Roadside Crosses (Kathryn Dance 2)

"You lied!" the mother snapped.

No, she hadn't, not technically. She'd crafted her words carefully and never said they were actual statements from Travis Brigham.

The girl had gone pale.

The mother grumbled, "What is this, some kind of trap?"

Yes, that was exactly what it was. Dance had a theory and she needed to prove it true or false. Lives were at stake.

Dance ignored the mother and said to Caitlin, "But you were playing along as if Travis had said all of those things to you in the car."

"I . . . I was just trying to be helpful. I felt bad I didn't know more."

"No, Caitlin. You thought you might very well have talked with him about them in the car. But you couldn't remember because you were intoxicated."

"No!"

"I'm going to ask you to leave now," the girl's mother blurted.

"I'm not through," Dance growled, shutting up Virginia Gardner.

The agent assessed: with her science background--and her survival skills in this household--Caitlin had a thinking and sensing personality type, according to the Myers-Briggs index. She struck Dance as probably more introverted than extraverted. And, though her liar's personality would fluctuate, she was at the moment an adaptor.

Lying for self-preservation.

If Dance had had more time she might have drawn the truth out slowly and in more depth. But with the Myers-Briggs typing and Caitlin's personality of adaptor, Dance assessed she could push and not have to coddle, the way she had with Tammy Foster.

"You were drinking at the party."

"I--"

"Caitlin, people saw you."

"I had a few drinks, sure."

"Before coming here I talked to several students who were there. They said that you, Vanessa and Trish drank almost a fifth of tequila after you saw Mike with Brianna."

"Well . . . okay, so what?"

"You're seventeen," her mother raged, "that's what!"

Dance said evenly, "I've called an accident reconstruction service, Caitlin. The

y're going to look over your car at the police impound lot. They measure things like seat and rearview mirror adjustment. They can tell the height of the driver."

The girl was completely still, though her jaw trembled.

"Caitlin, it's time to tell the truth. A lot depends on it. Other people's lives are at stake."

"What truth?" her mother whispered.

Dance kept her eyes on the girl. "Caitlin was driving the car that night. Not Travis."

"No!" Virginia Gardner wailed.

"Weren't you, Caitlin?"

The teenager said nothing for a minute. Then her head dropped, her chest collapsed. Dance read pain and defeat through her body. Her kinesic message was: Yes.