This Is How I Lied

by Heather Gudenkauf

  “We’ll get those burns of yours tended to and then you can hit the road,” the doctor says. “And stay away from burning buildings.”

  Thirty minutes later Shaun and I are walking hand in hand to his truck. As he helps me into the passenger side seat, I see Nola hurrying across the parking lot. A smile plays on her lips and her step is light. She looks happy. She must have gotten good news about her mother. We both got good news today.

  “I don’t like that you have to deal with her,” Shaun says, staring at Nola as she climbs into her own car.

  I can barely deal with the fact that the barn nearly collapsed on me during the fire; there’s no way I’m going to bring up the files right now. Instead I close my eyes and by the time we hit the Willow Creek city limits I’m dozing. Twenty minutes later, I’m awakened as Shaun steers the truck down our bumpy lane. Deep ruts in the grass from the fire trucks crisscross the property. The air still smells like a barbecue and vapor rises from the blackened remains of the barn in smoky fingers. “At least it didn’t reach the orchard,” I say glumly.

  “Yeah,” Shaun agrees. “Are you okay with staying at the house tonight?” he asks.

  “Because of the fire?” I ask. “I’m okay. Are you?”

  “Could be arson,” he says as he pulls up to the front door. “You said so yourself.”

  “I’m a cop, Shaun,” I say tiredly. “And we don’t know that it’s arson. Not yet anyway.” I don’t tell him that I have the same inkling. Though I don’t have the details regarding accelerants and burn patterns of our fire, I do know that the other arsons have involved old structures in rural, out-of-the-way spots. “I’ll call the fire marshal tomorrow when I go to work,” I say. “Hopefully he’ll be able to give us some more info.”

  “You’re going into work tomorrow?” Shaun asks in surprise. “Don’t you think you should take it easy for a few days?”

  “The doctor said I’m fine. The baby’s fine,” I say, shaking my head. Shaun steps from the truck and comes around and opens my door. I see the concern on his face. “How about we see how I feel in the morning,” I tell him, leaning in for a kiss. “I promise that if I’m any bit tired I will stay home in bed.”

  “Fair enough,” Shaun acquiesces and holds out his hand to help me down.

  We go inside and the cats are there to greet us, as is an answering machine filled with messages. A few are friends checking in on us because of the fire but there are dozens accusing me of adultery and all sorts of awful things.

  “What’s going on?” Shaun asks after we listen to the final message. “You have something you need to tell me?” he says with a small laugh.

  “I have no idea what’s happening,” I say, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to stanch the tears that are beginning to form. “You know I would never cheat on you,” I tell Shaun.

  “I know that,” he says gently. “But first the fire and now these phone calls. It can’t be a coincidence. Do you think it has to do with Eve’s case?”

  “Maybe,” I admit.

  “Walk away,” Shaun says as he hands me a glass of ice water for my sore throat. “You don’t have to do this. Give the case to someone else. No one could blame you for taking a step back.”

  “I can’t do that.” I shake my head. “It’s probably just some guy I pissed off when I busted him. It will blow over,” I say but the tremble in my voice gives me away. The fire, the bird on my windshield, the phone calls. Bad things happen in threes.

  “Really, Maggie?” Shaun yanks open the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of beer. “You could have been killed in that fire. Our baby could have been killed. And you’re blaming this on some guy.” Shaun twists the cap from the bottle and tosses it to the kitchen counter and we stare at each other from behind our drinks.

  I sigh, set my glass down and go to Shaun and he wraps his arms around me. “I couldn’t stand the thought of something happening to you and the baby,” he murmurs into my hair.

  “When I saw those flames, when the barn ceiling started coming down, I was really scared,” I admit.

  “Then please step aside. At least for now,” Shaun begs.

  At this moment, I want so badly to do just this, but I can’t. Being a cop isn’t just a job, it’s who I am. I take a deep breath and lean back so I can look Shaun in the eyes. “Let’s see what the arson investigator finds out and go from there. As for the phone calls, they’re just calls. They’re harmless.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Shaun says, shaking his head and walking away.

  “Me too,” I whisper as I move through the house to double-check that the windows and doors are locked.

  NOLA KNOX

  Wednesday, June 17, 2020

  Nola woke up and padded into the bathroom, bleary-eyed. She pulled the box from its plastic bag and squinted at the directions. She had chosen the shade that most closely matched Eve’s hair color—Sedona Sunset. It only took thirty minutes or so for her to transform from a blonde to redhead. It was really quite remarkable, she thought after she dried and straightened her hair. Nola and Eve could never have been mistaken for twins by any means, but the essence was there, Nola thought as she stared into the mirror. Close enough for people to do a double take. That’s all she wanted.

  Nola dressed and ate breakfast then glanced down at the mewling cat in the kennel. She rummaged through the canned goods until she found a can of tuna. The cat hissed and clawed at her when she opened the carrier to slide in the can and fresh water. She was hoping to deal with the cat today but had to head to the vet clinic to perform the postmortem on the horse from the other day.

  She drove to the clinic and was met with curious stares by the other staff members. Nola barely combed her hair, let alone colored it. “It suits you,” said the receptionist. “I like it.”

  Nola smiled and thanked her though approval wasn’t really what she was looking for and the clinic staff wasn’t her intended audience. That would come later.

  Nola scrubbed in and stepped into the large animal surgery suite to find Bijou there waiting for her. Even in death Bijou was a beautiful animal. But she hadn’t been cared for the way she should have been.

  The owner had requested the necropsy after Bijou had died. For insurance purposes, he said. Horse necropsies tended to be rare. They were expensive so Nola was happy to take on the task.

  She already knew how Bijou had died. Technically, it was the injection of sodium pentobarbital she had given the suffering horse the other day. But in reality it was the idiot rancher and his daughter. Their inadequate care of Bijou was the real cause. Nola was just trying to ease the animal’s suffering but she couldn’t very well put that detail in the necropsy report. Instead, Nola sliced open Bijou to reveal what was obvious—the horse had a twisted bowel. She would have died eventually anyway.

  Nola examined every part of Bijou’s body. She scanned the abdomen and chest for any sign of abnormalities; she collected tissue and blood samples and examined them beneath a microscope and noted her findings. Since Nola had postgraduate residency training in pathology, she wouldn’t need to send the samples off to another lab to be tested for pathogens or toxicants. No one needed to know about the sodium pentobarbital.

  Next Nola prepared the carcass for disposal. Since she euthanized with the pentobarbital, Nola wouldn’t be able to extract the tiny ear bones. Bijou was toxic. Too bad, she thought. She didn’t have a horse in her collection.

  While she worked, Nola thought of her mother. Charlotte wasn’t all that different than Bijou after all. Ill and destined to die younger than she should. Charlotte was suffering, had a long recovery in front of her. Perhaps Nola would stop by the hospital after she was finished here. Twice in one week. Charlotte would be so excited to see her.

  MAGGIE KENNEDY-O’KEEFE

  Wednesday, June 17, 2020

  Despite all my bravado I get little sleep. Ev
ery time I close my eyes I see orange flames behind my lids, I can feel the heat and hear the growl of the fire as it tears through the barn, can smell the acrid scent of burning wood. In my dream, I’m not pregnant anymore and I’m desperate to find my baby. I run from the barn, the blaze close at my heels and I find myself at Ransom Caves. When I step inside, the cavern is pitch-black but the air is blissfully cool. In the distance, the cry of an infant echoes off the rocky walls. My baby. I flounder through the dark trying to find the source of the crying that morphs into the high-pitched trill of a telephone.

  At six, when the alarm goes off, it’s a relief to slide out of bed. My muscles are sore and my throat still aches so I decide to compromise with Shaun and spend the morning taking it easy.

  While Shaun is off cleaning up the mess from the fire, I sit in a rocking chair in the baby’s bedroom. I stare at the crib that I assembled and buttery yellow walls that Shaun painted. I doze, my hands cradling my belly and I can’t believe how soon I’ll be able to hold her in my arms.

  I also can’t believe how close the baby and I came to being seriously injured in the fire. Just the thought of it brings tears to my eyes. As a police officer I know that danger lurks around every corner. I know that there is no way that I will be able to protect my baby from all the bad in the world. But I have to try. That’s what cops do. What moms do.

  At eleven thirty, I heave myself out of the rocking chair, get into my car and make the drive to the police station. I’m on high alert, keeping an eye out for anything out of the ordinary but see nothing unusual. It doesn’t make any sense, the origami bird, the phone calls, the fire. I’m not ready to say out loud that the three might be connected but I can’t help feeling like I’m being targeted.

  I have to tread lightly here. If I’m wrong, the chief might pull me from Eve’s case. I don’t want that. When I arrive at the station I decide to park in a spot where I know the security camera is pointed, just in case.

  The squad room is buzzing. There is a constant ringing of phones. Tips in Eve’s case. An officer is clicking away on his keyboard, a phone receiver beneath his chin, and another is speaking loudly into the phone trying to talk over the annoying groan of the ancient copy machine. Francis is staring intently at his computer screen. A few people stop and ask me about the fire and how I’m doing. I assure them that I’m just fine and make a beeline for my office.

  My phone is also ringing and after talking to a woman who is positive her ex-husband was the one who killed Eve, I listen to a confession to Eve’s murder from a boy who sounds like he’s no more than sixteen. I also get a handful of calls from someone who calls me a bitch and a whore and I’m tempted to trace the calls and arrest the caller for harassment. No time to do that now though.

  I think about taking my phone off the hook but instead I try to call the fire marshal and end up leaving a message. I hang up and drop the origami figure on my desk and pull out Eve’s case folders. I stare at them, trying to decide what I’m going to tackle first. I can’t deal with the bird in my view, so I stick it in my bottom desk drawer.

  I turn my attention to the interview Ms. Reiss did with the police after Eve died. According to her, on the day Eve died Shaun walked out of the school just after Eve did. Shaun was a senior when we were sophomores and while he knew me as the police chief’s daughter, we never interacted. He didn’t give me a second look until years later in the grocery store. After the fire, Shaun’s name in the police file doesn’t seem all that important anymore but I’m still pissed he didn’t tell me about it.

  I call his cell and he answers on the first ring.

  “Maggie, is everything okay?” he asks.

  “Everything’s fine,” I say. “I was just going through some files on Eve’s case and your name was mentioned.”

  “My name?” he asks in surprise. “Why?” I read him the quote from Ms. Reiss saying that she had seen him leaving the school with Eve.

  When he doesn’t say anything I tell myself that this one piece of paper probably means nothing. Ms. Reiss misspoke or misinterpreted. I remind myself the man I’m talking to is my husband, not some suspect to interrogate.

  “I didn’t know you knew Eve,” I say.

  “I knew of her. Grotto High isn’t that big of a school, you know.”

  “You never mentioned her. Not once. You never told me you had a class together,” I say. I’m trying to keep my voice easy, neutral. It’s hard.

  “What are you trying to say here, Maggie?” Shaun asks. I hear the hurt in his voice.

  “I want to know why you didn’t tell me about this,” I say. “I want to know why I have to read that you knew my best friend, who was murdered, in a police report.”

  “Maggie...” Shaun begins but I keep going.

  “Of all the times that I cried to you about Eve and all the times I told you about how much I missed her. You never once told me that you knew her, let alone that you talked to her on the day she died.”

  “That’s because it wasn’t a big deal, Maggie,” he says. “We were in the office at the same time on that day. We talked.”

  “Jesus, Shaun,” I say in frustration.

  “And I told the police about it,” he says defensively. “You’re more worried about it than they were.” He’s mad now. I can’t blame him. This conversation isn’t going the way I hoped.

  “You need an alibi for me for that day?” His voice rises. “Well, it was just before Christmas, right? Then I was at the tree farm loading Christmas trees onto the tops of people’s cars. I’m sure I can line up some witnesses if I need to. Is that what you want?”

  “No, no, Shaun. I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m not accusing you of anything. I was surprised to see your name and I’m following up. It’s my job to find out what people might know about Eve’s last day.”

  “There’s nothing more to know, Maggie,” Shaun says. “But it’s always fun to be interrogated by my wife. I’ve got to get back to work.” He hangs up.

  I screwed that up, I think, but I still don’t understand why he never mentioned it and I wonder what he and Eve talked about that day. His interview from back then must be somewhere in the mess of paperwork.

  Twenty-five years later and I’m still sticking my foot in my mouth. The morning of my fight with Eve, I had looked for her at school hoping to apologize for how mean I’d been to her. I never got the chance.

  As I pick up the phone to call Shaun back and apologize I sense someone watching me and look up.

  “Hey, Maggie,” Francis says from the doorway. I bite back a sigh. “Got a minute?” he asks.

  “Yeah, what is it?” I ask, setting down my phone and shoving my desk drawer shut.

  “There’s something on the department’s Facebook page that I think you need to see.”

  “Is it a tip in the Knox case?” I ask. “If it is, write it down and I’ll add it to the hundreds of other ones that have been coming in.”

  “It’s not that,” Francis says. Something in his voice makes me take a closer look at his face. He’s uncharacteristically serious. Nervous.

  “What is it?” I ask. “Show me.” Francis pulls up a chair and I turn my computer screen his way and push my keyboard toward him. He brings up the Grotto Police Department Facebook page and scrolls down to a post that features a picture of me. It’s an old photo and I’m wearing my dress blues. “What am I looking at here, Francis?” I ask.

  “It’s the link and the comments beneath your picture,” Francis says. “I thought you should know.”

  “Know what?” I ask, losing patience.

  He points the cursor at the link and I feel his eyes on me as I read. Police officer Maggie O’Keefe is supposed to be protecting the community but instead she is...

  “Click on it,” I order. Francis does and a website fills the page. The banner reads WreckedNest.com and features an illustration of a bird’s nest with
cracked eggs. “Oh my God,” I say as I read. Police officer Maggie O’Keefe is supposed to be protecting the community but instead she is sleeping with married men. I came home early from work one afternoon and found Maggie O’Keefe and my husband in our bed. This is not okay! Let the Grotto Police Department know that one of their own is screwing around on the clock and ruining marriages while she’s at it.

  “This isn’t true.” I look up at Francis. “This is a lie! Take it off. Delete it.” The comments are just about as bad as the article. There are calls for me to be fired. I’m called every name in the book: bitch, slut, skank, home wrecker and worse.

  “I can take it off our page,” he says, clicking back to Facebook, “but it’s been shared dozens of times and it will still be on this website.”

  There’s more. I scan the rest of the page and am horrified to see my home phone number is listed for the entire world to see. I think of all the phone calls we’ve been getting. All the nasty things the callers are saying. It all makes sense now. “Take it off!” I say again frantically.

  Francis taps the keyboard and the link disappears. My brain is reeling. It’s not true. I would never cheat on Shaun. “Who would do this?” I ask Francis helplessly. “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” Francis says. He’s embarrassed for me. “Police officers make enemies out of a lot of people. I’m sure it’s someone just thinking they’re being funny.”

  “It’s not funny!” I say. “Is there a way you can find out who posted it?”

  “Yes,” Francis says. “But chances are it’s a fake account. I can ask IT to look into it.”

  “It’s gone, right?” My voice is shaking.

  “Like I said, it’s off the Facebook page, but it’s not gone. It’s still on this website. Are you alright?” Francis asks as he stands. “Do you want me to say something to the chief?”

  “No!” I exclaim. I refuse to cry in front of Francis. “I’ll do it if this doesn’t blow over. Like you said, we piss people off all the time. Some idiot thought he was being funny. If I make a big deal out of it, they win.”