BooksBarbecue
Back The House Party
Chapters (57)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. April 2008
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. Author’s Note
  55. Acknowledgments
  56. About the Author
  57. About the Publisher

Jake shook his head, thinking of his own teenage years in a working-class part of Philly: Catholic school, a part-time job after class instead of sports, and always the vague suspicion that somewhere else people were probably having more fun than he was. “Not too much,” he said. “Maybe a little drinking in parking lots and basements, that sort of thing. This seems different. But maybe I’m just getting old.” He shook his head. “So, what’s the plan?”

“First I’ll check back in with officers who are still on-site, see what they turned up at the house. Then I’m gonna follow up with the kids we caught on Friday. Get the real story and see who else was there.”

Jake opened the file folder Murray had given him and flipped through until he came to photocopies of the tickets that Murray had given out on Friday night, scanning the names to see if any of them were part of the regular rotation. “William O’Connor. We know him?”

“You’re thinking of his brother, Sean O’Connor III, goes by the name Trip. He’s been through here for possession and a few other things. He was on the road too, actually. But he’s twenty-one, so I just sent him home.”

“And William?”

“Never seen him before.”

“Following in his brother’s footsteps,” Jake said. “Let’s start there. Pull Trip O’Connor’s record. We can probably put some pressure on him, if he’s looking at distribution to minors. He won’t want to take the fall for this if half the high school was there.”

“With any luck, I’ll have this all wrapped up by the end of the week, and the chief will forget I ever missed it.”

4

Maja Jensen sat at her dining table, trying not to think about the pregnancy test in the bag on the counter. She sipped her tea—herbal, no caffeine—and paged through the New York Times Magazine without really seeing it. When she got to the last page, the crossword, she flipped back to the beginning and started again. She picked up her phone and refreshed her email, but nothing popped up to distract her. She thought about checking Facebook, but she wasn’t in the mood for the baby picture landmines scattered among the status updates. It was 8 a.m. She still had an hour until she needed to be at Louis Faber, the gallery where she worked on the Lower East Side.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. There was no point in waiting. She was either pregnant or she wasn’t.