The Liar (11 page)

“I know that hunger well.”

“And he said that was fine. He said it’d be good for Callie to have a brother or sister. But it didn’t happen, and it happened so easy and fast the first time. I had tests, and he said he had tests.”

“Said he had?” Viola repeated as she worked a gentle exfoliant into Shelby’s skin.

“I . . . I had to go through all his papers, and his files after. There were so many things to go through.”

Lawyers and accountants and the tax people, the creditors, the bills and debt.

“And I found a doctor’s receipt or invoice, whatever. Richard, he kept everything. It was from a few weeks after Callie was born, the time I brought her home, her first visit, and he said he had a business trip. He was so good about us coming home, he made all the arrangements. Private plane and a limo to get me to it. But he went to a doctor in New York and had a vasectomy.”

Viola’s hands paused. “He got himself snipped and let you think you were trying to make a baby?”

“I’m never going to be able to forgive him for that. Out of all of it, it’s that I can’t forgive.”

“His right to decide if he wanted to make another baby, but not his right to get fixed and not tell you. It’s a terrible lie. And a man who could tell that terrible lie, live with that terrible lie, had something missing inside him.”

“There were so many lies, Granny, and finding them after he’s dead?” There was an emptiness left there, Shelby thought, that could never be filled again. “I feel like a fool, I feel like I lived with a stranger. And I don’t understand why he married me, why he lived with me.”

Despite what churned up inside her, Viola kept her hands gentle, her voice calm. “You’re a beautiful girl, Shelby Anne, and you said you were a good wife. And you’re not to feel like a fool because you trusted your husband. What else did he lie about? Were there other women?”

“I don’t know for certain, and can’t ask. But I have to say yes, from things I found, yes, there were other women. And I find now I don’t care. I can’t even care how many—he took so many trips without us. And I went to the doctor a few weeks ago, got tested in case . . . He didn’t give me anything, so if he had other women, he was careful. So I don’t care if he had a hundred other women.”

She worked up her nerve while Viola slathered on the energizing mask.

“The money, Granny. He lied about the money. I never paid much attention to it because he said that was his business, and mine was to run the house and Callie. He—he could lash out like a whip over that without raising his voice or his hand.”

“Cold contempt can be a sharper blade than hot temper.”

Comforted, Shelby opened her eyes, looked into her grandmother’s. “He cowed me. I hate admitting it, and I don’t even know how it happened. But I can look back and see it so clear. He didn’t like me asking questions about money, so I didn’t. We had so much—the clothes and the furniture and the restaurants and the travel. But he was cheating there, too, and running some sort of scam. I’m still not clear on all of it.”

She closed her eyes again, not in shame—not with Granny—but in weariness. “Everything was on credit, and the house up North, he hadn’t made even the first payment on the loan, and he bought it back in the summer. I didn’t know a thing about it until he told me in November we were moving. And there were the cars, and the credit cards, and the time payments—and some debts in Atlanta he left behind. Taxes unpaid.”

“He left you in debt?”

“I’ve been sorting it out, and setting up payment plans—and I sold a lot off in the last few weeks. There’s an offer on the house, and if it goes through, it’ll take a lot off.”

“How much did he leave you owing?”

“As of right now?” She opened her eyes, looked into her grandmother’s. “One million, nine hundred and ninety-six thousand dollars and eighty-nine cents.”

“Well.” Viola had to draw in breath, let it out slow. “Well. Jesus Christ in a rocking chair, Shelby Anne, that’s a considerable sum of money.”

“When the house sells, it’ll cut it back. The offer’s for one point eight million. I owe a hundred and fifty more than that on it, but they forgive that with this short-sale business. And it started out around three million. Some over that with the lawyers’ bills, and accounting bills.”

“You paid off a million dollars since January?” Viola shook her head. “That must’ve been one holy hell of a yard sale.”

A
massage, an energizing facial and coming home to find her little girl bubbling over with happiness, those went a long way toward lifting Shelby’s mood.

But the biggest lift had been unburdening herself to her grandmother. She’d told her everything—about finding the safe-deposit box and what was in it, the private detective, the spreadsheet she’d created, and her need to find a paying job as soon as she could.

By the time she’d given Callie her supper, her bath, tucked her in for the night, she felt she knew all there was to know about Chelsea—and had made a promise to have Chelsea over as soon as she could.

She went back down, found her father stretched out in the La-Z-Boy recliner he loved, watching a basketball game on his new TV. And her mother sitting on the sofa crocheting.

“She go down all right?”

“Out like a light before I’d finished her bedtime story. You wore her out today, Mama.”

“It sure was fun. The two girls were like tadpoles swimming in their own pond, hardly still a minute. Suzannah and I talked about taking turns, having Chelsea come here, then taking Callie there. And I’ve got Tracey’s number for you, right in on the kitchen board. You ought to call Chelsea’s mama, honey, make a good bridge there.”

“I will. You gave her a happy day. Can I ask you for a favor?”

“You know you can.”

“I ran into Emma Kate today.”

“I heard about that.” Fingers still working yarn and needle, Ada Mae glanced up with a smile. “It’s the Ridge, baby. If I don’t hear about something ten minutes after it happened, I know I have to have your daddy check my hearing. Hattie Munson—you remember she lives across from Bitsy, though they’re feuding about something half the time. They’re feuding now because Bitsy’s getting a new kitchen and didn’t take Hattie’s advice about the new appliances. Hattie’s boy works for LG, but Bitsy bought Maytag, and Hattie took that as a personal insult. Of course, Hattie Munson takes offense if she sneezes in her own kitchen and you don’t say
Gesundheit
from yours.”

Amused at the way her mother found a way to wind through a story, and how her father cursed at the ballplayers, the referees, the coaches, Shelby eased a hip on the arm of the couch.

“So, they might be feuding, but Hattie doesn’t miss any tricks and saw you and Emma Kate outside Bitsy’s house, and saw you go on in. How’s that kitchen coming? I haven’t gotten over there in more than a week.”

“They were putting cabinets in. Pretty ones.”

“Emma Kate’s young man—Matt—and Griffin. Cutie-pies, the pair of them—and they do fine work. I’m having them do me a master bath, an en suite, out of your old room.”

“Now, Ada Mae.” Clayton surfaced from the game long enough to hear about the bathroom.

“I’m doing it, Clayton, so you’d best climb on board. Griff said how they could take out that wall, and I could have me a spa-like en suite bathroom. I’ve been looking at magazines, getting ideas. And Griff, he’s got whole books just on plumbing fixtures—I’ve never seen the like of some of them. He’s done himself an en suite already. I went over to the old Tripplehorn place to see it, and it’s like a magazine, even if he is still sleeping on an air mattress on the bedroom floor. He’s finished the kitchen over there now, and it just makes me green with envy.”

“Don’t even start, Ada Mae.”

“I like my kitchen just fine,” she said to Clayton, then grinned at Shelby, mouthed,
For now.
“I bet you and Emma Kate picked up right where you left off.”

Miles from that, Shelby thought. “That’s the favor. She said she’d like to meet me tomorrow, at Bootlegger’s, about seven-thirty, if I could. But—”

“You go right on and do that. Old friends are the bricks and mortar of your life. I don’t know what I’d do without Suzannah. Your daddy and I will watch Callie, get her to bed. We’d love to.”

“Finally something I can agree to.” Clayton looked over at his daughter. “You take some time catching up with Emma Kate. We’ll spoil Callie.”

“Thank you.” She leaned over, kissed her mother, got up, kissed her father. “I’m going on up because a day of pampering’s made me sleepy. Thanks for that, too, Mama. And we’ll need to eat at six tomorrow night. I’m cooking dinner.”

“Oh, but—”

“I’m doing it, Ada Mae,” she said in the same tone her mother had used to her father, and had Clayton snickering.

“I’ve gotten to be a pretty good cook, and you’ll judge for yourself. I’m going to pull my weight while Callie and I are here, because I was raised right. ’Night.”

“She was raised right,” Clayton said when Shelby started upstairs. “So let’s pat ourselves on the back there, and we’ll see what’s for dinner tomorrow.”

“She wasn’t so pale and tired-looking tonight.”

“No, she wasn’t. Let’s see how it goes for the next few days, and be glad we’ve got them home.”

“I am, and I’ll be gladder when she makes things up with Emma Kate.”

•   •   •

I
T WASN’T HARD
to keep busy. By mid-morning, she hauled out the stroller. Taking Callie on a stroll around town, picking up what she wanted for the chicken dinner she intended to make for her parents was an easy—casual—way to wander around the Ridge and see if anyone was hiring.

The clouds had lifted, and the air had the bright-edged sparkle of spring after a shower. She put Callie in her pink denim jacket with a light cap—and since she might find herself applying for a job, did her makeup before setting out.

“Are we going to see Chelsea, Mama?”

“We’re walking to town, baby. To the grocery store, and I have to open up a bank account. Maybe we’ll stop in and see Granny.”

“See Granny! Chelsea, too.”

“I’ll call Chelsea’s mama later, and we’ll see.”

She passed Emma Kate’s house, noted the workman truck in the drive—and had to resist the urge to lift a hand in a wave across the street where she imagined Hattie Munson’s eagle eye was trained on her.

People like Ms. Munson did plenty of talking, she knew. There was welcome in the Ridge, but there were those—and more than a few—who’d enjoy gossiping over the back fence and in the grocery store aisle, over lunch at Sid and Sadie, about the poor Pomeroy girl who’d come home a widow with a child. But what did you expect when she’d run off that way with a man nobody knew a thing about?

They’d talk about how she’d moved north, rarely came home, dropped out of college after her parents had worked hard to send her.

There’d be plenty to gossip about. And they didn’t know the half of it.

The smart thing to do would be to keep her head down, be friendly and get steady work. Steady work would mean some sort of day care for Callie, so that had to be balanced.

Day care would be good for Callie. Just look how she’d latched onto this Chelsea. She needed to interact with other kids, even if it meant most of any paycheck coming in went out again.

While Callie talked to Fifi, Shelby took the fork into town. She kept her eyes peeled for houses for sale. When she moved out on her own, she wanted something close by. Close enough maybe Callie could walk to her grandmother’s, or to Granny’s. To friends, to town, just as she had.

A little house, two bedrooms, maybe with enough land for a small garden. She’d missed gardening in the condo, and hadn’t had a chance in Philadelphia.

She let her mind drift, imagined the house in her head. Like a cottage, that’s all they needed, and she’d plant flowers and have a vegetable patch, some herbs. She’d teach Callie how to plant and tend and harvest.

She could haunt yard sales and flea markets for furniture, for bargains she could refinish or paint or reupholster. Warm colors and sink-into chairs.

They’d have a good life here, whatever it took to make it.

She took the main road, with shops and a few old houses on each side of the winding street.

She could work in a gift shop, or wait tables, ring up sales at the drugstore or food at the market. Granny had told her she could come work at the salon, but she didn’t have any real talent for hair—or a license. Whatever she did there would be make work, and her family was already making enough for her.

She could check at the hotel or the lodge just outside of town. Not today, not with Callie along, but they should go on her list.

She liked the way it all looked, freshening up for spring with storefronts shining in the sunlight, tubs and hanging baskets of flowers decking the buildings that climbed up or down the hilly road. She enjoyed seeing people stopping to talk, a few tourists wandering along the steep sidewalks, hikers with their big backpacks taking pictures of the town well, where legend had it star-crossed lovers, from feuding families, would meet at midnight.

Until the girl’s father shot the boy dead, and the girl died of a broken heart.

Their rendezvous, so it was said, gave the town its name, and the well—haunted, of course—ended up on a lot of cameras and canvases.

Maybe she could get an office job since she had decent computer skills. But the truth was she had no experience there. Her work experience spread to helping out at the salon—filling shampoo bottles, sweeping the floor, working the register—babysitting, working in the college bookstore a couple of semesters.

And singing with the band.

She wasn’t likely to form a band, and was beyond filling shampoo bottles. So retail maybe. Or maybe she could look into opening a day care. But the Ridge had one—and those who had family usually had a mother or cousin or sister who’d watch their kids when they worked.

Retail, she thought again. Retail or waitressing. There could be opportunities there, especially since summer was coming, and summer brought more tourists, more hikers, more families who rented cabins or stayed at the hotel.

The Artful Ridge—local artists mostly. Mountain Treasures, gifts and whatnots. The Hasty Market—selling staples and snacks for anyone who didn’t want to go the half mile to Haggerty Food Market. There was the pharmacy, the ice cream shop, the bar and grill, the Pizzateria, Al’s Liquors.

Farther down and around the corner sat Shady’s Bar, which was just that. And her mama would have a heart attack if she took a job there.

Considering her options, she stopped in the salon first so her granny could show off Callie.

“I’m going to do your hair,” Viola told Callie. “Crystal, get me one of those booster seats, would you? You can sit right here at Granny’s station, Callie Rose. I used to do your Gamma’s hair, and your mama’s. Now I get to do yours.”

“Callie’s hair.” Callie lifted her arms to Viola, then brushed at Viola’s hair. “Granny’s hair.”

“About the same, isn’t it—though mine takes some doing these days.”

“Some doing,” Callie echoed, and made Viola laugh.

“Have a seat there, Shelby, Crystal doesn’t have another head for a half hour. Look at this beautiful hair.”

Callie, who could sometimes be fussy and impatient at hair-fixing time, sat happily staring at herself in the mirror.

“I wanna be a princess, Granny.”

“You
are
a princess, but we’ll give you hair worthy of your rank.” She brushed through the curls, grabbed one of the big silver clips to hold some back, and began to do a fancy French braid on the side.

“I heard Bonnie Jo Farnsworth—that’s a cousin of Gilly’s sister’s husband—is getting a divorce from her husband. That’s Les Wickett, Shelby, who ran with Forrest some when they were boys. They haven’t been married two years, and have a baby not six months old. Had a big wedding at the hotel cost her daddy two arms and his left leg.”

“I remember Les a little. I’m sorry to hear he’s having troubles.”

“I heard trouble’s been brewing since before they cut the wedding cake.” Crystal, who owned a tumbling mane of streaky blond hair, gave a knowing wiggle of her eyebrows. “But I probably shouldn’t say.”

“Of course you should say.” Viola tied off the first braid, started on the second. “And in considerable detail.”

“Well, maybe you didn’t know that Bonnie Jo used to go around with Boyd Kattery.”

“Loretta Kattery’s middle boy. Those Kattery boys are rough customers. Forrest had a set-to with Arlo—the youngest of them—not long ago when Arlo got skunk drunk down to Shady’s and started a fight over a pool game. Arlo took a swing at Forrest when Forrest went in to break it up. You know Arlo, Shelby. Bony boy with straw-colored hair and a bad attitude. Drove a motorcycle, and tried to catch your eye.”

“I remember Arlo. He got suspended and sent off awhile for beating up on a boy half his size outside of school.”

“Boyd’s considerably worse, let me tell you.” As she talked, Crystal readied her station for the next customer. “And he and Bonnie Jo were always sneaking off, then they broke up when he got arrested for . . .”

She glanced at Callie, who was too busy admiring herself in the mirror to pay attention.

“For, ah, having certain illegal substances in his possession. Then Bonnie Jo took up with Les, and before you can click your heels they’re planning a wedding. You ask me, her daddy was so relieved she was marrying a nice boy and done with Boyd, he’d’ve paid double what that wedding cost. But Boyd got released right before the wedding, and there’s been some talk down in the holler he and Bonnie Jo have, well, taken up again, and now the two of them are off down to Florida, where he has cousins—she left that baby behind like it was leftover pizza or something. And it’s said the cousins make up some of the substances he was put away for.”