Deadly Lies

by Mary Stone

  He took off like a shot, claws scrabbling on the sidewalk as he raced up the stairs and right toward a…

  Oh no!

  Kylie leapt forward, sure the Newfoundland was about to have the tiny puffball of an orange dog for a snack.

  “Vader, no!”

  Out of breath, Kylie made it to the top stair, preparing her mind for the bloody mess she’d probably be sued over.

  To her surprise, the little dog had Vader cowering in the corner, its frantic yapping like a drill in her eardrums.

  “It’s quite all right, dear,” a woman said, picking up the little dog. She wore a bright teal jogging suit, and her silver hair was tied up in a flowery scarf. She was, in a word, adorable. “Coco likes to visit with friends.”

  “Um. Mrs. Jennings?”

  “Please call me Emma,” she said, motioning her forward as she put the little dog back on its feet. “Are you Kylie?”

  “Uh. Yes.”

  Vader, more confident now, came out of the corner and promptly began playing, acting as if Coco was his personal hacky sack. Coco squealed and went airborne. Kylie dove and caught the dog before the little thing hit the ground. Cuddling the furball in her arms, she inspected the five-pound ball of fluff carefully before giving Vader an expression that should have had him obeying any command she deigned to give.

  Emma Jennings didn’t look the least bit concerned. “Nonsense, Coco’s fine. She’s a bit of a daredevil, that one. Not a shy or scared bone in her little Pomeranian body.”

  Pushing to her feet, for the first time it struck Kylie just how small Emma was. At just under five-four, Kylie was used to being called short, but Emma was several inches smaller than her. But for an eighty-four-year-old lady, she didn’t look frail in the least. In fact, she largely resembled a pear. She patted her leg and whistled to her little dog, who jumped into her arms as she moved with as much spunk as someone half her age into the house.

  And what a house it was. The foyer was at least three stories high, circular, and framed in windows that went from floor to ceiling. Kylie gasped at the enormous chandelier dangling over their heads. The place looked like a museum. “Wow, this is lovely, Mrs. Jennings.”

  “Emma, dear. And thank you, you’re too kind,” she said, wrapping an arm around Kylie’s waist and leading her to another enormous room featuring a piano, a massive stone fireplace, and framed paintings on every vertical surface. Emma sat her down on a big leather sofa and motioned to a fancy silver tea service like she’d seen in movies, but never thought people actually used in real life. “Tea?”

  Kylie nodded. “Thank you.”

  Emma dropped Coco to the ground and reached for the silver teapot as the two dogs came together again. Kylie winced, waiting for Vader to do something awful, but he simply nosed Coco gently.

  Paying no attention to the canines, Emma took the dainty teacup and added a few cubes of sugar with the tiny tongs. “This place was my dream. My husband always wanted a smaller place in the mountains, but I had such a collection of his beautiful works, I insisted on a home that would adequately display them all. We were married for over sixty years before his death. I’ve always been his greatest fan.”

  Kylie looked around at the work. She’d been an art history minor…for about three weeks, until she realized art didn’t interest her in the least. She couldn’t tell what time period they were. Modern? Deco? Pop? They looked kind of creepy, truthfully—people with weird, googly eyes and funnily shaped bodies. But what did she know?

  “They’re beautiful paintings,” Kylie fibbed, sipping her tea.

  Emma nodded. “These are only a small sampling. I’ll take you to the gallery if you’d like. Arnold was quite prolific. Unfortunately, he really didn’t come into his own until several years after his death. He’s been gone nearly five years, but I’d say only in the last two or so have his paintings started to become truly priceless.”

  Kylie gave her a sad smile. “I guess the saying ‘an artist is only appreciated after he is dead’ is true.”

  Emma sighed. “In this case, yes. Both mine and Arnold’s families were quite wealthy prior to our marriage, and Arnold invested wisely, even before his artwork began selling well. I don’t need it all. I’m an old woman and I have no living children, just a grandson I do my best to take care of.”

  She sighed again, suddenly looking her age.

  Kylie reached over and grasped her hand. “What happened to your children?” Kylie asked gently, even though she already knew. The headlines had covered every newspaper on the East Coast, at least.

  “There was a fire at our lodge in Maine, I’m afraid. Both my daughters and their husbands were killed. Little Nate barely made it out alive.”

  The sadness was so deep, that Kylie felt it spread into her hand and enter her cells. She swallowed. “I’m so sorry.”

  Emma’s smile looked weary. “Thank you, dear. But Nate is grown and on his own now, and well…he hasn’t always made the wisest of decisions.”

  That caught Kylie’s interest. “How so?”

  Emma waved a hand in front of her face, like she was swatting away bad memories. “Oh, just foolish behavior. Acting out, as his therapist called it.”

  Kylie wanted to dig deeper into Nate’s foolish behavior, but she sensed this wasn’t the time.

  “Do you see him often?”

  That brought a small smile back to Emma’s face. “Yes, every few weeks, at least. At first, he was very angry that we changed his trust so that the money only trickled out each quarter, but I think he better understands now, why the arrangement was necessary.”

  Does he now?

  Kylie glanced over to see Vader curled up on the lacquered floor as Coco buzzed around his ear. Good boy, she thought. “Why don’t you start from the beginning and tell me what led you to believe your money is being stolen?”

  “Well, like I said, I have a number of people in my employ, and I trust them with everything that I am. Perhaps I’m a little too trustworthy. People think I’m an old lady. That I don’t realize when I’m being taken advantage of. But I do. They think I’m weak, that I won’t fight back. But I intend to. I intend to string the bastard up. And you, dear girl, are going to help me.”

  Kylie leaned forward, listening. The woman was feisty. Kylie had a feeling the two of them were going to get along perfectly.

  Some might say that I was anal, as if that description was an insult.

  Not to me.

  I called it a compliment because being overly cautious had always been my friend.

  And considering the way the tides were turning in my life, it might be the only friend I had left when it was all said and done.

  That was okay. Really. At least that was what I kept telling myself.

  From a young child, I knew I had no one to rely on but myself.

  I wasn’t abused nor ignored nor any of those heart-squeezing abuses so many children face on the six o’clock news. I was loved, adored even. But no one understood me, or even tried to.

  When I said I didn’t want to share with the others, I meant it.

  I simply wanted what was mine.

  But the adults would make me, and if I didn’t do it willingly, they’d take my precious possessions and let others dirty them with sticky, nose-picking hands.

  I was still angry about that, if truth be told.

  My favorites would then be allocated to the toy chest, or trash can—if I could get away with it. When what was mine had been touched by others, it no longer brought joy.

  I craved joy.

  And the others would simply strip it away, without a thought.

  As I watched the crusty old crow slurping at her tea like she was a queen sitting high on a dais, it took all my inner willpower not to punch the screen. She was using the delicate fine-bone china that was a favorite of mine, her lipstick leaving a smudge on the thousand-dollar rim.

  Even worse, beside her, a girl with clearly no taste clattered the delicate cup on its equally delicate s
aucer. Couldn’t she see the value she held in her hands?

  No. She wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

  I should feel sympathy for her lack of taste and manners, but even the lowliest of society could do better, if they simply willed themselves.

  That was the problem with society. Instant gratification had become the crutch and the need for willpower disappeared.

  Willpower was also my friend. I wielded it well.

  Five years ago, all of this could have been mine. The house. The fortune. The teacup that just clattered again. Not that I wanted these old things, but they would have brought a nice penny to go toward things more of my taste.

  But I’d implored my willpower. I acted, then I waited.

  And I’d been right. An artist was never truly appreciated during their time. It’d been a test, really.

  Question: If an artist dies, how quickly does his art increase in value?

  Answer: Very quickly.

  More quickly than I’d expected, really. Especially considering the paintings themselves were only adequate at best.

  I could have done better.

  I actually did do better. As I replicated dear old Arnold’s paintings, I had to force myself to decrease my skills, force myself to not add the shading and details that would have made the artwork really special.

  Taking in a lung full of air, I forced myself to focus on the conversation taking place on the computer screen in front of me.

  Not the girl. Not the crow. Not the china.

  The words.

  I frowned, realizing I’d made a mistake. The crow was hiring a private investigator, this mite of a girl, because I’d done something wrong.

  No. Not me.

  My planning had been beyond exceptional. I didn’t make mistakes. I didn’t.

  But…D?

  Had D done something stupid again?

  That was the problem when you relied on others.

  It was a mistake I needed to immediately correct.

  Still listening to the conversation on my computer monitor, I picked up my phone and opened the messaging app.

  Me: We have a problem.

  The reply was almost immediate.

  D: What’s wrong?

  Me: The crow has hired a PI. She suspects something. What have you done?

  My thumb hovered over the send button, then I tapped the backspace key instead, erasing the last four words. I didn’t want to accuse over the phone.

  D: Don’t worry. She won’t find anything.

  I narrowed my eyes. I wished I felt such confidence.

  Me: We need to talk.

  The reply took a little longer.

  D: Okay. When? Where?

  Desire stirred low in my belly. I could have my cake and eat it too.

  Me: I’ll get the room. You bring the wine.

  D: :-)

  I sighed. So juvenile.

  But the ends justified the means. It was just logic, really.

  And logic was my friend too.

  9

  As Jacob drove them toward Rocky Bluff, Linc’s phone buzzed with a message from Kylie. He read it over and over again: Last night was amazing. Can’t wait to see you again.

  It reeked of Kylie. He felt Kylie’s smile in every word, in all those stupid little emoticons she littered it with. All sunshine and rainbows and happiness. In Kylie’s world, there was only one emotion: Deliriously ecstatic. That was who she was. It made a smile tug at his lips.

  He bit it back.

  Linc thought of lying there with her, spooned against her. Her body was so warm, so inviting. He’d wanted to pull her to him, wrap her in his protection, never let anything happen to her again.

  Then Linc thought of those bruises on her arm, and he gritted his teeth.

  “You okay, man?” Jacob asked him.

  Linc wiped the sleep out of his eye. “Yeah. Long night last night. That’s all.”

  “Yeah. Kylie was over, huh?” Jacob gave him a suggestive wink.

  Linc nodded and didn’t say more. Jacob knew about his relationship with Kylie. Had been through the thick of it with them as they dealt with the Spotlight Killer. But he and Jacob, as a rule, didn’t discuss women. Linc had nothing to discuss with him, anyway, since Jacob was still firmly in the one-night stand pool.

  Dread pooled in Linc’s stomach, tightening his chest as he surveyed the thick forest out the window. “You still going out to the bars with your boys?”

  “Hell yes. Met this one girl the other night. Huge tits. She was like a blonde version of Kylie.”

  Linc gritted his teeth. It was no secret Jacob liked what he saw when he looked at Kylie. Hell, few men could say they didn’t like what they saw with Kylie. She was every man’s wet dream. “Oh, yeah?”

  He nodded. “Hell yes.” Jacob raised his eyebrows suggestively. That was the extent of their girl talk.

  “So…she going in your book?”

  “Nah.”

  Jacob had been writing the Great American Novel for forever, and he always put people he found interesting inside. Linc was a character in it, and he’d put Kylie in after knowing her for about an hour. “You going to see her again?”

  Jacob laughed. “Hell no. What would be the fun in that? She might’ve looked like Kylie, but she was dumb as a stump. I’m telling you. You lucked out with your girl. She’s the total package.”

  Right. The total package. Linc couldn’t agree more. He looked down at the message from Kylie.

  He knew what he should text back. I don’t know if we should see each other again.

  He put his thumbs on the screen, began typing the sentence. With a silent curse, he backspaced and pocketed the phone before he grew so aggravated that he threw it out the window.

  Reaching out, he turned up the radio, hoping the volume would shut his friend’s conversation down. Jacob mercifully stayed silent, just sang along, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the song.

  But every few minutes, he could feel Jacob’s eyes turn toward him, filled with concern.

  Linc ignored it.

  After another tormenting half hour, they reached the trailer park where the boy’s family lived. Both stepped out of the truck to see a few police officers already there. At the family’s trailer, Linc left Storm outside and went in, where a young mother and father were sitting around a gleaming kitchenette table. In fact, the entire home gleamed it was so clean and tastefully decorated.

  “Ma’am,” Jacob said to the young blonde woman who appeared to be in her mid-twenties. She was wearing a UNC sweatshirt and chewing on her thumbnail, her eyes puffy and red from crying. “This is Lincoln Coulter, Buncombe County’s number one search and rescue guy. He and his dog, Storm, are here to find and bring back your daughter.”

  Bloodshot eyes turned toward Linc. “Thank you. I’m Stephanie, and this is my husband, Eddy.” She swallowed and looked at her husband, who dragged a hand down his weary face.

  The father’s hands shook as he spoke. “Bethany always wakes up early and goes and gets herself breakfast. We found her bowl of cereal on the sofa, only half eaten. We just got her a puppy and have been talking about how to take care of the dog and…”

  The man’s throat seemed to close, and his face turned an even deeper shade of red as emotion washed over him.

  Stephanie covered her husband’s hand, tears spilling from her eyes. “We think she may have wandered off while walking Scooby. That’s the dog’s name. The door was open when we woke up.”

  Eddy cleared his throat, taking the story back. “Bethany’s gone out on her own before, but never very far. I kept meaning to put a lock up on the door, high, so she couldn’t reach it, but…” he choked up again, “never got around to it.”

  He hung his head with guilt and his wife moved her hand to his back, rubbing his shoulder. “Bethany has Down syndrome, you see.” The smallest smile played on her lips. “We think she’s very bright, and she’s just a little butterfly socially once she warms up to you.”

 
; Linc smiled. “She seems like a wonderful little girl. Is she able to communicate well?”

  Stephanie frowned. “Not well. We can usually understand her, and she’s working with a speech therapist at school, but most people might find her speech difficult to understand.”

  Linc nodded, and something that Kylie had once said to him reappeared in his thoughts. She’d said that while Linc might have been good at saving people, he wasn’t very friendly about it. She told him that he could be an asshole when it came to his rescues. And she was right. He needed to have more of a bedside manner. Have more compassion to the fear individuals and family were facing.

  Dammit, Kylie was in his head now. Breaking things off with her would be easier said than done.

  Gently, Linc said, “When was the last time you saw her?”

  Stephanie blew her nose. “Not since I checked in on her at about midnight last night before I turned in myself.”

  “And what time does Bethany usually get up?” Linc asked, equally gently.

  Eddy took this question. “Around six, normally. She’s an early riser.”

  Linc checked his phone. It was after eleven. If the little girl had indeed gotten up at her usual time, then she could have been wandering around for five hours. That’d give them a huge search radius to cover. That wasn’t good, especially considering that the rain was picking up. He did his best not to let on, though. “Okay. What kind of pup does she have?”

  The father shrugged. “Just a mutt. Beagle mixed with who knows what else. We’ll know more as he grows older”

  “All right. So, do you think Bethany is wearing pajamas?”

  The mother nodded. “Yes. Purple with owls on them.” She sniffed. “Purple is her favorite color.” She tittered nervously, then buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking on a sob.

  “Hey. We’ll do everything we can to bring her back,” Linc said, looking at them both. “Can I borrow something that belongs to her that I can use to have my dog scent?”

  The mother handed Linc the girl’s purple blanket. It must have been a favorite because the ends were tattered, and it was threadbare in spots.