Trust Your Eyes by Linwood Barclay

by the time you got there. She got mad and ditched you, at which point you started putting the moves on me. Turns out I’d downed a few Buds myself and before you knew it we’re in the back of your dad’s car making out for an hour. Tell me you’ve forgotten that.”
    I smiled, swallowed. “I have forgotten that.”
    “Then I guess you’ve also forgotten that I left town a few months after that, and nine and a half months later—”
    “Jesus.”
    She smiled, patted my hand. “I’m just messing with you. About the last part, anyway. I mean, I did leave town, but I just had to get out of this place. I never felt like I fit in around here. You always seemed a bit out of place, too, but you got along okay because—hope you don’t mind my saying this—you were kind of a Goody Two-shoes.”
    “I suppose,” I conceded. “And you…not so much.”
    She smiled. “I had my moments.”
    “There was a while there, I remember, during exams, someone kept calling the fire department, saying the school was on fire, or there was a bomb. Word was, that was you.”
    She went stone-faced. “I have no idea who would do such a thing. That’s totally irresponsible.” She paused. “But I cancertainly understand how someone who wasn’t fully prepared to take a difficult test might feel she had no choice but to resort to extreme measures.” Another pause. “And it was only twice.”
    “Shit, so it was you.”
    “Fifth,” Julie said. “But it was one more reason to get out of town.”
    “Yeah, I didn’t hang in all that much longer.”
    “And now we’re both back,” she said as the waitress delivered two Coronas. “At least you’ve got an excuse. A death in the family.”
    “What’s yours?”
    “I traveled around, got jobs at several small-town papers. No one cared all that much back then whether you had a journalism degree, which I did not. By the time I applied for a job at the Los Angeles Times I had plenty of experience. And then they started downsizing, and I was out of a job. Every other paper was cutting back, too, but as it turned out, tough as times are, the Standard newsroom had openings. One woman got herself fired, and there was this other guy, Harwood—God, the problems that guy had—left town to start his life over again someplace else, good luck with that. So I came back. The paper has no money, it’s a real shit show run by a bunch of fuckheads, but it pays a tenth of the bills till I find something else. And believe me, I’m looking.”
    I laughed.
    “What?”
    “Your word for the folks you work for. Thomas says that’s what you called the Landry brothers.”
    Now it was her turn to try to remember. “God, those two. Dumber than shoes. I called them fuckheads?”
    “When they were picking on Thomas. You stepped in, chased them off. I know it’s probably a little late to say thank you, but thank you.”
    “God, I’d forgotten about that.” She grabbed the Corona by the neck and took a very long drink, rested her back against the seat. “You know they’re both dead?”
    “Seriously?”
    “Both drunk, pulled over to the side of the road in a pickup. One was around back, dropping something over the tailgate. Other one backed over him, not knowing he was there, heard the bump, got out to see what was wrong but forgot to put the truck in park, started running after it, tripped and got caught under the back wheel. I’m just sorry it happened before I got here. Would love to have written the story.” She looked at me and made an apologetic face. “Sorry. Wasn’t thinking there. You wanted to talk to me because of the story I wrote about your dad.”
    I shook my head, warding off her apology. “That’s okay. I read the story. I wondered if there was anything more you knew about it.”
    “Not really.”
    “Do you know whether there was any kind of investigation afterward?”
    “Yup. The usual. Death-by-misadventure kind of thing. The facts were pretty straightforward. There was no