Astrid shrugged, the blonde hair shimmering. “A network, or one of the cable news outlets. Certainly something national. At my age, I need to get moving.”
“Your age?”
“They turn them out young these days. And as big a market as Chicago is, there’s still something small-time about it. Office politics, you know. And it’s a scary town, too.”
“Scary how?”
“Well, all the clichés are true. Crooked politicians, mob stuff. And a reporter who does investigative reporting, the way I’ve been doing, building a reputation on it? Let’s just say when the phone rings, and it’s a political call? They aren’t always looking for donations.”
“You don’t mean... threats?”
“Oh yes. Even death threats.”
“Death threats?”
“Comes with the job,” Astrid said matter-of-factly. She leaned in. “Say, maybe you could help me with something for a story. Being law enforcement and all.”
“Well... I’ll try to.”
“Is there a statute of limitations on sexually oriented crimes?”
Krista, blindsided, glanced at her father; but he was still wrapped up in the band, who were playing “Makes Me Wonder.”
“Sexually oriented crimes,” Krista said, as if she had to run that phrase through her mental computer before she could answer. “Like what?”
“Rape, for example.”
“That varies state to state,” Krista said, a little surprised a reporter wouldn’t know this. Or just ask Google about it. “Ten years in Illinois. Only three years, if it hasn’t been reported by then. But evidence collected at the time would be crucial. Be tough to prove a case without that.”
Judging by her manner, Astrid might have been inquiring about movie times. “What about sexual assault, short of rape? Or even sexual harassment?”
“It’s criminal in Illinois if it involves sexual assault, stalking, or any threat of sexual misconduct.”
Suddenly Pop said, “Two years to report.” Then he turned to the two young women. “No restriction for a civil suit. Ms. Lund, I’m retired now but I was a police officer for a long time. I would be glad to talk to you about this.”
Astrid, staying very cool, said, “I may take you up on that, Mr. Larson.”
“Ms. Lund,” he said. “Is this really for a story or is it something personal?”
Astrid stood. For the first time her smile seemed nervous. “It’s really for a story. So wonderful to see you both... See you tomorrow morning, Krista.”
And the Girl Most Likely was gone, swallowed up in her admirers.
Nine
Keith turned to his daughter and said, “Astrid seems very nice. She sounds sincere.”
Krista nodded. “Of course, she hasn’t made it this far in the broadcast business without learning how to manipulate people. But I take everything she said at face value.”
“Well, I do, too... almost.”
Her eyes locked on him. “Why almost?”
“The idea that she’s doing a story about sexual malfeasance just as a general topic of interest... no. Something personal’s behind it.”
Krista nodded again. “Yeah. I got that, too.” She glanced past him. “Now that we’ve talked to the Girl Most Likely, here comes her male counterpart.”
Heading over with a lovely woman on his arm was the classmate who’d made it all possible, including this free evening of food and entertainment. David Landry — with dark impeccably barbered hair and dark eyes and a Rob Lowe smile — looked six feet tall, but Keith caught the Italian heels right off.
The rest of their host’s tailored apparel was more in tune with a successful executive on a night out — a notch-lapel number in dark gray, beautifully tailored. Keith had an idea his somewhat similar gray suit cost maybe a tenth of what Landry’s had. No school colors for their host — his patterned tie was the same light blue as his shirt. Keith had heard his daughter refer to Landry having a trophy wife — not from their class, at least in the high school sense — and the vision drifting over with him was almost certainly her.
Her wavy long dark hair, with golden highlights, disappeared behind her shoulders, her face with its luminous brown eyes and bold, well-shaped eyebrows worthy of a fashion model. Like Krista, the apparent Mrs. Landry wore stylish black, but this form-fitting frock was nonetheless conservative-looking, high necklined, sleeves stopping at the wrists, hem almost to the floor.
Then he noticed the slit starting at her thigh.
Suppressing a gulp, Keith rose as Landry came over with his hand outstretched. The two men shook. They’d met in his daughter’s high school days, when Landry and Krista had briefly dated.
“Mr. Larson,” he said, in a well-modulated second tenor, “I’m so pleased you’re here tonight.”
Addressing him as “Mr. Larson” was a throwback to Landry thinking of him as a parent, the kind of respect grown adults would often show when running into his wife, who’d been their third-grade teacher — Mrs. Larson! How are you?
“You might as well call me Keith,” he said. “Because I’m going to call you Dave. Unless you prefer David?”
“Dave is fine. This is Mrs. Landry.” He gestured with his free hand, his other arm still being held on to by the lanky beauty.
She smiled, her mouth so lipstick red it was almost black, a wide, nicely toothy smile. “But you can call me Dawn... if I can call you Keith.”
“Deal,” he said. “This is my daughter, Krista, an old classmate of your husband’s.”
Krista was standing now, too. “No older than he is, of course.”
“Oh, Dawn knows all about you,” Landry said, coming around the table to Krista. “You’re the one who got away.”
Mrs. Landry’s frown was barely perceptible, but Keith could spot the tiny daggers in the glance she gave her husband.
Krista nodded toward Astrid, caught between tables by a gaggle of admiring classmates. “Aren’t you confusing me with somebody, Dave?”
Landry ignored that and, eyes going from Krista to Keith and back again, asked, “Do you mind if we join you for a moment?”
“You have your nerve,” Krista said. “Think you own the place?”
Everyone laughed at that a little, and as they all sat, Landry said to Krista, “I’m just the manager of the joint. And even my father has some co-owners.”
Krista touched her hand to Landry’s. “Do I have to say you’ve been incredibly generous?”
“Listen,” he said, “I’m glad to do it. Having so many of the ol’ GHS gang in one place, it’s really my pleasure.”
Next to him, Dawn was smiling — a strained smile, Keith thought.
Krista removed her hand from Landry’s and said, “I just had a nice talk with Astrid. She really seems to have her head on straight. You should talk to her.”
Keith wasn’t sure what that was about, but then Landry gave him a rough idea.
“It ended badly,” he said, making a comic “ouch” face. “I think we probably ought to keep our distance, Astrid and I. But I’m happy for her. She’s making a real success of herself.”
Krista flipped a hand. “Why not tell her that?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “We’ll see.”
A slow song started in. Sounded pretty sappy to Keith, but at least it didn’t remind him of a one-man band falling down fire-escape stairs.
Dawn stood up and her eyes were laser beams on her husband, and her smile had something bloodcurdling about it. “Oh, that’s ‘Thinking Out Loud’ — Ed Sheeran! Come dance with me, sweetheart!”
Landry nodded his assent, but kept his attention for the moment on Krista, saying, “Did I see Jessica Webster and her husband sitting with you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I want to thank Jessy for everything she and the committee did.”