Murder Crops Up by Lora Roberts

want, the things I worked for!” She halted the tirade, drawing in a deep breath.
    “Well, okay.”
    “Huh?” She focused on me instead of her inner vision.
    “Sounds like a plan. What’s holding you back?”
    She wouldn’t look at me again. Instead she stacked her cereal bowl, sandwich plate, and glass and took them to the sink.
    “Aunt Liz, are you still Catholic?”
    I realigned my mind. “I’m getting confused here, Amy.”
    “I mean, do you go to confession, and all? Do you go to mass?”
    “Not for a long time.” Not since the middle of my disastrous marriage, which had shown me the kind of mercy a patriarchal religion reserves for its daughters. “I’ve sort of evolved my own religion. Gardening is one of its central rites.”
    She smiled, but it didn’t last long. “I don’t know what to do. I’m in terrible trouble.”
    It all came together for me, finally. I felt very dumb not to have seen it coming. “You’re pregnant.”
    Amy heaved one great, shuddering sigh. “Oh, Aunt Liz.” Her voice broke, and then she was crying.
    I got up and put my arm around her, guided her back to her chair. I put the kettle on and got out the chamomile tea. If ever there was an occasion that called for soothed nerves, this was it.
    Finally she stopped sobbing. I fished my clean bandanna out of my pocket and gave it to her, and she mopped up and accepted the cup of tea.
    “It’s such a relief to be able to tell someone,” she said, her voice still quivering with emotion. “I couldn’t tell Mom. She would hit the roof. And Dad—I can’t imagine.”
    I could, only too well. “It would be epic,” I agreed. “But—does this mean you’re not going to tell them?”
    “I don’t know.” Amy used the hankie again, then squared her shoulders. “It’s my problem. I’m going to decide what to do. Then maybe I’ll tell them.”
    I didn’t know what to say. Amy would be a pariah in the Sullivan clan if any of them knew. I didn’t feel that I could encourage her to keep her parents in the dark, though. Maybe we were denying Andy and Renee the chance to show their magnanimous sides.
    Nah.
    “So, are you thinking abortion?” It seemed like a good idea to get everything on the table.
    “Of course I am.” Amy stared at me. “It’s the first thing I thought about when I suspected. I don’t want to have a baby. I wasn’t trying to have a baby.”
    “What were you trying to do?” She frowned, and I added hastily, “If you don’t mind my asking.”
    “You won’t believe it.” She stared into her teacup. “I sort of told Tiffany. I mean, I didn’t say it was me. I just said I heard it happened to someone, and she couldn’t stop laughing. No one would ever believe it, even if it’s in Ann Landers all the time.”
    “Why don’t you tell me and let me see?”
    Amy looked up at me, her chin thrust out. “I was at a party at this guy’s house I didn’t know very well. There were a bunch of jocks there, which isn’t my scene really. But my friend Amber and I had decided we would get drunk, not really drunk, but drunk enough to see what it was like, and we knew there’d be booze at this party because the jocks always get booze. So Amber and I bagged a couple of beers and went to the sunroom. It was a really nice house, and there was a hot tub in the sun-room, and after we had the beers we got in—with our underwear on, you know. Everyone had their underwear on. A couple of the other girls went off with a couple of the boys, and Amber and I had another beer, and I got kind of sleepy. Next thing I knew, it was dark and Amber was gone and this jerky boy was putting the moves on me.” Her lower lip trembled. “He had my panties off and was humping on me—like Barker does to people’s legs sometimes—but right on top of me.”
    “Oh, Amy. He was raping you?”
    “He didn’t get that far. I grabbed his balls and told him to stop bothering me or I’d make him a eunuch.” She shook her head, scorn