Thread Of Deceit. Catherine Palmer

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СКАЧАТЬ balance, one minute the intrepid reporter and the next a silly schoolgirl oozing barbecue sauce.

      She had hoped to talk with him about the incident on the sidewalk, the memory Flora had triggered. Her motive wasn’t all charitable, Ana had to admit. Without taking up too much of her precious remaining time—she had to eat, after all—she hoped she could actually interview Sam. She wanted to find out more about his reasons for founding Haven, his interest in children, the strict military atmosphere he had created there. If she could dig out some information on Terell, even better. And she could always use more details about the lead paint.

      But instead of some quiet neighborhood coffee bar where she could question him to the soothing strains of mood music, they had entered a hectic barbecue joint crowded with customers. The shouts of the kitchen workers, the clang of ladles on white ironstone plates, the whoosh of crushed ice falling into empty glasses and the hiss of soda dispensers filled the small room. On top of all that, rhythm-and-blues music blared from a jukebox.

      “Pork, chicken or beef?” someone yelled at a customer. The questions from the cooks came rapid-fire, loud and impatient. “Shredded or sliced? Pickles on that? Onions? Potato salad, baked beans or coleslaw? Make up your mind, fella—there’s ten people behind you! You gonna take all day, or what?” There was no way Ana’s recorder would pick up any information she could use. Her hands were so sticky she couldn’t hold her pen.

      She had a sneaking suspicion Sam had planned it this way. Despite his obvious distress on the sidewalk earlier, he was too smart not to know she would try to interrogate him. He took a bite of his sliced brisket sandwich, chewed awhile and then licked a dollop of barbecue sauce from the corner of his mouth—the whole time staring at her with those blue eyes. Every time she asked him a question, he tilted his head as though he couldn’t hear—which was probably true. Then he went back to chewing and staring.

      As the crowd began to thin, the sound level decreased several decibels. “I’ve got to tell you, Haven feels like a military compound to me,” Ana said. “The dress code, the dog, the guard at the front door. Do you really need so many rules?”

      For the first time since they’d met, he smiled at her. “Rules keep people safe. You like that.”

      “How would you know what I like?”

      “I know.” He tipped up his Coke glass and drained the contents. “You like rules.”

      “You don’t know anything about me. We’ve met exactly twice, and I’m the one who interviewed you.”

      “Tell me what you know about me, then.”

      “You played college basketball, you were in the Marines, you served in Iraq, you founded Haven—”

      “That’s not who I am. That’s what I’ve done.” He leaned back. “I brought you here for a reason. Bet you didn’t know that.”

      “ I asked you to dinner.”

      “I chose the place. Thought I’d see how you like my favorite barbecue joint. You don’t. Too messy.”

      “I do like it. The food tastes fine.”

      “Yeah, but the napkins. You’ve used seventeen.”

      “You counted my napkins?”

      “No, but it’s a good guess.” He leaned across the table, his long arms on the red plastic tablecloth. Setting his index fingers on her plate, he gave it a quarter turn. “You don’t like things out of order.”

      “How do you know?”

      “When I brought your plate to you, I set it with the sandwich at the top. You turned it so the sandwich was at the bottom. When you looked away a minute ago, I turned your plate again. And you moved it back.”

      Now she was the one staring. “So I like the main item at the bottom. That doesn’t tell you anything about me.”

      “You’ve folded every one of those seventeen used napkins. Used napkins. Folded them.”

      “So what?”

      “The first time you came to Haven, you learned about our dress code. Today you have on a white shirt of your own. You’re not wearing red or blue, because you know the rules, and you follow them. You follow them, because you like them.”

      “That is so lame.”

      “You hated the towel pile. You griped about Terell’s office, but you complimented mine. It’s neat. Clean. That’s because I like rules, too.”

      “Okay, I do appreciate a certain amount of order in life,” she admitted. “That’s not unusual. And it’s not the most important thing about me.”

      “No?” He shrugged. “Then I surrender. What is the most important thing about you, Ana?”

      Now he had backed her into a corner. Clever. But Ana had escaped from many corners.

      “What’s most important about me can’t be the least bit important to you,” she said. “I’m not the issue here. Haven is. Tell me why you and Terell are so interested in these kids. In two short visits, I’ve observed a child with a bruised cheek, another hiding like a scared rabbit in a corner and a third with cerebral palsy being coerced into playing basketball. That’s enough to set off my alarm bells. What’s going on over there, Sam? What’s with all the rules? And why is Terell forever fawning over the little girls? What are you two men getting out of this?”

      “Hold on now. Fawning over little girls?” His brow furrowed. “What are you insinuating, woman? I give you access to Haven, and this is what I get in return? You’ve seen what we do. Terell and I are helping the kids. Don’t you dare write anything else.”

      Standing, she shouldered her bag. “And don’t you tell me what I can or can’t write.”

      She pushed in her chair, and started for the door. Halfway there, she swung around, stormed back to the table, grabbed the napkin and wadded it into a ball. Then she tossed it at Sam, who caught it neatly in his hand.

      She could hear him laughing as he followed her to the door.

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