Still, Lincoln remained where he was, staring at the car as it fishtailed around the corner on the gray-white street.
Could she have lied to him? The girl he was considering marrying? It didn't seem possible. And cheating on him with Arthur?
Trained in science, he examined the facts objectively.
Fact One. Arthur and Adrianna knew each other. His cousin had met her months ago in the counselor's office where she worked after class at Lincoln's high school. They could very easily have exchanged phone numbers.
Fact Two. Arthur, Lincoln now realized, had stopped asking about her. This was odd. The boys had spent plenty of time talking about girls but recently Art hadn't once mentioned her.
Suspicious.
Fact Three. On reflection, he decided that Adie sounded evasive when she'd demurred about the science fair. (And he hadn't mentioned its site as Evanston, which meant she wouldn't hesitate to cruise around the gridded streets with Art.) Lincoln was slammed with jealousy. I was going to give her a piece of Stagg Field, for God's sake! A splinter of the true cross of modern science! He considered other times when she'd begged off seeing him under circumstances that, in retrospect, seemed strange. He counted three or four.
Still he refused to believe it. He crunched through the snow to a pay phone, and called her house and asked to speak to the girl.
"Sorry, Lincoln, she's out with friends," said Adrianna's mother.
Friends . . .
"Oh. I'll try her later. . . . Say, Mrs. Waleska, did you two ever get downtown for that sale at Field's today?"
"No, the sale's next week. . . . I have to get supper ready, Lincoln. You stay warm. It's freezing outside."
"It sure is." Lincoln knew this for a fact. He was standing at a phone kiosk, his jaw shivering, no desire to pick up the 60 cents that had leapt from his quivering hands into the snow after he'd tried repeatedly to feed the coins into the phone.
"Jesus Christ, Lincoln, get in the bus!"
Later that night he called and managed to maintain a normal conversation for a time, before asking how her day had gone. She explained that she'd enjoyed the shopping with Mom but the crowds were terrible. Garrulous, rambling, digressive. She sounded dead guilty.
Still, he couldn't take the matter on faith.
And so he kept up appearances. The next time Art was visiting he left his cousin in the rec room downstairs and slipped outside with a dog hair roller--exactly the sort used now by crime-scene teams--and collected evidence from the Corvette's front seat.
He slipped the tape into a Baggie and, when he saw Adrianna next, he took some samples of fur from her hat and coat. He felt cheap, scalded with shame and embarrassment, but that didn't stop him from comparing the strands with one of the high school's compound microscopes. They were the same--both fur from the hat and synthetic fibers from the coat.
The girlfriend he was considering marrying had been cheating on him.
And from the quantity of fibers in Arthur's car he concluded she'd been there more than once.
Finally, a week later, he spotted them in the car, leaving no doubt.
Lincoln didn't bow out graciously or angrily. He just bowed out. Without the heart for a confrontation, he let his relationship with Adrianna wind down. The few times they went out were stiff and riddled with awkward silences. To his further dismay, she actually seemed upset about his growing distance. Damn it. Did she think she could have it both ways? She seemed mad at him . . . even while she was cheating.
He distanced himself from his cousin too. Lincoln's excuse was final exams, track meets and--the blessing in disguise: Lincoln's rejection by M.I.T.
The two boys saw each other occasionally--familial obligations, graduation ceremonies--but everything had changed between them, changed fundamentally. And of Adrianna neither boy had said a single word. At least not for many years after that.
My whole life changed. If it weren't for you, everything would've been different. . . .
Even now Rhyme found his temple throbbing. He couldn't feel any coolness on his palms but he supposed they were sweating. These hard thoughts, though, were interrupted by Amelia Sachs, striding through the door.
"Any developments?" she asked.
A bad sign. If she'd had a breakthrough with Calvin Geddes she would have said so up front.
"No," he admitted. "Still waiting to hear from Ron about the alibis. And no bites on the trap that Rodney put together."
Sachs took the coffee Thom offered and lifted half a turkey sandwich from a tray.