This Is How I Lied

by Heather Gudenkauf

  That finally got his attention and he agreed. They’re leaving this morning. At least I know they will be safe until I figure out what to do about Nola. I’m thinking an anonymous call to the police will do the trick. I’ll let my colleagues come into Nola’s house, find the bones and go from there. Hopefully, Nola will have no idea that I’m involved.

  I come into the station extra early this morning to finally pack up the evidence in Eve’s case and personally deliver everything to the state lab in Des Moines. As I sit at my desk and review the evidence list I think of Nola and what she’s asked me to do.

  I think of Nola’s determination to pin Eve’s death on Nick Brady.

  I don’t have the proof that Nola is responsible for our barn fire and for posting lies on the Wrecked Nest website but I do know that she is intent on destroying my life. How stupid was I to think that she wanted to help me, to protect me? I’m just another person Nola wants to enact revenge upon. Not that I can blame her. I don’t. I killed her sister.

  What I am sure of is the house of horrors that Nola lives in. The makeshift surgery setup; the scalpels and knives. The bones.

  I pull up the Missing Person Information Clearinghouse website and see that there are three hundred and fifty-six individuals that are considered officially missing in the state of Iowa. In the Operating Agency search box, I enter Grotto and get zero results. This isn’t a surprise to me—if there were any open missing-person cases in town I would know.

  Nola is a big animal vet and her work takes her all over the county so I expand my search to Ransom County and thirty-two names pop up. To my untrained eye, the bones did not look like they belonged to a young child so I narrow the search to individuals thirteen years old and up. That brings the number to thirty. Not much help. With a sigh I log off my computer and push my chair back from the desk. It’s time I get on the road.

  I sign out each piece of evidence and with the help of another officer load up my car. Before leaving I go into a storage closet and find an old box of evidence labels and envelopes. I pull out several of each and stuff them into my pocket. Back in my office I reach into my bottom desk drawer and stare down at the three items each stored in their own individual evidence bag: the needle filled with Nick Brady’s DNA, the cigarette butt I got from the Harpers’ backyard and the shard of glass from the broken picture frame that Nola cut herself on.

  It’s time to a make a decision. I grab all three bags and drop them into a larger manila envelope. All I would need to do is insert the manufactured evidence into one of the old envelopes, slap on a label and forge my dad’s signature and date it as December 1995. It would be so much easier than I thought. I’ll decide on the road, I tell myself. Besides, I don’t dare tamper with the evidence here.

  By noon I’m ready to leave. I drive for an hour and just before I hit the interstate I pull off onto a gravel road. I step from my car, pop open the trunk and remove the lid to the cardboard box holding the evidence.

  I keep an ear out for any approaching cars and pull out the large sealed paper envelopes that hold the boot and jeans that Eve was wearing the day she died and I climb back into the driver’s seat. In a few hours all the evidence in Eve’s case will be back in the hands of the state crime lab where decades of advancements in forensic testing await it.

  I stare at the three items I’ve spread out on the passenger’s seat. A needle, a cigarette butt, a shard of glass. This is it. The last chance I have to make sure I’m never implicated in Eve’s death. I have a decision to make. It might not work, but this may be the only way that I have to protect my family. Do I follow Nola’s orders and inject a smidgen of Nick Brady’s blood into the envelopes that hold Eve’s boot and her jeans? In high school I got adept in forging my dad’s handwriting. It would be easy to fill out an old label and sign my dad’s name to the evidence list. Do I add the broken glass or Cam’s cigarette butt into the box? All I have to do is choose one.

  Here I go again, playing God. With tears streaming down my face I take a deep breath and make my choice.

  Therapy Transcript

  Client Name: Nola Knox, 13 years

  Therapist Name: Linda Gonzalez, LMHC, NCC

  Date of Service: April 16, 1996

  LG: Good morning, Nola. How are you doing today?

  NK: Today’s my last session. So pretty good.

  LG: I wanted to talk to you about that...

  NK: It is my last day. The court order was for fifteen sessions. This is the fifteenth.

  LG: Yes, that’s true, but I think we are making some really good progress together. I think that if we continue to work on strategies that you can use to help handle challenging situations...

  NK: But this is my last session. I’ve done everything you’ve asked. I even apologized to Nick Brady. I said I was sorry. No. This is our last session. I’m fine now. Everything is fine.

  Notes:

  4/16/1996

  In my assessment, Nola would benefit from long term therapy in order to address anger issues and coping skills. I approached Charlotte Knox encouraging her to continue sessions and she agreed.

  4/23/1996

  Nola did not show up for today’s session. Phone calls to the mother went unanswered.

  MAGGIE KENNEDY-O’KEEFE

  Monday, June 22, 2020

  Once I deliver the evidence to the state lab I drive the three hours back to Grotto but instead of heading straight to the orchard I make a split-second decision and make a sudden turn off onto an old service road.

  I’ve avoided coming to this spot since Eve died. I had no reason to return unless it was work related and somehow I managed to dodge any calls relating to these caves. Now, after all these years, I’ve come here of my own accord.

  I open the car door and step out onto the pavement. It’s still god-awful hot and my stomach hardens with the Braxton-Hicks contractions that have been plaguing me all weekend. I reach back into the car and take a big swig out of my water bottle, hoping that I won’t have to pee anytime soon.

  I grab my department-issue flashlight, step from the car and begin the trek to the caves. It’s not far but I have to travel through a wooded area with no clear path and I have to fight annoying gnats and low-hanging branches and a tangled carpet of weeds and fallen logs. I move slowly, carefully so as not to trip. Daylight filters dreamily through the canopy of leaves and I’m reminded how magical this place once felt to me. Now all I feel is dread.

  As children, Eve and I would pack sack lunches and play tag here, chasing one another around tree trunks until we were sweaty and out of breath. We’d look for secret paths and bear cubs, unsuccessfully of course. The only things we managed to find were Nola lurking after us and poison ivy, but we still had fun.

  Above me I hear what I hope is the scuttle of a squirrel or a raccoon. Supporting my belly with two hands I pick up the pace. Eventually the trees thin and I find myself standing in front of Ransom Caves.

  The three caves sit before me like a disturbing series of Halloween masks. One with an entrance in the shape of a wide, gaping smile, another with a half-closed sneer and a third with a tight-lipped, nearly impassable smirk. Eve died just inside the gaping smile known as Rattlesnake.

  We were forbidden to go inside Rattlesnake because it was known to flood in heavy rains and it had a dizzying number of paths and with one wrong turn you could get hopelessly lost. We were supposed to stick to the sneer. Of course we didn’t listen and we spent hours exploring Rattlesnake and it became as familiar to us as our backyards.

  I don’t know why I’m here, except that maybe things have come full circle. This is where the story of my last twenty-five years began and now ends. The evidence is in the custody of the state lab. It’s out of my hands. The sun is beginning to set but I have no intention of staying long, just long enough to talk to Eve. To apologize, to ask for forgiveness. I move toward Rattlesnake and ta
ke a hesitant step inside. Immediately the temperature drops and the cool air feels good against my skin.

  “Hello,” I shout and the word bounces right back to me. We did that as kids, shout random words into the dark and listen as the sound waves spring wildly against the cave walls like a bouncy ball.

  I turn in a slow circle, trying to take in as much of my surroundings as I can before the sun completely fades. Fireflies wink back and forth to one another and I have a flash of nostalgia. Me and Eve and Nola chasing after lightning bugs, holding them carefully in our cupped hands. Except for Nola, who would spread the wings out wide and then peel away the golden orb.

  I duck my head to avoid striking my forehead on a rocky low-hanging dip. A dank, mildewy smell fills my nose and my heart bangs against my ribs. A shallow river trickles along a fissure in the stone and collects in a wide, deep crevice. I’m standing on the spot where Eve was found. The crime scene photos flash in my head. Eve’s wide, unseeing eyes. The red-rose bloom of blood haloing her head. “I’m so sorry, Eve,” I whisper and then sway and reach out for something to hold on to and find the uneven, cool rock wall.

  I move more deeply into the cavern until I’m at the spot where the cave’s ceiling opens up into a natural skylight. Above me the evening sky is marbled blue and pearl gray.

  “Maggie?” a voice says. “Are you okay?”

  I startle. “Nola?” I ask, turning toward the sound. “What are you doing here?” Her red hair is scraped back from her face in a messy ponytail and she’s got a backpack on her shoulders.

  “Now what are the chances of the two of us running into each other this way?” Nola asks breezily.

  My stomach feels crampy and a surge of heartburn threatens to bring up my lunch. “I’m guessing zero,” I say trying to keep the fear from my voice. The last place I want to be is anywhere alone with Nola. “What do you want?” I ask. “What are you doing here?”

  “Obviously, I followed you,” Nola says, her eyes scanning the cave walls. “I wanted to make sure you delivered the evidence to the state lab.”

  “You followed me to Des Moines?” I ask in disbelief. How could she have tracked me all the way to the state lab and back without me noticing? I wonder if she saw me pulling off onto the gravel road earlier in the day. Nola just stands there with a nasty grin on her face.

  “I did what you told me to. Now can’t you just leave me alone, Nola?” I ask. I’m so tired. My pelvis aches and I feel vaguely nauseated.

  Nola rubs her arms as if she’s cold. She looks around, and the smugness is replaced with sadness. Is it genuine? Maybe. Just outside the cave, the sun gives its final gasp and disappears behind a black curtain of clouds.

  “It’s getting late,” I say, stepping past her. “I’m going home.”

  “No, wait,” Nola says, latching on to my wrist. “I just want to talk to you for a minute.”

  I squirm away from her grasp. “Seriously, Nola, I’m really tired and feel like crap. I’m going home, put my feet up and count the number of minutes between contractions.”

  “If only I thought you were truly sorry,” Nola says, sliding the backpack from her shoulders. It lands on the stone floor with a thud.

  My head is pounding and my stomach is queasy. Despite the cool air, sweat trickles down the back of my neck. I glance over my shoulder toward the cave’s opening. Why do I feel like I’m being ambushed? There’s no way I’ll ever be able to outrun her. “But I am,” I say. “I am sorry. I’m so, so sorry that I hurt Eve. If I could go back and change what happened I would. I would trade places with Eve in a heartbeat.”

  Nola flips on her flashlight and folds her arms across her chest, a bitter smile on her face. “So you say.”

  My belly tightens and releases again. It doesn’t exactly hurt but it’s got a bite to it. I can’t be in labor, can I? It’s too early. The baby isn’t ready to come yet. I’m not ready for the baby to come yet. I look around and find a ragged boulder to sit on. I take a few deep breaths and after a minute the world stops tilting.

  “You okay, Maggie?” Nola asks.

  I nod and look up at her. “I’m fine,” I say but inside alarm bells are clanging.

  Nola situates herself next to me on the rock and tucks the flashlight beneath her chin, the shadows distorting her face like a kid getting ready to tell a ghost story around the campfire. “I just want to talk to you. We need to talk about Nick.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask. “I told you, I did what you asked. I used the blood you gave me and I added it to the evidence. You saw me drive it to the lab...”

  Nola waves away my words. “Yeah, I know but the more I think about things, the more I wonder if screwing with the old evidence is enough.”

  “Of course it is,” I say, my voice taking on a desperate tone. “You said it yourself. DNA doesn’t lie. Once the forensics come back, Nick is...”

  “Are you really going to lie to me here?” Nola interrupts. “It’s where you killed my sister. You can’t lie to me in the spot where your best friend took her last breath.”

  “Lie to you?” I ask. “How have I lied to you?” I want to be more outraged, more indignant but a wave of nausea overtakes me.

  “Pay attention,” Nola says tapping me on the head with her flashlight. “I’ve been watching you and I’m beginning to think that maybe you don’t have the stomach for this.” She points the light toward the gullet of the cave. But even the strong beam can’t penetrate the absolute darkness.

  “Nola, you’re wrong...” I argue but Nola taps my head again. This time harder.

  “You talk a big game, Maggie, but I think I’m going to need a little more assurance. Why did you send your dad and brother away this morning?”

  Another contraction hits me, this one intense enough to make me groan. Nola waits patiently until it passes. “I didn’t,” I begin but she gives me a look that shuts me up.

  “You were in my basement,” Nola said with disappointment. “You probably saw some things that you shouldn’t have. You aren’t planning to tell your coworkers about what you found, are you?”

  “I don’t care about your things, Nola,” I say, struggling to get to my feet. “You must know that. I’m not going to say anything about what’s in your basement. As far as I know they are just fake. Your Halloween decorations. You hold all the cards. I’m not going to say a word. We’ve got a plan in place. I don’t intend to change anything so you don’t have anything to worry about.” A burning pain spreads across my pelvis and I bend at the waist.

  “Okay, then,” Nola says, plucking my phone from my back pocket. “I can text Shaun for you.” She scrolls through my contacts and quickly types out a message. “I told him I was going to drive you to the hospital and for him to meet us there. You, my dear, are in labor.”

  “I think I am,” I breathe. “But the baby won’t be here for a long time, right?” I ask, my voice taking on a tinge of desperation. “Especially since it’s my first?”

  “Depends,” Nola says, shining the light on my face. I wince at the brightness. “You could squeeze that baby out in a matter of minutes or it could take hours.”

  “We should probably go then,” I say moving toward the exit. It’s going to be okay. Nola realizes that I’m no threat to her. I’ll get to the hospital, have my baby, put all this ugliness behind me.

  “Wait, wait,” Nola says playfully moving the flashlight like a maestro, causing the light to dance across the ceiling of the cave. I catch glimpses of a rocky shelf. It’s a ledge about ten or fifteen feet above the ground and runs deep into the cave much like a catwalk high above the stage of a theater. It must have been a bitch to get up to, slippery and narrow.

  “That’s where you hid,” I say, realization spreading through me, “the night that Eve died. That’s where you were when you heard our argument.” I clench my teeth against another contraction. I turn my face and
throw up onto the ground beside me. A cold sweat breaks out across my skin and I begin to tremble. The sour smell of vomit is overpowering.

  “We better go, Nola,” I say, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “We can talk about this later. Shaun will be waiting for us.” I imagine him at the hospital, the bag filled with a set of clothes for me to wear after the delivery and an outfit for the baby.

  “Don’t worry, Maggie,” Nola says, “I was just kidding. Shaun isn’t waiting for you at the hospital. He thinks you’re still in Des Moines. Flat tires are a bitch.”

  “Flat tire?” I repeat dumbly. “What do you mean?”

  Instead of answering, Nola sets the flashlight on the ground and spreads out a large plastic tarp like a beach towel.

  “What are you doing?” I ask fearfully.

  Nola reaches into a black leather bag situated on a rock ledge next to her and pulls out two syringes. One small, like the one she gave me that held Nick’s DNA and one much larger. Instinctively, I cover my belly with my hands and begin to edge backward. “Surprise,” Nola whispers, her eyes feverish and a small smile playing on her lips as if we share some kind of secret.

  NOLA KNOX

  Monday, June 22, 2020

  Maggie’s eyes flicked back and forth between the syringes and just past Nola’s shoulder in search of an escape route.

  “Sorry, Maggie,” Nola said, fingering the syringes in her hand. “We need to finish our chat,” she said as if they were sitting down for tea, “and I’m afraid we might not be done before the baby comes. But first of all I need your gun.” Nola slipped one of the needles into her pocket.

  “I’m not giving you my gun, Nola,” Maggie said through clenched teeth as another contraction overtook her. In that second, Nola was on Maggie, the point of the larger needle pressing against her neck.