A Lie in Every Truth

by Jamie Lee Scott

  The look on Nick’s face made me back off. Then Charles started laughing.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Let’s go celebrate over a nice bottle of wine,” Charles said.

  I needed a bottle to myself. “No, we need to go home,” I snapped. I hated the feeling of being out of the loop.

  “We have wine at the house,” Nick said.

  I drove to the house, cursing myself for letting them suck me in. It was like that home channel show, where they show the buyers a house of their dreams, then let them know they can’t afford it. I wanted to kick someone.

  Nick had already opened a bottle of Carmenere by the time I walked into the house. Lola took one look at me and retreated into the other room. I think she sensed a tantrum. I sensed one, too, and Nick thought he’d prolong it by having Charles over. Please, Charles had seen me at my worst; he wouldn’t stop anything.

  “Here,” Nick handed me a piece of paper.

  My heart stopped.

  “Are you kidding me?” I said. “How long…I mean, how did…UGH!”

  Charles laughed and laughed. “I’m so happy Nick invited me to see this spectacle. Heck, for my part in it, I deserved to be there.”

  The paper showed Nick already owned the house. He’d purchased the house in a foreclosure a year ago, because he knew it was exactly what I talked about wanting to grow old in. The house had been a rundown mess, but he’d gotten it for pennies on the dollar. It had taken a year to renovate and get the carriage house built, and the garden also took several more months. The work was finally done a few weeks ago.

  Nick touched me lightly on the shoulder. “Bev was in on it. She’s helped me with the process the entire time. I’ve never kept a secret this long in my life.”

  “She’s my realtor and she’s also well-connected. She worked magic with that hunk of junk house,” Charles said after he refilled his wine glass.

  My heart broke. I loved the gesture, but I wanted it to be our house. Now it was just something Nick bought, again. We may as well stay in this house. I tried not to let my disappointment show.

  Charles must have sensed my displeasure. He handed me a glass of wine. “By the way, you might want to keep a better eye on the finances for the agency. I was able to pilfer a nice sum of money to go toward the cost of the house. Maybe pilfer isn’t the right word, since it’s all above board, taxes paid.”

  My sight went red. “What are you talking about? I thought you just found out about this.”

  “You know I hate to keep secrets from you, Mimi, but this one was too good to even hint at. And you don’t have to look so disappointed, the house belongs to both of you. You’ve signed the papers and everything.”

  I choked on my own spit, trying to get my words out. After a coughing fit, I said, “I never signed anything.”

  Nick nodded. “You did. But it was all preliminary stuff. We still have to finalize a lot. You don’t seem very happy.” He looked sick to his stomach.

  I was happy, but being blindsided made me angry. I wrapped my arms around Nick’s neck and leaned in close. “I want to wring your neck, but I also want to kiss you, because everything in that house was something I’ve mentioned over the years. You listened. You blindsided me, but you listened. Thank you.” Then I kissed him all over his face.

  “Gross,” Charles whined. “I’m leaving.”

  “Not yet you aren’t,” Nick said. “We need to talk.”

  Thirteen

  Mimi

  We discussed the new house for a few more minutes, and I had time to absorb it all, finally being happy with the surprise. I mean, does it get any better? And if he could do all of that before he even popped the question, the least I could do was hold up my end and start planning a wedding.

  When we all settled and sat down in the living room, Nick said, “Has Mimi talked to you about this suicide she’s investigating?”

  Charles sipped his wine and said, “We’ve discussed it, but not at length. She and Piper are working it. And from what Lydia said, she’s helping, too.”

  Nick looked at me. “I talked to the investigating officers and the coroner. I think you’re wasting your time.”

  I sipped my wine to keep from giving a snarky response. “How’s that?”

  Nick could tell by my tone I was holding back. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

  “Well, I think they heard suicide, then just did the preliminary stuff and moved on.”

  Charles said, “What do you have on the case?”

  I wanted to strangle him for always being Nick’s buddy.

  “The coroner said what we expected. No signs of a struggle. The stippling and tattooing expected with a self-inflicted gunshot wound were there. Along with the bluish and purplish marks and the pinpoints of unburned powder in the flesh. She blew out the back of her head.”

  I sighed. “Her husband claims she’d never have shot herself in the face. She was too vain. She would have wanted to look perfect for her funeral.”

  “You saw the investigative photos. Was her face blown to bits?”

  I had to give him that. Her face didn’t look bad at all, for a dead woman, I mean. The damage had all been to the back of her head.

  “The thing that catches me up is the blown-out sunroof. With the angle of the gun, no way would it have shot out the glass from the sunroof.” As I spoke, something else came to me as I remembered the gum wrapper and the shoe prints. “The angle. It could easily have been someone in the passenger seat. Did you see the shoe prints in the passenger seat?”

  “That’s already been ruled out. Her husband said he’d been in the car with her the day before,” Nick said.

  “Yeah, that may be. But Lydia said she’s a neat freak. No way would she have let a gum wrapper fall on the floor and not pick it up.” I swallowed hard. “And the angle bothers me. Of course, the weird angle doesn’t mean she didn’t do it, even though we can’t definitively rule it out.”

  Nick looked at Charles. “Any thoughts?”

  Like two penises in a pod, I meant, peas in a pod. No, I didn’t, I actually meant the first one. I wanted to shout, “Men!” and storm out of the room. The saner side of me kept me seated as I drained my wine glass and forced myself not to refill it.

  “I think Mimi has a point. What can it hurt to look closer? The killer could have shot the deceased in the head, then put her hand around the gun and fired it again, which would account for the sunroof being shattered. It’s slim, but a possibility.”

  “Or she could have hesitated, and the gun accidentally went off, then she did it for real,” Nick argued.

  Charles stood and walked into the kitchen. I heard him rinse his glass and place it in the sink. “Or you just don’t want the detective to look like a schmuck.”

  “That too,” I said, shocked that Charles took my side.

  He walked back toward the living room. “I’ve got to head out. I need to do a bit more research.” He looked at me. “I may be taking a trip in a few days, remember?”

  I did and nodded.

  He looked at Nick. “It can’t hurt for them to look a little closer. Besides, the guy paid the retainer.”

  Nick stood, heading to the door to walk Charles out.

  My cell phone rang, and I saw my mom’s face on the caller ID. I immediately picked it up, because she usually sent a text before calling if it was a personal call.

  “Hey, Mom, everything okay?”

  I heard her breathing before she said anything and panicked a little. “It’s good. Where are you right now?”

  “Home. What’s going on?”

  “I was able to actually talk to a good friend of Edie’s, and I think you need to hear what she has to say,” she said, breathless.

  “Have you been running?” I asked.

  A few more deep breaths and she said, “I left my phone in the car, and I had to run out and get it. I needed to call you before she changes her mind.”

  “About what?”

&nbs
p; “I’m bringing her to your house. I don’t want to repeat this and get it messed up and she wouldn’t let me record her. Mimi, she tells a different story than Clive.”

  I thought about this and it didn’t surprise me in the least. Our business was dealing with liars and cheats. Why should this be any different? I tried to remember the last time a client hadn’t lied to us. I couldn’t think of one.

  It reminded me of ranting posts on Facebook or any social media platform. A person posts, going on and on about how they were wronged, and how bad the other person is, and all their friends jump on the lynching bandwagon, only hearing one side of the story. Too many times I’ve seen that the person making the most noise is the one who is in the wrong. They go on and on about how they’ve been screwed, and when I look at the other side, at the person not ranting, they were the ones who got the short end of the stick. It’s like the person who has a bad experience at a restaurant: they embellish to make themselves seem like the victim, when often they aren’t telling the whole truth. It happens more often than not, and in my business, it’s imperative I check both sides and ask lots of questions.

  “We’ll be here.” Then I thought about Charles. “I’ve gotta go, I need to see if I can catch Charles before he leaves.”

  I dashed across the house, and out the door. Nick and Charles stood in the driveway, talking low.

  “Hey, don’t leave,” I yelled from the open gate.

  They both looked startled when they turned around. I started to get suspicious, but I didn’t have time to follow up.

  “What’s up?” Charles asked, not moving toward me.

  “We have a friend of Edie’s coming over to talk to us,” I said.

  “To the office?” Charles asked.

  “No, I’m having my mom bring her here, since we’re here anyway.”

  “Look, I’m not really a part of this case,” Charles started.

  Nick interrupted. “I’m going inside.”

  He walked past me, giving me a sideways glance.

  “You can take care of this. I have another case I’m working on, and it has a short deadline. Call me if you need anything, or need me, but I’m headed back to the office.” He turned and walked to his car, not waiting for my response.

  That was a good thing, because my response wasn’t a nice one. No big deal. I didn’t need him there to chat with this person; I just wanted him there. Lydia had already heard the story the person planned to tell, so she’d know if there were inconsistencies.

  I went inside. Nick stood in the kitchen, scooping coffee grounds into a filter.

  “I thought they might want coffee,” he said.

  One more reason I loved him to the stars and back. “Thank you. I might need it if this is a long story.” I leaned close and kissed him on the cheek.

  He smiled at me. “Don’t start anything we can’t finish.”

  “Do you want to listen in on what Edie’s friend has to say? It might help on your end.”

  Nick held his hands up. “There is no ‘my end’. It’s not my case. It’s been closed. The coroner ruled it a suicide.”

  Once the coffee was made, I set out a carafe, cream and sugar, spoons and napkins on the coffee table in the living room.

  I heard my mom at the sliding door. “Knock, knock.”

  Lola came around the corner, saw Lydia, then turned right back around and went to my bedroom, where Nick had already settled in. She much preferred Nick to Lydia.

  “I’m in the living room, come in,” I called.

  My mom walked in with a Stepford wife walking next to her.

  The woman looked to be my height, with long, straight red hair that shined in the artificial interior light. Beneath the heavily, but expertly, applied eye makeup, she looked to have amber eyes. Her red lipstick was the perfect shade to compliment her pale skin and red hair.

  “Mimi, this is Zoe Rutledge. She’s one of Edie’s best friends.”

  I said hello and invited them to sit down. Before I sat, I offered coffee and served it.

  Zoe sat straight in the club chair without settling in and sitting back.

  I wasn’t sure if we should start with small talk or get right to the meat. So, I asked, “How long have you known Edie?”

  “Long enough to know this isn’t her first attempt at suicide,” Zoe said, stoic even though she looked like she wanted to cry. But she couldn’t because it would ruin her perfect makeup, and there wasn’t much movement due to Botox injections.

  “Can you be more specific?” I asked.

  “We’ve been friends for decades, but we’ve grown closer in the last five years or so. We share the same disorder.”

  This caught my attention.

  Lydia looked at me with her eyes wide, as if to say, “I told you so.”

  “What disorder is that?” She waited long enough I felt compelled to ask.

  “We’re both bipolar.”

  Didn’t see that coming.

  “Did you know about this?” I asked Lydia.

  “If you mean, did I know Edie was bipolar, the answer is no.”

  “We knew each other, but really connected more recently, in a support group. Edie had already attempted suicide once before we met. She talked about it.”

  “What was her method?” I asked.

  “Tylenol.”

  I cocked my head. That wasn’t a typical method. I knew it worked, because an overdose of the medication could kill a person. Unlike aspirin, where the person would just feel crappy and shred their stomach, maybe needing it pumped, an overdose of the ingredient in Tylenol could be used to kill a person and not have it readily show in a toxicology test. I won’t say the dose here, because that would be irresponsible of me.

  “Wow, that’s not a normal method,” I said.

  “She saw it on one of those investigation discovery type of channels. But she got really sick and puked it all up before it could kill her. And, of course, Clive was there to rush her to the hospital.”

  “He told them about the suicide attempt?”

  “No, not good old Clive. He said she accidentally ingested too many pills because her cramps were so bad. Edie was in too much pain to argue or correct him. He never wanted to admit she had mental issues.”

  “Did she know she was bipolar at the time?” I asked.

  “That I’m not sure of. But after that, she went to her doctor, who did a battery of tests, and diagnosed her.” She swallowed hard. “You have to know, bipolar patients don’t want to admit they have an imbalance, and they hate their meds. Sometimes it takes a long time to get the prescription right. Edie was a prime example. Total denial.”

  This may have explained her days without sleep. I’d immediately assumed meth, but maybe it was her manic phase, then the depressive phase that had her sleeping for days on end. What a horrible existence.

  “When she joined the support group, was she taking her meds?”

  Zoe shrugged. “Yes and no. By this time, she’d admitted she had a problem, and the docs were working on the right cocktail for her, but Clive refused to believe it. He hid her meds from her. Kept telling her she didn’t have mental problems. Then, when she’d go off the deep end again, he’d give in. Having an inconsistent number of meds in her system couldn’t have been good for her. That’s why she finally left him. She couldn’t live her life in denial just to make him happy.”

  “And she had other reasons too, right?” I remembered Clive’s wayward ways.

  “I could list them if you like, but I don’t think it’s relevant,” Zoe said.

  “It’s okay, I have a good idea of most of them,” Lydia said.

  “What you’re saying is you think this was suicide?” I asked.

  “I can’t be one hundred percent sure, but she’d been erratic the last couple of weeks. Even skipped some meetings. We both tried to go at least twice a week. It’s nice to know you aren’t alone, you know?”

  “I understand.”

  “And having husbands who expected us
to be perfect wasn’t easy, either. I mean, I’m up before my husband leaves for work. I have his breakfast and coffee ready, and I make sure I have my makeup and hair perfect before I start his breakfast. I’d hate for him to see me undone before he had his breakfast. He’d leave it on the table and grab something on the go.”

  This made me throw up in my mouth a little. But it also reminded me of my mom. Too eager to please, and scared she’d make my dad mad. It wasn’t pretty, even though my mother was, and is.

  “I’m sorry you live that way. I can’t imagine.” I hoped I didn’t offend her.

  “It’s like I said, it was nice to have someone to commiserate with. Even though my husband is a lawyer, and Edie’s worked for the city, they both had the same expectations. That takes its toll on a person.”

  “What you’re saying is that Edie’s need to be tanned and coiffed wasn’t about vanity?” I asked.

  Zoe raised her hand and wiggled her fingers. “Not exactly. I know I’m vain, but it’s been drilled into me. I’d never leave the house without my makeup and hair done. And these babies,” she cupped a hand under each boob, “I like knowing they’ll be perky even when I’m eighty. But all of this was learned, you know? After hours of talking to Edie, I realized her husband expected the same of her.”

  “Why don’t you leave?” I asked.

  She looked at me as if I’d lost my mind, and yet her eyes looked sad. “Because I love him. ‘For better or worse,’ our vows said.”

  “Okay,” I said, not understanding in the least.

  “That’s how Edie felt, too. Our lives are, I mean were, exhausting, always being the perfect wife. Not that either of us was perfect, but we sure tried. And when Edie said she and Clive had separated again, I was shocked. I thought they’d worked everything out.”

  “Worked what out?” Lydia said, as if she hadn’t heard this part yet.

  “I told Edie that Ronnie didn’t know about my bipolar disorder. I didn’t leave my meds out where he could see them. He likes me on my meds. I’m levelheaded and that makes him happy. So, what he didn’t know won’t hurt him, or me. I have my allowance and pay all the bills, so he never sees the prescriptions. It took me a long time to work out the plan. I told Edie, and she said she’d try it. That way Clive would stop interfering.”