Living Lies

by Natalie Walters

  “What is it?”

  Charlie shifted a little, putting a professional distance between them. “When was the last time you saw Miguel?”

  “Miguel?” She blinked, surprised to hear his name. “This morning.”

  “Before the incident on Old Ogeechee?”

  “Yes.” Lane searched Charlie’s face for an explanation. “Why? Has something happened?”

  “Honey”—Sheriff Huggins folded his hands, spotted with age, over his gun belt—“he’s missing.”

  Lane dropped into a chair. “Missing?”

  The sheriff gave a grim nod. “We just came from his house and he’s not there.”

  Charlie moved to her side, but the calm his presence normally brought was overshadowed by the dread growing in her chest. He pulled a folded piece of paper from his front shirt pocket. Unfolding it revealed Noah’s drawing. “We found this.”

  Lane took the coloring page. “Noah made it for Miguel. Why do you have it?”

  “You know Miguel paints? Sculpts?”

  “Yes.” Her thoughts went to the barn behind Miguel’s house. Canvases, paint, wood shavings, and stumps. She looked absently in the direction of the backyard, where the carved sculpture that she had no doubt Miguel’s scarred hands had created claimed the highest bid of the night. And now the artist was missing? “But what does that have to do with him being missing?”

  Charlie knelt in front of her. “We were called to Miguel’s house for a reason. Sydney Donovan also painted.”

  There was a pause—she didn’t know how long—before the meaning behind those words and their looks struck her like a bolt of lightning. “You don’t think—no. You’re wrong.”

  “Honey—”

  “You think he’s involved in Sydney’s death?” Lane searched Sheriff Huggins’s face. The two men were friends. Ms. Byrdie said they had served together in the war. “You know he can’t be involved.”

  “The other night when he came in . . . when he hit you—”

  “I told you it was an accident.” Lane instinctively put her hand to her cheek.

  Charlie nodded. “You said he’s been different . . . PTSD can manifest in many ways.”

  “PTSD doesn’t make him a killer,” Lane snapped at Charlie. “You have no idea what it must be like for him.”

  “Lane, I’m not saying he’s guilty of anything.” Charlie’s voice was soft. “But I’ve seen plenty of hurting people do terrible things they can’t take back—”

  “The catering company said they only sent four employees,” her father said as he stepped into the living room. “They emailed the profiles of the servers, but the man I asked to remove his earring wasn’t among them.”

  Charlie resumed his standing position, taking in the information even as his eyes remained on her. She looked away. How could Charlie even think Miguel was capable of killing Sydney? He didn’t know Miguel like she did.

  “Someone was in our home uninvited?” Wes walked in behind their father, his arms folded across his chest.

  Lane’s mother and sister hovered near the threshold, their faces a mixture of curiosity and concern—though Meagan’s looked a little pale.

  Charlie exchanged a look with Sheriff Huggins. He pulled out his phone, tapping something on it before turning it toward her father. “Sir, do you recognize this man?”

  “No.”

  Sheriff Huggins sat forward. “Ray, you’re sure you haven’t see this man tonight?”

  “Maybe one of the servers?” Charlie added.

  “One of the waiters? No.” Her father’s lip curled. “That man would never have been permitted to serve my guests looking like that. Besides, the man with the earring was younger. They all were.”

  Lane couldn’t see the image on the phone, but she could read the troubled expression on Charlie’s face as he walked toward her mom. “Ma’am?”

  Her mom shook her head. So did Meagan and Wes after they looked at whatever Charlie was showing them. He turned toward Lane next, but his eyes shifted to focus on something over her shoulder.

  “Momma.” The heavy energy in the room seemed to release at Noah’s sudden presence. His sleepy eyes drifted around the room before finally catching on Charlie. “Hi, Charlie.”

  “Hey, buddy.” Charlie held his palm flat for Noah and was rewarded with a palm slap.

  Noah climbed into Lane’s lap and she breathed in the sweet scent of his Rock-a-Saurus Blueberry Shampoo.

  “Did you bring your dog?”

  “Not this time.”

  “Oh.” He leaned into her arms before perking up a bit. “Do you want to see my new toy?”

  “Buddy, Charlie gave you that dinosaur, remember?” Charlie’s gift remained Noah’s most coveted toy. “I need to talk with Charlie and Sheriff Huggins for a few more minutes and then I can take you—”

  “It’s not a dinosaur.” Noah wriggled out of her lap and reached into his pocket. “It’s an alligator.”

  Lane’s breath snagged at the sight of the small alligator resting in her son’s hand. The smooth wood was carved into a scaly reptile like the ones they had seen at Miguel’s house. “Where did you get that?”

  Noah’s eyes peeked up at her under long lashes. “I found it.”

  If Charlie and Sheriff Huggins had been at Miguel’s house, would they recognize the similarities between the carved toy and the sculptures in Miguel’s shop? She avoided their gazes and dropped to her knees, placing her hands on Noah’s shoulders.

  Her throat grew tight. “Noah, what have I told you about lying?”

  “I’m not lying.” His voice wobbled. “I did find it.”

  “Noah.” Charlie dropped onto one knee. “That is a cool alligator. Can you tell me where you found it?”

  “Well . . .” Noah drew out the word. “Aunt Meagan said we had to stay inside to watch the movie, but I wanted a chocolate donut—”

  “Chocolate donut?” Lane looked up at her mom and then Meagan. They both shrugged their shoulders. “There weren’t any chocolate donuts, Noah.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Noah nodded. “Uncle Wes kept eating them.”

  “The éclairs,” Wes said, as a tight grin lightened the worried features on his face. “I told him he could have one. I didn’t know he was outside by himself.”

  Noah nodded as though verifying her brother’s story. “Yep, so I asked a man with a tray and he said if I follow him, he’ll get me one. Only—” Noah dropped his chin to his chest the way he did when he knew he’d done something wrong. “I didn’t obey.”

  Lane lifted Noah’s chin. “Who didn’t you obey?”

  “The man with the tray. I was supposed to follow him, only I heard a—” Noah puckered his lips together and blew out air. A squeaky noise came from his throat as he tried to whistle.

  “You heard a whistle?” Charlie urged. “Then what?”

  “I turned around and found this”—he lifted up the wood alligator— “on the steps. I can keep it, right, Momma?”

  Lane’s chest tightened. Miguel. The cuts on his hands. His erratic behavior. Could he have come to the house tonight? Why? He wouldn’t hurt Noah, would he? Charlie’s warning about Miguel’s condition had planted seeds of doubt in her mind and it left her frustrated. Her heart longed to believe she deserved a second chance at love, but her responsibility was to keep Noah safe. She owed that to him, but especially to Mathias.

  “I need to go home.”

  “It’s late, honey.” Lane’s mom moved into the room. “You and Noah can sleep in your old room.”

  “I think that’s a good idea,” Charlie said, his voice dropping. “Until we get some things figured out.”

  He didn’t need to say the words for Lane to understand the message. Charlie believed Miguel had been there tonight. Given Noah the toy. Was she wrong? Was Miguel capable of harming Noah? Killing Sydney? Lane wasn’t stupid. Random attacks at schools, nightclubs, and shopping centers almost always centered on a person suffering from some kind of mental disorder. Did God pr
edestine these individuals with a sickness that made them a danger to others?

  Did that mean she was just as dangerous?

  “We’re going home.” Lane stood, taking Noah’s hand. “It’s been a long day and night, and I’d really like it to be over.”

  She ignored the pain darkening Charlie’s blue eyes. Regret ached deep in her chest. What had she been thinking? If something had happened to Noah while she was off skipping into the woods like an infatuated adolescent . . . her life would be over.

  “It’s probably good for everyone to be in their own beds tonight,” Sheriff Huggins said. “I’ll follow her home. Make sure she gets there safely.”

  It wasn’t necessary, but she knew there was no arguing with the sheriff. And better his offer than her mother’s. “I appreciate that.”

  She gathered their belongings while Noah said goodbye to his cousins and her parents. At the door, Meagan waited.

  “I’m so sorry.” Meagan’s normally put-together façade crumbled. “I should’ve been watching him better.”

  “It’s my fault.” Lane swallowed against the fear of what could’ve been. She saw Charlie waiting on the porch. “I was distracted.”

  With the final goodbyes said, Lane brought Noah to her hip and walked out of the house and past Charlie toward her car.

  “Can we talk?”

  “Look, it’s late. I’m tired.” She willed herself to keep walking. To not stop and look into his eyes because she knew it would make what she needed to do harder. “I’m sorry about what happened earlier in the woods.”

  “I’m not.” Charlie’s hand found her waist, and the warmth of his touch halted her steps. “I’m worried about you and Noah. I want to make sure you’re safe.”

  She took a breath, refusing to meet his gaze. “We’re fine.”

  “What about the toy? It’s from Miguel, isn’t it?”

  “Charlie”—Lane closed her eyes for a moment, trying to calm the emotion rolling far too close to the surface—“even if it did come from Miguel, that doesn’t make him who you think he is. I don’t know why you and Sheriff Huggins think he’s capable of killing Sydney, but you don’t know him. Not like I do.”

  “Lane, he was here.” Charlie ran his hand over Noah’s head so tenderly that it nearly did her in. “If something had happened—”

  “If something had happened, it would’ve been my fault. Miguel wouldn’t hurt anyone.” Lane’s voice shook as hot tears began to fall on her still-bruised cheek, refuting her conviction. It was an accident. She shifted Noah to her other hip, giving herself a second to compose what she needed to say next. “If all you see when you look at Miguel is a man with a disease, someone capable of killing a teenager, then it’s probably best if we go our separate ways.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  No. She wanted nothing more than to fall into his arms. To make promises to be the woman worthy of his passionate whispers of love, but those were promises she had failed to keep once before and she wouldn’t do it again.

  “Lane?”

  She backed away. Pushed through the splintering ache breaking her heart into two and left Charlie standing there. “I’m not worth the risk.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  LANE SCRUBBED THE OAK MANTEL with enough force that if she didn’t stop, she’d rub straight through the polished stain. An entire day had passed and her thoughts were still stained with memories of Charlie. His words, their kiss, her dismissal. She threw the rag into the bucket and sucked in a sob. Putting her hand to her mouth, she peeked over at Noah. He was perched at one of the tables in the Way Station Café playing with the dinosaur Charlie had given him. It wasn’t until the wee hours of the morning that the waves of tears soaking her pillow finally eased. Accepting the heartbreaking reality that she had pushed Charlie away wasn’t going to be easy.

  She grabbed a broom and started sweeping. It was Monday and they hadn’t found Miguel, at least that was the rumor, and she still hadn’t spoken to Charlie. Of course, if rumors were to be believed, he was probably busy trying to find the one person everyone in town could easily agree was capable of murder. So, early this morning she called Ms. Byrdie and told her the Way Station Café wouldn’t be open today. It needed to be cleaned. And Lane wanted to avoid . . . everyone.

  At least until her appointment with Dr. Wong. She’d been rescheduling for the last two weeks, but her bottle of pills was close to empty and the nightmares that began after losing Mathias had returned and meant she couldn’t avoid the psych doctor any longer. He’d ask about her parents and she’d tell him they weren’t interested. He’d ask about anything new in her life and . . . Lane swallowed against the lump thick in her throat.

  Lane had been foolish to believe she could forget who she was. She didn’t need to wear a scarlet letter to remind her of her guilt, but maybe if she had, Charlie would’ve known to avoid her and Lane wouldn’t be turning her café upside down in a cleaning frenzy to ease the pain.

  Not worthy.

  Flawed.

  Mistake.

  The words played in cadence with every sweep of the broom across the wood floor. Her phone buzzed and she saw Charlie’s number. She ignored the call and continued to sweep. What if Charlie was right about Miguel? That thought haunted her. If she was wrong about Miguel she could be wrong about Charlie too.

  Thunk!

  The bristles of the broom hit something leaning against the wall and sent it crashing forward. A frame. Lane picked up the painting and recognized it as one of the auction items. A sunset—or maybe it was a sunrise—with gentle hues of peach and pink blossoming from the lavender and deep violet of night as the sun emerged.

  Lane’s fingers traced the colors. “He makes all things new, every morning. Put your hope in him.” The saying was a favorite of Ms. Byrdie’s, and she offered it freely and often to those who came into the café. How she knew when it was the right thing to say, Lane didn’t know, but after a hug, a prayer, and maybe a tear or two, the customer would leave with a light in their eyes that hadn’t been there when they came in.

  Was it all a lie? Lane set the painting down and looked around her. Moving back to Walton and buying the Way Station Café were steps toward a new beginning—a fresh start. But no matter how many new mornings Lane was given, the truth woke up with her—she was responsible for Mathias’s death and undeserving of knowing that kind of love ever again.

  Sirens rang out. Lane and Noah both watched a Walton Sheriff’s squad car race past the picture window. A blaring reminder of what was happening in the town. Where was Miguel? Was he the killer?

  A knock on the back door rattled her. As she set the broom against the wall, Lane saw Meagan peeking in through the open window.

  “Hi.” Meagan gave a timid smile. “Mom told me you weren’t opening today and you haven’t been answering your phone—”

  “Cleaning.” Lane’s cutting tone sent Meagan’s eyes downward. She hated that a part of her blamed Meagan for losing track of Noah. If Charlie was right . . . no. She wasn’t going to go there. “Sorry. It’s been . . . it’s been a rough weekend and I just needed a day.”

  “I get that.” Meagan tucked her lower lip between her teeth. “Can I come in?”

  “Sure.”

  “Aunt Meagan!” Noah flung himself at Meagan’s knees when she stepped inside. “Are Paige and Owen here too?”

  “Hey, Noah.” Her sister pressed Noah into a long hug. “They’re at swim practice.”

  “I wanna go swimming. Momma, can I go to swim practice too?”

  Lane considered her son’s eager eyes. “Maybe, but not today.”

  Noah pinched his lips together and nodded. “Okay, maybe tomorrow?”

  “Maybe. Now, go put your toys away so you can get ready for Pops.”

  Meagan watched Noah climb the stairs one at a time before she turned to Lane. A deep well of tears clouded her hazel eyes. “I’m so sorry, Lane. I should’ve checked on them. Stayed inside. I got carried away with the auction
and—”

  “It’s not your fault.” And it was true. Her sister was carrying more than her fair share of guilt. “I was . . . I wasn’t where I needed to be either.”

  Lane blinked back the memory of Charlie kissing her. The way he smelled and the touch of his lips against hers. She said the moment was a mistake—wanted to believe it—but her heart wouldn’t let her. Noah slipping out of the house unattended was a stark reminder that her purpose was making sure Noah was safe. Protected. It was the only reason she was still alive.

  Meagan inhaled sharply and dabbed beneath her eyes with the tips of her fingers, trying to keep her eye makeup from running. “You know how much I love Noah. I just don’t know what I would’ve done if something had happened to him—”

  “But nothing happened to him.” Lane squeezed Meagan’s hand. “And I’d sorta like to forget the night ever happened.”

  “Ha. Me too.” Meagan sniffled. “Well, not all of it. We did raise a lot of money at the auction. And I’m more than a little curious what you and Mr. Deputy were doing out in the woods—”

  “Speaking of auction. Ian forgot a piece.” Lane hurried to the table where the painting was. “I think this should’ve been in the auction.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Meagan looked at it. “I think it’s the one we didn’t know where it came from or who donated it. Maybe we’ll just donate it to the Benedict House. I can take it by there this afternoon when I get the measurements for the ribbon-cutting ceremony.”

  Lane’s cell phone rang again. Probably Charlie. He’d been trying to call her since Saturday night, but she didn’t answer—couldn’t. She wasn’t sure how much longer she’d be able to avoid him though. He did live in the house right behind her and it was a small town . . . but how could she face him when she couldn’t trust her heart not to give her away? Lane wanted the hope back that he instilled. She wanted to be gathered in his embrace. She wanted to hear his voice speak life into her soul . . . but she also wanted him to be happy. He deserved a woman who could make him happy. What could Lane bring to him besides grief? It was better this way, and she’d just keep telling herself that until the lie became the truth.