Page 97 of Good Girls Lie
“If you want to keep the family jewels intact, I’d refrain from saying that aloud again, publicly or privately.”
“My mother agrees with you.”
“Your mother is here?” Tony looks over his shoulder as if he expects Jude to be standing behind him, scowling as she always does when Tony Wood is in her presence.
“She showed up in town a couple of days ago. Almost as if she could smell the crisis brewing.”
“Hmm.”
“What do you mean, ‘hmm’?”
“She have access to the keys?”
“Tony! My God. You’re out of your mind.”
“Timing’s just weird, that’s all. I didn’t know y’all were getting along.”
“We aren’t, which is why the house on the square normally stands empty and she lives full time in New York. Don’t worry. She’s conniving, but she’s not crazy. She’ll be out of here soon enough.”
“Why’d she show up now?”
“To push an endowment stipulation in my face. Someone in the alumni association thought they could get to me through her.” At his blank look, she waves a hand. “It’s irrelevant, they’re setting up a play for Goode to go coed.”
“Is that all?”
“It won’t happen. And my mother does this. I don’t talk to her for weeks and then she appears as if everything is normal and expects me to play along. She misses the school, I think. It was her life for so long.”
“And it’s not yours?”
“It is. But perhaps not in the same way.”
“That’s right. You’re getting out.”
“Would you please stop throwing that in my face?” She stands and goes to the window. She doesn’t want to be too close to him right now. Doesn’t need to have her barriers broken down. Because she could use a friend. She could use a man. Some real comfort. Some real love. Not being fucked against a wall by a handyman.
Well, that’s over.
“Sorry, Ford. Sorry. Really. Gosh, you bring out the worst in me sometimes.” He rubs a big hand over his face. “Guess I’m not as over you as I thought.”
His eyes find hers, hopeful. She can’t do this. If she opens this door again, she’s going to end up stuck in this tiny town, married to a cop, nursemaid to a bunch of spoiled rich girls, sitting down for dinner every night to hear about the gruesome car accidents and deer slaughters and meth busts that make up 90 percent of a rural sheriff’s work life. It doesn’t matter that he’s handsome and kind and crazy about her. No. No!
“Tony. You know I care about you, deeply. If I wanted to stay here, at Goode, things would be very different. But it’s unfair of me to ask you to give up your life so I can pursue my dreams.”
“I know. You’ve been clear. Hurt me a little now so you don’t break me a lot later. Still, I miss you, girl.”
She sits back down, puts her hand over his, squeezes the rough skin.
“It’s okay, Tony. We’re all stressed. We’ll get through this.”
“Right.” When she doesn’t leave any room for the conversation to continue in this vein, he tightens down again, back to business. “The shirt we took from the roommate? The fabric is a match.”
Ford sucks in a breath.
“But. The piece we have tests out as standard 100 percent cotton, could be from anything of the same weight and color. I’m willing to bet there are a hundred shirts on campus that match the fabric. Not to mention, who knows how long it’s been there? Without a perfect match and a hell of a lot of proof, it’s not something that will hold up in court. Ash’s shirt is torn, yes, but she says the shirt was a gift that she received the night of the incident. A decent defense attorney will have it struck from evidence in a heartbeat, saying the fabric was there prior to Camille going off the edge. No way to prove otherwise without more—fingerprints, DNA, something. If someone was up there with her at the same time, we need more. Right now, there’s plenty of reasonable doubt.”
“It might be circumstantial in a court of law, but she was wearing a shirt that matches with a tear in it. Is that enough for us to assume she was up there? That she’s lying to us?”
“We need more to go on. She said the shirt was a gift. If she’s telling the truth, then where did it come from? Who gave it to her? We need to run it down.”
