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felt awkward discussing it with her. “Something about,
um—your father, um—” What’s a polite term for what happened? Maybe
just blurt it out. “Your dad got in some sort of trouble for,
um—fooling around.”
    “That’s what they said? Are you sure
you heard it right?”
    “I told you I don’t remember the exact
wording. They said that’s why he gave you all those presents. The
jewelry and things. And the car.”
    I couldn’t look at her. She’d always bragged
about those gifts, as if her dad was such a great guy.
    She sniffed. “It wasn’t like that at
all.”
    “Oh?”
    I could see the wheels turning as she tried
to come up with a good one. I’d done it often enough myself, and
knew the symptoms.
    She took a breath. “See, what happened was…
You know my dad’s an executive with a sportswear firm in the
city.”
    I knew that, but what did it have to do with
what happened at home?
    “You know they use live models,” she went on.
“They design the clothes right on them. They still do it.”
    “Yes,” I said. “You told me all about it a
few times. You said you were going to get a job doing that.”
    She ignored me, and continued. “So, anyway,
one of their models got the real hots for my dad. He’s a
good-looking guy, you know?”
    Not that good-looking. He had too much
forehead, not enough chin, and a drooping belly.
    Again she wouldn’t look at me. I said, “Uh
huh?” and tried to sound encouraging.
    “But he couldn’t have been less interested.”
She said it with a note of triumph. All lies, I knew. But there
might have been a tiny bit of truth to it. Where would Stacie even
begin to get an idea like that?
    “And?” I prompted.
    “It really bothered that woman, him ignoring
her. So she started spreading rumors. Somehow it got to the
police.”
    Now, that was a stretch.
    “The Southbridge police?” I said. “All the
way from New York City?”
    It stopped her for just an instant. Then she
collected herself and tossed her short, blond head. “You must know,
police departments communicate with each other all the time.”
    Sure I knew. But it was mostly about wanted
fugitives and other important matters. I pretended to take her
seriously.
    “Wouldn’t they have to have some kind of
proof before they could take any action?” I said. “I would think
they’d have a hard time proving some rejected woman’s rumor.”
    “I’m sure she had her ways.” Stacie looked
out at the athletic field. “She probably slept with them.”
    “That’s proof?”
    “I didn’t say it was proof. It just says a
lot about her.”
    Bitchy me, I kept trying to trip her up.
“Somebody must have taken it seriously if it got all the way to
Southbridge.”
    I didn’t know why I felt so mean. Or rather,
I did, and his name was Troy Zoller. I didn’t give a hoot about
Troy anymore, but the betrayal still hurt.
    She pretended surprise at herself. “Did I say
it was the city police? That’s where the firm is, but that crazy
woman took it all the way to Southbridge just to make trouble.”
    “She must have been desperate,” I said.
“Where’s your dad now?”
    “He has an apartment in the city. It’s more
convenient for work.”
    And more convenient for obeying what was
probably an order to keep away from Stacie.
    “So, is he—” I tried to think of the word,
“in the clear?”
    She made a face and didn’t answer. I took it
to mean he wasn’t. None of her story was true.
    But I couldn’t leave it alone. “Did they fire
the model?”
    She gave a startled twitch. Because the whole
thing wasn’t real, so she hadn’t thought of any follow-through.
    She examined the leather cover on her
steering wheel. “Sure they did. What do you think?”
    “I think I’d better be getting home.” I
reached for the door handle.
     

 
    Chapter
Eight
     
    Stacie drove me home.
    As I walked in the door, Grandma turned off
her vacuum cleaner. “Where did you go off to?”
    Still keeping track of me. It