The Pact Read online

  Staring down at the bright feast of fruits at the supermarket, sitting shoulder to shoulder like a rainbow of soldiers, she couldn't help comparing the serviceable russets and grays of the Grafton County Correctional Facility to the unintended beauty of the grocery store. The options were staggering--should she pick the tangerines, the green Granny Smith apples, the smooth-cheeked tomatoes? A choice at every turn--the complete antithesis of being told to eat this, to walk here, to shower now.

  She reached toward the Clementines. They were Chris's favorite, and she would have loved to bring him some the following Tuesday ... but was that even allowed? She imagined one of those burly blue-suited men splitting the fruit into sections to check for razor blades, much as Gus herself had mashed Chris's Halloween candy when he was a child, looking for pins. Except she had been searching out of love. The officers would be searching out of duty.

  Gus opened the bag and spilled the Clementines back onto their pile.

  Can you believe it?

  In that household?

  Gus turned around, pushing her cart toward the array of lettuce, but all she saw were several Bainbridge biddies doing their weekly shopping.

  Well, I believe it. I saw the boy once, and he was ...

  Did you know the father won some medical honor?

  Gus clenched her hands on the grip of the shopping cart. Steeling herself, she wheeled toward the women who'd busied themselves sniffing melons. "Pardon me," Gus said, baring her teeth in a tight smile. "Did you have something you wanted to say to me, directly?"

  "Oh, no," one of the women said, shaking her head.

  "Well, I would," her companion announced. "I think when a child that young commits a crime as horrible as this one, you have to lay the blame at the feet of the parents. After all, he'd have to learn that behavior somewhere."

  "Unless he's just a bad seed," the first woman murmured.

  Gus gaped at them. "Do you mind telling me," she said softly, "why this is any concern of yours?"

  "When it happens in our town, it becomes our problem. Come along, Anne," the second woman said, and they sailed into an adjoining aisle.

  With high color spotting her cheeks, Gus left her partially filled shopping cart and headed out of the store. It was only because she had to jostle past a mother with twins at the checkout that she even noticed the newspapers on the stand. Folded to reveal its headline banner, the Grafton County Gazette screamed MURDER IN A SMALL TOWN, PART II. And in much smaller print: "Evidence Mounts Against High School Scholar-Athlete Jailed for Killing Girlfriend."

  Gus focused on the headline again. PART II, it said. What had happened to PART I?

  The Hartes received the Grafton County Gazette, most people in the area did. As hokey as it was, with its lead stories about dairy farm silos that burned down and school budget impasses, it also was the one paper that covered the town of Bainbridge. A good number of households got the Boston Globe, too, but only to compare the crime statistics and political posturing and basically remind them how idyllic their lives were in New Hampshire. On nights they were too busy to crack open the Globe, the Gazette--a maximum of thirty-two pages--was something they had the time to read.

  The only time Gus could remember not reading the paper, in fact, were those days surrounding the arraignment, when she had been so sick at heart that she could barely function in her own world, much less read about the one around her.

  Gus took several deep breaths and read the article. Then she flipped to the masthead, found what she was looking for, and rolled the newspaper up beneath her arm. So what if they found proof that Chris had been at the carousel? There had never been any question that he was at the scene of the crime. She did not realize until she had reached her car that she'd taken the paper without paying. For a moment she considered going back in to leave thirty-five cents, then she decided against it. Fuck it, she thought. Let them think the whole family's full of felons.

  THE OFFICES OF THE Grafton County Gazette were almost as somber as the jail, a pleasant thought which gave Gus the impetus to march up to the receptionist with two-toned hair and demand to see Simon Favre, editor in chief. "I'm sorry," the receptionist predictably said. "Mr. Favre is in--"

  "Trouble," Gus finished for her, and pushed through the double doors that led to the editorial offices.

  Green computer screens scrolled and beeped; in the background was the sound of a printer. "Excuse me," Gus said, addressing a woman who was sitting at one of the desks, bent over a string of negatives with a loupe. "Could you tell me where Mr. Favre is?"

  "That way," the woman said, pointing to a door at the far end of the room. Gus nodded and crossed toward it, knocking once and then swinging open the door to find a smallish man with a telephone tucked to his ear. "I don't care," he said. "I told you that already. All right. Good-bye."

  He looked up at Gus and narrowed his eyes. "Can I help you?"

  "I doubt it," Gus said crisply. She slapped her copy of the Gazette down on his desk so that the offensive headline was clear. "I want to know when newspapers started printing fiction."

  Favre made a sound at the back of his throat and twisted the paper so that he could read it right side up. "And you are?"

  "Gus Harte," she said. "The mother of the boy who is accused of an alleged murder."

  Favre pointed to a word. "We say it's an alleged crime right here," he said. "I don't understand--"

  "No, you couldn't," Gus cut in. "You couldn't, because you don't have a son who's innocent, but who has to sit in jail for nine months until he has a chance to prove it. You couldn't, because you let a reporter take a piece of information from the police for the shock value. My son never hid the fact that he was with Emily Gold when she died, so why make it seem like that's the turning point of the case?"

  "Because, Mrs. Harte," Favre said, "it's a good hook. And there aren't a hell of a lot of those in our neck of the woods."

  "That's exploitation," she said. "I could sue you."

  "You could," the editor in chief said. "But I'd think you're paying enough for legal bills right now." He stared at her until she looked away. "Of course, we'd be willing to hear your side of the story. As you're probably aware, the girl's mother gave Lou an exclusive; he'd be happy to interview you as well."

  "Absolutely not," Gus said. "Why should I have to make explanations for what happened, when Chris did nothing wrong?"

  Favre blinked once. "You tell me," he said.

  "Look," Gus said, "my son is innocent. He loved that girl. I loved that girl. There's your truth." She smacked her palm down on the newspaper. "I want a retraction printed."

  Favre laughed. "Of the story?"

  "Of the tone. Something which says more clearly than this garbage that Christopher Harte is not guilty until he's convicted in a court of law."

  "Fine," Favre agreed.

  He'd given in too easily. "Fine?"

  "Fine," Favre repeated. "But it won't make any difference."

  Gus crossed her arms over her chest. "Why not?"

  "Because the public's already got wind of this," the editor said. "It might even have been picked up on the AP." He crumpled up the newspaper into a ball and tossed it into the trash. "I could say your boy sprouted angel wings and flew to heaven, Mrs. Harte. That could even be the truth. But if people have already sunk their teeth into the story, they're not going to let it go."

  SELENA WALKED INTO Jordan's house, slipped off her coat, and stretched out on the couch. Thomas, who'd heard the door, came running out of his bedroom. "Oh, hey," he said. "What's up?"

  "Look at you," Selena said, yawning. "You get more handsome every day."

  "You gonna go out on a date with me yet?"

  Selena laughed. "I told you. Your senior prom, or when you hit six feet two, whichever comes first." She picked up a half-finished can of Pepsi, sniffed it, and drank, eyes scanning the mess of paperwork on the living room floor. "Where's your father?"

  "Here," Jordan announced, stomping out of the bedroom i