Read Online Easy Innocence by Libby Fischer Hellmann - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Libby Fischer Hellmann
Tags: General Fiction
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into every aspect of this heinous crime. Robby Parker, tall, blond, and smug, stood at Olson’s side, hands clasped behind his back.
So much for keeping the hazing under wraps. Now that it was out, the question of why it had been kept quiet in the first place would undoubtedly surface. Who would take the heat, Georgia wondered? Would school officials claim something about an internal investigation and wanting to be sure before they went public? Would parents admit pressuring the authorities to keep it quiet? Or would the cops and the State’s Attorney’s Office offer some half-assed explanation?
She turned off the TV. The good news was that the fact of a cover-up, however short-term or benign, could help raise reasonable doubt about Cam Jordan. She and Kelly ought to brainstorm some strategies. Maybe talk to a friendly reporter. She’d call Kelly tomorrow.
She looked around the apartment, aware she’d been alone most of the day. Too much isolation wasn’t good. She grabbed her jacket, locked her door, and went down the stairs.
The night air had a snap to it, and a breeze carried the tang of burning leaves. She zipped up her jacket. Another month and she’d be wearing her down jacket. She jogged the six blocks to Mickey’s on the east side of Ridge and pushed through the door.
“Hey, Davis.” Owen Dougherty, Mickey’s owner, grinned. A big man, he wore a flowing white shirt and a bartender’s apron over his pants. He looked a lot like Jackie Gleason in the reruns of The Honeymooners she’d caught on cable. Even the same mustache.
“How’s it goin’ Owen?” she asked, enjoying the rhyme for about the thousandth time.
“Can’t complain.” Over the past few years Evanston had become fashionable, its new condos, upscale eateries, and shops a haven for empty-nesters and singles who didn’t want to live downtown. With its dim light, scarred wood, and good burgers at decent prices, Mickey’s was one of the last of the old neighborhood places. “What about you, Davis?” He wiped down the bar with a damp cloth.
Everyone went by last names at Mickey’s except Owen, and, presumably, the Mickey who owned it before him. She didn’t mind. It made her feel she belonged.
“Surviving.”
Dougherty had bought the place eight years ago. “Didn’t have to change a thing,” he’d said proudly. Gazing at the old neon signs, shabby tables, and scuffed floor, Georgia wasn’t sure that was a good thing. While its grunginess was comfortable, almost endearing, Mickey’s was becoming a dinosaur. Which made it ripe for a buyout. Of course, that could have been Dougherty’s plan all along, which would make him a lot cagier than she thought. She slid onto a stool at the end of the bar.
“So what’ll it be, tonight? The usual?”
She nodded. Dougherty filled a tall glass with ice, reached under the bar for a nozzle and spritzed cola into the glass. He reached under the bar again and came up a slice of lemon which he anchored on the rim. “One Coke, plenty of ice and lemon.”
“Thanks.” She took a pull, wondering why Coke always tasted better here than at home. Swiveling around, she checked out the crowd. The bar was half-filled; most of the faces were familiar. Of the five booths, three were taken, two by couples, and one by a family with two kids. A jukebox stood in the corner, but no music was playing. Instead, a TV above the bar tuned to ESPN was replaying clips from Sunday’s games. At least it wasn’t the news. Georgia took her drink to one of the empty booths. “This okay?” she called out.
He nodded. “Gemma’s not here tonight. You want food, order through me.”
“Make it a burger and fries. Rare, this time.”
He appraised her. “Raw meat, huh? You got something going I should know about?”
“Nope. I’m saving myself for you.”
He ducked into the kitchen. Georgia settled herself in the booth, and thought about the hazing announcement. Two days after she talked to O’Malley, the
So much for keeping the hazing under wraps. Now that it was out, the question of why it had been kept quiet in the first place would undoubtedly surface. Who would take the heat, Georgia wondered? Would school officials claim something about an internal investigation and wanting to be sure before they went public? Would parents admit pressuring the authorities to keep it quiet? Or would the cops and the State’s Attorney’s Office offer some half-assed explanation?
She turned off the TV. The good news was that the fact of a cover-up, however short-term or benign, could help raise reasonable doubt about Cam Jordan. She and Kelly ought to brainstorm some strategies. Maybe talk to a friendly reporter. She’d call Kelly tomorrow.
She looked around the apartment, aware she’d been alone most of the day. Too much isolation wasn’t good. She grabbed her jacket, locked her door, and went down the stairs.
The night air had a snap to it, and a breeze carried the tang of burning leaves. She zipped up her jacket. Another month and she’d be wearing her down jacket. She jogged the six blocks to Mickey’s on the east side of Ridge and pushed through the door.
“Hey, Davis.” Owen Dougherty, Mickey’s owner, grinned. A big man, he wore a flowing white shirt and a bartender’s apron over his pants. He looked a lot like Jackie Gleason in the reruns of The Honeymooners she’d caught on cable. Even the same mustache.
“How’s it goin’ Owen?” she asked, enjoying the rhyme for about the thousandth time.
“Can’t complain.” Over the past few years Evanston had become fashionable, its new condos, upscale eateries, and shops a haven for empty-nesters and singles who didn’t want to live downtown. With its dim light, scarred wood, and good burgers at decent prices, Mickey’s was one of the last of the old neighborhood places. “What about you, Davis?” He wiped down the bar with a damp cloth.
Everyone went by last names at Mickey’s except Owen, and, presumably, the Mickey who owned it before him. She didn’t mind. It made her feel she belonged.
“Surviving.”
Dougherty had bought the place eight years ago. “Didn’t have to change a thing,” he’d said proudly. Gazing at the old neon signs, shabby tables, and scuffed floor, Georgia wasn’t sure that was a good thing. While its grunginess was comfortable, almost endearing, Mickey’s was becoming a dinosaur. Which made it ripe for a buyout. Of course, that could have been Dougherty’s plan all along, which would make him a lot cagier than she thought. She slid onto a stool at the end of the bar.
“So what’ll it be, tonight? The usual?”
She nodded. Dougherty filled a tall glass with ice, reached under the bar for a nozzle and spritzed cola into the glass. He reached under the bar again and came up a slice of lemon which he anchored on the rim. “One Coke, plenty of ice and lemon.”
“Thanks.” She took a pull, wondering why Coke always tasted better here than at home. Swiveling around, she checked out the crowd. The bar was half-filled; most of the faces were familiar. Of the five booths, three were taken, two by couples, and one by a family with two kids. A jukebox stood in the corner, but no music was playing. Instead, a TV above the bar tuned to ESPN was replaying clips from Sunday’s games. At least it wasn’t the news. Georgia took her drink to one of the empty booths. “This okay?” she called out.
He nodded. “Gemma’s not here tonight. You want food, order through me.”
“Make it a burger and fries. Rare, this time.”
He appraised her. “Raw meat, huh? You got something going I should know about?”
“Nope. I’m saving myself for you.”
He ducked into the kitchen. Georgia settled herself in the booth, and thought about the hazing announcement. Two days after she talked to O’Malley, the
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