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“I’m on my way to her apartment,” Naomi said. “She’s not answering her phone.”
“Let us know,” I said, and I hung up.
We went into the stadium and climbed into the stands. Many of the same athletes from the other day were there, including Sharon Lawrence, who shot Bree and me a glare as she jogged past with several of her friends.
Bree said, “The other night Cece Turnbull said Rashawn was very upset about something in the days before he died.”
“I remember that,” I said.
“Would seeing a rape be upsetting enough?” she asked quietly.
I looked over and saw she was serious.
“It would be upsetting enough,” I said.
Was Stefan’s version of events all lies? Had Rashawn seen him with Lawrence? Had my cousin assaulted the boy to shut him up?
Jannie was again running with the older girls. Coach Greene had them skipping in two-hundred-meter intervals. I couldn’t remember Jannie ever doing that in a training session, and I noticed she was having difficulty staying with the college athletes.
When it was over, Jannie went to her bag, threw on a hoodie, and then came over to the fence with an unhappy expression.
“I suck at skipping,” she said. “I don’t know why I’m doing it.”
“Did you ask?” I said.
Jannie shrugged, said, “It’s supposed to help with your explosiveness.”
“There you go,” Bree said.
“I’m plenty explosive when it counts,” Jannie said.
“Couldn’t hurt to get more,” I said, noticing that Coach Greene was crossing the track toward us, carrying Jannie’s gym bag and looking serious.
“Dr. Cross,” she said, not looking at Jannie. “We have a problem.”
“How’s that?” I said, standing.
She held out Jannie’s bag by the handles. It was open.
Jannie frowned, tried to see what the coach was talking about as I climbed down. But Greene held it away from her, said, “I want your father to see first.”
I stepped up and looked in the bag. There, nestled in a wrinkle of Jannie’s sweatpants, was a small glass vial filled with white powder.
Chapter
52
“That’s not mine!” Jannie protested the second she saw it. “Dad, there is no chance that’s mine. You know that, right?”
I nodded. “Someone put that in her bag.”
“Who would do that?” Coach Greene asked. “And why?”
I looked over at Sharon Lawrence, who was stretching and talking with her friends, seemingly oblivious to what was happening across the track.
“I can think of someone, but I’ll let the police deal with that,” I said.
“You want me to call the police?”
