Living Lies (6 page)

He probably assumed this was just a new game, something to make their affair more illicit and exciting. That she would actually reject him was a concept he couldn’t grasp. He was an attractive man and women rarely told him no. She hadn’t, after all.

She threw on her long, black fur coat, not politically correct, but there was little chance of being drenched in red paint on the streets of Hareton. As she made her way to the door, Erin stopped her. The fear in her eyes turned Lara cold.

“We need to talk,” Erin said softly. “But not here, there are too many people.”

“I’m leaving now. Call me later and I’ll meet you.” She didn’t want to, though. She had enough intrigues on her plate, the last thing she needed was for Erin to add to them.

“Fine, but it has to be soon. Something’s happened, and it’s not good.”

Lara nodded and escaped, leaving Erin and her dire predictions behind.

Barely five o’clock and the sky was almost dark. She hated this time of year. The short days and frigid cold. Houses up and down the street glowed with brightly colored Christmas lights. A sad attempt to make winter somewhat less ugly.

Clutching her coat around her, she crossed the street, unlocked her car, and climbed inside. As she slid her key in the ignition and started the engine, the passenger door opened, making her jump. She expected Richard, continuing his stupid game. Inhaling deeply, she prepared for her most dramatic of irritated sighs. But the breath locked in her throat and her eyes went wide as Dean settled into the seat next to her.

“Hello, Lara,” he said quietly and slammed the door shut.

Her mouth hung open, but no words came. Christ, things were unraveling fast.

Chapter Six

Jonathan drank deeply from his glass. The whiskey burned like molten fire down his throat to his gut, but did nothing to warm him. He stood facing the window and the impenetrable darkness outside marred by his own faded reflection.

Funerals were depressing and Michelle’s had been no exception. Worse maybe. While coming face to face with his own mortality, he had no choice but to acknowledge the unfortunate role he had played in Michelle’s demise.

Outside, the wind gusted, lifting a cloud of powdered snow from the ledge. There had been snow the night Michelle vanished. Large, feathery flakes had swept over her tracks, erasing all sign of her.

Again he drank, this time draining the glass. He set it on the edge of the desk and turned away from the window, lowering himself into the chair. Memories of Michelle filled his head, despite his best efforts to push them away.

He needed to work. If he busied himself with contract bids, there would be no room for Michelle. He could tuck her image away to that shadowy corner of his brain. Forgotten until the next time he saw a woman with the same blonde hair or caught the scent of Michelle’s perfume.

He lifted his briefcase from the floor and popped open the latches with two simultaneous clicks. From inside, he removed some file folders and a key ring.

He slid a small silver key into the lock on his desk drawer and tried to turn it, but it wouldn’t open. With a frown he pulled it away from the drawer to make sure he had the right one. He did.

He tried again, and again the key wouldn’t turn. Then, with a burst of sudden inspiration, he rotated the key in the opposite direction. The lock clicked loudly into place.

Open. The drawer had been open. How could that be? He hadn’t left it that way last night. He twisted the key again before pulling out the drawer, then turned it so the silver latch popped up.

Someone had broken into his desk—he ran his thumb over the metal, scarred with several deep grooves—and not for the first time.

His expense ledger and the few other items he kept in the drawer appeared untouched. He reached farther inside until his fingers closed around the small velvet ring box. Someone had been in his desk on the day of Michelle’s memorial. Coincidence? Not likely.

“Anything out of place?”

At the sound of his father’s voice, Jonathan released the box as if burned and quickly closed the drawer. The latch, still in the locked position, kept him from closing it all the way and he struggled to clamp down on the irrational sense of panic rocketing through him. He lifted his gaze to his father’s huge frame filling the doorway.

Had his father been the one in his desk? Jonathan’s saliva dried up and he had to clear his throat before he spoke. “Should there be?”

“I know you like things just so and I wasn’t sure your brother or your wife would remember to put everything back in order after he finished banging her.”

Relief washed over him. Thank God his father hadn’t seen. The old man was very astute; he would have known instantly what the ring meant.

Lara and Richard. Had they been searching together or had one interrupted the other? And would either of them understand what the ring symbolized?

“I told you when you married her she was trash.”

“That you did.” Jonathan struggled to keep from rolling his eyes. He’d known about Lara and Richard for months. If his father had only just found out, the old man had certainly lost his touch.

Deep frown lines creased Samuel’s wide forehead as his pale gaze bored into Jonathan. “I thought you should know.”

“And I appreciate your tact.”

His father’s skin turned deep red from his sagging jowls to his scalp, visible through the steely gray crew cut. For a moment, Jonathan thought Samuel might explode, but instead his lips curved into that dreadful smile—the same one he had feared as a child and sometimes saw twisting his own mouth as an adult.

“You always did have a soft spot for trash.” The old man chuckled and turned away.

As Samuel left, still snickering to himself, Lara pressed her back against the wall behind one of the Romanesque pillars lining the long hall like silent gray soldiers. She hoped to God he wouldn’t see her.

As his footsteps echoed off the marble floor, fear gripped her heart and squeezed until she could hardly breathe.

Jonathan knew.
The words drummed again and again in her head. Closing her eyes, she swallowed back the thick bile bubbling in her throat.

How could she be so careless? First she had forgotten to lock the desk and now Richard. She couldn’t lose this life. Not after all that she had done to get it. She needed damage control and fast. It would take time to put things in place; she only hoped she had enough left.

A few hours and a hot bath later, Haley wondered if giving the man suspected of murdering her sister an ultimatum had really been such a wise decision. She settled on her ugly, mustard-colored sofa, with a cup of tea cradled in both hands, absorbing the warmth through her skin. Probably not.

Granted, she did enjoy his dumbfounded expression, but waving a red flag before a bull was never a good idea. The problem was, she couldn’t quite reconcile Dean with the person who had slit Michelle’s throat and buried her in a basement.

Stop thinking about him.

Intent on pushing him from her mind, she leaned forward, set her cup on the battered steam trunk she used as a coffee table, and picked up the want ads.

Another posting for a bookkeeper in Toronto. Absently, she tugged her lower lip with her teeth. Should she send her resume? She doubted anyone would call. What could it hurt?

But what if someone did?

Her stomach quivered with a combination of excitement and terror. What if they did call? What if they offered her a job? Her heart accelerated when she thought of packing up and leaving, of walking away from the town where she had lived her whole life and being absorbed into the city.

Yeah, right, who was she kidding? She wasn’t a kid anymore, or Paige. She couldn’t simply walk away from her responsibilities. Hareton Furniture Restoration was hers now, for better or worse. And there was also the small issue of her mother. If Haley didn’t look after Mom, she doubted very much that Garret would pick up the slack. Still, the idea of telling them all to go to hell held a certain appeal.

She tore the ad from the paper and set it on top of the other similar clippings in the side table drawer. They were starting to pile up. She should go through them and throw some of the older ones away. Instead, she slid the drawer shut and turned back to the paper.

The sudden pounding on her front door made her freeze. It couldn’t be Dean. Not this soon, and not at her house. She went to the window and pulled back the filmy lace curtain.

Garret waited, looking down at something in his hand. God damn it, could she not have a moment of quiet? Haley stomped to the door and yanked it open.

“What?”

“I need to talk to you,” Garret said. Not bothering to wait for an invitation, he pulled open the screen door and let himself in. “Here.”

Haley looked down at the crisp blank envelope in his hand.

“This was wedged in the door.”

“Thanks.” She took the envelope and turned it over in her hands.

“What is it?” Garret asked, looking over her shoulder.

She shrugged him off and edged away. “It feels like a card.”

“Aren’t you going to open it?”

“Later. What are you doing here?”

He sat down on the sofa and glanced at the paper she’d left on the cushion. “Are those want ads?”

“I’m thinking about taking some more courses,” she said and scooped up the newspaper.

“What for? You’re doing fine at the store.” His voice raised an octave.

“The more I can do myself, the less I have to pay an accountant for.”

“If you’re concerned about money, you should reconsider moving back in with Mom. All of this—” he gestured widely, “—is an unnecessary expense. Besides, after everything that’s happened, I don’t like the idea of Mom alone so much. She could hurt herself or someone else.”

Haley flopped into the armchair opposite him. “My sanity’s worth the expense. If you’re so worried about Mom, why not have her live with you?”

“We’ve been through this. I can’t have her around the children.” He shook his head, his face etched with his well-practiced saddened-by-her-selfishness expression. At one time she would have fallen for it and let herself be sucked in by some misplaced sense of guilt. But not anymore. Garret continued, nevertheless. “Well, if you insist on your own place, at least buy something. A mortgage payment would only be slightly more than what you’re paying in rent, and you wouldn’t be throwing your money away.”

She stifled a shudder. The idea of buying something here, in Hareton, left her feeling like a caged animal. “Look, if you’ve come here to lecture me about my finances, save it. It’s been a long day.”

“Longer for some.”

“So that’s why you’re here? You’re mad because I left early?”

“No, that’s not why I’m here. I do think what you did was selfish—”

“I can give you some examples of selfish.”

“A detective Faron will be contacting you.”

“Why?” Surprise softened her voice.

“He has some questions.” Garret took a deep breath. “Have you heard any talk about Dad?”

Haley thought of Mrs. Yolken’s hungry gaze. “Just some ugly gossip.”

“Me too.”

“Is Dad a suspect?”

“I don’t know, but I’m worried. You’ll let me know what the detective says?”

Haley nodded and waited for him to get up to leave. When he didn’t, they sat in a moment of awkward silence.

“Are you going to open that envelope?” Garret asked at last.

“Why are you so interested?”

“I’m concerned. I understand you were talking to Dean Lawson today.”

She narrowed her gaze. “Who told you? Erin or Paige?”

“Does it matter? What were you thinking?”

“I didn’t even know who he was.” If Garret was this annoyed about a few words exchanged in a parking lot, she could only imagine his reaction if he knew she’d been inside Dean’s hotel room.

“What the hell is he doing back anyway?”

Haley shrugged. She should know by tomorrow, but thought better than to tell him.

“When I think of what he did…” Garret’s eyes darkened. “He would have gone to jail if Dad hadn’t given him a chance. And Lawson thanks him by murdering Michelle.”

She swallowed the lump lodged in her throat. It hadn’t been her father who had saved Dean from jail, or a juvenile detention center, or wherever troubled sixteen-year-old boys went after totaling stolen delivery vans. It had been her stupid adolescent crush. If she had just kept her mouth shut, Dean would have been sent away. He and Michelle would never have dated. And Michelle would still be alive.

“What did he say to you?”

“Nothing really. I thought he looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. I asked him if he knew Michelle and he said he did. That pretty much sums up the conversation.”

“Humor me, open the card.”

“For God’s sake,” she muttered and set the newspaper on the floor. The envelope hadn’t been sealed, so she only needed to lift the flap and slide the card out.

On the front was a glossy black and white photo of two little girls dressed in grown-up clothes.

“Who is it from?” Garret asked.

Haley opened the card. “I don’t know.” She turned it so he could see. “It’s blank.”

“That’s strange.”

“It’s probably some kind of condolence card.”

“Who doesn’t sign a card?”

She shrugged. “Someone in a hurry?”

“The whole thing is off.” He stood and crossed the room. “I wish you would stay with Mom and Paige.” When she started to protest, he interrupted. “Just until Lawson is gone. I don’t like you here alone.”

“I’ll be fine. Paige isn’t leaving tomorrow?”

“No. Faron asked her to stay on. He wants to speak to her too.”

“Maybe Dad’s not the only suspect.”

“Anything’s possible,” Garret said as she walked him to the door. “Keep your doors and windows locked.”

She snorted. “I’ll see about getting some bars for them tomorrow.”

“This isn’t a joke, Haley,” he snapped.

She gentled her voice. He’d lost a sister too, and she wanted very much to believe that his concern was more than the fear of losing his mother’s primary care taker. “I can look after myself. Besides, I doubt Dean’s going to come skulking through my windows in the middle of the night.”

“I hope you’re right. Call me when you hear from the police.”

She nodded and said good-bye as she closed the door behind him.

With a frown, she looked down at the card still in her hand. It was a strange condolence card. Where was the typical lily or the “Our Deepest Sorrows”?

Just throw the damn thing out and forget it.

Haley went to the kitchen to do just that, but hesitated over the garbage. With her fingertip she traced the outline of one of the little girls.

The sudden ding-dong of the doorbell made her heart jump.

“Christ, Garret,” she muttered. “What now?”

She slipped the card into the envelope before setting it on the windowsill behind the sink. Quickly, she walked to the living room window and peered outside. Dean stood on the porch with his hands jammed in his jeans pockets, rocking back on his heels. A brown legal-sized envelope was tucked under his arm.

So, she’d been right. Dean wouldn’t come sulking through her window. He’d boldly ring the bell and wait for her for her to answer.