Bed of Lies (10 page)

Chapter 10

C. J.

C
. J. strode into the newsroom, yanking the strap of her satchel over her head as she made her way to her desk.

“Oh, look, everybody, Her Royal Highness is here!” Eddie the sports reporter yelled, glancing up from his laptop. He took a sip from his Big Gulp and grinned.

“No time for your crap today, Eddie. I'm busy,” she mumbled before waving her hand dismissively at him as she passed.

She had just come back from the state police barracks and now had to quickly file a story on a local bank robbery for the paper's crime reporter. In exchange, said reporter had covered a chamber of commerce meeting chaired by Evan Murdoch that had been assigned to her.

“Why can't you do it?” Mason, the crime reporter, had whined as she walked out of the newsroom hours ago. “I don't want to go to that meeting. You've got to wear a tie to those things!”

“I have my reasons. Don't worry about it,” she had halfheartedly explained. “I'll pay you back with a doughnut and a cup of coffee later.”

The truth was, since that incident at the Medical Center a couple of months ago, C. J. had avoided the Murdochs like the plague. Evan Murdoch's accusations and anger at her that day still stung. She had been called names by subjects before—many of those names of the four- and five-letter variety—but she had never been called a “parasite” before. She had never been accused of taking advantage of someone else's pain. It had been way too much to bear and it left her shaken for quite a few weeks afterward.

I'm not a parasite
, she would tell herself when she lay alone in her bedroom at night.
I'm a human being. I care!

In fact, C. J. wondered every now and then how Terrence Murdoch was fairing. The last she had heard, he had become a bit of a hermit since the accident, as well as a raging alcoholic. She hoped the rumors about Terrence, like many of the other rumors in Chesterton, weren't true.

C. J. tapped on her mouse pad and stared at the digital clock on the right side of her laptop screen. She only had about an hour or so to write this story. After that, she had to head to the mayor's office for a scheduled interview about the new Chesterton business incubator. She refused to be distracted by nonsense, specifically in the form of bullshit from Eddie.

She pulled out her rollaway chair, sat down, and frantically flipped in her notepad to the quotes from Sergeant Mitchell.

“You're back,” Jake, the managing editor, said as he stepped into the newsroom, holding a stack of envelopes, magazines, and folders. “And you're just in time for the office mail.”

“Ooooh
, how exciting!” Eddie exclaimed before twirling around in his chair.

“Isn't it?” Jake said dryly. He tossed a stack of magazines onto Eddie's desk. “Here you go, smart-ass.” He then walked toward C. J. and glanced down at a solitary envelope he held in his hand. “Hey, this looks official. You know many people in high places, C. J.?”

He handed it to her and she frowned. It was thick and made out of a parchment that you usually only found in papier and crafting stores. She recognized the gold seal on the back of the envelope instantly. It was the same seal she had stared at for most of her life but hadn't seen up close in the past few years. Beneath the seal in scrolling blue script were the words
Aston Ministries, Inc
. with the headquarters address beneath it.

“Anything important?” Jake asked.

C. J. quickly slapped her hand over the seal and stared up at Jake. She forced a smile. “Uh, no! No. It's . . . uh . . . just . . . just junk, probably. Thanks for bringing it to me.”

He stared at her quizzically, then shrugged before walking off to deliver mail to another reporter.

After Jake moved on to the next desk, C. J. gazed at the envelope again. Her hands were shaking as she ripped open the seal with her thumb and stared at the handwritten note that was folded inside of it.

“Shit,” C. J. muttered as she closed her eyes and balled the note in her fist. She ripped the envelope into several pieces before tossing both into her metal waste bin.

“What's the matter with you?” Eddie asked. “Didn't get an invite to the debutante ball?”

C. J. gave him the finger before turning back around to face her laptop.

She could ignore the note, pretend like she had never seen it, but she knew the writer well enough that he wouldn't let this go ignored. He would follow through with his threat to let everyone at
Chesterton Times
know who she really was, and she had worked so hard to escape the scandal and drama of her past. No, there was no avoiding this. It looked like she would have to make a trip to the Aston Ministries Headquarters in North Carolina. It looked like she was finally heading back home.

 

C. J. slammed shut the door to her Honda Civic. She leaned her head back and squinted, holding up her hands over her eyes to block out the blinding light coming off the mirror-like exterior of the towering building in front of her. The building was one of many churches owned and operated by Aston Ministries. It was certainly one of its largest. The immense church was flanked on both sides by immaculate landscaping and a series of water fountains rivaling those found at Versailles. The church itself took up several football fields. It not only housed a sanctuary that could accommodate several thousand people, but also enough lighting, electronics, and pyrotechnics for a Las Vegas show. It operated as the headquarters of the religious conglomerate that had been founded by her father, the Honorable Reverend Pete Aston.

The sanctuary itself always looked amazing on television and her father took full advantage of it during his thunderous sermons, which were shown on cable as well as the three Jumbotron screens that hung over the pulpit. C. J. remembered being a young girl and sitting in rapture with the rest of the parishioners in the audience as she watched her father preach, feeling as if she was watching a grand performance. C. J. didn't realize until she was older that she
was
watching a performance—the greatest performance of all—because there was no way her father was the sanctified man he pretended to be. He certainly wasn't that man behind closed doors. She was sure his many mistresses would agree with her.

C. J. walked across the parking lot to a series of glass doors near the rear of the building that led to the offices of the Aston Ministries leadership. Her father's office was here and so was her brother Victor's. She would be seeing Victor today per his note instruction.

C. J. tugged one of the glass doors open and walked into the carpeted lobby. She paused and gazed around her apprehensively, hoping no one recognized her. It was a good chance no one did. She certainly looked different than when she had run away from everything she knew five years ago. She no longer looked like the prim and proper reverend's daughter. No more expensive dresses and suits that were just the right length and cut to be the perfect mix between demur and attractive. No more pressed and artfully styled hair. Today she wore jeans and a T-shirt along with a casual blazer. Her curly tendrils were pulled back in a ponytail under a baseball cap. She pulled the brim of the cap low over her eyes in a futile attempt to hide her face.

C. J. stared at the receptionist desk. Behind the woman sitting at the desk was a flat-screen television showing one of her father's sermons.

“Excuse me,” C. J. said softly, making the receptionist raise her head. “I have an appointment with—”

“Courtney?” a familiar voice called from behind her.

At the sound of the voice, she stilled. She slowly turned and found a man gazing at her.

Oh God,
she thought with panic
. He's still here?

She had been under the misguided belief that he would have left the church, that the disgrace of what had happened would have made him move on to another flock. But no, Shaun Clancy was still here. And of all the people she had to run into today, it had to be him.

He was wearing a gray suit and blue tie. She knew that it was the European cut he preferred because it showed off the slim physique he had spent years perfecting in the gym and in track and field. A gold pendant with the Aston Enterprises emblem was pinned to his lapel. He squinted dark eyes at her, then blinked, as if he was seeing an apparition. His brown face creased into a frown.

“Court? Is . . . is that you?” he asked again, taking a tentative step toward her.

“Yeah, it's me.” She pursed her lips and tugged at her leather satchel. “It's great to see you, Shaun.” She smiled anxiously. “How have you been?”

“How have I been?”
His face morphed from amazement to thinly veiled fury. He laughed coldly as he shoved his hands into his pants pockets. “Well, uh . . . let me think. I've been fairly good . . . considering how you left me standing at the altar five years ago.”

C. J. lowered her eyes. She should have anticipated this, but she had been avoiding Shaun and the mess she had left behind for too long. “Shaun, I'm—”

“Who sends someone a text fifteen minutes before their wedding, telling them they can't get married? Huh?
Who does that?
Then, when I tried to talk to you . . . to ask you why you would do that, why you would walk out and humiliate me and break my heart, you refused to answer any of my phone calls or texts or e-mails.”

“I'm sorry. I am so,
so
sorry.” She took a deep breath and raised her eyes, feeling shame and regret curdle in her stomach. “I know there are no excuses for what I did. But believe me when I say I didn't want to hurt you. I had my reasons, but—”

“Finally,” he continued undaunted, taking another step toward her, “after basically writing you off for dead, I had to learn to move on. With a lot of counseling and prayer, I managed to do it. I started dating again. I fell in love with someone—a good Christian girl with a good heart. I was able to forgive you, Court.”

“I'm . . . I'm happy to hear that.”

And she genuinely was happy to hear it. She had wanted him to fall in love with someone else and move on. Shaun had been a sweet guy, an innocent bystander in the mess that had been her life back then. It pained her to know what she had done to him.

“I forgave you, Court . . . but I can't forget.” He glared at her and she saw so much rage in his eyes that she had to take a cautious step back from him. “I will
never
forget that mess you pulled.”

She held up her hands. “Look, I said I was sorry. I know that I—”

“Sorry?
Sorry!” he yelled, making the receptionist look up and stare at them in shock. “You think that makes it better?”

“No, I don't. But I wanted to explain why—”

“I thought we had something! I thought we were going to be together forever! I was prepared to pledge before God that—”

“Pastor Clancy,” Victor called out, “not here.”

C. J. turned to find her brother standing on the other side of the lobby, looking at them. He was even more immaculately dressed than Shaun, with his gold cuff links and Prada loafers—the best that Aston Ministries had to buy. His stony facial expression made them both fall silent. “Not here. This isn't the time or the place. All right?”

She watched as Shaun suddenly turned on his heel and stomped toward the glass doors. He yanked the door open before stalking off to somewhere unseen. Now badly shaken, C. J. turned to face her brother.

“Welcome back, Court,” he said, before walking toward her. He wrapped his arms around her and she stiffly accepted his embrace. “We missed you,” he whispered into her ear. “Good to have you home.”

 

“Have a seat. Would you like some coffee? Tea?” Victor asked as he strode into his sunlit office and she trailed behind him. She sat down in one of the leather armchairs facing the office windows that overlooked one of the property's many gardens. “You used to always drink green tea. Is that still your thing?”

Victor didn't wait for her to answer him. He suddenly turned to a young man with flawless skin and sculpted cheekbones who waited silently near his desk. The young man had been standing there when she entered, looking ill at ease, like he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. He looked like he belonged in an Abercrombie & Fitch catalog with his tight-fitting polo shirt and khakis—not working in a ministry office.

“Brian, can you get Court some green tea, please?” Victor asked as he sat down in the chair behind his immense desk.

The young man blinked. “Oh! Oh yeah. Sure, I can do that.” He nodded, walked across the room and paused in front of the coffeemaker. He began to scan the Keurig cups.

“Not there, Brian,” Victor said, his fake smile tightening. “The tea is in the cabinet overhead. Remember?”

Brian blinked again, this time in confusion. “In the . . . in the cabinet?”

Victor slowly nodded. “The teacups are there, too.”

“Really, that's okay,” C. J. said quickly just as Brian reached for the cabinet door handle. “I don't want any tea. I don't want anything. Thanks.”