All the Pretty Lies

by Marin Montgomery

  “Tally kept tabs on your family. She was obsessed with how perfect it seemed.” Martha looks me in the eye, hers filled with sadness and despair. “Mrs. Bishop…”

  “Meg,” I interrupt.

  “I tried to tell Tally this relationship was a dead end.” She grimaces, noting the word she used. “Nothing ever comes from affairs, they never leave their wives, and it’s a bad path to go down. I’m not making excuses for that, and I’m sorry you had to hear about it after this.” She continues. “Tally has had a bad couple of years. I’m not justifying it, but she’s broken inside.”

  “I know,” I say.

  “You do?” She’s shocked.

  “I met her neighbor.”

  “Lydia?”

  “Yes.”

  “She was hurting really bad and not making the best choices.” Martha’s eyes start to cloud. She looks down, trying to cover the tears running down her cheeks. “It must be surreal for you to wake up and find that this isn’t a nightmare.”

  “It is.” I’m honest. “But I came here to decide in my mind if he could actually be a killer.” I frown. “Being a cheater is despicable, but that I can make amends with. Killing someone, I can’t.”

  “He didn’t do it.”

  “What?” I try and get her to look up to meet my eyes.

  “Reed didn’t kill her.”

  This statement I didn’t expect. Not from Talin’s best friend. I hadn’t met anyone who didn’t think he was guilty. Guilty without a doubt.

  “Do you know something the cops don’t?” I ask.

  Martha looks up. She brushes her tears away. Her voice shakes, but she’s firm. “I met Reed a couple of times. One week they drove here and spent the night.” Her brow furrows. She mumbles. “Sorry, I shouldn’t talk about them as a couple.”

  “No, it isn’t anything I haven’t heard. Please continue.”

  “They enjoyed each other, had an easy go of it. I didn’t see tension or anything that would indicate he could be that angry.”

  I’m crestfallen. “Is that all?”

  “I don’t think he did it.” She’s confident. “I believe him.”

  “What about the fights and the ending of the relationship?”

  “I just don’t buy it. He flies here, spends a couple days, murders her, and goes home?” She’s cynical. “That’s too easy. I think someone else knew he was coming. Planned it.”

  A bone-chilling shiver creeps up my spine. “You think someone else framed him?”

  “Without a doubt.” She gives me a petrified look. “The question is…who?”

  Before I can say anything else, the door swings open.

  A tall woman, ash blonde hair and blue eyes, dressed in boyfriend jeans and a t-shirt, walks in. “Darling, I’m so glad I found you.”

  She notices me, her eyes clouded in confusion.

  “Marcia, this is a woman considering my artwork for her gallery.” Martha stands. “Please meet Meghan.” This is my cue to leave, so I stand and finish off the rest of my tea.

  “Lovely to meet you.” I shake her head. Turning to Martha, I give her a tight smile. “Thank you for your time. It’s been invaluable.”

  “I’ll walk you out.” She motions to her aunt. “Be right back.”

  Before I get in my car, I think of one last question as she turns to walk back inside. “Martha?” I holler.

  She stops and walks back to me. “Did he give her a necklace or any jewelry you can remember?” Scrunching her face, she tilts her head. “No, not that I know of. She would’ve told me.”

  “There’s a piece of jewelry missing from my collection, and I wondered.”

  “He paid for a lot of her expenses, but nothing like that came up.” She’s pensive. “I’m sure she would’ve mentioned it.”

  I nod. “Thank you for seeing me.”

  She hesitates before saying. “Here, take my number in case you need it.”

  Programming it in my phone, I prepare to leave.

  She touches my arm. “Meghan?”

  We lock eyes. “I’m really sorry you got dragged into this.”

  I bite my lip. There’s nothing more to say.

  She shuts my car door after I slide inside.

  I’ve never been more twisted up inside between an admission of guilt and innocence.

  Using my phone, I book a return flight back to Houston. There’s nothing more I can accomplish here. I spend the flight tense, trying to sleep, my mind ruminating on all that I’ve learned.

  I don’t understand why the cops are quick to point their fingers and make an arrest.

  Sure you do, I think. All of the pieces fit.

  But yet, they don’t.

  What if Reed’s telling the truth?

  But what if he isn’t?

  I know I need to visit him. Let him fill in the missing parts. What if he’s lying to me? He’s gotten so good at it, become a pro at looking me in the eye and making me believe him.

  Shaking my head, I moan. I can’t handle any more lies.

  When I walk in the door of my house, it’s bizarre, the silence looming. I’m used to loud boys running around, the constant pitter-patter of their feet, their shrieks filling the rooms. Frasier isn’t a high-energy dog at this age in his life, but it feels weird without the click of his toenails on the tile.

  A light’s on in Reed’s office.

  Weird.

  His office door is usually locked. I’m sure it was when I left.

  The alarm’s still set.

  Fitting enough, I grab a kitchen knife and pepper spray and head in the direction of his office. The door’s closed. I grasp the handle, pushing it open at the same time I thrust the knife out in front of me.

  I scream. He’s sitting at the desk, head down, as he rifles through the desk drawers.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Meghan

  “Father,” I yelp. “What are you doing in here?”

  He’s just as startled to see me. His arm knocks over a glass, spilling liquid all over the mahogany wood before it thuds to the floor.

  “Have you heard of knocking?” He runs a hand through his balding hair. “Jesus, daughter, you’re going to give me a heart attack at this stage in life.”

  “His door is usually locked,” I say.

  “Yeah, I know. I have the key.”

  “What are you doing?”

  He doesn’t answer, saying instead. “What are you doing home? Your mom didn’t mention you would be back yet.” He leans back in the chair. “How was Veronica? Good weather in Cali?”

  “It was a last-minute decision. She had a work trip and I thought I’d grab the boys in the morning. Try and get some sleep.” I stare at the liquid mess.

  “Why are you in here?”

  “Owen needed some papers that Reed had in here.” He shrugs.

  “Regarding?”

  “He’s trying to help build a timeline. I’m looking at print-outs and bank statements.” He winces. “This is not what I want to be doing with my time. Searching through your deadbeat husband’s affairs.” He notices a pained expression on my face. “Honey,” he stands. “I’m sorry, that was insensitive.”

  “I’m going to go get a towel to clean up the mess.” I turn and walk out, tears building at the back of my eyelids.

  When I come back in, I busy myself with wiping up the smell of alcohol. There’s multiple manila envelopes on the table, pieces of paper scattered in every direction.

  “What are those?” I ask.

  “Receipts.” My father’s tense. “I think Reed was using business funds to pay for his trips to see his whore.”

  “Father.” I’m rigid. “She’s dead. Don’t call her that.”

  He slumps his shoulders and comes around the desk. “Can we talk a minute?”

  I frown. “I guess.”

  We settle in the worn leather chairs in front of the desk.

  “Permission to speak candidly?”

  “You always do.”

  “This i
s going to get messy. For both you personally and us professionally.” My father rubs a hand over his face. “You know how important this company is to the family, the generations that have toiled to build this.”

  I nod.

  “Our names are being dragged in the mud. I know you claimed to have an open relationship to save face, and that wasn’t a bad idea.” He takes my hands in his, a rare sign of affection. “Meggie, he’s been spending thousands of dollars on his sidepiece. Company money. Because of all this press and the fact that he killed her, if we don’t figure out a way to distance ourselves, we could lose everything.”

  He drops my hands. “Everything, Meg, everything.”

  Biting my tongue, I don’t mention his affair.

  It was hurtful, and it cut my mom like a knife.

  Not to mention the yelling, the tears. My father wasn’t around to pick my mom off the ground all those times I found her with a pill bottle, ready to end her life.

  Or crying, the façade she wore in front of him that slid off her face when he left.

  Only difference is, his mistress didn’t get murdered.

  “What do you want me to do?” I’m tense. “Divorce him?”

  “That’s a given.”

  “And then what?” I start to raise my voice. “It won’t bring back Talin.”

  “We have to start distancing ourselves. Owen and I have had some frank discussions, and he wants to have a press conference, you front and center. Maybe even you and the boys.”

  “You want to use the boys as leverage?” I’m dubious. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Meggie, the boys and you are a powerful team.” He moans. “I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think it was necessary.” He adds. “You know Owen wouldn’t either.”

  “I’m shocked.”

  “If you tell the media about your relationship with Reed, how you tried to protect him but as the lies built up, you realized you no longer could. The pain and suspicion he’s put on this family…” his voice trails off. “They will listen. The public will understand, be sympathetic to your plight.”

  “And if not?” I ask coldly.

  “Then you are putting a nail in our coffin.” He licks his lips. “We’ve had a rocky relationship, that idiot husband of yours and I, but you know I want nothing but the best for you. He’s shit that couldn’t be polished into gold. You stuck with him and I admire your spirit, I do. But this is our livelihood baby, and it’s more than just you. Think of Henry and Roland, your mother and I. Why go down with a sinking ship when we don’t have to?”

  “What if the ship hasn’t sunk?” I murmur.

  He reaches out and gently touches my cheek. “I know this family doesn’t do affection, but I love you and I love those grandkids of mine.” He stands, the conversation over.

  It’s always over when he says it is.

  “All I’m saying is think about it, okay? Sleep on it.”

  “I’ll be by in the morning to get the boys and Frasier.”

  There’s an accordion file system on the desk. He grabs it along with the empty glass. “Night, Meggie.”

  After he leaves, I sit and consider his words.

  I know it’s more than selfishness. That’s always been his concern - himself. This negative publicity affects all of us, in a grave manner, that I do know. The stares, the whispers. If it wasn’t for Jarrett, I don’t know what I’d do. He’s quick to notice at a glance if someone pauses a little too long on my face.

  He’s the one person who’s been my rock through this.

  My dad left the office a mess, he didn’t even bother to close the desk drawers.

  Reaching to gather up the receipts, I glance at the merchant. It’s from Dillard’s, the date that Reed was in Portland.

  The AMEX bills come to me, the line item of expenses. This is one of them - it’s a pair of men’s Doc Marten boots.

  My stomach drops.

  The killer wore combat boots. I read the footprints were tied to Reed’s size eleven feet.

  I sort through the envelope. Some are earlier dates, they seem to all be from the month of May.

  Behind one for coffee, I find one for Sportsman’s Warehouse, the same date as Dillard’s. There are three items: a pair of men’s black jogging pants, a long-sleeve shirt, and a black knit ski face mask.

  Pushing it to the side, I pull out a few more.

  One is for groceries, and the items are typical - pasta, wine, ingredients to make sauce. The sixth item down I almost miss in my haste.

  It’s for a knife.

  The line item says nine-inch serrated kitchen utensil.

  Narrowing my eyes, I read it again.

  And again.

  Same date as her murder.

  There has to be an explanation for this that doesn’t end with him killing Talin. They cooked together, surely she didn’t have the right utensils and they needed it.

  For what? I ask myself.

  To cut the loaf of bread.

  She’d have kitchen utensils.

  Maybe not, I convince myself.

  The murder weapon was in his vehicle. It’s this knife.

  My body shakes as I think of his prints all over the steel.

  Another troubled thought comes to mind. If Reed had taken the time to buy boots and a knife, this wasn’t some crime of passion, this was premeditated. He knew he was going to end her life before he left.

  Bile rises in my throat. I puke in the exact same spot the vodka spilled minutes before.

  What else is in this office?

  Pushing open the desk drawers, there are green file folders, all organized.

  Taxes, Bills, Mortgage, Calendars.

  Nothing of use in those.

  My hand feels around the bottom of the drawers in case he hid something underneath.

  I think back to Matlock and crime shows. Someone always has something taped to the underside of the desk. All I feel is rough wood.

  The bookshelves are filled with books - I pull some out to check behind them. Nothing.

  Putting myself in my husband’s shoes, I consider what he would choose as a hiding spot.

  Guns.

  The locked gun cabinet.

  He’s not a huge hunter, he goes occasionally for sport, but it’s more to fit in with my father and his friends. They used to boast about their trips and would rag on him for not participating. After he was the laughingstock one year, he took shooting lessons. He was so pissed, I remember it vividly, how upset he got that shooting animals meant he was a man in my father’s eyes.

  I think back to Martha and what she said.

  Her unwavering confidence that he didn’t do it.

  Why wouldn’t he shoot her? I ask myself. Buy a gun?

  I’m absentmindedly reaching in the top desk drawer where he keeps the keys for the gun closet. They’re in this drawer and since this office is usually locked, out of the boys’ hands. I was adamant that they never have a chance to get in the closet, terrified they’d be one of the children that accidentally shoot one another. My father is angry I won’t let them play with toy guns, saying I’m making them sissies.

  I don’t care. Until they’re old enough to know the repercussions and the fragility of life and death, not in my household.

  The keys are on a ring with a key chain with his initials etched in the leather. There’s the house key, gun key, extra office key, and a key to the lock on our old storage shed. Our extra set of car keys are also in this drawer.

  There’s an extra key.

  I tilt my head, wondering what it goes to. We don’t have a storage shed anymore. Is it old?

  My eyes widen in horror as I stare at it.

  There’s blood on it. I examine the leather closer and see dried liquid on one side, a smear across it.

  Throwing the keys on the desktop, I jump back like I’ve been bitten.

  Her key?

  I reach for my cell phone, dialing Martha.

  “Hello?” She answers breathily.

&nb
sp; “It’s me, Meghan.”

  “I was on the treadmill,” she gasps.

  “Did he have keys to her house?”

  “Reed? Yes.” She waits for me to respond. “Why?”

  “Just curious. Anyone else?”

  “I do, her neighbor Lydia.”

  “That all?”

  “That I know of, yeah.”

  “Thanks, sorry to bother you.” I start to disconnect when she says my name.

  “Yes?”

  “There’s something else you should know. I know you weren’t convinced when I told you I believe that Reed is innocent.”

  I grasp the phone, my knuckles turning white.

  “Tally was worried she was being followed. She felt like someone was watching her, especially at night. She locked her doors, made sure her patio door in her room was locked, but she had this odd sensation she had eyes on her.”

  There’s a lull.

  “We thought you were stalking her.”

  “Me?” I’m flabbergasted.

  “Or a private investigator,” she hurriedly adds. “Tally started to worry something bad was going to happen to her. We talked about her and Reed breaking up a lot.”

  “Did she tell Reed about this?”

  “Yeah, he laughed about you hiring someone to watch her. Said you didn’t even have his phone password to know what he was doing.”

  My face blushes red. I have to bite my lip to keep from adding, “yeah, I’m the dumb wife who trusted her husband.”

  Martha must know what I’m thinking, and she continues. “Tally told him there were eyes in the back of her head. He suggested an alarm system.”

  “That’s a good idea,” I muse. “Minus a little too late.”

  “Meghan, it was supposed to be installed Monday,” Martha says. “Reed was paying for it. I was supposed to be there to let them in since she was going to be on a business trip.”

  I sink down into the chair, the room spinning around me.

  “Martha, doesn’t that make him even more guilty?” I’m puzzled at her logic. “If he knew one would be installed, she’d have to be out of the way before it could capture anything.”

  “Maybe so,” Martha says. “But I don’t think so. He tried to get them to come out before he even arrived that week. The day of the appointment, they didn’t show. Tally called to bitch them out, and they told her that she had called and canceled the appointment.”