“Does your wife know?” Nola asked.
“Know what?” Cam asked. “What are you talking about?”
“About how you have a thing for young girls?” Nola asked.
“What?” Cam exclaimed, a shocked expression on his face. It almost looked sincere, Nola thought. “What? That’s a lie,” he blustered.
Nola didn’t respond, just met his gaze.
“You can’t go flinging around rumors like this, Nola.” Cam grabbed her forearm and the searing look she gave him made him instantly let go. “I’m a lawyer, remember that, Nola,” he said, regaining some composure. “You start spreading these lies, I’ll sue you and you’ll lose everything you have, got it?” He nodded toward the house. “Even if it’s only that piece of crap house you live in.”
“You could,” Nola said. “But I bet your wife wouldn’t appreciate the entire town knowing what you’ve been up to.”
“Watch yourself.” Cam pointed a finger in her face. “You utter a word of these baseless rumors and I will destroy you.” With that, Cam turned and strode back up the driveway into the house, the door slamming behind him.
Joyce looked out the window, arms folded, rubbing them as if cold. She was probably running through the list of people she needed to call and tell that the police had reopened Eve’s case. Not that it was ever closed. It wasn’t. It just lay dormant for the last twenty-five years like a cicada long buried and ready to dig its way out.
Nola knew that publicly, there were no official suspects in Eve’s murder, just many persons of interest. The police looked closely at Eve’s boyfriend, Nick, and at the sex-offender son of their neighbor, Mrs. Olhauser. And there was Pedals, the homeless man who rode his bike around town.
Suspicion had fallen on Nola, though she didn’t realize it until she walked into the bathroom at school and caught a group of girls whispering about how they heard she was the one who beat and strangled Eve. Charlotte told the police that Nola had stopped by the hotel to see her at the time of the murder, that there was no way she could have had anything to do with it. But it didn’t make much of a difference.
Word of mouth in a small town was a powerful thing. A kids’ game of operator on steroids. Even now, Nola could tell by the way Maggie O’Keefe and Joyce Harper looked at her, they still didn’t quite know what to think of her, those old assumptions were so deeply ingrained. Second chances meant shit in small towns.
MAGGIE KENNEDY-O’KEEFE
Monday, June 15, 2020
I hurry out to my car in case the reporter suddenly comes up with another question and as I open my door something on the windshield catches my eye. I stretch across the hood of the car, the metal hot against my midsection, and pull it from where it’s pinned beneath a wiper. It’s a red piece of paper folded into the shape of a cardinal.
My heart thumps in my chest. I look around the parking lot to see if any other cars have one slid beneath their windshield wipers but find none. Maybe a child dropped the bird, a school art project, on the way home and someone found it on the ground, picked it up and placed it on my car. But deep down I know that’s not the case. Cam made one of these for me once. Decades ago. It was our little secret.
I get inside the car and turn on the engine, cold air flooding the space. He wouldn’t have left this for me now. I’m well beyond his preferred demographic. I quickly unfold the bird and search for any written message. It’s blank. I toss the bird onto the seat next to me. It has to be some weird coincidence.
It’s a twenty-minute drive to the tree farm that Shaun and I call home. Outside Grotto, hills and bluffs flatten into acres of farmland reserved for soybeans and corn and alfalfa. I prefer the predictability of open country. I like being able to see what’s coming, something that isn’t possible in a town built atop cliffs and in deep valleys.
Before long O’Keefe Orchards & Landscaping comes into view. Shaun took over the family business when his folks decided to move down to Florida year-round. Around that same time, we ran into each other at the grocery store and struck up a conversation. Two years after that, we got married and I moved to what is now my favorite spot in the world.
The orchard fills both sides of a lush valley and I love walking the rows of apple, fir, spruce and pine trees. Each row has its unique scent—sharp, sweet, woody. I’ve always imagined our children playing beneath the trees trying to catch the falling delicate pink-and-white apple blossoms that cling to their hair like confetti.
But the children never came. Only hope, anticipation, disappointment, despair. We mortgaged the orchard in order to pay for the fertility treatments. Now we are in major debt, but that doesn’t matter. I would sell my soul if it meant that this baby comes to us in good health. And now that I’m at thirty-two weeks I can almost believe it will happen. Shaun and I are going to be parents.
Our home, an old farmhouse, white with green shutters, is my oasis from the grimness of police work. Yes, we live in a small community but we still have our fair share of domestic abuse, breaking and entering, drug offenses, and even a murder now and then, so coming home to the orchard is heaven.
The orchard is just off Highway 22, and I always feel a sense of relief when I see our big red barn with O’Keefe Orchards & Landscaping scripted across the side in crisp white paint. I turn into the small parking lot next to the barn where the shop is located and then veer left down a long gravel drive that leads to our home. In the summers, the shop is open until six and Shaun is often out on landscaping jobs even later depending on the weather. Tonight, especially after our phone call, I won’t count on seeing him until the sun sets.
I park in the garage, get out of the car, reach back inside to retrieve the case files I brought home with me and let myself inside the house. My feet feel like they are going to burst out of my shoes and I’ve got a raging headache.
Instead of being greeted with the cool blast of the air conditioner I’m met with hot, stagnant air. The central air has conked out again. “Oh, Jesus,” I say, dumping the binder on the kitchen counter.
I go from room to room, the cats following me, opening windows hoping for even a hint of a slight breeze. By the time I reach the top of the stairs my shirt is wet with sweat and I’m nauseated. I wrestle with the window in our bedroom, finally forcing it open but the sheer white curtains remain still.
I turn on the ceiling fan and strip down to my bra and underwear and lie down on top of the covers. I try to stay completely still while the warm, recycled air sweeps over me. I want to close my eyes but every time I do, I think of Eve. I think of the case files waiting for me on the kitchen counter. It’s taken a long time, but I’ve been able to push thoughts of my best friend so far back that I only allow myself to really think about Eve a few times a year. September fourteenth, the day she was born, and December twenty-second, the day she died.
Eve and I met the August before we started first grade. Her family had just moved to town. They didn’t show up to their new house with a moving truck or even a U-Haul. I remember sitting on my front porch in my brand-new school shoes. Bright white tennis shoes with a pink stripe. My mom told me not to get them dirty so I just sat on the porch and admired them while I waved away mosquitoes.
I heard the Knoxes arrive well before I saw them. The rattle and screech as their canary-yellow car with a queen-size mattress strapped to the top pulled up in front of the old Miller house. I’d never met the Millers, they were long gone before I was born and replaced with a parade of renters, none lasting longer than a year. Every time a U-Haul or a moving van appeared I’d excitedly be on the lookout for someone my age. There never was.
The doors to the car opened and I leaned forward in anticipation. First, a pretty girl emerged from the driver’s side door. She wore cutoff shorts and a bright blue tank top half-hidden by her waist-length blond hair. She looked way younger than my mom. No other adult appeared to be in the car. Maybe the mom and dad were on t
heir way and were going to show up with the moving van.
The driver fiddled with the front seat, pushing it forward and out launched a girl of about four with dandelion fluff hair. She was wearing a scowl and denim overall shorts with cowboy boots. Without a backward glance she marched up the walkway and to the front door and tried the knob. It didn’t budge.
I let out a huff of disappointment. It didn’t look like I was going to get the neighbor girl I wished for. But then there was movement from inside the car and I stood to get a better look. Another figure stepped out from the rear of the car and my heart soared. She had long red hair and was about my size. She had to be about my age, give or take a year. That would be okay, I told myself. We could still be best friends.
At age six, I’d never seen someone with hair that color before. Not in real life anyway. And it was hard to name. Red was too common a word and that hair wasn’t the color of fire engines or the tomatoes that my mother grew in the garden in our backyard. But it was pretty and I wished away my own ordinary brown hair.
Hurry up! the child at the door yelled. She sounded just like she looked, screechy and bad-tempered. Eve! She stomped her foot.
Mom, make her stop! the redhead implored. Mom? I thought in amazement. The girl I thought was the sister was the mother? And Eve. What a pretty name to match such a pretty girl. I itched to cross the street and introduce myself but I couldn’t do it. I was too shy.
The little sister scanned the street and her eyes found mine. They were sharp and angry. I didn’t like her and from the way she stared at me, the feeling was mutual.
“Maggie.” Shaun’s voice startles me back to the present and I open my eyes to find the room in shadows and my husband standing in the doorway looking down at me. I’m self-conscious at my near nakedness but I’m too tired, too hot, to try to cover up.
“Hey,” I say sleepily. “What time is it?”
“Eight thirty,” he says. “Is everything okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say blearily. “Just tired. I’m so sorry about today.”
“I can’t believe you missed the appointment,” Shaun says. “I waited at the doctor’s office and you didn’t show up. I was worried.”
“I know, I can’t believe it either.” My hands travel to my stomach. “I completely forgot about it.”
“Yeah, I got that,” Shaun says, miffed.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, using my elbows to prop myself up in bed. “I’ll call first thing in the morning and reschedule. I had a crazy day at work today. I can’t believe it slipped my mind.” It’s then when I notice a white binder in his hands.
“I’m on light duty,” I explain. “Digby assigned me to look into a cold case.”
Shaun flips on the overhead light. I squint at the harsh brightness that showcases the network of purple veins that lie just below the surface of the skin of my swollen breasts and taut belly. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and reach for my clothes. It’s not that I’m ashamed of my pregnant body. I’m not, but it’s foreign to me, nearly unrecognizable.
“This is about Eve Knox,” Shaun says. He’s still dressed in his dirt-stained work clothes, but his hands are spotless, fingernails scrubbed clean. He smells like fresh-mown grass.
“And?” I say, playing dumb.
“And, do you think it’s a good idea for you to be looking into your best friend’s murder?”
I knew that Shaun would have these concerns. Shaun never knew Eve. He was older than us, ran with a different crowd but he knew she was my best friend.
“It can’t be good for the baby,” Shaun says again, knowing this is his best argument. I slip my shirt on but leave my pants next to me. It will take too much effort to thread my legs through them.
“Have you seen these pictures?” he asks.
“You shouldn’t have opened it,” I tell him and hold out my hand so he can help hoist me to my feet. With a groan I stand and reach for the binder and he places it across my palms.
“I didn’t know what it was at first,” he says. “Jesus, Maggie, if I could go back and unsee them, I would. It’s bad.”
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought them home,” I tell him. I’ve seen dead bodies before and Shaun hasn’t, should never have to. “You go ahead and shower first.”
“But you knew her.” Shaun begins to shed his clothes. “How can you look at the dead body of someone you knew?” He turns on the shower and the bathroom begins to fill with steam. I don’t know how he can stand it on such a hot day.
“It’s my job,” I say simply.
“I don’t think you should do it,” Shaun says again as he steps into the shower, submerging his head beneath the stream of water. His insistence surprises me. Shaun isn’t new to this rodeo. He knows what I do for a living. I was a cop when we met and started dating. The fact that I’m pregnant shouldn’t make a difference.
“Turn that handle to the left a few notches and I’ll join you in there,” I say as I once again remove my shirt and the rest of my clothes. Shaun turns the knob and as the water cools I step in next to him. Close quarters for two people and the beach ball between us.
“I just don’t want you to be stressed out,” he says, tucking a wet strand of hair behind my ear but what he really is saying is, We have to keep the baby safe. We can’t let anything bad happen to this one.
“The fastest way to stress me out is to tell me not to be stressed,” I say as anxiety rises in my chest. “Everything is going to be fine.” I, more than anyone, know this isn’t necessarily true.
Shaun nuzzles my neck. “If it gets to be too much just promise me you’ll stop. You’ll just walk away.”
“I promise,” I say to appease him, but I know I won’t be able to walk away.
* * *
An hour and a half later, Shaun is sleeping and I’m wide-awake sitting on the family room couch with Eve’s files in front of me and the TV playing softly in the background. I start reading again.
There are interviews with the librarian at the public library and the shop owners on Grinnell Avenue who saw Eve the afternoon of the twenty-second. They all reported that Eve was looking for her sister and that she seemed distracted but not upset. Nola was always running off, getting into some kind of trouble.
A familiar image pops up on the television screen. There I am in all my pregnant glory talking to the camera. The chyron at the bottom of the screen reads, New Evidence Discovered in Twenty-Five-Year-Old Murder Case of Grotto Teen.
“Oh, Jesus,” I say out loud. “Here we go.”
The house phone begins to ring and I rush to get to it before the sound wakes Shaun. “Hello,” I answer breathlessly. No response on the other end. I hang up and before I sit down, it rings again. I lift the receiver. “Hello?” I say and again nothing. Irritated, I lower the receiver and go back to the sofa. My abdomen contracts, a brief squeeze and release, the baby’s way of telling me it’s time for bed. Not just yet, I tell her. Before I can sit down the phone rings again. “Yeah,” I say when I answer, in no mood for this nonsense. This time a voice on the other end responds.
“Home wrecker,” comes a harsh whisper. “You should be ashamed of yourself, sinner.”
“You must have the wrong number,” I say. “Don’t call again.” I move to hang up the phone when the voice speaks again.
“This is the right number,” the voice hisses. “You’ll pay for what you did.” It’s impossible to tell if the person on the other end is male or female but they’re clearly angry.
“You’re threatening a cop,” I say. “Don’t call back.” I hang up again and this time I leave the phone off the hook. I don’t have time for stupid, random prank calls. I flip off the television and return to the files.
My fingers land on a transcript of an interview with Sarah Reiss, the office secretary at Grotto High. If there was something to know about a student, Ms.
Reiss was the one to ask. She knew every student’s name and schedule, who was dating whom and all the day-to-day dramas associated with high school life.
According to Ms. Reiss, Eve was called to the school office at around 10:30 a.m. on the twenty-second to take a phone call from her mother. Before Eve got to the office, Ms. Reiss said she saw Eve in the hallway talking to Nick Brady, stating that the two looked pretty cozy. After Eve talked to her mother, Ms. Reiss said that Eve abruptly left the building saying that she needed to go find her sister.
But it’s the last line of the report that takes my breath away. When asked if anyone else was seen with Eve as she left the building, Ms. Reiss gave one name. Shaun O’Keefe.
Therapy Transcript
Client Name: Nola Knox, 13 years
Therapist Name: Linda Gonzalez, LMHC, NCC
Date of Service: Feb. 6, 1996
L. Gonzalez: Good morning, Nola. How are you doing today? I’m glad that you decided to come back.
N. Knox: I didn’t have a choice. It was this or being sent to the detention center.
L. Gonzalez: Everyone who comes here expects something different. What do you want out of our time together?
N. Knox: Nothing. I just want to get it over with.
L. Gonzalez: Well, let’s look at why the court ordered you to attend these sessions. Maybe that will be a springboard for us. Okay?
N. Knox: Fine.
L. Gonzalez: You had an altercation with a young man. You pushed him into a glass trophy case.
N. Knox laughs
L. Gonzalez: You disagree?
N. Knox: No. That’s what happened.
L. Gonzalez: But you find something humorous in the situation?
N. Knox: Not funny. Inane.
L. Gonzalez: How so?
N. Knox: I find it inane that a thirteen-year-old girl can get in trouble for standing up to a big, sixteen-year-old asshole.
This Is How I Lied Page 10