All the Pretty Lies

by Marin Montgomery

  “I want to know the reason you would have and any reasons you wouldn’t have.” He pulls the ring off, then slides it back on his finger. “Then I need to know if you acted on the reasons you would have.”

  There’s silence, just the tick-tock of the clock on the wall.

  “In here, this room, it’s only us talking.” He motions towards me. “This is our conversation. In this room, forget everyone else. Meghan, Dina, Henry, hell, even the cops.”

  I exhale sharply. “I didn’t kill her.”

  He looks at me, penetrating me with his stare.

  In this moment, I realize why he scares defendants on cross-examination. His piercing eyes see through me. I swear he can see my soul. Hear my thoughts.

  “You didn’t.”

  “No.” I fiddle with the blotter on my desk. “But I thought about it.”

  “You thought about killing her?” he muses. “That’s okay. As long as you didn’t act on it.”

  “My wife.” I’m pensive. “I thought about killing my wife.”

  “We all have.” Owen is succinct. “Not the point here. Keep that between us.” I shake my head in agreement.

  “What happened the night of?” He taps his pen on the notepad. “Leading up to her murder. Walk me through the day and then the night.”

  “We went out for brunch since we woke up late. We spent the morning in bed.” My face burns crimson.

  “Noted.” He doesn’t jot that down.

  “We had brunch not too far from her place.”

  “Name?”

  “The Brunch Spot.”

  “Ok, I’ll verify you were seen there. Receipts confirm this?”

  “I used cash. Made a large cash withdrawal from an ATM before I went to Portland.”

  “This typical?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Smart man.” He tilts his head. “Until you’re being accused of murder.”

  “After brunch, we went on a walk. There’s a lake that we like to ride bicycles. You can rent them. We did that. Sat near the water, talked.”

  “Anything relevant about your conversation?”

  “She kept asking me to leave Meghan.”

  He whistles. “So that’s the reason you would have killed her?”

  I shake my head. “It was becoming a theme, a source of tension.”

  “Did you try to end it?”

  “Not to begin with.” I pause. “But she did. That night she did. And then I agreed.”

  “Okay, so another motive. She ended it, and you killed her because she tried to cut it off.”

  “Except I didn’t.”

  “I know, Reed.” He’s back to playing with his ring. “What happened after the lake?”

  “We came home to her house. Made love again, lay in bed and watched a movie.”

  “TV, Cable, Hulu, Netflix?”

  “We binge-watched ‘Shameless.’ Kind of.”

  “Great show. William Macy is on point.”

  “I left her and went to the store.”

  “She didn’t come with?”

  I take a deep breath. “No. I had to call Meg, check in. She likes to FaceTime me with the boys. I do it away from Tally. It upsets her.”

  “Understandably. Her boyfriend has a family.”

  “I ran to Whole Foods, grabbed us some groceries.” I tick off on my fingers. “I bought garlic bread, fettuccini, cream, parsley, milk, wine, cheesecake.”

  “Credit?”

  “Nope. Cash.”

  “Ok, cameras might confirm you there, probably won’t matter. It’s established you were there in Portland. I just want to know all the places you went.” He taps his chin. “You drove a rental?”

  “Yes, from Enterprise. A sedan, a Hyundai Elantra.” I purse my lips. “Silver, if it matters.”

  “You talked to your wife and kids, came back, and you two started cooking?”

  “Yes. We liked to cook together. Listen to music and relax.”

  “Ate dinner and then what?”

  “We lay down together. When I left, it was always hard.” I start to choke up, overcome with grief. I never thought there would not be another time.

  “Take a minute,” he says quietly, glancing at the Tag Heuer again.

  I stand, the darkness in my office getting more ominous by the minute. I pull the shades back, and I’m met by the jet-black night.

  My office window faces the back of the house. “This is tough.”

  “That you could be charged with murder or that she’s gone forever?”

  “I was thinking about her being gone, but yes, both.”

  “After you lay down together, what happened?”

  “We had sex again. Then we were still in bed. She started to apply pressure on me leaving again, said she couldn’t do this anymore.”

  “Did she say that a lot like an empty threat?” He holds his pen over the pad. “Use that against you or to force your hand?”

  “Yes.” I stare at our patio set, the black wrought iron a reminder of her king-size bed.

  “How did you leave?”

  “Annoyed. Frustrated. Upset.” I finger the accordion blinds. “She didn’t say goodbye. She slammed the door of the bathroom in my face.” I shut my eyes for a moment. “We never kissed goodbye or hugged. I left, realized I forgot my phone, came back in, and she was still in the bathroom.”

  “Alive, I presume?”

  “Yes.” I scowl. “Crying behind the door.”

  “You saw a man when you left but didn’t notice anything distressing in the house?”

  “No.”

  “Did she have an alarm?”

  “No, but we were planning on it.”

  “Who had keys to her house?”

  I shrug. “Her neighbor. I don’t think anyone else, but I’m not one-hundred percent. Her best friend might’ve.”

  “Did you meet any friends or family?”

  “Her best friend Martha lives in a small town thirty minutes north.”

  “Did you have a set of keys?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where are they?”

  “On my key ring.”

  “Did Meghan ever notice an extra key?”

  “No, I doubt she noticed. We have keys for lots of things.” I shrug. “Storage shed. Vehicles.”

  “Why wouldn’t you have wanted her dead?” The question hangs in the room, out in the open, floating between us in the heavy air, tension mounting in the room.

  I turn, giving him an icy stare. “Because I love her,” I say simply. “I love her.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Meghan

  My parents and I regard each other, silently judging the other’s actions.

  “Do you think he did it?” My father asks. “Do we need to be prepared for the worst?”

  “You should always be prepared for the worst,” my mom chastises.

  “No, I don’t think he could kill someone.” I’m preoccupied, and my attention drifts to my phone as a text from Jarrett pops up.

  My father retorts, “He’s too much of a pussy, thank God.”

  I click on the text.

  Jarrett: Are you okay?

  My fingers fly over the letters:

  No

  I don’t know what’s going on

  I’m sure you’ve seen the news

  Too much to text

  Jarrett: Do you need some company later?

  I’ll come after my parents leave

  Jarrett: They showed up?

  Yes.

  I don’t want to say too much, cognizant that my text messages will be analyzed by the police and attorneys at some point.

  The phone rings and we hold our breath, waiting to see if this is a prank call or the media. It’s the delivery driver with our food. He’s having trouble getting down our street. My father offers to meet him down the street.

  He starts to head out the garage door.

  “Father, you can’t go out that way.”

  “I’m not. I’m grabbing a flas
hlight.”

  “Ohh…good idea. Should be one in the glove box of the SUV,” I holler.

  A minute later, his head pops around the doorway. “The Suburban’s not here.” He shifts from one foot to another.

  “Oh yeah.” I’m scattered. “He left it at the bar. Flashlight should be on the shelf over by the wall. Second row. Red tool box.”

  My father disappears and comes back in a minute later with a gray duffel bag, yellow flashlight in hand, a carton of batteries in his palm. “It’s dead.” He rips open the cardboard and shoves a couple Triple A batteries in place of the old ones.

  Placing the flashlight on the Silestone island, he looks at my mom and me. “He went and got drunk today?” My father pounds a fist on the counter. “What the hell is he thinking?”

  “He’s not,” I say pointedly. “He’s a mess and under pressure. Drinking is the least of his worries.”

  “Driving under the influence isn’t anything to joke about,” my father snaps.

  “He didn’t drink and drive. So stop.” I throw my hands in the air. “I can only deal with one homicide at a time.”

  “Meghan, watch your mouth,” my mom chastens. “You are going to be dissected, everything you say and do.” She softens her tone. “You don’t want to give anyone a reason to hate you or think you are part of this.”

  “They already do.” Tears fill my eyes. I sink down onto a bar stool in the kitchen. “I’m going to be a pariah, we’re going to have to move, the business will go bankrupt.”

  She puts her perfectly manicured hand over mine, a rare gesture of kindness. “You’re a strong woman. You have nothing to worry about. Us Bishop women are made of hard stock.”

  “Don’t worry about the company,” my father admonishes. “I’ll worry about that.”

  My mom meets my eyes. “You have Bishop blood in your veins. Don’t ever forget that. There will always be another Reed Bishop, there will never be another Bishop Drilling Co. Remember that when you’re drowning with him.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means you need to jump off the sinking ship.” She’s pensive. “Before it goes under and takes you with it.”

  I shiver. I want to scold her for her callousness.

  But the truth is, she’s right.

  My father heads out in the dark, traipsing out to get our delivery. The news vans are starting to disappear, nothing to see here, no one coming or going.

  If we ignore them, maybe they’ll go away. It’s unrealistic, I know.

  Picking up the phone, I call Leona and ask if the boys can stay the night with her and Mel. I know I can’t keep them from asking questions, but I don’t want to bring them back home into the middle of our adult problems. Leona wants to ask but doesn’t. I know a million questions must be formulating in her mind, but she’s too refined to question me. I say goodnight to the boys, who placate me by answering but are too involved in a game of hide and seek they’re currently playing. I squeeze my eyes shut as I whisper, “I love you both. See you in the morning.” I disconnect, my hands trembling as my family seemingly crumbles before my eyes.

  Owen and Reed reappear as my father sets the plastic bags on the counter, their stern posture a correlation between the tense line of their mouths. “Gentlemen.” He gives a curt nod. “Hope you had some good conversation. We all on the same page?”

  “Yes.” Owen glances down at his phone. “I’ve gotta get going. The wife has plans for us tonight.”

  “Jeannie planned something?” My mom asks. “Who would’ve thought?” Owen’s wife is notorious for being a planner, dragging Owen along to every black-tie gala and charity event in the city. Sometimes he huffs and puffs, but we all know he would do anything for his wife of forty-four years.

  “This time you can leave through the back,” my father says dryly, “Unless you prefer the dog door.”

  “Actually, can I get a ride?” I ask Owen. “I’m going to bring the Suburban back.”

  “I’ll do it,” Reed offers. He’s eager to get away from my parents.

  “No,” My father and I both say at the same time.

  “Not a problem, Meghan.” Owen says. “I’d love the company.”

  “It’s right up the street, not too far out of the way.”

  “What about your dinner, honey?” My mom motions towards the dining room. “You need to eat.”

  “Funny enough, I’ve no appetite.” I stare down Reed. He glances at the floor, ashamed. “I might stop off somewhere and clear my head,” I say, challenging him to say something. He says nothing, choosing instead to take a seat in the dining room.

  “Can I have the keys?” I reach my hand out. Reed motions to the hanging rack near the garage door that holds our dog leash, key rings, and reusable bags.

  “We’re going to leave in a bit as well,” my father says. “After we eat. Do you want us to wait for you to come back?”

  “No.” I throw a pair of shoes on and grab the spare set of keys. I kiss my father on the cheek, giving him a stiff side hug, moving towards my mom to give her a tight one. “I love you,” I whisper in her ear.

  She squeezes my arm. “Please text me when you get home.”

  I nod.

  Owen holds the door open for me as we head out the back way.

  We walk in silence for a second, the motion detectors lighting up as we cross the flagstone patio, the pavers reddish-brown underneath the light.

  He breaks the silence first. “How are you holding up, Meg?”

  I give him a side glance, looking at his profile, the white shock of hair against his tan face.

  “Scared.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Is he going to be charged with murder?”

  Owen considers my question before answering, our footfalls patter against the grass. He’s known me my entire life. There’s no point in bullshitting or lying to me. “Probably.”

  “What can I do?”

  “To protect yourself and the boys or him?”

  “Both.”

  “Between you and I, you need to put on a united front for the cameras, regardless of how pissed off you are at him. You and Reed need to stand together like this is an unfortunate incident but that without it happening, your lifestyle wouldn’t have been drawn into it.”

  “The open marriage, huh?”

  “It’s a sham, right?”

  “Yes.” I sigh.

  “Good ploy though.” He points to his forehead. “You’re smart. Good thinking. If people think you knew about Talin, they’ll be less inclined to think he had any reason to kill her.”

  We walk in silence for a moment. I have to strain to hear what he says next.

  When I realize what he means, I wish I didn’t. “Or you.”

  “Or me what?”

  “You’ll be at the top of the list, Meg,” he says matter-of-factly. “A wife always is when her husband has an affair.”

  I hunch my shoulders. “How do I protect myself if this goes down?” I fidget with a strand of hair. “The boys need their father, but they also need their mother.”

  “I will do what I can to get this over with as soon as possible. Talk to the police. Find out what other suspects they might have. They will hold their cards close to the vest, but Detective Walsh is handling the investigation, and him and I go way back.”

  “It’s tough with it being in another state though.”

  “Yes, it complicates matters.” He waits for me to unlock the gate. “But this can go in our favor or go the other way. I have no experience with the Portland PD, but I can assure you I’ll do what I can to help move this forward and find the real killer.”

  “Do you believe him?” I kick a rock as we maneuver our way around the water. It hits the surface, a rippling effect as it skips across the shallow pond.

  “That he didn’t kill her?” He reaches for the handle of his gold Jag, pulling the passenger side door open for me.

  Looking me square in the eye, he says, “I do. He didn�
��t kill her, Meg.”

  “Are you always right on your instinct?”

  He considers my question for a moment. “Not one-hundred percent.” He sags against the door. “But close enough.”

  I slide into the leather seat. My body feels like a rubber band being pulled tight, every part of me aching and sore like I’ve been stretched to my maximum limit.

  My stomach’s growling. The Chinese food sounded good in theory, but the pit in my stomach reminds me that I would’ve regretted it later.

  “Where’s the vehicle?”

  “Hanky Panky, the bar off Walden Street.”

  “Ah...yes, great joint.” Owen flicks his turn signal on. “I’m going to give you my card, Meg. If you need anything, anything at all, call me or Jean.”

  “Thank you, Owen.” I touch his arm gently. “You’re a lifesaver.”

  “Don’t be calling me that yet.” He rolls down his window, lighting a cigarette.

  We pass a couple of traffic lights, the halo around them glowing as we make our way down the street. He pulls into the gravel lot of the bar. “But I am that.” I point to the black Suburban with the tinted windows. Driving up next to it, he puts the car in park.

  “If anyone can save him, it’s you.” I give him a quick peck on the cheek. “Thanks for dropping me off.”

  He slides a card out of the console and closes my fingers around it. “Anything,” he reiterates. “Goodnight, Meg.”

  I click the key fob and pretend to hop into the driver’s seat, watching him drive away, the shiny Jag exiting the parking lot. His license plate reads DEFENDU

  My phone. I didn’t bring it. I’m paranoid I’m being tracked - the cops, my husband, the media.

  Jarrett knows I’m coming, but not when.

  I knock on the back-service entrance a few times. “I’m here,” I yell.

  “I’ll be right out.” I hear his footsteps as he heads from his office to the bar to tell Randy he’s stepping out.

  I don’t wait, I walk to Reed’s Suburban, pausing outside the driver’s side door.

  He comes out the back, with that strut that instantly makes me pay attention. His voice makes me tingle. It never rises, even when he’s upset. He still gets the point across, an iron fist in a velvet tone. It’s an art, how he can sound so controlled while being angry.