Chapter 12
Allison
“Tell them I’m fine, Mac,” says Luke, walking from the courthouse with his phone against his ear. “I’ll be addressing them soon. Practice remains the same today, just like we planned. And work in Montez on the double plays. Okay? Yes, Mac, I’m fine. Back to you soon.”
The young prosecutor asked the judge to detain Luke but didn’t put up much of a fight.
Luke has no criminal record. He is anything but a flight risk, considering he’s about to start a new baseball season where his team will defend its conference championship and is widely expected to return to the College World Series.
I laid his baseball success on pretty thick with the judge, even mentioned that he was a child superstar destined for greatness as a pitcher before a drunk driver hit him and ended that dream.
I saw a glint of recognition in the judge’s eyes, even a knowing nod.
I’m guessing she read the New York Times article about Luke last summer.
Good news, he got released, I text Grayson, whom I promised to keep updated. I will call later. He replies quickly: Tell him I’m thinking about him.
In the car, Finley driving and Luke and me in the back seat, my brother sits up straight and turns to me. “If you say I-told-ya-so, I’m jumping out of this car.”
“I won’t,” I say. “But I did.”
“There’s no way Trinity’s involved in drugs.
So she sometimes drives down to see her brother on the one day a week that her studio is closed, which happens to be a Monday.
That makes her a pill pusher. And she runs a ‘gym,’ which according to you is a front for drug dealing.
Have you seen her place? It’s a bunch of women doing yoga and Pilates.
You think they’re selling heroin out the back door? ”
“That’s pretty hard to believe, I gotta say,” Finley adds from the front.
“Argue all you want, both of you,” I say. “But I was right, wasn’t I?”
“No, you weren’t right,” says Luke.
“No?” I throw up my hands. “The pills just magically appeared in the trunk of her car? Don’t be a fool, Smiles.”
He doesn’t like that nickname. It doesn’t stand for what you’d expect.
“So how’d the drugs get there?” I ask. “It wasn’t you. That leaves Trinity or Max, her twice-convicted drug dealer of a brother. You do the math.”
His head falls back against the cushion.
“Can’t imagine that Trinity deals drugs,” says Finley.
“No?” I snap, harsher than I meant. “You’re an expert on Trinity all of a sudden?”
“No, but she—she runs a business. She’s a respectable—”
“Small business owners have more financial struggles than most people,” I say. “And I’m not suggesting she ‘sells heroin out the back door.’ I’m saying she gets an occasional package and simply drives it down to her brother, who does the rest. Or better yet, has Luke do it—”
“That’s enough!” Luke says.
I tap his leg. “Whose idea was it that you drive those clothes down to Max?”
He takes a long breath before he answers. “It was my idea.”
“Sure about that?” I ask. “You sure Trinity didn’t toss the idea out for you to bite? And then, when you took the bait, she batted her pretty eyes and acted all reluctant? ‘Oh, gee, Luke, you don’t have to do that—sure you don’t mind? You’re such a sweetie!’ Nothing like that?”
“You mean did she play me?” he says. “No, she didn’t play me.”
“I think you’re way off base, Allison,” says Finley.
How nice of Finley to be defending poor Trinity! Why am I not surprised?
“Then tell me, Fin,” I say, “since you know more about the law than me. Who’s a jury most likely to believe put those drugs in the car—Trinity, Max, or the Tooth Fairy?”
“Hey.” He glances back at me, wounded. “I’m just telling you what I think is likely and what isn’t. Don’t make me the villain.”
No, you did that all by yourself, Fin. I push down that response, count to five, and look at my brother.
“Your opinion, and Fin’s opinion, and my opinion are beside the point.
So is the truth, for that matter. All that matters is what a jury will believe.
And if we don’t give them an alternate suspect, they’ll assume you’re guilty. ”
He shakes his head. “Trinity had nothing to do with this, and I won’t let you say she did. I don’t want you talking to her, either. Don’t contact her.”
I let out a laugh, not a happy one. “You’re blind, Smiles. You want in her pants so bad that you can’t see what’s right in front of you. And normally, I wouldn’t say a word. But your unrequited puppy love for Trinity Casto is about to cost you everything.”
He bites a nail, looks out the window. “ ‘Unrequited.’ Aren’t you the scholar.”
“And by the way, you’re welcome for keeping you out of jail.”
As we’re about to reach Luke’s house, I remind him, “You need to call Denise,” meaning Denise Schwartz, Mortimer’s athletic director.
“I know I need to call Denise,” he says. “You didn’t need to tell me that. Not that it will matter. She’ll have my back. It’s not Denise I’m worried about. It’s Crisham.”
That’s a story right there. Mortimer’s new chancellor, Elias Crisham, wants someone else to be the baseball coach—Crisham’s best friend and former college roommate.
When he arrived two years ago, Crisham tried to get Luke to dump his assistant coach, Alan McIntyre, and hire Crisham’s buddy, touting him as a former major leaguer (though he only played a few games in the big leagues).
Luke refused—he adores Alan—and by then he had leverage.
He had turned a doormat of a team into a powerhouse, winning back-to-back conference championships and, last year, making it to the College World Series.
Crisham knows he can’t fire Luke, but he wants his pal ready to take over if and when Luke moves on.
“This is what Crisham’s been waiting for,” says Luke. “He’ll fire me for cause. He’ll say he has no choice for the good of the school.”
“You don’t know that. We can fight. I’ll fight. We’ll take them to court.”
He doesn’t answer. This must be eating him alive. But if there is one thing Luke hates besides losing, it’s self-pity.
“I put together a statement for the press,” I say. “You had no idea there were pills in the car. You were doing a favor for a friend. You’re innocent and look forward to your day in court.”
“The press.” Luke bellows out a breath. “Alan said it’s already in the papers. Print edition and online at the Trib and Sun-Times.”
“Well, on the bright side,” I say, “Trinity’s documentary on you just got more interesting.”