That"s all Cory needed as a companion in his cell: Spencer Jones. And he was sobering up. If it had been a nightmare, his imagination couldn"t have found a worse cellmate. Spencer smelled of booze and was ranting wildly at Chief Tarrant for placing him there in the first place.
Cory could not recall a time when he"d felt more humiliated. Tarrant had cuffed him in the front yard, soil still caked around the rear of his pants, and driven him in the back of his own car to the police station. And as he was doing so, Dean Tarrant was escorting his grandma into the yard, talking to her about the lovely flowers, holding her arm to support her and looking like the best grandson an elderly lady could have.
As Chief Tarrant turned his back to guide Cory into the back of the car, Dean stuck one fin
