The Second Lie

Also by Tara Taylor Quinn

Also in The Chapman Files:

THE FIRST WIFE
(Superromance)

And look for Tara Taylor Quinn's next novels,

THE THIRD SECRET,

available November 2010,

and

THE FOURTH VICTIM,

available December 2010.

THE 2ND LIE

For Rachel Marie Reames--the daughter I gave birth to, raised and will love through eternity.

Dear Reader,

Kelly Chapman is about to open one of her most private and intriguing files. She's sharing them one by one in the hope that they will be of interest to discriminating readers everywhere. Kelly first presented herself--and these gripping case files--to me a couple of years ago.

Kelly is a psychologist and expert witness. She's helped to prosecute criminals guilty of all kinds of heinous acts. And she's testified for defense attorneys representing innocent people accused of crimes they didn't commit. Kelly is in demand all over the country, but she's lived in the same town (Chandler, Ohio) all her life--not counting the years she was away at college--and has friends she's known forever. At home Kelly is happily ruled by her four-pound toy poodle, Princess Camille, who, on most days, allows Kelly to address her as Camy.

The Second Lie
took me by surprise. I was halfway through writing the book and still didn't know what was going to happen, how things were going to end. It's fair to say this book was an exercise in trust as I sat down every day and wrote, believing that the plot would take care of itself. And it did!

You're about to meet Maggie Winston, a fourteen-year-old girl whose story is only too real. And you'll meet Samantha Jones, the thirty-three-year-old single cop who will stop at nothing to protect the people she's dedicated her life to serving. Maggie is Kelly's client. Sam is her friend. The rest...well, I'll let you find out for yourself.

I hope you enjoy
The Second Lie.
I love hearing from my readers. You can reach me at Box 13584, Mesa, Arizona 85216. Or though my Web site, www.tarataylorquinn.com.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

1

Chandler, Ohio
Monday, August 2, 2010

I
couldn't find a pencil that hadn't been chewed on. So what if the existing ones all bore my own teeth marks? Sometimes a girl just needed fresh wood.

I'd already seen four patients that day, had worked at the soup kitchen during lunch--my turn to wash dishes--and book club was that night and I hadn't finished the book, in spite of being up half the night trying.

And right then, critical on my list was that none of my desk drawers had unused, which for me meant unchewed, pencils. Okay, so the habit was somewhat disgusting. I acknowledged it. At least I faced my issues.

"Deb?" I punched the phone intercom system--a system that had come with the office and had been around, I suspected, since before color television.

"Yeah?" Deb Brown, my assistant wasn't the most professional employee around. But she was loyal and compassionate, which made up for any lack in her office etiquette.

"Have we got any pencils out there?"

"No, but you've got a call on line one. I was just going to buzz you when you buzzed me."

"Go get some new pencils, would you?"

"Now? I'm in the middle of billing."

"Now. Please. If you don't mind."

"Heck, I don't mind. It's eighty degrees and sunny outside."

"But make sure you only walk as far as your car," I told her. The one store in town that carried office supplies was three miles away and Deb had been known to make that hike.

"Okay," Deb said, and clicked off.

Why the store was closer to the highway seven miles outside town instead of downtown where people worked was beyond me. The only businesses out by the interstate, besides farmland, were an economy hotel, a truck stop and a family diner. If you considered a greasy spoon filled with truckers a "family" diner.

Picking up a pen, pulling one of four or five notepads toward me, I took my call on line one.

"Dr. Chapman?" The caller was female. Sounded older than a teen. At a guess, in her early thirties.

"Yes?"

"My name is Lori Winston. The counselor at Chandler High School referred me to you."

Jim Lockhart had sent several troubled teens to me over the past five years.

"You have a son or daughter in high school?" I asked, mentally reviewing my assessment of her age.

"A daughter. Just starting high school this month. But I can't pay you," the woman continued. "I barely got enough money to pay lot rent and utilities."

Jim knew that when it came to kids, I'd work pro bono anytime.

Insecure,
I jotted down about Lori Winston, because I always made notes about whatever popped immediately to mind when dealing with my clients. Or pretty much anyone I talked to.

Low-income.

First impressions were sometimes vital.

"You and your daughter live alone?"

"Yep."

Independent,
I added, thinking of the thirteen-or fourteen-year-old I had yet to meet.

"For how long?"

"Since she was born. Took me three years to save up for this trailer and it's not much. Two bedrooms. And a hole in the bathroom floor. But we do okay most of the time. It's just comin' up with extra that's hard.

"And before you ask, I had her when I was sixteen. Had to quit school 'cause I couldn't afford a babysitter without working full-time. Seems everyone wants to turn up their noses at us, and if you're one of 'em, then fine, we don't need your help."

"No, wait." I frowned, quickly put pen to paper.
Defensive home environment.
"I'm happy to help--at no charge." I said what I figured would mean the most so I could keep the needy mother on the line. "And I'm not judging your situation," I added. "My mother also quit high school to have me."

Right here in Chandler.

"And you turned into a doctor?"

Well, a doctor of psychology, anyhow. "Yes," I said.

"You'll understand Maggie, then. Lots of folks don't. They look at me and figure she's white trash, too, without bothering to learn what she's about. Not that I'm trash or nothin'--I'm not. But I know what people say about me. I hear them."

"Maggie's your daughter?"

"Yeah. She's fourteen."

Maggie. Cute name. Weary mother.

"How's she doing in school?"

"Straight A's so far."

Responsible.

"What about sports?" Seemed like every kid in the county played something. There wasn't a whole lot else for them--or their parents--to do. Some of the people in Fort County seemed to put more emphasis on games and practice and working out than they did on homework and attending class.

"She was a cheerleader in junior high and made the junior varsity team at Chandler, but she quit when practices started. Said she was bored with it. They have to pay to play now that the tax levy failed, so we couldn't afford the extra, anyway."

I looked at my notes. Nothing stood out. So I asked the obvious question. "Why do you think your daughter needs a counselor?"

"I think something's going on with a guy. An older guy."

"Can you explain that?"

"Used to be she said she was going to graduate from college before she got serious with a guy. Said she wasn't going to let anyone slow her down, or stop her from bein' whatever she wants to be, which is fine by me. She thinks guys in high school're dumb, anyway. But now she's talking like 'having a partner could make life so much better' kind of stuff." The mother mocked the daughter's tone.

"What did she mean by that?"

"Hell if I know."

"Did you ask her?"