All the Pretty Lies

by Marin Montgomery

  My cell chirps from the kitchen counter as ‘Henry Senior’ flashes on the screen.

  “Father,” I warily answer.

  “We’re coming over.” It’s not a question, just a statement.

  “Okay.” I breathe a sigh of relief. He disconnects.

  The phone rings and I pick it up before it has a chance to buzz again. I assume it’s my father calling back to bark orders.

  It’s not.

  There’s heavy breathing, as if the person just got off the treadmill or did a high-intensity training that left them gasping for air.

  After I say “hello” a few times, the line goes dead.

  I shake my head in confusion, tempted to leave the phone off the hook.

  Setting it back in the cradle, I’m skittish when it blares a few minutes later, unsure if it will be another busybody or a hang-up.

  Silently I beg the phone to defy me, to be an unknown caller or a curious neighbor.

  Instead it’s my mom warning me. “Honey, we can’t get down your street.”

  “Can you come around through the back? I’ll open the gate from the other side.” Our house is on a quarter-acre lot. Behind our fence is a shallow pond that’s used for the sole purpose of providing a backdrop that’s supposed to make our real estate values appreciate faster, with the feeling that only a serene and useless man-made puddle can evoke.

  “You’ll have to park by the lake and walk. You okay with that?”

  “Yes, honey. See you soon.” My mom hangs up.

  I unlock the back gate, opening it an inch to peer around to make sure no one else is outside. I had to shut all the blinds in the house, make sure every window and sliding glass door was closed.

  Hearing gravel crunching, I thrust the gate open.

  “Father,” I say. He gives me a quick hug, emotions and affection not our usual behavior. My family runs on oil and business decisions. Not sentiments. As my father taught me, “Money is not the root of our problems. Emotions are.”

  Behind every man is a strong woman, and my mom’s no exception.

  Dina Bishop has a way of making me feel frumpy. She’s put together. Doesn’t matter if it’s a funeral, a dinner, or a party. A strand of hair’s never out of place, the chestnut chignon pulled tight and fresh pink lipstick on her face. She’s wearing a navy pantsuit and could be going to a nice dinner if she wasn’t sneaking in my backyard.

  “Where are the boys?” She air kisses me, her lips never making contact with my skin.

  “Leona and Mel have them.”

  “Thank God. They don’t need to be embroiled in this madness.” She sniffs. “Where’s that adulterer?”

  “Probable killer,” my father mutters under his breath.

  “Father,” I exclaim. “I’m still married to him.”

  He’s exasperated. “Let’s go in the house before someone sees us.”

  We walk, the three of us in a line, blood thicker than any outsider that tries to invade our familial bond, the Bishop dynasty on display.

  Part III

  Chapter Thirteen

  Reed

  I peek out, the blinds covering our floor-to-ceiling windows that face out towards the backyard. The three of them walk toward me like I’m about to face a firing squad. Their faces are drawn, the implication clear.

  They’re in charge. The Bishops always have been.

  Three against one.

  Especially Daddy ‘Oilbucks’. He told me at the church before Meghan and I got married that I’d never amount to shit, but he’d try to polish me until his dying breath.

  But only as long as I made his daughter happy.

  If not, I’d be ex-communicated.

  Great pep talk from the father-in-law.

  Yanking the patio door open, I stand aside as they walk in, single file.

  A cloud of perfume follows Dina, while cigar smoke surrounds Henry. Her dad’s regal, his posture rigid, balding head and fat lips judging me without even making eye contact with me. He pushes past me to head into the living room, no acknowledgement on his part.

  Dina isn’t much better. She has a perma-glare on her face, the withering stare she gives me making me tremble. She’s had so many fillers and Botox injections that the scowl isn’t as pronounced, but it’s enough to make me quiver. She’s a hard woman to please.

  “Would you like something to drink?” I offer to no one in particular.

  “Vodka tonic.” Henry hollers from the living room.

  “Water.” Her mother purses her lips. She watches me head to the tap. “Sparkling.”

  Meg heads into the living room as Dina’s eyes follow me around the kitchen.

  I find a sparkling water in our fridge and pour it in a glass. The vodka’s in the freezer. I mix some tonic water with it and put it in three other glasses, my hands shaking as she intently watches me.

  “I’ll help you carry one of those.” She grabs one off the counter. I pause to grab some crackers and cheese from the cupboard. Out of my peripheral, I see a flash of glass whiz by, then a loud crash.

  “What the…” I whip around, baffled.

  Her mother’s fixedly staring at me. “You bastard.” Her mouth twists into a grimace. “How could you bring this onto our family? Make us tabloid fodder?”

  “Dina…” I start to say.

  “No, don’t ‘Dina’ me.” She picks up another drink, her hands closing around it tightly.

  Inadvertently, I duck.

  “I’m going to take this to the living room.” She’s no-nonsense. “Clean up the glass and bring a new one.” With that, she turns on her heel and heads out of the kitchen.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Meghan

  My father sits on the couch, hands on his knees, as if he’s about to dole out a lecture.

  Curling up on the chair, I feel like an irresponsible teenager in trouble.

  I heard the glass shattering from the kitchen as my father and I exchanged a knowing glance.

  We don’t bother to ask.

  My mom’s notorious for launching items into the atmosphere when she’s upset. Her temper precedes her. She holds it in check until all hell breaks loose.

  We don’t even flinch anymore.

  One time, a glass snifter cut my father’s forehead when he forgot their dinner plans.

  He learned his lesson. Get out of the way or don’t screw up.

  My mom stalks out first, drink in hand.

  Reed looks like a naughty boy who got caught red-handed, slinking behind her in silence. He perches on the corner of my chair, his body weight unsure which way to lean. One direction is towards me and the other is my father. He’s stoic, ready to bolt if need be.

  My mom takes a seat next to my father, the parental troops a united front. I wonder if I should move seats so we can all stare at Reed in disgust.

  “Reed.” My father starts. “This unfortunate news… an affair, and now a dead girl.” He’s blunt. “It’s going to ruin this family’s name.”

  “And it’s not even yours.” Dina’s snide.

  “We need the full story.” He swallows a sip of his drink. “You’ve been cheating on my daughter, who is too good for you to begin with.”

  Another unnecessary comment from the peanut gallery.

  “I knew,” I offer.

  Both of my parents leer at me, considering my comment.

  “You knew your husband was having an affair?” My mom’s incredulous, her perfectly coiffed hair bobbing up and down in disbelief. I tell my mom everything…well, almost everything.

  “Yes.” I lock eyes with her. “We both are having an affair, except it’s not really considered that.”

  My father narrows his eyes. “I don’t understand what I’m hearing.”

  Dina throws her hands in the air. "I don’t like what I’m hearing.”

  Reed starts to open his mouth, but I interrupt.

  They won’t be receptive, but they will be more inclined to hear it from me.

  “We have an open
marriage.” I force the words out. I didn’t expect to tell my parents about personal details relating to our middle-age sex lives and partners.

  “Since when?” My mom huffs. She doesn’t buy it. I’ve had maybe three relationships in my life.

  “Last couple of years,” I say.

  My father has the audacity to look disgusted.

  I’m surprised.

  He had an affair a decade ago, and it got ugly. The woman threatened to tell my mom about them and it was a nasty battle for a couple years. They stayed together, but it was never the same.

  “Damage control.” My father glances first at me, then Reed. “I’m going to call Owen Krumbalt.” Krumbalt’s arguably the best criminal justice attorney in the Houston area. My father grew up with him, they attended the same Catholic prep academy before university.

  He picks up his phone, punching in one number.

  Owen’s inevitably on speed dial.

  “Owen, can you come?” He removes an imaginary thread on his tweed pants.

  There are some logistics to work out, the news vans and neighbors that have descended on the neighborhood.

  I sluggishly stand up and head back into the kitchen, my forehead throbbing with a pounding headache.

  Reed and my father can talk, hash out details.

  Standing at the kitchen sink, I stare distractedly at the playground set in the backyard, imagining a prison cell as the four by four walls instead of our fence enclosing us.

  My mom walks in, her heels announcing her presence. I watch her in the window, settling herself on a stool at the island.

  “Boys taken care of?”

  “Yes.” I don’t meet her eyes, focusing on loading the dishwasher.

  “Meghan…” Her voice trails off.

  “What, Mom?” I spin around, hand on my hips.

  “You didn’t know about his affair.” It’s not a question.

  “No, I didn’t,” I concur. She’s surprised I admitted it so fast. Usually she enjoys the slow torture of proving herself right.

  Tonight I let her have it. I’m not in the mood.

  She starts to chastise me but stops, the look on my face enough to rein her in.

  “I want to cut off his balls.” She’s conversational, twisting her drink in her hand.

  “I know.” I sigh.

  “Our concern is protecting those boys,” she muses. “And the business. Your father will do what it takes. Owen will help.”

  A loud tap on the window followed by a scraping noise echoes through the kitchen.

  Then a thud as a heavy object sounds like it’s being dropped.

  My mom and I look at each other, fear on our faces.

  People probably want us dead. Or at least my husband.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Reed

  Dina yells for Henry and I to come into the kitchen, Meg and her speaking in hushed voices as a bang pierces the near silence. “Dammit, Henry, open the door.”

  Henry and I look at each other.

  I walk into the first-floor laundry room, right off the kitchen, staring at a red and brown plaid-clad limb.

  An impeccably dressed man in golf clothing - knickers and a funny hat - is trying to weasel his way through the doggy door, one arm at a time, followed by a leg that’s tangled up.

  He hollers. “Jesus, Henry, help me.” He’s stuck, his body caught in the flimsy plastic screen.

  We both pull one arm, head planting him on the tile floor. If it wasn’t a tense situation, it would be comical, him on all fours in the laundry room.

  “Owen,” my father-in-law thunders. “You always have to make an entrance.” He’s only 5’7, but what he lacks in height, he makes up for in stature. His presence is enough to fill any courtroom and convince any jury.

  He takes a breath when we get him situated on his feet.

  “Not my best idea.” He shrugs. “Was too risky to try and come down the street.”

  “It’s a madhouse.” Henry shakes his head in disgust.

  “You need a bigger dog.” He catches his breath. “This door isn’t for full-grown adults.”

  “There’s a doorknob,” I offer.

  “Thanks, Reed.” Henry’s annoyed. “He wouldn’t be sneaking in here if it weren’t for you.”

  We glare at each other as Owen brushes himself off. “You haven’t talked to the media, I presume?” He checks his Tag Heuer, confirming the time.

  “No.”

  “Good. Don’t.” He reaches a hand out. “Owen Krumbalt. At your service.”

  “Breaking and entering your forte?” I ask.

  “If a client needs it.” He shrugs. “I’m a one-service shop for a variety of clients.” He pats his back pocket, pulling his wallet out. The Ferragamo leather is Italian and expensive, same with his gold-embossed business cards. “Program my cell in,” he commands. “I’ll need to be on speed dial.” I don’t want to delve into why this might be.

  Dina and Meghan stare as we walk into the kitchen, their faces piqued in curiosity. Both relax when Owen walks in, his swagger enough to command a room.

  “Hi Dina, how’re you?” He gives her a kiss on the cheek and then moves to my wife. “And Meghan, you keep getting prettier every year.” He gives me a side glance. “And Reed, let’s get straight to the point. If I’m going to help you, we need to lay our cards out on the table now.”

  We all look around the room at each other, scrutinizing, sizing each other up and down.

  “We all have to be on the same page,” he’s quick to point out.

  An uncomfortable silence follows, the only noise from the television in the living room and the hum of the refrigerator. I shift from one foot to the other, my usual knack for conversation at a standstill. Even Henry is pretending to check his phone instead of encouraging dialogue between us.

  Dina asks about Owen’s wife Jeannie, and they make small talk as I shove my hands in my pocket, wishing I could sink into the floor.

  After another long pause, Owen says my name. I don’t hear him the first time. “Reed.” He snaps a finger. “Earth to Reed.”

  Startled, I glance at him in confusion. He helps himself to the vodka on the counter, chugging the bottle before he swipes a hand across his lips.

  “You had an affair, she’s dead.” I shudder at the coldness of the statement.

  “What time did your flight leave to come home?” He pulls out a pad of paper and a pen. “And what time did you leave her house?”

  “Flight left at 11:57 P.M. I left her house between 9:30 and 10:00 P.M.”

  “You were at her house and went straight to the airport?”

  “I stopped on the side of the road to think.” It sounds lame as it comes out of my mouth.

  “Did you see anything suspicious when you left? Notice anyone lurking?”

  “Yes, I did.” They all turn to look at me, Meghan’s mouth dropping open.

  “There was a man walking towards me. Dark clothing, hooded sweatshirt, covered most of his face. Had heavy boots on. Probably 5’9, 5’10.”

  “Description of face?”

  “Too dark, and a hood covered it. He didn’t make eye contact.” He jots down some notes. “Did the man happen to stop or did you happen to see where he went?”

  “No.”

  “Is there any plausible reason he’d be walking that late? Neighbor?” He ponders. “Any bars or restaurants close?”

  “I don’t know the neighbors, but he didn’t seem in a hurry. Nothing within walking distance. It’s a residential neighborhood. At the time, I thought a neighbor, but now…”

  “Okay. I’ll keep this on the back burner.” He looks at the four of us, holding our stares one by one. “Reed, can I use your office?”

  “Of course.”

  “Would you show it to me, please?” I start to point towards it, but he gives me a curt nod. “Would you please direct me?”

  “Let’s get some food ordered. I’m starving.” Henry motions to the outdoors. “We’re not going any
where, so we better get delivery.”

  “I’ll order some take-out.” Meghan grabs her phone. “See what’s in the vicinity.”

  “Good idea,” Dina chimes in. “Let’s do that.”

  “I’m going to go out for a smoke.” Henry reaches for a cigar, one always within reach in his jacket pocket.

  I lead Owen across the plush carpeting to the other side of the house, my office door ajar. Flipping the light on, I offer him the use of my desk and phone.

  “I don’t think you’re smart enough to be a murderer.” Owen pats my back. “I don’t want to use your office, knucklehead, I want to talk to you.” His eyes aren’t unkind, but his voice is steel. “I’m here for you.”

  I nod in understanding, closing the door behind us.

  “You’re about the age of my son.”

  I don’t know what to say.

  “He was killed by my daughter-in-law. He beat her up bad too many times. Had a drinking and drug problem. Just like your brother.”

  The air goes out of the room. I never talk about my brother. This is a stranger. He might know Meghan’s family, but he doesn’t know mine.

  He holds up a hand. “He killed himself in prison. Serving fifteen years for her death. Not a day goes by I don’t think about him and her. How happy they were at one point. Life and obstacles - it all gets in the way. We think we know who we are and what we will do until we’re actually in the position to make a decision.” He sits down in the leather chair across from the desk.

  I sink down across from him in the office chair, needing some distance.

  He holds my gaze. “What I’m saying is we’re only human. We make mistakes. We act in ways that are out of character, out of sorts. Especially for women, or money, or to protect ourselves.”

  I don’t take my eyes off his. “I think I understand what you’re saying.”

  “I’m in my sixties, and I’ve seen it all.” He fiddles with the wedding ring on his finger, twisting the gold band. “What I need now is your candor.”

  “You want to know if I did it? And why?”