Born to Die - Lisa Jackson [38]
“Nuh-uh. Not for a few more years.”
Bianca yanked her arm back. “I could call Child Services on you! You can’t touch me.”
“Is that what Chris told you?”
“You can’t touch me!”
Pescoli reached for the phone, grabbed the receiver, and held it close to her daughter’s face. “Take it. Call. See what happens. If they believe you, they’ll remove you from this home, and where will you go? To your dad’s? To a foster family? Is that what you want?”
“Maybe!”
Despite the pain in her heart, Pescoli said, “Fine. Make the call.” Bianca eyed the phone, and for half a second Pescoli thought her daughter would call her bluff. For another half a second she didn’t care. No fifteen-year-old was going to bully her or try that stupid-ass emotional blackmail on her. She slapped the receiver into her daughter’s free hand.
Bianca sputtered, “They—they won’t believe me. You’re a cop! You’ll twist things around!” She slammed the phone onto the counter, and this time she marched off to her room.
“Slam that door and I’ll take it off its hinges! Bianca, I’m not kidding!”
Slam! The entire house shook. Cisco let out a startled yip.
“Son of a bitch,” she muttered under her breath and left the phone on the counter, then made her way to the garage, where she found Joe’s twenty-plus-year-old toolbox and carried it back inside.
The front door burst open, and all six feet and then some of her son walked inside. A gust of cold wind followed him, and Cisco went nuts again. The little dog yapped and spun in elated circles.
“Hey, Cis,” Jeremy said, bending down and scooping up the wiggling dog in his big, gloved hands. At eleven, Cisco still thought he was a puppy and washed Jeremy’s unshaven face with his eager tongue. “What’s for dinner?”
“I haven’t gotten that far, yet,” Pescoli answered.
“So, what’s going on with Dad’s tools?”
“I was just about to wrestle your sister’s door off its hinges.”
“Oh, Mom, don’t do that.” He set the dog down and pulled off his gloves, then stuffed them in the pockets of his down vest.
“Why not?”
“It’s lame.”
“So is slamming the door so hard, it nearly breaks the jamb.”
He yanked off his stocking cap, and his hair, still filled with static electricity, stood on end, giving him a few more inches and a shocked look.
“You can help,” she suggested.
“No way ... uh-uh, I’m staying out of that catfight.”
“What’re you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”
He looked suddenly uncomfortable and worked hard at smoothing his hair while avoiding her eyes.
“What happened?”
He hesitated. “Okay, I got laid off.”
Her heart took a nosedive. “Because?”
He shrugged his big shoulders. “Dunno. The economy, I guess.”
“You guess?” Not now. She didn’t need this now.
Jeremy heaved a loud sigh, then fell onto the couch. The old springs groaned. Cisco leaped up to his lap, and he absently petted the wriggling dog’s head. “I got fired,” he admitted.
“Fired,” she repeated in a careful voice.
“Lou claims I stole from the station, that the receipts didn’t add up.” Head lowered, he looked up at her from the tops of his eyes. “Swear to God, Mom, I didn’t do it.” His Adam’s apple bobbed, and his big hands clamped over his jean-clad knees.
“You told Lou that?”
“About a hundred times! You know what? I think it’s either Manuel or Lou himself, like maybe he’s covering his ass. Manuel’s a good guy. Really honest. But I thought Lou was, too. Shit!” He gritted his teeth. “How could this happen?”
Her heart was pounding, and a mixture of anger and fear slid through her blood. “I don’t know, Jer, but you have to fix it. Figure it out. If you didn’t do it—”
“If ? Really? You don’t believe me?” He was shocked and offended, his lips flattening. “Come on, Mom!” Slamming a fist onto the arm of the couch, he declared vehemently, “I’m not a thief! Someone set me up!”
“You didn’t let me finish, Jer. I was saying that if you didn’t do it, then you have to find out who did. Prove it. It couldn’t be that tough. The station has cameras and records of all the transactions.”
“Are you crazy? You think they’re going to let me see