Living Lies

by Natalie Walters

  He was letting them down.

  Deputy Wilson charged out of the interview room like a bull seeing red.

  “How’s it going with Brady Matthews?” Charlie asked.

  “It’s no wonder young athletes today think they’re superstars.” Wilson stretched his arms in front of him, flexing his fingers until the joints cracked. “Believe nothing can touch them. Told the kid that colleges didn’t look too kindly on their athletes having police records.”

  “Wasn’t too long ago you were that superstar.” Sheriff Huggins appeared from his office with an empty coffee cup in his hand.

  “That was almost twenty years ago.” Wilson seemed to sink into a memory. “Playing ball meant getting an education, not signing a multi-million-dollar contract.”

  “Was he dating Sydney?” Charlie was slowly learning about the people he worked with and it came as no surprise that Wilson’s hulking frame meant he once had a future on the football field. So, what happened?

  “No. Matthews said they were just friends.”

  Disappointment shouted in the silence. Another lead with no results.

  “There has to be something we can press him on. Or Jolene? Why would she give up Brady’s name if he wasn’t anything more than a friend?”

  Sheriff Huggins lifted his cup before heading to the coffeemaker. Charlie clenched his fists and let a frustrated sigh slip from his lips.

  Deputy Frost plopped down in the chair next to Charlie’s desk.

  “Any luck on Sydney’s phone?” Charlie asked.

  “Nothing. It’s probably dead.” Frost’s face froze. His eyes darted back and forth behind his thick glasses. “Sorry. The phone can’t be tracked unless it’s on. The last time she used her phone was Thursday night at her house.”

  “And there’s no record of her contacting the art gallery?”

  “No.”

  “So, we’re still stuck with how she was getting her art to the gallery.” Charlie ran both hands down his face. “Her parents only have one car and Sydney didn’t have a driver’s license yet.”

  “Unless she’s a Trekkie and can beam herself around town, she’d need a car.”

  “You’re a genius, Frost.”

  Wilson snorted.

  “What? What’d I say?” Frost pushed his glasses up.

  “If Sydney canceled her sleepover with Jolene, then someone had to have picked her up. Someone with a car.” Charlie went through his notes again. He wasn’t sure what he was searching for, but he was certain he’d know it when he found it.

  Wilson grunted from his desk. “Maybe she walked.”

  “Wilson, you interviewed the neighbors and none of them saw Sydney leave that night?”

  “Right.”

  “We, or I, assumed she was taking her work to the gallery. What if someone was picking it up for her?” Charlie pulled up an aerial map of Sydney’s neighborhood. He honed in on the four long rows of buildings on the east side of the neighborhood. They were self-storage units he’d seen the day he and Sheriff Huggins spoke with the Donovans. He zoomed in. “Has anyone contacted the self-storage company?”

  Both men looked at each other before shaking their heads.

  “Call them. They probably have cameras all over the place. Maybe one of them caught Sydney leaving that night.”

  Frost jumped out of his seat and hurried down the hall to his office.

  “If I had half his energy . . . or his brains.” Wilson shook his head.

  “How’s your wife?”

  “She’s on bed rest. My mama is here helping.” Wilson’s long fingers rubbed his knuckles.

  “Do you have a name picked out yet?”

  “Benjamin Samuel.” Pride accented each syllable.

  Charlie imagined Wilson would be a good dad. Teaching his son the value that an education carried more merit than the skill of throwing a football. Would Charlie take as much pride in teaching his child the fundamentals of life? He hoped so. At least he knew his son would never have to worry about his dad not being there for him.

  Charlie would never choose his career over those he loved.

  A torrent of fresh emotions filled his chest as the faces of Lane and Noah filled his mind. Who would teach Noah how to throw a ball? A pang of longing filled him. Could he be there for Noah? The little boy was already charming his way into Charlie’s heart, and his mom . . . well, he couldn’t deny the way being next to her made him feel. His heart clenched at the possibility. Was there any room in Lane’s and Noah’s lives for him?

  Deputy Frost rushed down the hall. His dark glasses slid down his nose. He pushed them up. “Diane from U-Store We-Store is sending us the video footage from the day Sydney died.”

  “Sending it? When?”

  “Shouldn’t take long. Her son is going to upload the footage and send it.” Frost’s smile consumed his face. “There’s more. After I saw how much Sydney’s paintings were selling for, I did a little research.”

  Wilson and Charlie exchanged a look.

  “What did you find?” Charlie prayed the research was legal.

  “Nothing. Well, nothing and then something.”

  “Come on, Frost,” Wilson grumbled.

  “Okay, okay. See, if I was making bank—that’s what they call making a lot of money—and it was supposed to be on the down-low—you guys know—”

  “Yes, Frost, both Wilson and I know what that means. Please continue.”

  “Right, so if I was keeping my art a secret, I’d probably be keeping my money a secret too, right? I mean, a painting for $1,200?”

  “Sydney had a private bank account?” Wilson asked.

  “Yes. But that’s not what’s important.” Frost pushed up his glasses again. “It’s where her money was coming from.”

  Wilson cocked an eyebrow. The young deputy had their attention now. And from the smug look plastered on his face, he was enjoying the moment.

  “You going to keep us waiting, Frost?” Wilson stood.

  “Uh, no. Sorry. Here.” Frost held out a piece of paper. “This is Sydney’s account.”

  Charlie took the sheet and scanned the numbers until his eyes hit the bottom figure. “Twelve thousand dollars?”

  “That one sheet is the total account history.” Frost took off his glasses and wiped them with his tie. “You can see she opened up the account a year ago and since then has made a number of deposits. A couple hundred dollars at a time.”

  “Please tell me you got this legally.” Charlie stared at the paper in his hand.

  “Agent Padello helped me.” Frost slid his glasses back on. “That’s how we found out the money was coming from—”

  “Something tells me I need to hear what’s going on over here.” Sheriff Huggins returned with a full cup of coffee. “What’s happened?”

  Charlie tilted his head toward Frost. “Sir, I think Frost missed his calling.”

  “Is that so?” Sheriff Huggins took a seat on the corner of Charlie’s desk.

  “The kid’s got talent.” Charlie handed the sheriff the bank statement. “If you’re not careful, the FBI’s going to push a little harder to recruit him.”

  The compliment hit its mark and Frost’s smile spread from ear to ear. The spattering of freckles gave the impression Frost was young, but Charlie knew better. They were lucky to have him on their team. It would be bittersweet if he ever took the Feds up on their offer.

  “It’s true. Agent Padello told me I had potential.” Frost smirked. “Told me if I got bored of Walton I could head up to Virginia for some real action.”

  Wilson grumbled something incoherent in their direction and Charlie tucked his chin to hide the smile playing on his lips.

  “Before you sign up for the academy, why don’t you tell me what you found.” Sheriff Huggins settled into an empty chair and sipped his coffee.

  Charlie let Frost fill the sheriff in about what they had found. Sheriff Huggins listened and only interrupted twice to slow Frost down. As his excitement grew, so did the
speed with which he spoke.

  “You’re saying Sydney was getting paid for her paintings, but the money wasn’t coming from the gallery?” Sheriff Huggins looked puzzled.

  “That’s what I was just about to tell Deputies Lynch and Wilson. Remember I said that I found nothing and something at the same time?” Frost’s head bobbed back and forth between the three of them. “What I didn’t find was anything about Sydney’s paintings. Nothing.”

  “So?” Wilson craned his neck. “She’s a local painter.”

  “Yes, but her art, which in my opinion is eh”—Frost waved his hand side to side—“is selling for more money than just a local painter.”

  “And that means something?” Sheriff Huggins scratched his chin.

  “Yes. It means someone really wants her paintings. Agent Padello thought it was suspicious too, so he looked into her account and saw that all the deposits were being made electronically.” Frost pointed to the paper sitting in front of Sheriff Huggins. “From accounts outside the country.”

  Wilson whistled and Charlie moved to Sheriff Huggins’s side so he could see the bank statement again.

  “That means Sydney’s killer could be someone outside the US.” Charlie stepped back and allowed the information to settle. The investigation had just taken a giant leap into the abyss. Finding a killer locally was proving to be difficult, but if the killer lived outside the United States . . . that was a whole other ball game.

  Deputy Benningfield walked over. “Sheriff Huggins, you have a phone call on line two.”

  Charlie’s computer chirped just as he pushed his phone over for the sheriff to use. It was an email from the storage company. With Sheriff Huggins on the phone and Wilson and Frost looking over his shoulder, Charlie watched the video.

  It was grainy. He played it a couple of times. Then paused it. His pulse accelerated. The long red hair gave her away. They had her last moments on tape. “That’s her. Sydney Donovan.”

  “The video is time-stamped 4:58 p.m.” Frost pointed to the corner of the screen. “What is that, like five or six hours before she was killed? Do you think the driver is her killer?”

  “There’s a glare blocking the driver and part of the license plate. It looks like a sedan.”

  Sheriff Huggins hung up the phone and squinted at the monitor. “How do you know?”

  “When Sydney first approached the car, she put something into it.” Charlie hit the rewind button and played the video again. “I’m assuming it was through the back seat window, because why wouldn’t she have held it as she got in?”

  “Good eyes.” Sheriff Huggins rubbed his eyes. “Mine aren’t what they used to be.”

  “If Agent Padello can do something about the video image, we might be able to get those plate numbers,” Frost added.

  “Good job, genius.” Wilson’s wide hand slapped Frost on the shoulder, sending Frost tumbling forward. The two men laughed.

  The burden felt slightly lighter and Charlie was happy to see some playfulness in the office. His cell phone vibrated. It was an email message from his father.

  With Frost and Wilson joking in the background, Charlie opened it up and saw an attachment to a news article. Charlie’s old unit had taken out another terrorist leader. He wondered which team members had the honor. Were any of them hurt?

  Like a seesaw, the feeling of wanting to be with his team rose and fell with the questions of whether he belonged there or here. At the bottom was a note from Charlie’s father.

  Your old unit is doing pretty amazing things over there. Thought you should know.

  —Dad

  The muscles in Charlie’s shoulders knotted. His father just couldn’t let it go. Couldn’t accept that life outside the corps might be worthwhile. He deleted the email. What was so wrong with wanting a life off the battlefield? Wasn’t being a father and husband just as important as serving and protecting the country? His dad would never understand that not all heroes carry a gun and fight on foreign soil. Some heroes throw a football with their sons and lead ordinary lives. Having ice cream on a hot afternoon with a beautiful woman and her son was more important than any medal clipped to his chest ever would be. But in his father’s eyes—that would never be enough.

  THIRTEEN

  LANE PACED. What was she doing? Going to the benefit with Charlie was a date whether or not she admitted it. Was she ready? She wanted to say no, but the light of hope flickering within her fueled a tucked-away desire to believe that maybe Ms. Byrdie and Pops were right.

  Did she deserve a second chance?

  Passing a mirror, Lane paused. A T-shirt with navy and white stripes paired with white linen shorts. Lane bit the inside of her cheek. Too casual? Streaks of sunlight spilled into the room and glinted against her wedding band. She rubbed it with her thumb.

  Maybe Charlie would be a jerk. It’d be easy to turn down a jerk. Lane stared at her reflection. She was talking to herself or, rather, negotiating with herself. Charlie wasn’t a jerk—at least he hadn’t been so far. She’d put on some mascara and a little blush. Pouting her lips, she decided to add some lip gloss. Not colored but clear.

  Casual.

  After she applied the lip gloss and added some gold earrings, she surveyed her house. Picked up. Mostly clean. Normal. A knock sounded down below and Lane jumped. This was it. Her first date since Mathias. Another knock.

  “Coming.” Lane rounded the bannister and made her way down the stairs, the whole time listening to the voice inside her head tell her, This is crazy.

  Whatever trepidation Lane felt melted the second her eyes latched on to the man standing on her porch. The blue polo shirt highlighted his tan and was fitted enough that she could make out the muscled definition beneath.

  “You look amazing,” he said when she opened the door.

  Lane blushed. “You’re exaggerating.”

  “No, I’m not.” He spoke with conviction, and the way his eyes sparked made her believe the compliment wasn’t superficial. “I brought you flowers.” Charlie lifted a pot of white gardenias in one hand and held a candy bar in the other. “And chocolate.”

  “They’re beautiful.” The sweet fragrance filled her house. “They smell so good. I know the perfect spot for them outside my window.”

  The strong angles of Charlie’s jaw shifted with a smile. “Is Noah here? I brought him a gift too.” He lifted up a plastic dinosaur. “I hope he doesn’t have an . . . Archaeopteryx.”

  Lane couldn’t help but giggle at his practiced pronunciation of the winged dinosaur’s name.

  “It kind of looks like an eagle, don’t you think?”

  “It does and he’ll love it.”

  “Is he ready?”

  “He’s already there with my sister and Pops.”

  Charlie hooked his elbow and lifted his arm. “Shall we join them?”

  Hesitating a second, Lane set down the flowers and chocolate and looked at Charlie with his arm raised. Her heart raced, as she was very aware of the attraction growing inside her. Was this how dates started? It was so long ago . . . and the people of this town thrived on juicy gossip. Being escorted by the handsome new deputy was sure to get their mouths watering.

  “My mom taught me all the ways to be a gentleman around girls.” Charlie lowered his arm and for a second his lips dipped down at the edges, but a second later the dimples returned. “But more importantly, she taught me that respect goes a lot further than chivalry.”

  A whoosh of air left her lungs. Without her saying a word, Charlie seemed to pick up on her inhibition to take his arm. To announce to the town of Walton that the young widow was on her first date. “You have a sweet momma.”

  “She’s wise too.” Charlie winked.

  Together Charlie and Lane walked across the street to the park. A bluegrass band was set up at the edge of the grassy field near the old brick church. Families set up lawn chairs and laid out quilted blankets across the grounds as children skittered between them chasing each other. Lane searched for her s
ister and Noah, trying in vain to ignore the way the breeze picked up the spicy scent of Charlie’s skin or the way curious eyes seemed to follow them.

  “Lane!” Meagan called over to them from a playset.

  “Hey. Where’s Noah?”

  “Getting his face painted with Paige.” Meagan pointed to a table nearby but kept her eyes on Charlie. “They’ve already been in the bounce house, eaten a snow cone, and jumped through rounds of potato sack races. And we just got here.”

  “Mommaaaaahh!”

  Lane spun around and Noah crashed into her legs. His face was covered in green paint with black lines across it. “What are you supposed to be?”

  “An alligator!” he squealed.

  Meagan smiled and held out her hand to Charlie. “I’m sorry, but it seems like my sister has forgotten her manners. I’m Meagan Sullivan-Gallagher.”

  “Charlie.” He smiled warmly as he took her sister’s hand and shook it. “A friend of Lane’s and Noah’s.”

  Friend. Lane forced herself to breathe. Friend was good. Friend was casual. Friend stung a little bit.

  “Just friends, huh?” Meagan winked at Lane.

  “Have you seen Noah?” Charlie teased, looking around. “I wanted to give him a message from Bane, but—”

  Noah raised his hand. “I’m right here.”

  “What?” Charlie mocked surprise. “No way! You’re an alligator.”

  Noah burst into giggles. Charlie was winning Noah’s affection and an alarm sounded in her mind. Her son had already lost one man in his life—the last thing she needed was for Noah to grow attached to a man who might not stick around.

  “Where’s Pops?” Lane asked.

  “Grabbing some chairs.” Meagan helped Owen off the slide. “Next to the tables.”

  “I’ll help.” Charlie jogged over to Pops and grabbed an armful of folding chairs.

  “Me too!” Noah chased after him.

  Meagan elbowed Lane in the ribs. “The PTA moms were right. He’s cute.”

  Lane’s cheeks warmed. “He told you we’re just friends.”