It Began With a Lie: A gripping psychological thriller (Secrets of Redemption Book 1)

by Michele PW (Pariza Wacek)

  I held the door open even wider, gesturing him inside. “Sorry, I didn’t hear it. Unpacking.”

  I led him back through the mudroom, past the closed door to the basement, and into the kitchen, where he stopped in the doorway. “Wow,” he said, looking around. “Feels like old times.”

  I looked around myself, and was actually pretty impressed by what I had accomplished. The kitchen virtually sparkled in the late afternoon sun—predominantly white and grey with cheery accents of red, yellow, and happy sunflowers. Aunt Charlie loved sunflowers, and they were everywhere—on canisters, decorative plates, a glass pitcher, and salt-and-pepper shakers. You could always count on a few real sunflowers from her garden in a vase, as well, when she had been there to cut them. During my organizing, I had found and washed the vase. Maybe at some point, I’d venture outside to see if there were any still growing.

  I had kept more of my aunt’s things than I had expected to. As I went through them, I realized I liked Aunt Charlie’s mismatched dishes and utensils more than the elegant, yet coldly-impersonal items Stefan and I had brought from New York.

  I wasn’t sure if Stefan would approve.

  He will, I said firmly to myself. He just needs to see how warm and cozy it is for himself. I made a mental note to fill the kitchen with sunflowers before he came home. Nobody could resist sunflowers.

  “Do you want to sit down?” I waved to the butcher-block table. “Can I get you something to drink?” As soon as I said it, I wanted to stuff it back in my mouth. This wasn’t a social call. Daniel still had his uniform on, which had to mean he was there as a cop. And that couldn’t be a good thing.

  His eyebrows quirked up. “Are you offering me tea?” A ghost of a smile was on his lips.

  I found myself starting to smile in response. “That IS what this kitchen is known for.”

  “If it’s not too much trouble.” He sauntered over to sit at the table.

  A wave of self-consciousness washed over me as I started heating the water and pulling the cups out of the cupboard. I still had no idea why he stood me up all those years ago. Part of me wanted to say something. But what if we had talked about it, and I just didn’t remember? From the looks of him, it certainly didn’t appear that he felt we had any unfinished business. In fact, he’d probably completely forgotten about the whole encounter. I pictured myself casually asking, “So, since you’re here, I always wondered why you stood me up fifteen years ago?” and having him stare at me in complete befuddlement. “What? I don’t remember … oh, that’s right. Sorry about that. I had forgotten all about it.”

  Yeah, I was definitely keeping my mouth shut.

  Instead, I busied myself with the task of tea making, keeping my head down so I didn’t have to look at him. “Unfortunately, the tea is store bought—I haven’t found her blends yet,” I said, keeping my voice light.

  He didn’t answer, so I chanced a quick peek from under my lashes. He was standing by the window, staring out into the overgrown garden, probably remembering “the good old days” with Aunt Charlie—all the fresh fruit and veggies and tea from her famous garden. Probably wishing she were there instead of me. “I’m sure it’s fine—even if Charlie would have found it blasphemous.”

  “Yeah, that’s what Daphne said, too.”

  He turned to look at me. “Oh, was Daphne here?”

  I mentally kicked myself. Daniel isn’t your friend, I reminded myself. He’s a cop. Never mind whatever happened to us as kids. It didn’t make him any less of a cop. And after all these years of living with attorneys, one thing that had been drilled into me was to say as little as possible to anyone opposing you. Especially if that person’s a cop. The less Daniel knew about my life, the better. I didn’t want to give him any ammunition to weasel more information out of me than what I wanted to share. “Yeah, she stopped in to say ‘hi.’” I carried a tray loaded with tea, sugar, and cream over to the table, and plunked it down in the center.

  He accepted the mug, and I chose a seat across from him, trying not to focus on the silence of the house. “Are you stopping in to say ‘hi,’ too?”

  He put the mug down. “Not exactly. I have a few questions for you.”

  My heart started pounding. I took a sip of tea to compose myself. “Questions? You do know I just got here yesterday, right?” Was he going to bring up why he stood me up?

  “This isn’t about anything recent. I want to ask you about the night Jessica disappeared.”

  I put my mug down carefully, alarm bells going off inside me. This couldn’t be good. “That was a long time ago.”

  He nodded. “Yes, but we still don’t know what happened to her.”

  I played with my mug, spinning it around on the table. “I don’t know how I could possibly add anything new at this point.”

  “You may be surprised. Sometimes just talking about it can shake something loose.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think that’s the case with me. I haven’t thought about that night in years. And don’t forget I almost died.”

  “I remember.” His voice was short, clipped. I finally raised my head and met his intense, flat stare. He was judging me. I could feel a spark of anger start to glow inside me.

  “I was sixteen,” I made my voice match his short tone. “I was stupid and had too much to drink. That hardly makes me a reliable witness, even if it wasn’t fifteen years ago.”

  “We were all sixteen. We were all stupid. But, one of us is still missing.”

  What was that supposed to mean? “You think that’s my fault?”

  “Is it your fault?”

  Rebecca, get a hold of yourself. Remember, you’re talking to a cop. I sat back in my chair and folded my arms. “Don’t give me that cop double talk. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t think I knew something.”

  He shifted in his chair, leaning back as well. “Maybe I do. But I never said I think it was your fault.”

  There was something in his tone, in the way he watched me, that made me want to defend myself, to explain why I went back to New York without another word. I shouldn’t need to explain myself to Daniel, he’s the one who should be apologizing to me. He stood me up after all. Instead, I focused on picking up my tea and attempting to drink, but my throat had closed, and I almost choked.

  Daniel looked at me with a strange mixture of concern and suspicion. “Are you okay?”

  I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “I’m fine. It’s just … look, I really don’t think I can help.”

  He studied me in silence, his expression unreadable. The late afternoon sun slanted across his face, highlighting the gold in his dark blonde hair, and turning his eyes an even deeper blue. The silence of the house seemed to press against us, and I was suddenly aware that we were alone.

  He pushed his mug across the table, the grating sound breaking the spell of the moment. “Think about it. I’ve read the police report from that night, so I know what you told the cops at the time. I just have a few more questions.”

  I blinked at him stupidly. Police report? What I told the cops? I didn’t have any memory of telling the cops anything. In fact, what I did remember was quite the opposite. I had a very clear memory of my mother blocking the door to my hospital room with her body, ordering the cops to leave me alone—that I needed time to recover, and she would NOT let them upset me.

  What the hell was going on? Did I talk to them later and I blocked that out, too? And what did I tell them?

  He was clearly waiting for me to say something, still watching me with that unreadable expression—did I look guilty to him? I nodded, and agreed to think about it.

  He thanked me for the tea and I saw him to the door. He left without a word or a glance. I returned to the kitchen, thinking that I probably should figure something out for dinner. But instead, I found myself mulling about the festering nature of secrets, as I stare
d out the window at the garden. I watched the shadows start to deepen and lengthen, until it resembled something more twisted, like a nightmare’s garden.

  What secrets had I buried there, years ago?

  Chapter 6

  I texted Chrissy to find out where she was, and if she was coming home for dinner. Even as I was typing, I felt like I was giving away my power, asking her to come home rather than telling her. But what on earth could I do? I didn’t have a clue where she might be, or who she could be with, so it wasn’t like I could physically go get her and drag her home. And she was sixteen, after all. Yet, that didn’t change how I felt like a whiny stepmother with every keystroke.

  It was going to be a really long summer.

  I thought about texting or calling Stefan, but kept stopping myself. He had said he would call me, and he tended to get irritated when I didn’t wait for him to reach out first. Plus, he was already frustrated with me when he left, and I didn’t want to make things worse. Part of the point of being here was to turn our marriage around, and the best way to do that was to focus on what I could actually do—namely, turn this house into a beautiful home he would love living in.

  Until we sold it, that was.

  Well, regardless, living in a cozy, warm home even temporarily would be a good start to fixing our relationship.

  Besides, I had more than enough on my plate already, between getting this house in shape and Chrissy.

  God, what was I going to do with her?

  While I was staring at my phone wondering what to do next, Chrissy texted back, asking what I was making for dinner.

  What the hell? What am I, a short order cook?

  Enough of that, Rebecca. I took a deep breath. Remember who the grown-up is here.

  Too bad I didn’t feel much like one.

  I typed back I’m thinking something light, like a Cobb salad, which I knew was her favorite. Apparently, I wasn’t above bribery to get her home without a fight.

  I stared at my phone, willing her to text back. No response.

  So much for bribery.

  I sighed, and went into the kitchen to start pulling the Cobb salad together. I poured myself a glass of wine while I was at it. It’d been a hell of a few days.

  In the middle of chopping tomatoes, my phone rang. Was it finally Stefan? I wiped my hands down and hurried to the phone. No, not Stefan. But my disappointment quickly evaporated.

  “CB! Is that really you?”

  “The one and the same,” my cousin’s voice answered, sounding faintly amused.

  I gripped the phone tightly. “Oh my God, I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear your voice.”

  CB was my only cousin on my mother’s side. He also was also my biggest supporter and cheerleader, always managing to show up at the perfect time with a bottle of some sort of alcoholic beverage, getting me to laugh, even during the darkest of times. Although, in the case of this move, there had been no laughter—only fighting about the massive mistake he said I was making. It was one of the only times he and my mother had been in perfect agreement.

  “Are you finally seeing the light? Ready to admit that your favorite cos was right when he told you it was a bad idea to move to Hicksville?” He paused to sigh dramatically—I could almost see him rolling his eyes—”Alas, you just wouldn’t listen.”

  I sighed. “Oh, CB don’t start. I’ve had a dreadful time out here.”

  His voice softened. “That bad, huh?”

  “The worst.” I picked up my glass of wine and carried it over to the kitchen table.

  “Tell your cousin all about it—I’m ready for all the gory details. And don’t hold back—especially on any juicy bits of gossip.”

  Aunt Charlie never had children of her own, but her two sisters liked to unload their children on her during the summer, so they could jet off to their lavish European vacations. CB was an only child, but I had two older brothers, both of whom hated it in Redemption, and did everything possible to stay in New York. I, however, had always been more comfortable with Aunt Charlie than I was with anyone else in my family, so much to my mother’s chagrin, there came a time when I preferred being with Aunt Charlie and didn’t even want to return to New York. After That Night, I sometimes got the feeling my mother was glad it happened—not because she wanted me to suffer, but because she didn’t want Aunt Charlie influencing me anymore.

  I settled myself in a position that allowed me to watch the daylight drain away, and took a sip of my wine. “Well, I saw Mia and Daphne. Mia is a waitress at Aunt May’s Diner. And Daphne is still living at home, taking care of her mother.”

  “Really?” CB sounded surprised. “Mia and Daphne are still there? I was sure both of them would fast-track it out of that town.”

  I found myself strangely reluctant to talk about how Jessica’s disappearance seemed to have left this town frozen in grief and pain. “They’re not the only ones. Daniel’s here too—he’s a cop.”

  “Daniel is a cop? Did you ask to see his handcuffs?”

  “Very funny. No, but he did come here to ask me a few questions.” Crap, why did I say that? I didn’t want to talk about my conversation with Daniel at all, and now here I was, setting myself up to talk about it.

  “What questions? Was there a strip search involved?”

  “Very funny. No, he wanted to talk about Jessica.”

  There was a pause. “Now, there’s a blast from the past. Why did he want to talk about her?” His voice had shifted, was no longer teasing.

  “He didn’t tell me, but I think he’s still investigating her disappearance.”

  “So, there’s no new information.”

  I swirled my wine around. “Nope.”

  “Then why did he want to talk to you?” Now there was an edge in his voice, exactly the way he sounded back in New York, when we were fighting about my pending move.

  “He wanted me to tell him what I remembered about that night.”

  “And, what do you remember?”

  What on earth was going on with him? “Christ, CB. You know what I remember. Nothing. Why the inquisition?”

  He growled. “Because this whole thing was a really bad idea. The last thing you need right now is to be interrogated about that night. I can’t believe Stefan did that to you. Is he even there?”

  I was silent.

  He made a disgusted sound. “I knew it. I gotta go.”

  “CB, wait.” I didn’t want him to hang up angry. Suddenly, I just couldn’t stand it. Everyone I had talked to from home the past couple of days—Stefan, Chrissy, and now CB—I somehow managed to fight with, and I just couldn’t take another one. “Don’t be mad.”

  He took a deep breath. “It’s not you. I just … well, you know what I think about this. Look, I really do have to go. I’ll call you soon.”

  I heard voices in the background. Clearly, he was out on the town, which was par for the course for CB. He’d probably called me on his way to the latest trendy bar or club. I was hit with a sudden wave of envy—why, oh why couldn’t I be back with him in New York, getting ready to have a mindless night of fun, instead of stuck in the awful mess I had stumbled into? “You promise?” I asked.

  Now his voice sounded almost normal again. “When have I ever let you down? Be good.”

  He hung up. I stared at the phone for a long minute before putting it down. I felt even more depressed than I had before CB had called.

  I was contemplating reaching out to Stefan when the phone rang. Finally, was it him? I eagerly looked at the screen only to feel my heart sink again. It was my mother.

  Well, it’s not like this day could possibly get any worse.

  “Hi, mom.”

  “You were going to let me know you arrived there safely,” my mother said, her voice faintly accusatory.

  Deep breath. Maybe another sip of wine. “Sorry. It�
��s been hectic.”

  “I can imagine. Moving halfway across the country is very stressful.”

  I closed my eyes. “Mom, don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “You know we didn’t have much choice.”

  “Of course you had a choice! You could have moved in with us. We could have made it work.”

  Stefan would never agree, I wanted to say. His pride wouldn’t allow it. I took another drink of wine. This was precisely why I hadn’t wanted to talk to my mother. I hated fighting with her. I wanted to tell her the truth. That not only would it be too painful for Stefan, but it would also likely derail our already shaky marriage. But it also felt disrespectful to Stefan to share something that personal.

  Instead, I repeated what Stefan had said when my parents had first brought up the option to move in with them. “But, this is a much more practical solution. There’s a lot we have to do to get this house ready to put on the market, and it makes far more sense for us to live here while we do the work.”

  “It doesn’t make any sense to commute between Wisconsin and New York.”

  “That’s just temporary. Stefan will be able to set up a home office in a few weeks.”

  “Is he there now?”

  My hand squeezed the wine glass so tightly I thought I might break it. I forced myself to breathe as I loosened my death grip. “Mom, we talked about this. He still has some things to finish up before he can work from here.”

  “I don’t like the thought of you all alone out there.”

  I didn’t either. But, there was no sense agreeing with her; she would just use that as a wedge. “Chrissy is here. Plus, some of my old friends still live in Redemption. So, I’m not all alone.”

  “He shouldn’t be leaving you alone,” she said firmly. “It’s not right.”

  Again, I found myself agreeing with her. “It’s only for a few weeks,” I said again, wondering who I was actually trying to convince. “Then, he can work from here. And, if all goes well, we’ll hopefully be back in New York before Christmas.”