Liar, Liar

by Lisa Jackson

  “And they were asking about everyone. Even Harley. Oh, this isn’t going to end well, I just know it . . .” She shoved her free hand through her hair, obviously upset.

  “This is all because of Didi, you know,” Vera said with a lot more heat. Then a pause, while she stood at the window and stared out at the yard and street beyond, listening, her lips drawn into a deep frown. “I know . . .” Nodding. “Finally, I’m going to get a little back, but no matter how much I get off that book, it’s not enough. Not worth it. Not for all the heartache she put me and the folks through. Uh-uh. Look, I’m just letting you know that because Trudie was killed, Remmi thinks I had something to do with it . . . I’m telling you . . . what?” A pause and a swift intake of breath. “He died? . . . No, no, I hadn’t heard. Well, God rest his soul . . .” Another long pause. “. . . Uh, what? The money for the book? Really? I’ll check the contract . . .”

  Phone to her ear, she disappeared from the screen and hurried down the hallway, returning less than a minute later. She was carrying papers, and she sat at the dining room table and flipped through them. “Let me see, this is so wordy . . . here it is.” For a few seconds, Vera went silent as she read, then she sucked in a deep breath. “You’re right. It says right here . . .” A wide smile broke out across her face, and she jumped to her feet, joyous. She was transformed. “I can’t believe it, this is such good news. The best!” She was deliriously happy, on her feet and doing a little dance. “I guess every cloud does have a silver lining, doesn’t it? God works in mysterious ways . . . yes, I know. Jennifer called, said the book is doing spectacularly, that’s the word she used—spectacularly!—and she’s taking calls about a possible TV movie about Didi, or so she said. And now . . . Wow!” She was beaming, but suddenly her smile faded a bit. “Still . . . it’s a shame. About Ned and Trudie. Good people. When I got into this, I never thought anyone would die . . . I mean, they were killed and it could be because of the book.” She was pacing again, listening. She stopped where the baby sat on the floor, toys spread around him, his gurgling voice audible as she found a truck in the basket of toys and put it within his reach on the carpet. “Yes, yes, I know.” Straightening, Vera said, “Of course. What’s done is done. And . . . yes, there is the money to consider.”

  She turned to stare straight at the mantel, and Remmi’s heart dropped, thinking they were about to be discovered. But Vera’s attention was solely on her conversation.

  “Yes,” she was saying. “I’ll light a candle and say a prayer. Okay. Okay. I’m just worried, that’s all . . . Yes. I’ll talk to you then. Bye.”

  She cut the connection and clutched the phone to her chest with both hands. Then, after seeing that the baby was amusing himself with some toys, walked directly to the mantel and stared up, her eyes nearly level with the camera. Her lips trembled a bit, and tears filled her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you, Jesus.” She started to walk away, then looked directly at the camera and, in an almost inaudible breath, added, “And please, please forgive me.”

  Remmi’s blood turned to ice. “She’s involved,” she said to Noah.

  “To her eyeballs.”

  “But she just learned about Ned. Was surprised.”

  “I know. Doesn’t quite fit.” He thought aloud as a waitress carried two salads to a trio of women who were talking animatedly at a table near the door.

  Noah and Remmi had been in the booth for hours.

  Remmi got up and stretched, noticing how long the shadows in the parking lot had grown. What was Vera’s part in all this? Did she know what happened to Didi? Had she lied about that, as she’d lied about so many things? But it seemed, listening to her side of the conversation, that she hadn’t been part of the attack on Ned and Trudie.

  “Who was she talking to?” Remmi asked. “Uncle Milo?”

  “He’s my first bet,” Noah said, nodding. “But there’s Billy. He could be involved.”

  She agreed; her uncle was never around, always MIA.

  “Or Harley. We don’t know that he’s in Alaska. Or even Jensen.”

  “Except he just left. She didn’t have to talk to him on the phone, and as awful as he was as a teenager, I didn’t think he was faking us out.” She remembered his pride about his baby. “He’s getting his life together, and neither Harley or Jensen were around when Didi went missing.”

  “Doesn’t mean they couldn’t be involved in the book and Karen Upgarde.”

  She nodded. Any of them—Harley, Milo, Jensen, or even Billy—could have been disguised and involved somehow. She’d seen the grainy picture of the “person of interest” the police had released to the public, but the photo had been unclear and could be nearly anyone.

  From the booth, Noah said, “Uh-oh.”

  She slid in beside him again and glanced at the screen to see Vera’s face up close. The camera wiggled and grew dark, then was suddenly focused on the tip of Vera’s nose.

  “What the devil—?” Vera said. “Whose are these?” She must’ve held the glasses away from her face because all of her face came into view. Her lips were twisted in confusion, lines creasing her forehead.

  Remmi’s stomach tightened, and she bit her lip as Vera examined the sunglasses with their minute camera.

  Finally, Vera sighed. “Bill’s.” She carried the sunglasses to what appeared to be the dining room table. “He’d lose his head if it wasn’t screwed on.”

  She left the room and Remmi let out her breath. “She thinks they’re her brother’s.”

  “Until he comes home.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “Head back to your place. We know where we stand. We can set up the reception there. The camera will keep recording, so we’ll fast-forward to the action when we get there.”

  Remmi looked at the monitor again and saw her aunt make her way to baby Monty. Vera picked her grandson off the floor and spun him around. Monty giggled and clung to her.

  She said, “Oh, baby, did you hear? Gramma’s going to be rich! Richer than I ever thought.” The baby laughed, and so did Vera, a joyful moment for both, while Remmi felt a newfound disgust as she stared at her aunt. Breathlessly, Vera said, “Whee!” as she spun and held her grandson tightly. Finally, she wound down, but any sadness or regret she’d felt about hearing that Ned Crenshaw had died seemed to be forgotten.

  “Okay,” Remmi said, digging in her purse for her keys. “Let’s go. I think I’ve seen enough.”

  * * *

  “I need a rain check. For that dinner I promised,” Dani told Stinson after she’d climbed out of his Cessna and into the rain. Darkness had fallen, evening seeping into night.

  “You always need a rain check.” He was standing on the tarmac beneath the nose of his plane, the stiff wind ruffling his windbreaker and messing his hair, lights from the terminal illuminating the darkness.

  “I’m a busy woman.”

  “A busy woman who always seems to need a favor.”

  “Yeah, well . . .” She couldn’t argue the fact, and he knew it. She’d known Mark Stinson since college, when he’d married Celia, one of her best friends. In the past few years, Stinson, with his plane, had been her go-to guy for quick, short flights when she needed one. Though he was always paid by the department, he had to adjust his schedule on a dime to accommodate her.

  So far, he’d never failed.

  She flipped up the hood of her jacket and heard the loud roar of a jet as it sped down a runway off the main terminal.

  “Throw in a drink,” he yelled as she started walking away.

  “You got it. At least one!” But her words were snatched by the wind and another jet that roared into the black, cloud-covered sky.

  Once in the car and on the road again, she said to Martinez, “First stop, Remmi Storm’s house.” As soon as they’d landed, they’d received a call from Detective Davis in Las Vegas with the news that the dental records for Didi Storm were a match with the corpse now lying in the morgue. No question. No dispute. Next of
kin would have to be notified.

  Settler hated this part of the job, informing family members that a loved one had died, and violent deaths were the worst. Even in the case of a mother gone missing for twenty years, the loss would be painful.

  Switching on her wipers against a heavy dousing of rain, Settler wove through a clog of traffic and got onto the 101 heading north. “I just hope we reach Remmi Storm before she hears that her mother’s body was found.”

  Though Davis had promised to keep Didi’s identity secret until after Remmi had been notified, it would be a difficult job. The press had been at the construction site, and the Las Vegas P.D. had been inundated with phone calls.

  As if he’d read her thoughts, Martinez said, “The press is gonna have a field day with this.”

  “Yep. Next of kin for Didi Storm is public knowledge.” She’d considered calling the information to the station and asking for someone in the department to contact Remmi, but she felt it was her responsibility as Remmi had come to her, looking for her mother.

  “Gun it,” he suggested, eyeing the GPS road map as he scrabbled in his pocket for a nonexistent pack of cigarettes. When he realized what he was doing, he stopped. “Lights and siren. But stay off the 280. Looks like it’s clogged. At least, according to my app.”

  She considered turning on the lights, then just hit the gas. Her cell phone rang, illuminating the interior.

  “Got it,” Martinez said. He hit the speaker button, and a woman’s voice came through.

  “This is Jennifer Reliant,” she said. “I’m sorry, I can’t meet with you today. Sick kid, but I heard you wanted information on the contract between my client, Gertrude Crenshaw, and Stumptown Press. You know I can’t give out that information, of course.”

  It didn’t matter. They were getting the contract from the Portland lawyer for the publishing company. Still, Settler didn’t like letting the agent off the hook; the whole mailbox/answering service “office” seemed a little flaky. “If you can’t come down to the station, an officer can come and take your statement.”

  “If he’s not afraid of the flu,” she said a little huffily.

  “Ms. Reliant, the officers of the San Francisco Police Department aren’t afraid of much.”

  “Fine. Let me know!” And she ended the call.

  “I take it she’s not happy?” Martinez asked.

  “Probably not ever, unless I miss my guess.”

  They headed due north. The storm was coming in, rolling off the Pacific and across the peninsula. She caught glimpses of the black waters of the bay whipped to a froth, rippling with white caps.

  Finally, Settler got out of traffic and turned up the steep incline to the house where Remmi Storm resided. She parked a little too close to a mailbox, risking the wrath of the owner and the USPS, although it was past normal delivery hours. Some of the houses lining the street were decked out with holiday wreaths on their doors, a few with Christmas lights glowing.

  “It’s not even Thanksgiving,” Martinez complained, eyeing a van that advertised Kris Kringle’s Christmas Lights, which was parked near the Emerson house, a huge manor dominating the hill.

  “Getting a head start,” she said automatically, though her thoughts were deep on the case. She couldn’t care less what time of year it was. In tandem, they climbed the wide front steps of the home. Christmas lights were already strung along the rail.

  Martinez rang the bell.

  For a second, no one answered, then she heard sounds from within. Moments later, the door was opened by a small Asian woman in a tunic over yoga pants. Her black hair was twisted onto her head, and she held the door only open a crack. Settler gave her name, introduced Martinez, and showed their IDs, which the woman studied intently before handing them back. “We’d like to speak with Remmi Storm,” Settler said.

  “She’s not here.” She was still eyeing them warily.

  “But she lives here,” Settler clarified, and the woman nodded. “When do you expect her back?”

  “Soon.”

  “Jade? Who is it?” a female voice demanded over a humming sound.

  “The police,” Jade called back over her shoulder. Moments later, an elderly woman seated in a motorized wheelchair came into view.

  “The police? Here? Oh, dear.” Wearing a cable-knit sweater and gray slacks and earrings that glittered beneath her short, coiffed hair, she looked up at the detectives inquisitively, without the intensity of Jade. A cat in varying hues of black and orange sat comfortably on her lap.

  Settler made introductions, complete with flashing their IDs again. The woman studied their wallets as if they were long-lost, ancient scrolls that contained the secrets of the ages. Finally, she seemed satisfied that the badges were genuine and handed them back. “You’re here on official business, I take it.”

  Martinez nodded. “Yes.”

  “I was afraid of this,” she said on a sigh. “Well, come in, come in, and close the door behind you; you’re letting in the cold.” Waving them inside with one hand, she deftly turned her chair around.

  “Wait.” Settler felt a hand on her arm, and Martinez said, “She’s here.”

  Sure enough, a car was pulling into an open spot on the street.

  Remmi Storm was at the wheel, Noah Scott in the passenger seat.

  Settler waited until the two dashed through the rain and up the porch stairs. Remmi was already looking up, recognizing the officers and taking in their grim expressions.

  “You’re here with bad news,” she guessed as she reached the porch. “We already know about Ned.”

  “He’s not the one,” Settler said, her stomach clenching a bit. God, she hated this. “It’s your mother. We believe she is deceased. Her body was located in Las Vegas at a construction site.”

  “What?” The color drained from Remmi’s face. “Are you sure? I mean, everyone thought Karen Upgarde was her and . . .”

  “Dental records match,” Martinez broke in.

  Settler said, “I’m sorry for your loss” and watched as the other woman’s knees threatened to give way. They probably would have, but Noah Scott quickly wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

  “God, Remmi,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”

  Tears starred her eyes, and she blinked them back. “Me, too.” And then as if she thought the detectives would leave without telling her everything they knew, she sniffed, and said, “Please come in. And tell me . . . tell me how you know and what happened.”

  * * *

  Shell-shocked, Remmi walked on rubbery legs into the parlor and, with Noah, dropped onto Greta’s couch. The world seemed to spin and distort. She’d always thought Didi was alive, no matter what anyone said.

  She was aware of people joining them in the room, but the voices came from a far distance, and all she could really concentrate on was the fact that her mother, the woman she’d wondered about for two decades, was gone.

  A small part of her had still held onto a slim thread of expectation that she would see Didi Storm again, have a reunion of some kind.

  No longer, if the detectives were right, and she believed Danielle Settler wouldn’t have delivered the devastating news if she weren’t 100 percent sure of her facts.

  She blinked. Someone, Jade, was stuffing tissues into her hands, and she realized her tears had tracked down her cheeks. Noah was seated behind her, his arm around her. She was still wearing her jacket, and it was speckled from the raindrops that had splashed against it as they’d hurried from the car to the house to hear that her mother was dead.

  A thousand memories of her childhood threatened to cripple her, but she wouldn’t think of them now. Not when she needed to hear the truth, to find out what had happened.

  Noah whispered into her ear, his breath warm against her skin, “Hey, you okay?”

  She nodded. She knew she was in shock, but that she would get over it. Today wasn’t that much different than yesterday, right? She wouldn’t see Didi again, but then she hadn’t for a long, long t
ime, and now, at least, some questions would be answered. “What happened?” she asked the detectives. Greta was insisting they take a chair before she asked Jade to get everyone some tea or coffee or maybe something “a little stronger.” “How do you know it’s my mother?” she asked.

  The detectives explained about visiting Las Vegas, seeing the car, license plates, and body, that the female behind the wheel was wearing Didi’s clothes, had her ID, and that the dental records matched.

  “There’s really no doubt,” Settler said from one of the wingback chairs.

  “You said there was a baby carrier?” Remmi braced herself.

  “Yeah, the kind that can be strapped in as a car seat, but we found no trace of a child or any other person in the car. The techs went over it with a fine-tooth comb. They searched the cargo hold and trunk, all of the interior. No trace of a baby, and no blood other than that in the area surrounding the driver.”

  That, at least, was a relief. It didn’t appear Adam had died in that car. But it didn’t mean he’d survived, just that he hadn’t been killed at that time.

  There was a chance he and his sister were alive.

  Don’t get your hopes up.

  Could she believe it? After all this time?

  “Where was she found? Where was this construction site?”

  “Outside of Las Vegas,” Settler answered. “A new development’s going in. The land was bought several years ago, but the company who held it about the time your mother disappeared was OH Industries, and the owner was Oliver Hedges. There wasn’t as much sprawl then, so the city wasn’t as close as it is now. You ever heard of OH Industries? Or Oliver Hedges?”

  “No.” She was certain of that much, but her head was spinning. The thought of her mother dead in the car all this time . . . hard to believe. Was there any chance they were wrong? The expressions on the detectives’ faces and the raw evidence of the dental records suggested not, but Remmi wasn’t completely convinced. “I want to see her,” she said.

  Greta said, “Oh, dear,” as she moved her wheelchair closer to the bar.