Songs for Cricket by Laine, E. (ebook reader .TXT) 📕

“I didn’t rape her, and whatever she said to you is a lie.”

Detective Miller looked ready to argue, but the other cop lifted a hand.

“Walk me through what happened after you left with her.”

My memories had been foggy Saturday morning, but before the night was over, I remembered the ugly exchange.

“She drove me home and helped me to my door.”

Hastings cut in. “You couldn’t walk on your own.”

“I didn’t ask for her help. I got out; she was there. I wasn’t very steady on my feet and didn’t protest.”

Miller said, “I’ve seen her. She’s small. How could she possibly help you?”

I shrugged, wondering if I’d insisted for her not to help me would I even be sitting there.

“So she helps you to your door. What next?” Hastings asked.

“I told her thank you. She offered to come inside and tuck me in. I told her no after she put her hands on my dick.”

“So your pants were off?” Miller asked, looking like he’d won the lottery.

“No, at the door she reached out and grabbed me through my jeans. I told her no thank you, and she took exception to that.”

Miller was unconvinced. “I’ve seen her. She’s hot.” He continued like that wasn’t creepy. The guy was old enough to be her father. “You’re saying she came onto you, got your dick hard, and you turned her down.”

“I didn’t get hard that time or the other. I—”

“Other time?” Miller snapped.

“Let’s finish with this first,” Hastings interjected.

He nodded at me. “I moved back, stepping inside, and told her thanks, but no thanks. She was pissed, again reminding me that no one turned her down, and I would pay.”

“You must think we’re some dumb hicks to believe a story like that,” Miller said.

I pulled at my arms wanting to rub at the ache in my temple but remembered I was still cuffed.

“I don’t care what you are, that’s the truth,” I said.

“Let’s go through it again,” Hastings said. We took it slower. He forced me to go through the tiniest details like the color of the interior of her car and the temperature outside. After that he asked me what I’d meant about the other time.

“The first time I met her, she invited herself to my room.” I explained how she’d appeared, and I hadn’t stopped her from following me. I told them about her impromptu massage that led to her grabby hands, me asking her to leave, and her giving me much of the same threat.

Hastings startled me with his next question. “So who’s Cricket?”

I’d mentioned my music notebook in my retelling of that day, but I hadn’t been specific about the questions she’d asked me about it because I didn’t think it was relevant. Only Lacey had used my music to bolster her claim against me.

“Not her.”

“You have to admit that she fits the description of honey or whiskey colored eyes.”

“Those words aren’t in my lyrics.”

Hastings glanced down at the papers in front of him. “Sorry, gold or golden and fire colored eyes.”

“I used those terms as metaphors, not the actual color.”

Miller leaned forward and menacingly asked, “What metaphors would you use to describe the bruises on the outside and the scarring and tearing on her insides that you inflicted?”

“No metaphors, just lies,” I said, holding his gaze.

“Yeah, well, the doctors who examined her would disagree,” he said.

I sat back wondering who the hell had hurt her and why she chose to finger me for it.

“So something bad happened to her. I’m sorry for that. But I’m not the guy. You guys have to see the timing of it all matches up to her getting back at me. You showing up in front of the team to arrest me,” I pleaded.

“Actually, her friends called it in on Friday. She was reluctant to go through with anything but was convinced to be examined in case she changed her mind. Her parents said they would talk to her. We got a call this morning that she was finally ready to give a name.”

“Mine,” I said bitterly.

It didn’t make sense. She’d threatened me. It should be obvious that her story was bogus. That was what I counted on. But if she’d truly been assaulted, why blame me and let the real guy get away with it just to get back at me. That was crazy.

“It’s crazy because your version is bullshit.”

I glanced up to see Miller’s bloodshot eyes lasered on me. I guess I’d spoken out loud.

“We’d like to do a cheek swab with your permission.”

If I said no, again, I would look guilty. But something wasn’t adding up right. If this was as bogus as I first thought, who knows what Lacey had gotten from or off of me to prove me guilty. I was in over my head and about to ask for a lawyer when a knock came at the door.

Hastings excused himself, leaving Miller to glare at me like he wanted to add some police brutality to his day.

“Miller,” Hastings said, waving him over. “We’ll be right back,” he added to me.

I wasn’t sure I enjoyed the solitude once the door clicked shut. No doubt it was locked, leaving me with only my thoughts. They weren’t good.

If they left because someone had dug up who my father was, a ticket straight to prison would be printed with my name on it. And Finley . . . Finley would be lost to me forever. The truth was, if my connection to that man was plastered on the news for all to see, no matter if I was found innocent, I’d still have to walk away from her.

22

finley

Over the course of two hours, I’d worn a path in the floor as I paced. The deceptively small detached brick building was part of a line of similar structures on the main street in this small town. I’d traded views between the oversized picture window in the small waiting room and the two single stall bathrooms on the opposite wall as I’d