Living Lies

by Natalie Walters

  “Your daddy”—Lane gently took the tags and put them over his head—“he would be so proud of how big and responsible you’re getting.” She wiped the tears from the little boy’s eyes. Noah was the only piece of Mathias she had left.

  A knock on the front door pulled Lane from the bittersweet nostalgia. She wrinkled her nose. Ms. Byrdie didn’t normally come to their upstairs apartment, but when she did she didn’t need to knock. Who was it? Her parents? Ensuring Lane and Noah made it to the dedication on time—or at all? She groaned.

  Another knock on the door, this one persistent, hurried Lane into the living room, making her forget about the colorful tiny blocks on the floor until her bare foot found one. She bit down on her lip to avoid the scream that wanted to escape. Rubbing her foot, she took a few seconds to regain her composure.

  “Momma,” Noah said, wrapping his fist tight around the dog tags. “Someone’s here.”

  “Mrs. Kent, it’s Deputy Charlie Lynch”—the strong baritone voice carried from the other side of the door—“with the Walton County Sheriff Department.”

  Lane’s heart seized. Dread crept up from the pit of her stomach and reached around her torso, squeezing her breaths out in short, shallow gasps. Her mind flashed back to the moment two years ago when North Carolina troopers stood on her porch. Mathias was gone.

  “Momma?”

  Noah’s voice chased away the haunting memories and brought her focus back to the deputy standing on the other side of her door. Catching her breath, Lane opened the door. And there he was. Deputy Charlie Lynch. Unlike yesterday, he wasn’t wearing shorts and a T-shirt. Today his broad shoulders filled out the tan uniform, making him appear taller. Stalwart.

  “Afternoon, ma’am. Aunt B said I’d find you up here. I hope you don’t mind—” The door pulled wide and Noah appeared at her side. The deputy’s gaze cut to Noah and softened.

  “Hey, you’re a policeman.” Noah pointed at the deputy’s badge. “My daddy was an Army soldier. Momma says when you wear a uniform, you are a hero. See these.” Noah pulled on the dog tags around his neck. “These are my dad’s tags, but they’re mine now.”

  What was that look? Something tugged at the deputy’s expression. Confusion? Whatever it was, she didn’t have time to figure it out. Leave it to a four-year-old to tell a complete stranger their life story.

  “Sorry, one sec.” Lane looked down at her son. “Go grab three toys to bring with us to Bear and Gigi’s.”

  Noah’s lips twisted. “Can I bring four?” He lifted up four chubby fingers.

  “Yes.” She would’ve let him bring five toys just to put a stop to his show-and-tell episode. Lane waited until Noah disappeared down the hall before turning to the deputy standing at her door.

  “Bear?” A soft smile curved his lips and Lane couldn’t help noticing the two dimples wedged into his cheeks. Or the uneasy way her heart was racing.

  “My father. A nickname.” And personality. Most people in town knew her father’s moniker, which confirmed this deputy was very new—and very unaware of Bear’s wrath if she and Noah were late. “Will this take long, Deputy Lynch?”

  “I promise not to keep you longer than necessary.” The deputy shifted, looking around. “Would you feel more comfortable talking up here . . . or downstairs?”

  Lane glanced over her shoulder at the tornado of toys amassed on the floor and the pile of dirty laundry still waiting to be washed. The last thing she needed was a stranger getting a first-person account of her real-life chaos. “Downstairs.”

  The deputy followed her down to the café’s sitting area. After settling Noah with a basket full of plastic dinosaurs to choose from, Lane found the deputy studying the photos and art along the wall where a large fireplace anchored the room.

  “These are great. Are they all yours?”

  “Some.” A tickle of insecurity pushed her forward. “Some are pieces created by students at the community center. I don’t mean to rush you, but I really do have somewhere to be, Deputy Lynch—”

  “This town isn’t that big and since we’re practically neighbors”—Deputy Lynch turned from the wall of photos, the edge of his lips curling— “you can call me Charlie. I’d actually prefer it over what the rest of the town is calling me.”

  Lane frowned. “Which is?”

  “The new guy. Newbie. Deputy New.” Charlie’s tanned cheeks turned a subtle shade of pink. “And some others not worth mentioning.”

  A smile came so easily to Lane’s lips that it startled her. Where had that come from? Her eyes found Charlie’s and it was hard not to be drawn into the richness of his gaze or imagine the kind of names the handsome new deputy might be adorned with.

  Lane shook the thought away and let the smile slip back to where it belonged. “Would you like some fresh banana bread? Ms. B—I mean, your aunt and I just made it. It’s her recipe and very good.” Amusement lanced Charlie’s features, causing Lane to drop her gaze. “Of course, I’m sure you already know that.” Why was she so nervous? Taking a breath to get control of her nerves, she met his stare. “I’m sorry, Deputy”—his chin tilted—“Charlie, but I’m really going to be late if we don’t get started.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Charlie sat at the edge of an overstuffed club chair and pulled a notebook from his pocket.

  “If I’m calling you Charlie, I must insist you call me Lane. Not ma’am or Mrs. Kent. Please.” She sank onto the cushion at the farthest end of the couch, opposite him and the woodsy scent of his aftershave. “Being called ma’am makes me feel old.” It was also a painful reminder that Lane needed to dismiss the thoughts she was having regarding the deputy who was there to do his job.

  “I apologize. Habit.” Charlie settled into the chair and opened the notebook. “Sheriff Huggins said you like to hike around the river. Take pictures?”

  “Yes.”

  “And that’s what you were doing out there yesterday?”

  “Y-yes.” Anxiety knotted in Lane’s chest. He’d seen her at the bridge—standing at the edge. Was this a test? Seeing if she’d tell the truth? Or was it something more? She licked her lips and drew her shoulders back. “Yes, I went out there to get some pictures, but it started to rain before I could take any.”

  Charlie considered her answer before dropping his gaze to his notebook. After a second he looked up. “How long were you out there?”

  “About two hours, I think.”

  “What time did you arrive?”

  “I don’t remember the exact time. Maybe one o’clock or so.”

  “How often are you in that area?”

  “Once or twice a week, maybe.” Lane swallowed. Or more, depending on whether she allowed the darkness to take root. Some days it was harder to ignore. Harder to pretend.

  “By yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  “When you’re out there, do you normally see other people?”

  “Not usually. Sometimes I’ll see someone on the river. Kayaking or fishing.”

  “And yesterday?”

  Lane studied the deputy. His light brown hair was shorn close to his head. Typical of law enforcement . . . and the military. Where had Charlie come from? What was his background? Why did she care? And why was he staring—oh, staring. He asked her a question. What?

  “Did you see anyone new or unusual out there yesterday?” Charlie repeated his question without a hint of annoyance. “Or any time before?”

  “Before?” Lane grew uneasy. “Um, I overheard the other deputy say they thought it was suicide.” The word was like acid on her tongue.

  Charlie’s square jaw flexed. His eyes probing. “You haven’t heard? The death is being investigated as a homicide.”

  Homicide? Murder? In an instant, the girl’s ashen face flashed in Lane’s mind. Did she know her? The girl had to be someone from town, right? Lane’s fingers tightened over the arm of the couch as chills marched down her spine.

  “Mrs. Kent.” A hint of softness returned to his eyes. “Are you okay?�
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  “Yes.” Her lips were dry. “Who-who’s the girl?”

  “We can’t release that information yet.”

  “But you think someone killed her? You think whoever did it might’ve been out there yesterday . . .” The noise. When she found the body, Lane discounted it as an animal, but what if . . . “There was a noise. When I found the body.” Lane’s heart was hammering inside her chest as her thoughts flashed to the strange man last night. Noah’s tiny voice in the next room congealed her fear. “Should I be worried?”

  Understanding reached Charlie’s blue eyes as they locked on to hers. “No one knows you found the girl. And no one needs to know.”

  Lane swallowed against her fear. There was nothing investigative about the way Charlie was looking at her now. There was promise—like an unspoken oath to keep her and Noah safe. The sentiment stirred something deep inside. When was the last time she felt safe? That someone made her feel safe?

  “Momma.” Noah’s voice chased away the warmth blossoming in her chest. There was no room in her life for those kind of thoughts . . . or feelings. Her son appeared at the edge of the room, a dinosaur in one hand and her ringing cell phone in the other.

  Lane scooped up Noah and took the phone just as it stopped ringing. Caller ID said it was her sister, Meagan. She was probably freaking out that they weren’t at the community center yet. “I really—”

  “I think I have everything I need.” Charlie stood, tucking his notebook into his pocket. “But Sheriff Huggins asked if we could get a copy of the photos you’ve taken at the river recently.”

  “Sure, I guess.” Lane shifted Noah to her other hip and found her camera bag sitting on one of the boxes she had stacked earlier. She dug for her camera and withdrew the memory card. “Everything from the last couple of weeks is on there. Is there something you’re looking for?”

  “Part of the investigation, but because of the remote location we believe the killer had to be familiar with the area.”

  Lane instinctively pulled Noah closer. Was it possible someone in Walton was capable of killing? She swallowed. Lane already knew the answer to that question even if no one else did. A radiating alarm echoed from her cell phone. Officially late.

  “I appreciate your time and I’ll get this memory card back to you quickly, but if you need anything . . . well, we’re neighbors.” A shy smile tugged at Charlie’s lips as he looked around the café. “I’m sure I’ll be around.”

  “Monday.” Surprise sucked the moisture right out of Lane’s mouth. “I mean, Mondays are when Ms. Byrdie, I mean your aunt, makes her famous banana pudding. Sells out. It’s a good day to come. For food. Or coffee.” Stop talking.

  “Sounds perfect,” Charlie said as he turned and walked down the front steps of the café’s wraparound porch. He paused and waved to Noah before tipping his hat in her direction and then disappeared down her walkway.

  “He’s a big policeman, Momma.” Noah stared after the man with admiration. Her son loved anyone in uniform but especially soldiers and police officers. “Can we see him again?”

  Setting Noah down, Lane started massaging the knot forming in her shoulder. It was hard to share Noah’s affection when those in uniform only reminded her of pain. And death. That last thought drew Lane back into the woods. Who killed that girl? And why?

  Lane’s cell phone rang. Her mother. They were late and her family would be angry. That should’ve been what scared her most—but it wasn’t. Ignoring the call, Lane stepped into her house and, for the first time since she could remember, bolted the lock.

  FIVE

  LANE PAUSED ON THE VERANDA of her parents’ sprawling estate in Walton East. The black iron of the gas lamps contrasted sharply with the white siding. Blooming lobelias draped from baskets hanging off the eaves and gave the palatial home a genteel impression, but to Lane the home she grew up in was merely proof the Sullivans were a family of distinction first; gentility came later—if at all.

  The smell of something sweet greeted Lane and Noah once they stepped inside the home. No one came to greet her at the door. Why would they? She wasn’t a guest; she was family. Lane swallowed. Why didn’t it feel that way?

  “Gigi!” Noah squealed, running into the grand foyer.

  “Noah!” Lane called after him. “Your shoes.”

  Noah skidded to a stop and ran back. He plopped himself on the ground and pulled off his shoes and socks. “Now?”

  “Kiss.” Lane pointed to her cheek. He obliged and sprinted down the polished hardwood hall at full speed, dinosaurs in tow. She touched her cheek, wishing she shared Noah’s enthusiasm to charge forward, fearless.

  “I didn’t think you were going to show up,” Lane’s mother, Elise Sullivan, said as soon as Lane made her way into the kitchen.

  “Sorry I missed the ceremony.” After Charlie left, Noah insisted he had to have a glass of apple juice, which he spilled all over his clothes and hers. By the time she cleaned themselves up and wiped the floor, the ceremony was over. Lane held up a basket filled with loaves of banana bread. Baking had become her go-to when sleep evaded her, and by the time Ms. Byrdie had opened up the shop this morning, almost two dozen loaves were cooling on racks. “I made these for everyone.”

  The timer on the oven went off and her mother grabbed a pair of oven mitts and pulled out a fresh cobbler. After setting it down on the giant granite island, she tapped her finger gently against the golden crust. It looked perfect, but Lane knew it could never compare to Ms. Byrdie’s.

  “Smells good,” Lane tried again.

  “Go tell everyone lunch is ready.”

  Lane sighed as she took in her mother. Her sable, shoulder-length hair was pulled into a low ponytail. Makeup perfectly applied. A colorful apron covered a vibrant coral blouse and white linen pants. She was the epitome of a southern debutante. And a debutante never engaged in quarreling, though they made sure to express their displeasure in other ways, verbal or not.

  Inside her father’s den, Lane found her brother, Wes, reading a newspaper on the leather couch. Meagan’s son, Owen, was on the ground playing with the toy dinosaurs Noah had brought from home.

  “Where’s everybody else?” Lane kissed Owen on the head. He was the spitting image of Wes, complete with thick, dark hair that curled at the top and boyish good looks.

  “Dad’s in his office and Meagan’s giving Paige a bath.” Wes didn’t even look over his newspaper.

  “Didn’t y’all just come from the community center?”

  “Something about paint on a pinafore.” Wes shrugged.

  “Well, lunch is ready.”

  Wes grunted and she rolled her eyes. Her brother and Owen were probably the same age in maturity too.

  “I smell fresh meat!” Lane’s father barged into the room from his adjoining office.

  “Bear!” The little boys screamed and scrambled off the ground to get to their grandpa. With his arms open, he curled his hands up like claws and growled. The boys stopped short and ran screaming in the opposite direction. In two large steps, Bear swept them into his arms and began tickling them until ear-piercing hysteria ensued.

  Lane loved seeing this part of her father. The child inside who readily emerged around his grandchildren. The side of him that wasn’t poised, serious, or controlling. A side absent to her when she was growing up.

  “The food is getting cold,” Lane’s mother said, raising her voice to be heard over the kids. The laughing commotion ceased as though a drill sergeant had called his troops to attention.

  Bear released the boys and saluted Lane’s mom. Noah and Owen did the same, which made all of them smile, even Lane. Maybe lunch wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  “Lane.” The muscles in her neck tightened and her last thought instantly evaporated at the sound of her father’s voice.

  Wes arched his eyebrows at Lane like when they were children and he knew she was going to get in trouble. “Come on, boys, let’s go get some lunch so we can have dessert.”

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nbsp; Lane turned to face her father as Wes prodded Noah and Owen into the dining room. Gone was the playfulness. She was now looking into the familiar hard lines of the father she had grown up with. He’d always been strict. Disciplined. And unapologetic about his ways. But part of her longed for her father to look at her the way he looked at her son—delighted—not the way he looked at her now.

  “I’m sorry—”

  “I don’t need apologies, Lane. I want compliance. Now that you are home, you and Noah are expected to attend all family events.” Her father’s stern gaze bore into her, making her feel small. “Your mother and sister worked hard on the community center and your absence was noticed.”

  “I doubt anyone besides you, Mom, and Meagan noticed we weren’t there.” Lane fought for a more confident posture to look her father in the eyes, but she couldn’t. Never could.

  “It. Was. Noticed.” His sharp tone vibrated around the room and into Lane’s chest, removing any hope of being able to stand up to her father. “Our family is always being watched. It’s part of the price we pay.”

  Lane dropped her chin to her chest. “It’s not my debt to pay.”

  “Maybe not. But the day I faced a judge on your behalf is the day you forfeited your rights to object to my direction.”

  The comment found its mark and seared the truth into her heart. She had promised to do whatever her father asked—at the time. A nonnegotiable agreement she had made in a moment of weakness. But she’d had no other choice. She’d already lost Mathias, and her father was threatening to take away Noah. Her eyes stung, but she managed to nod her head. She wouldn’t engage in this battle. She would never win.

  “I’m sorry I missed the dedication. It won’t happen again.”

  There was a reason her father was nicknamed Bear. His reputation in the courtroom was legendary throughout Georgia and even in other parts of the US. If you wanted to argue with Judge Raymond Sullivan, you’d better be prepared and you’d better be ready to lose.