Living Lies

by Natalie Walters

“Oh, no. I can drive myself, Sheriff.” She glanced down at herself, feeling entirely too aware of her muddied clothes and limp hair hanging over her shoulders. “EMTs said I’m good.”

  Sheriff Huggins looked like he was trying to decide if she was telling him the truth. “You have my number. You call me or Byrdie if you need anything.”

  “I will.” She grabbed her backpack from the back of the ambulance. “I promise.”

  Lane could read the hesitation in the sheriff’s face, but after a minute he let out a breath. “Okay, but I want Deputy Lynch to take one of the squad cars and drive you to your car.”

  Even without the finality in Sheriff Huggins’s tone, Lane wasn’t going to argue. She was wet, cold, and not about to walk through the trees to get to her car. “Deal.”

  Sheriff Huggins pulled her into another one of his hugs and kissed her forehead. “I’ll check on you tomorrow.”

  Blinking back the emotion, Lane gave a tight-lipped smile and followed Deputy Lynch to a squad car.

  “Where are you parked?” he asked after she had climbed into the passenger seat.

  “The Ogeechee Park lot. West side of the river.”

  “I know it.” He nodded as he started the car. “I usually park down the river, but today I parked farther up. Found the trail that led me to the bridge.”

  Lane’s insides cringed. Change the subject. “Storm’s passing.”

  “That’s the thing about storms, right? Come in quick and then leave just as quickly.”

  “Not all storms.” Lane watched a drop of rain trickle down the window. “Sometimes they stick around and make life miserable.”

  “I’m sorry I scared you.”

  Lane turned in her seat. The deputy’s eyes were focused on the road. “What?”

  “Back in the woods. I didn’t mean to scare you.” His hands tightened around the steering wheel. “Or at the bridge.”

  It was like a weight had settled over the car and silent seconds filled the space between them. Lane unbuckled her seat belt and opened the door as soon as Deputy Lynch pulled into the parking lot. “Thanks for the ride.” She picked up her backpack and started to climb out but stopped. She held her bag up. “I take pictures. That’s why I was out there today.”

  Deputy Lynch’s jaw flinched before his lips pulled into an easy smile. “Sure.”

  She closed the door and walked to her car. Did he believe her? If he did, it didn’t show. It wasn’t a complete lie. Lane didn’t go to the bridge very often. Just when she needed to think. To breathe. From the corner of her eye, she caught the deputy still watching her. Just smile, the voice in her head reminded her. Pretend everything is fine. That you’re fine.

  What were the odds that Deputy Charlie Lynch would catch her at a moment of weakness? And what if he told Sheriff Huggins? The sheriff was like a father to her, but what if the truth of why she was out there got back to her actual father?

  Lane pressed her lips together, her fists tightening over the straps of her backpack. No. That couldn’t happen. Wouldn’t. Whatever opinion the new deputy formed about her she’d prove wrong. She had to—she had everything to lose.

  TWO

  CHARLIE TUGGED AT HIS COLLAR, much preferring his soggy T-shirt and shorts from earlier to the stiff polyester uniform. The vinyl raincoat trapped the humidity against his body like Mother Nature had decided Walton, Georgia, was her own personal sweat lodge. How thoughtful of her.

  After he had dropped off Ms. Kent at her car, the sheriff had instructed him to swing by the station and change into a uniform. Today would now be his first official day on the job. By the time he returned to the crime scene, the perimeter around the body had already been taped off.

  “Lynch.” Mud-spattered boots stepped out of the tree line. Deputy Ben Wilson. The man himself could easily have been confused with a tree trunk. “Sheriff needs a second man in charge.”

  Was it a request? An order? Wilson was the most senior deputy and at least ten years older than Charlie. Wilson’s square jaw shifted as his brown eyes squinted into tight lines. He was a man of few words, but being the size of a side-by-side fridge allowed him that privilege.

  “Yes, sir.” The ingrained response fell from Charlie’s lips. Second man in charge? Charlie tugged on his collar a second time. The heat was suffocating. Or was it the pressure?

  With a grunt and a nod, Deputy Wilson marched off.

  Charlie wiped the sweat from his brow and readjusted his hat.

  “Lynch.” Sheriff Huggins waved him over.

  “Yes, sir.” Charlie followed the sheriff back into the wooded thicket, grateful his uncle had stopped calling him by his first name. He saw the way the other deputies eyed him. It was impossible to keep his relationship to their boss a secret, but Charlie didn’t want any of them thinking he wasn’t on the force by his own merit. He’d proven himself as an MP; he’d do it here too and prove his father wrong in the process.

  A putrid smell punched him the face. He swallowed the urge to gag. He’d never get used to the smell of death.

  The thought reminded him of Ms. Kent—Lane. When he offered the advice, he noticed that she didn’t react. In fact, the only discernible emotion on Lane’s face came through her green eyes. Their color was so rich it reminded Charlie of the emeralds mined in the Panjshir Valley of Afghanistan.

  “I’ve got something that can help with the smell if you’d like.”

  Charlie shook his head. He was the new guy, but this wasn’t his first dead body. He tempered his breathing. Studied the grayish pallor of the victim’s face. She was young. A raindrop trickled down her cheek.

  Deputy Hodges and Deputy Wilson were erecting a tarp over the body to prevent evidence degradation.

  “You have the digital camera?”

  “Yes, sir.” Charlie held up the camera.

  “Start at the edge of the perimeter and work your way in.”

  “Anything specific I should be looking for?”

  Sheriff Huggins rubbed the back of his neck. “Until we can confirm how this young lady died, we’re looking for anything and everything.”

  Charlie spent the next hour methodically taking pictures. It all looked the same. Mud. Branches. Leaves. Three hundred photos of sloppy, wet earth. Any chance they’d find evidence had washed away with the rain. When he was certain he had enough photos, he returned to the body.

  “Max, this is Deputy Lynch.” Sheriff Huggins made the introduction. “He’s going to be working the investigation with me. Fill him in.”

  The Savannah County medical examiner kneeling next to the body gave a subtle nod as he handed off a small plastic baggie to an assistant.

  “Female; young—maybe late teens to early twenties; abrasions across both hands and the right side of the face.” The ME pointed to the reddish blotch on the girl’s face. “Her left leg is also broken. But that’s not what has me intrigued.”

  With the help of his assistant, the ME turned the girl facedown. He lifted her muddy shirt, exposing her back. Varied shades of purple and black bruising hedged one-inch gashes tracking her upper torso.

  Charlie took a step back. Images of soldiers torn apart by roadside bombs, limbs shattered or missing, filled his vision. Three tours to the war zone, witnessing destruction and death, and it never got easier.

  “You okay?” Sheriff Huggins’s voice was low.

  “Yes, sir.” Charlie remembered the other deputy’s first impression of the scene. “It’s not suicide then.”

  The ME looked up at them. “Most people who want to kill themselves don’t break their own legs or stab themselves in the back.”

  Charlie pushed out a breath. Seeing her lying there, exposed—she was so young. Defenseless. Anger churned his gut.

  “My initial assessment”—the ME stood, his pants caked in mud—“you have your first murder. Congratulations.” The smirk on his face was wiped clean by Sheriff Huggins’s disapproving glare.

  The ME returned to his work as the sheriff dragged a hand dow
n his face. Even beneath the shadows of the tall oaks, the effects of the caustic comment were visible. Charlie knew his uncle took great pride in protecting his city—a small town with a reputation as one of America’s safest cities to raise a family—and someone had violated his mission.

  “If the victim’s ready, I can begin photographing the entry and exit wounds.” It seemed important for Charlie to stay sensitive to the situation. “I’ll help bag her body for transport.”

  “Thank you.” Appreciation glistened in the sheriff’s eyes. “Deputies Hodges and Wilson will be here to assist.”

  “I’ll take care of it, sir.”

  Sheriff Huggins took a long look at the young woman lying in the dirt. “Someone somewhere has a daughter who didn’t come home.”

  The sky was black when Charlie and the other deputies walked into the station damp, muddy, and in his opinion, smelly. Clearing the scene had taken more out of him than he had expected—both physically and mentally.

  Bagging a soldier was different from bagging a civilian. In war, the playing field was even, or it was supposed to be. Soldiers train to fight their enemy. But who was Jane Doe’s enemy?

  “Everything okay?”

  Charlie’s focus returned to the present. His gaze collided with Deputy Wilson’s. “Yes, sir. About to drop the crime scene log on the sheriff’s desk before heading home.”

  “Don’t forget, we’ll need a statement from Lane Kent. The sooner the better.”

  “Yes, sir.” He didn’t think this day could feel any longer, but the idea of talking with her seemed to ease the tension in his shoulders a little. “I can stop by her house and check on her. Set up a time for her to come in.”

  A curious look passed over the big man’s face. “A phone call will accomplish the same result. Number’s on the sheet in your hand.”

  “Yes, sir.” Charlie dropped off the report before picking up the phone and dialing Lane Kent’s number. He let out a sigh. Why was he feeling nervous? This was his job. Procedure. His breathing became easier with each unanswered ring until at last a machine picked up. A robotic voice asked for his number and message.

  “Ms. Kent, uh, this is Charlie—I mean Deputy Charlie Lynch with the Walton County Sheriff’s Department.” Charlie cringed. Where else would he be calling from? “I’m sorry to bother you this evening, but we need to get a statement from you about today.” He could still see the way her body trembled. Cold. Wet. In shock. “I know it’s a difficult thing to think about, but it’s important we get the information while it’s still fresh in your mind. You can come in or I can come to you. Um, or another deputy can come to your home and get your statement tomorrow. Okay, well, please call us at your earliest convenience. Thank you.”

  Charlie hung up the phone and pinched the bridge of his nose. The call couldn’t have gone worse, nor could he have been more unprofessional if he had tried. He grabbed his gym bag, which contained that morning’s soggy workout clothes, and let the night shift know he was heading home.

  He didn’t even have a foot out of his truck and could already hear the yapping coming from inside his house. He unlocked the front door and was met with a spring-loaded terrier, bouncing almost as high as his waist.

  “Bane, sit,” Charlie commanded.

  Like a magnet, the dog’s hindquarters found the ground. Bane stared up, waiting for the next command. The small cottage-style home off Ford Avenue was the perfect size for Charlie, but he wasn’t so sure it would be able to handle Bane’s energy. Thankfully there was a nice-size yard behind the home and a huge park a block over where he could run his dog’s energy to a livable level. He hoped.

  “Stay.” Charlie inched toward a basket near the door, keeping his eye on the terrier. The dog’s tail swept the floor like a propeller ready to wind up for takeoff. Charlie cupped a green tennis ball in his hand.

  “Stay.” Charlie edged to the back door and opened it. A floodlight illuminated the yard. Charlie threw the ball so that it landed in the farthest corner of the fenced yard and looked back at his dog. Bane’s entire body shook now, his eyes fixated on Charlie’s hand. He knew the drill and what came next but was unwilling to disobey his master even if it meant his body was convulsing. “Go get it, boy!”

  Like a rocket, Bane shot past Charlie with speed unnatural for his short legs and bounded through the yard in search of the ball. Charlie ticked off the seconds in his head. When Bane’s head popped up with the green ball tucked securely in his jaw, Charlie shook his head.

  “Almost forty seconds. You’re slacking.” The dog dropped the ball at his feet for round two. “It’ll have to wait, buddy. You’re not the only one with pent-up energy.”

  Charlie had spent the last several weeks at the academy with his nose in police procedure manuals, and being the new man on the force meant he was going to be pulling the night and weekend shifts for the foreseeable future—especially now.

  “Long day?” A familiar southern drawl steered Charlie’s attention to the white fence in his backyard. His Aunt Byrdie emerged out of the darkness, stepping through the gate with a covered dish in her hands. Bane yipped, his nails scratching at the laminate flooring as he raced to meet their guest. Aunt Byrdie rolled her eyes. “I still can’t believe you kept this dog.”

  Neither could he, but Charlie grinned when his aunt pulled a dog bone from her pocket and tossed it to Bane. The dog attacked the treat and trotted off a safe distance to enjoy it.

  “I brought you dinner.” His aunt handed him the plate. “Meatloaf, garlic mashed potatoes, and sautéed green beans.”

  Charlie peeked beneath the foil and an aroma met his nose, sending his stomach roaring. He was famished. “It smells delicious. Thank you.”

  “I figured you’d appreciate a home-cooked meal after the day you’ve had.” His aunt looked up at him and gave a wistful smile. “It’s pretty convenient that you moved in behind the Way Station Café.”

  “Convenience had nothing to do with it.” Charlie lifted the plate of food. “Strategic reconnaissance.”

  His aunt smiled again, and this time it stretched to her eyes. “Well, whatever it is, I’m glad you’re here, and I hope you plan on staying a while.”

  Charlie started to answer, but his cell phone rang.

  “I won’t keep you.” His aunt waved her hands in the air and turned to leave before pausing. “When you finish your dinner, you can stop by and grab a bowl of peach cobbler.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Charlie picked up his cell phone and shook his head. His mom. It’d only been, what—an hour since her last call? He’d let them all roll over to voicemail, but if he didn’t answer soon she would probably be calling the sheriff.

  “Hey, Mom.” Bane, finished with his treat, followed Charlie inside the house and immediately found his green ball and nosed it toward Charlie’s foot. Charlie kicked it and watched the dog slip across the wood floor as he chased it under a table.

  “Finally. I was about to call your uncle.”

  Charlie snorted. “I was working.”

  “All day? It’s almost ten o’clock. I was hoping you were out . . . with friends.”

  His mother did nothing to hide the concern in her tone. Bane found the ball and dropped it. He waited for Charlie to continue the game. He decided it probably wasn’t best to inform her that his only friend at the moment was a stray dog. Charlie kicked the ball down the hallway this time.

  “Mom, I just moved here.” Charlie looked at the boxes stacked around him. The small kitchen opened up to a decent-size living room and the mismatched furniture revealed his bachelor status. “I’ll find time to make friends.”

  “And settle down? That’s why you moved there, right? To settle down?”

  Charlie ran his fingers through his hair. It felt different having some length to it. His days of high and tights were over, along with his military career. But he was good with that decision. It was the right decision.

  Even if his father didn’t agree.

  “Are you hap
py, Charlie?”

  He recognized the worry in her voice. He’d seen it in her eyes every time he deployed. And again the night he stormed off after he told his father he was leaving the Marines. “I got your card in the mail. It was the first piece of mail at my new address.”

  “I know it’s early, and you don’t need any money, but you’re impossible to buy for. You can use it to buy food or curtains. You do have curtains, right?”

  “Blinds.”

  “And you’re eating?”

  Charlie looked at the dinner his aunt had brought over. “Yes, Mom. I’m eating.”

  “I’m just making sure. I don’t need my brother-in-law finding your skeletal remains in the middle of the swamp.”

  “You remember you grew up here with Aunt Byrdie, right?”

  “I know. But I also know there’s not much to do in Walton. Your aunt and I would drive out to Tybee Island every chance we got. Have you been there yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Oh, honey, your dad just got home. Hold on, I’ll get him—”

  “It’s okay, Mom. It’s late and I need to take the dog out.” Charlie frowned. Where was his furry excuse?

  “Are you sure? He’d probably like to talk to you.”

  Yeah, and tell me what a mistake it was for me to leave the Marines or what a disappointment I am to his legacy. No, thanks. “I’ll talk to him later.”

  “On your birthday, then.”

  “Sure.” Charlie’s birthday was still a couple of weeks away. Should be enough time to prepare for another lecture on duty and obligation. A speech Charlie didn’t feel his father was qualified to give. “Tell him I said hello, and thanks for the card.”

  “I love you, Charlie.”

  “Love you too, Mom.”

  Ending the call, Charlie rubbed the back of his neck. Frustration twisted his insides, diminishing his appetite. Charlie scooped Bane’s kibble into his bowl and walked down the hall and into a pile of white fluff. His voice came out in a low growl. “Bane.”

  Movement came from beneath a layer of shredded fabric and pillowy cotton.

  “Bane.”