleeve shirt with navy pants. The collar button of his shirt was open and the sleeves clung to his bulging biceps. He was tan with blonde hair dangling over one eyebrow. The private investigator was sworn in and took a seat in the witness box.

The prosecutor walked up to the witness stand. "Mr. Merkins, who do you work for?"

"Merkins Investigation."

"You were hired by the Wayne Lumber Company?"

"Yes."

"To do what?"

"Mr. Wayne hired me to investigate a discrepancy in the books concerning the company's pension fund. He said there was a shortage."

"Excuse me, but when I think of a private investigator I think of an ex-cop who carries a gun and knows kung fu."

"I was an FBI agent."

"But what does that have to do with a pension fund?"

"The FBI requires a four year college degree for its agents. I have a Masters in Finance. A lot of my cases at the FBI involved organized crime and money laundering."

"Oh, then—" Merkins raised his hand. "Yes?"

"I also carry a gun and know kung fu."

Everyone in the courtroom chuckled, even me.

"Then I better not get you mad at me," Mr. Waglin said. Another round of laughter. "But back to why we're here. What did you find when investigating the pension fund at the Wayne Lumber Company?"

"I saw that money was missing, but at first couldn't find where it went. The person who did it was a financial whiz."

My breathing stopped. That was the same way Jenna's father described my father.

"So I dug deeper," the investigator continued. "If I hadn't been involved with money laundering I doubt I would have caught it. Money was moved from place to place, most of it to legit places. But then I found money sent to a bank account in the Cayman Islands. When I asked Mr. Wayne if his business had any banks there, he said absolutely not. All their banking was done in the U.S."

"Did you say the Cayman Islands?"

"Yes."

"What was the date of the first transfer?"

"April, two years ago. I'd have to check my notes if you want the exact date."

"No, no, that's not necessary. Go on."

"Once I found that, I saw the technique used. I then found other transfers to the Cayman Islands bank as well as a Swiss bank. I must have only scratched the surface, though. There was much more missing than what I found in those two banks."

The prosecutor paced in front of the jury box with his back to the witness. He turned and asked, "Who are those bank accounts registered to?"

"Peter Masters."

My father jumped up from his seat. "Liar! That's a damn lie!"

The judge banged his gavel several times. "I will not tolerate that kind of outburst in my court. Mr. Masters, sit down and be quiet."

"But he's lying."

"I said sit down! If I tell you again you'll be in contempt."

My father sat, but his back was straight and away from the seat as he leaned forward. All of the jury members were staring at him. The reporter was furiously writing on a notepad.

"No more questions," Mr. Waglin said before sitting down.

"Your witness," the judge said to Mr. Pernski.

My father's attorney looked back and forth between the witness and jury. At least half the jury was leaning forward in their seats. For the first time, none seemed bored. He walked up to the witness box.

"Mr. Merkins, why didn't you find all the missing money?"

"The embezzler is good. But I'll find it with more time."

"So the embezzler is smarter than you?"

"Not at all. It's easier to hide it than find it."

"There's no proof the bank accounts are my client's, right?"

"They're in his name."

"But someone else could have set up those accounts, right?"

"Sure, but why? And the signature on the signature card matches Mr. Masters' signature."

"You're a signature expert?"

"No, but I had one I know in the Bureau analyze it. It's his findings. I have his report in writing."

"Why would the FBI help you?"

"Well, other than the fact that I know the guy, this falls under racketeering which is a federal crime. When I told him what was going on, he was interested, and not as a friend."

"But you cannot be one hundred percent certain my client opened those accounts, right?"

"No, not one hundred percent."

Mr. Pernski looked at the judge. "I'm finished with this witness."

Mr. Waglin jumped up. "Your Honor, I have one more question for Mr. Merkins."

"Go ahead."

While leaning over his desk, the prosecutor said, "One more time. When was the Cayman Islands account opened?"

"April, two years ago."

"Thank you. No more questions."

The judge said to the witness, "You're dismissed."

"Your Honor," Mr. Waglin said, "I'd like to recall Rufus Wayne."

Jenna's father and the investigator changed places. Once seated, Mr. Waglin asked Jenna's father, "Mayor Wayne, when did you say you sent the Masters family on a trip to the Cayman Islands?"

"Um, two years ago. I know because that's just after we closed the Woodbridge deal. In the spring. April."

"So April, two years ago?"

"Yes."

Mr. Waglin looked at the judge. "The prosecution rests, Your Honor."

The judge waited for Jenna's father to leave. He glanced at the clock on the wall and said, "One and a half hours for lunch. Then the defense will call its first witness." He turned to the jury. "As you've been instructed, do not discuss any of this with each other or anyone else. Have a good lunch, everyone."

I slipped out of the courtroom before my father had a chance to see me.

 

CHAPTER 7

I stood in the hallway outside the courtroom, shifting from foot to foot. What was I going to do for one and a half hours? My grumbling stomach suggested lunch. I counted the change in my pocket and checked my wallet. Not much money.

A hand touched my shoulder. I jumped and spun around.

Mrs. Wayne stood there studying me. "What are you doing here? Why aren't you in school?"

"Jenna didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

I took a few steps back, gawking. My eyes darted left and right, and then I turned and sprinted toward the building's main entrance. The squeaking of my sneakers on the tile floor sounded so loud. As I approached the front doors, a security guard eyeballed me so I slowed to a walk. As I exited, I peeked over my shoulder. He was still watching.

Once outside, I scurried away from the building not knowing if Mrs. Wayne was following. Would she tell my mother? How much trouble was I going to be in? Those thoughts filled my mind as I trotted on the sidewalk until a red blinking don't walk sign stopped me. Catching my breath, I noticed a man standing next to a shiny metal cart with wheels and a large umbrella.

I gobbled down a hot dog with sauerkraut. It was good, and cheap. I bought another, this time savoring the taste as I ate. Then I aimlessly strolled through the streets gazing in store windows as my mind replayed my father's trial. His attorney was a jerk. Who would he call as a witness to help clear my father?

Only my father had access to the pension fund. The prosecutor made that clear. So who stole the money? Not my father. He had sworn to me that he didn't do it and he wouldn't lie. Not to me. Leaning against a building with my knee bent and the sole of my sneaker flat on the wall, I contemplated that. If not my father, then who? No one else had access.

Checking my watch, I gasped and pushed off the wall. It was late. All of a sudden an hour and a half wasn't so long. I rushed back to the courthouse and, when I went through security, the same guard who had seen me running earlier eyeballed me. I was stuffing the change and car keys back into my pocket when he came over.

"Do you have business here?" he asked.

"Yes."

"What kind of business would a kid have?"

"My father is on trial." I glanced at my watch. "I need to get there. The judge only gave us an hour and a half for lunch."

He scowled, but nodded. "Go on, judges don't like you being late. They're late all the time, but they don't like it when anyone else is." He chuckled. "Get."

I rushed back to the courtroom. The same people were sitting in the same places. I hurried and took the seat I had been in earlier and looked at my watch. I was a few minutes late. The round clock on the wall above the door confirmed it. The security guard was right about judges.

The man with a press badge clasped his fingers and turned his palms outward. His knuckles cracked as he extended his arms. Then he glanced around the room until his eyes settled on me. He moseyed over.

"What's your business here?" he asked.

"I'm allowed to be here."

"I wasn't implying you weren't. It's a public trial. Just wondering why you're here. Why would a kid watch a trial? And why aren't you in school?"

I shrugged.

"Look, I'm just curious," he said. "Comes with the job. So tell me, what's your interest in this trial?"

"What's yours?"

"I work for the Woodland News. My editor assigned it to me." He placed a hand on the back of my bench and leaned over me. "So now that I told you why I'm here, why are you here?"

I noticed Mrs. Wayne twisted around in her seat looking at us. She stood up. I wanted to run, but the man blocked me. She walked up to us and tapped the man on his shoulder. He straightened up.

"What do you want with this child?" Jenna's mother asked him.

"Who are you?"

"I know him. He's friends with my daughter."

"So you're not his mother?"

"I'm asking you again, what do you want with this boy?"

"Look, lady, I'm just curious. That's all."

"I'd appreciate it if you'd go back to your seat and do whatever you do. Leave this boy alone or I'll call the guard and tell him you're bothering a minor."

The newspaper man held his hands up in front of his chest and leaned back. "No problem, lady." He returned to his seat.

Mrs. Wayne squeezed through the space between my knees and the back of the bench in front of me. She sat down next to me and placed a hand on my forearm.

"Do you think you should be here?" she asked.

I shrugged.

"Cory, that's no answer."

"Yeah, it didn't work with that guy either," I said, thrusting a thumb toward the newspaper man who was once again clicking away on his iPhone.

Mrs. Wayne smiled. "That doesn't stop you kids from doing it, though."

It was my turn to smile. "I needed to be here. For my father."

She patted my arm. "That's sweet. But maybe you shouldn't hear what they're saying about your, um, about the case."

I shrugged again without thinking. My eyes dropped to my lap and then back up. "Sorry. Habit."

"Why aren't you in school?"

"I'm suspended."

"Suspended? Oh my lord, what did you do?"

"Nothing. Two boys jumped me. I fought back. A friend helped me, but we two got suspended for fighting."

"But they started it."

"Tell that to the judge." I chuckled and so did she. "I mean Mr. Fargo. He has it in for me."

"Because of your dad?"

This time I caught myself and stopped the shrug just as it started. I nodded and looked down.

"I think I'll have a talk with Mr. Fargo," she said.

My head shot up. "You'd do that for me?"

"Why not?"

I looked down again. "'Cause your husband doesn't like me."

She patted my arm again. "Well, I like you. And Jenna likes you."

I looked up and smiled. She returned it. We both turned to the front as the jury strolled in and was seated. I thought Mrs. Wayne would return to her seat, but she stayed next to me. Then my father was led into the room and sat at the defense table. Both attorneys were already seated.

The same man as earlier walked in front of the mahogany desk and faced us. "All rise."

After we did, the judge entered and took his seat behind the desk. We sat down when instructed.

"Mr. Pernski, call your first witness."

"I only have one, Your Honor. The Defense calls Peter Masters."

No other witnesses?

I whispered to Mrs. Wayne, "Do you think my father's lawyer knows what he's doing?"

She stared at me. Her eyes looked sad. "I'm afraid not."

"Then what will happen?"

"Shh, we can't talk now."

My father was being sworn in. When he sat down, he looked around the gallery for the first time and spotted me. Halfway out of his seat, his attention was redirected to his approaching attorney.

"Mr. Masters," Mr. Pernski said, "how long have you worked for the Wayne Lumber Company?"

My father settled back in his chair. "Over twenty years."

"What was your responsibility?"

"I handled all of their financial matters."

"That's a lot of responsibility."

"Yes."

"You were hired by the current owner's father. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Did you like working for him?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"He was like a father to me."

"Did he ever tell you why he—? Scratch that. Did he give you feedback on your performance?"

"Yes. He said I did my job very well and he trusted me."

"He told you he trusted you?"

"Yes."

"Do you like working for his son?"

My father squirmed. His eyes met mine and then moved to Mrs. Wayne. "Not really."

"Why?"

"I don't trust him."

"Why not?"

"Some of his business dealings were questionable. Sometimes I refused to do what he told me to do."

"You worked for him. Why would you refuse?"

"I had a legal obligation and some of the stuff he wanted me to do wasn't on the up and up."

"Illegal?"

"Let's say questionable."

"Did he punish you?"

"No, not really. We had arguments, but that's about all."

"But he thought you did a good enough job. He even rewarded you by sending you and your family on an all expenses paid trip to the Cayman's Islands."

"Yes, once."

"Did you think it odd?"

"Let's say surprised."

The court appointed defense attorney paused before asking, "Part of your responsibilities included managing the pension fund, right?"

"Yes."

"Was that new?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, did you do it when you worked for Mayor Wayne's father?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Masters, please take your time answering this next question. Did you ever open a bank account in the Cayman Islands?"

"No!"

"Did you ever open a bank account in Switzerland?"

"No."

"Did you steal money from the pension fund?"

My father looked at the jury. "No. I did not."

Mr. Pernski said to the judge, "No more questions."

The judge turned to the prosecutor. "Your witness."

"While Mr. Waglin was walking toward my father with his hands clasped behind his back, he said, "So you didn't like your boss."

"We had our differences."

"Did any of it have to do with your son?"

"Cory? No. Of course not."

"Your son likes Mr. Wayne's daughter."

"So?"

Mr. Pernski jumped out of his chair. "I object! What does that have to do with the charges?"

The judge looked at Mr. Waglin. "Where are you going with this?"

"Motive, Your Honor."

The judge was silent for a moment and then said, "Overruled. Go on."

"Does Mr. Wayne like your son?"

"I wouldn't know."

"Really? Does he think your son is good enough for his daughter?"

"Probably not. I don't think he thinks anyone in Waynetown is good enough."

"So you'd want to get even with him?"

"No! That's absurd. Anyway, the pension fund isn't his money."

"Can you afford everything you want?"

"Can you?"

"I'm asking the questions. What would you like that you can't afford?"

"A better lawyer."

Most in the jury chuckled so the judge pounded his gavel once. They quieted.

"Mr. Masters, other than your legal representation, do you have enough money to buy whatever you want?"

"I have enough to live comfortably. I don't need any more."

"What about your son's college. Can you afford the tuition?"

"He'll probably get a baseball scholarship."

"And if he doesn't?"

"I'll manage."

"With money you stole from the pension fund."

Mr. Pernski slapped the desk and jumped to his feet. "I object!"

"Sustained," the judge said. "Counselor, you know better than that." He turned to the jury. "Disregard what Mr. Waglin said."

How could they disregard it? It was said. It was in their minds. The judge couldn't erase it from their memories.

"No more questions," the prosecutor said and returned to his seat.

"Any more witnesses?" the judge asked my father's attorney.

"No, the Defense rests."

The judge turned to my father. "You're excused. Return to the defense table." He glanced at the clock on the back wall and then turned to the jury. "We ended early. There's time to deliberate. You've been given the instructions. It's your job to determine if the defendant is innocent or guilty of embezzlement. You've been given the legal definition of embezzlement. Of course you can now talk to one another about the case, and you should. That's what deliberation is all about. But use only the information and testimony presented here. No personal judgements or opinions. Go into the jury room now. When you come to a decision, notify the clerk."

That was a preview of Last Kiss. To read the rest purchase the book.

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