The Walls

by Hollie Overton

  “Were you thinking you might see horns? Maybe a tail?” Clifton asked, an edge to his voice.

  “I don’t know what I was thinking.” She gently rubbed her temples, a low-grade throbbing that never seemed to go away. Clifton softened.

  “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Ms. Tucker. But stay away from Janice. It’s too dangerous. You’ve got to look after yourself now.”

  Kristy lowered her voice again.

  “I am. You said there are men in here …”

  “No. Forget about all of that. That was a mistake. I told you …”

  “I have to do something. My family is all I have. He can’t take that away,” Kristy said.

  “If I could do it all over again, I’d make sure to check all those nagging suspicions I had about Janice. When she said things that didn’t add up, about the time missing when she was hospitalized in her teens for threatening a classmate, I’d have pushed harder to find out why. How much do you know about Lance? His friends, business dealings, any family who may come around if something were to happen to him?”

  Kristy grimaced. She didn’t know anything about Lance’s past besides the things he’d told her and Ryan. Things she believed. If she had met him on a blind date or a hookup at a bar, she would have Googled him. That was Dating 101. But Lance was different. Ryan vouched for him. Pops adored him. He had a respectable business, money, good looks. Kristy trusted him at his word. None of those reasons made her feel any less stupid.

  “It’s okay, Ms. Tucker. Some folks are just too trusting. Even after the fire, I never asked questions, never even suspected that Janice was pointing fingers. Dig deep, Ms. Tucker. Build a case just like them lawyers, and then once you have all your evidence, decide if you’re ready to cross that line.”

  Kristy swallowed hard. There was no way she could kill her husband, no way she could cross that line. There had to be another way. Maybe she could find dirt on Lance, blackmail him to go away. That was a possibility. Exhaust all options. That was the plan. Then she could decide. She saw Bruce eyeing her. She’d stayed too long. She offered up a smile, signaling she was almost done.

  “I have to go, Clifton. Thank you.”

  “Be careful, Ms. Tucker. You’re playing a dangerous game with someone who doesn’t care about the rules.”

  “I guess that makes two of us,” Kristy said. She would build her case and then she would decide. But if the choice was between Lance and Ryan and Pops, then it was no choice at all.

  Ms. Tucker,

  I am unsettled and worried, so many thoughts spinning in my head. Words are hard to come by so I’m gonna keep this letter brief. Be safe. Be smart and please know that you’re in my prayers.

  Your friend,

  Clifton

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  After Kristy’s “accident,” Lance’s daily punishments eased up. He had the upper hand. He didn’t need to beat Kristy to control her; he had something even better than blunt force—emotional dominance. If Kristy didn’t feel like having sex, if she was too tired to cook dinner, if Lance disliked the intonation in her voice, he’d ask an innocuous question: “Think Ryan’s had his brakes inspected?” or “Is it just me, or is Pops wheezing more than usual?”

  Kristy heard the subtext in each of those questions. Obey or put the people you love in jeopardy. This was Lance’s way of keeping her under his thumb, ensuring her complete and total obedience.

  Clifton’s advice regarding Lance, about knowing what she was up against, was important. Her first order of business was to do what she should have done in the first place—unravel Lance’s past. It wasn’t as simple as doing a Google search. Kristy was certain that Lance was monitoring her Internet history. He also checked her phone log, reading every single incoming and outgoing message, quizzing Kristy if he didn’t recognize the number.

  “No secrets, darlin’,” he liked to say, though he kept his phone locked with a passcode. Kristy’s work computer was also off-limits. The Texas Department of Criminal Justice monitored all Internet usage. If Kristy had to do something to Lance, if it came to that, she didn’t want her search history to reveal any trouble or cast suspicion on her. Libraries were the perfect place to do research. Under intellectual freedom laws, most libraries destroy their search histories daily so they can’t be subpoenaed later. They also offered daily guest passes and didn’t record their users. The public libraries in Huntsville and Conroe adhered to these laws. Kristy chose the Huntsville Library because it was closer to work and she could slip away at lunch.

  She located a computer in a small dusty corner in the back alcove. Kristy’s first few searches were common knowledge. Lance’s Realtor website and upcoming open house schedule, an article in the Houston Chronicle about a multimillion-dollar sale, an ad for Lance’s judo classes. Kristy scrolled through a half dozen other listings but there was no smoking gun. Lance appeared exactly as he presented himself.

  She leaned back in her seat, thinking. People started over all the time. But it wasn’t easy to change your name. She knew Lance was his middle name, but he hated his first name. His mother always called him Wayne, and when she left, he said he stopped using it. Kristy cleared the browser and typed Wayne Lance Dobson, and just like that, an entirely different picture appeared. His spotty financial history, a bankruptcy, several bad reviews from a disgruntled business partner in Shreveport. She scrolled through, page after page, until she came across page eight of her Google search. She gasped. There in the San Antonio Express-News was a full-page spread, proudly announcing the wedding of one Wayne Lance Dobson.

  “I just haven’t found the right woman,” Lance had whispered five months into their courtship, caressing Kristy’s naked back. The two of them had lain intertwined in his bed in the condo overlooking the city, the promise lingering that Kristy might be the one.

  She couldn’t take her eyes off the full-length color photo of Lance Dobson and his first wife, Hannah Mendoza. She was tan and fit, with jet-black hair, dark eyes, and the well-honed physique of a tennis player; “beautiful” was an understatement. Thirty-seven, the former Miss Louisiana had earned a name for herself in the Lafayette real estate market.

  Perhaps that’s how Lance and Hannah met. Two single colleagues, rivals, competing to see who could make the next big sale. In every picture Kristy found of Hannah—the tennis tournament where Hannah’s women’s group took first place, Hannah on the River Walk with who she assumed was her daughter, a young girl about twelve, with the same striking hair and eyes, the two of them volunteering at an animal rescue—Hannah’s smile leapt off the page.

  With trembling hands, Kristy continued clicking, trying to find out how to contact Hannah. She couldn’t imagine what Lance might do if he found out, but she needed to know what had happened to their marriage, why their marriage had ended. Kristy clicked on another page of search results, and that’s when she saw Hannah’s happy, smiling face. Above it, in bold black letters, was the word obituary. Lance’s first wife was dead.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Hannah Mendoza was called home to Jesus on June 16, 2012. Born and raised in Lafayette, Louisiana, Hannah is survived by her husband, Wayne Dobson, her mother, Eloisa Mendoza, her father, Hector Mendoza, her brother, Benji Mendoza, and her daughter, Lisette Mendoza. A natural-born entertainer, Hannah was an actress and a dancer who earned a BFA from Tulane University. She was crowned Miss Lafayette and went on to win the Miss Louisiana Pageant. Most recently Hannah ran a successful real estate business and was active in the Saint Francis church choir. Funeral services will be at Stetson’s Mortuary in Lafayette, on Sunday, June 24, 2012.

  The walls seemed to close in on her. Kristy’s hands were sweating, her heart racing. Hannah Mendoza died four years before Kristy married Lance, but how? Kristy scoured the Internet, desperately searching for a cause of death, but there was nothing. Her lunch hour had come and gone, and she had to get back to the office. The uncertainty consumed her. Did Lance kill Hannah? She raced out of the library
and returned to work, her thoughts consumed with all the ways Lance could have ended Hannah’s life. Car accident, drowning, poison, a crack to the skull—the terrible possibilities raced through her mind, each one worse than the last.

  Over the course of the next few days, Kristy went through the motions—meeting with inmates, briefing reporters on upcoming executions. She cooked dinner, pushed food around her plate, nodded and laughed in all the right places as Pops, Ryan, and Lance chatted. Kristy drank cocktails on the porch swing with Lance, gave in to his sexual advances, all the while desperate to find out what happened to Hannah Mendoza.

  She considered phoning the medical examiner, but she wasn’t a family member, and using fake press credentials seemed risky. She needed to speak to someone in Hannah’s family. They might have answers. One evening, she asked Carmen to cover for her and Kristy ducked out early. This time she drove to the Conroe Library, wanting to keep the library staff from asking too many questions. She selected a computer in the library’s alcove and began typing in names listed in Hannah’s obituary. On her second try, she got a hit on Hannah’s daughter, Lisette Mendoza—a Facebook page. It had limited access, only one profile photo of Lisette, now in her early twenties, with wide green eyes, short dark hair, a carbon copy of her mother.

  Kristy’s search turned up a small blurb in the Austin American-Statesman newspaper listing local arrests.

  Scholarship student Lisette Mendoza was arrested for public intoxication. Police picked up Mendoza outside a local bar after patrons complained of harassment.

  Lisette Mendoza, a San Antonio native, was booked on charges of driving while intoxicated and resisting arrest.

  Kristy understood that losing your mother left an indelible scar on your heart, created a ripple, sent you spinning. Kristy didn’t blame Lisette for acting out. That’s exactly what she’d done, getting wasted with her friends, hooking up with strangers at a party, getting pregnant at sixteen.

  She became obsessed with speaking to Lisette. She couldn’t use her cell phone or the office phone, so the next day she took her lunch, drove to Circle K, and bought a pay-as-you-go phone. She drove back to the Conroe Library, created a fake Facebook page, and sent a message to Lisette.

  Hi. My name is Ellen Stevens. I’ve been trying to locate the daughter of Hannah Mendoza. It’s regarding a financial settlement. Please contact me at the following number: 361-422-8625.

  This was an asshole thing to do, but there was no quicker way to get a response from someone than referencing money. Kristy returned to work, anxiously waiting for the phone to ring.

  By the end of the afternoon she still hadn’t heard back. She couldn’t risk Lance finding the phone, so she hid it in the back of her desk drawer. Kristy spent a sleepless night at home and when she arrived at the office the following morning, she saw the flashing red light and a message from Lisette waiting for her.

  “Hi, Ellen, I got your message. I’ll be available until four p.m. today. Give me a call on my cell. The number is 361-822-3749,” Lisette said, her voice flat and unemotional.

  Kristy waited until Carmen went to lunch. She closed her office door and dialed Lisette’s number. Lisette answered on the second ring.

  “Hello? Is this Ellen?” Lisette said. “You said you wanted to discuss something regarding my mom?”

  Kristy felt like a monster, but she continued on. “I’m actually calling about Wayne Lance Dobson.”

  The voice on the other end went silent.

  “Lisette? Are you still there?”

  “Does Wayne know you’re calling?”

  Kristy could hear the panic in the young woman’s voice.

  “No. No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t know anything. I’m … I’m Lance’s wife and I didn’t know that he’d been married before. I just found out and I wanted to ask you a few questions about your mother … about what happened to your mother.”

  Kristy imagined Lisette’s pained expression, that familiar ache that never goes away.

  “Is this about Wayne’s truck?”

  “What? What about his truck?”

  “Look, if I’d known I’d have the entire damn state looking for me, I wouldn’t have done it.”

  Kristy was trying to keep up.

  “Wait … You vandalized my truck,” Kristy said.

  “I told Wayne I didn’t know it was yours and he promised he wouldn’t report me. I’m doing well. I’m in this halfway house. I’m sober and trying to get my kid back. I told Wayne that. I promised him I’d stay away from y’all. I’m just trying to get on with my life, okay? So whatever this is about, I don’t want any part of it. You hear me? Don’t call me again.”

  “Lisette, wait … Please.”

  The dial tone hummed in Kristy’s ear. She thought about calling back but there was no point. She had to see Lisette. She had to find out why she’d called Lance a murderer. Did she have solid proof that Lance killed Hannah? What if that was what she could use to stop Lance, a smoking gun to show the police? She needed to talk to Lisette in person, needed to get the full story.

  Now she had to track down Lisette’s address. She made it easy, mentioning that she was living at a halfway house. It took Kristy two hours calling every one in Austin, but she finally located Lisette. It was easy to gain information from the homes; all you had to do was say you were a potential employer and wanted to confirm that the resident, Lisette Mendoza, resided at that address. Kristy found Lisette living at the Lonestar Recovery Center, located in North Austin.

  The timing couldn’t have been better. Ryan was competing in the state debate tournament in two weeks at the University of Texas. Normally, it would have been impossible to go to Austin without Lance joining her, but he already had plans.

  “Darlin’, it’s deer season and I just got my license. But you should go. Have a good time.”

  With everyone gone, Kristy needed someone to look after Pops for the night. She reached out to Mac and asked him if he minded spending the night with Pops. Mac agreed, eager to help.

  Saturday dawned, the sky moody and gray. Lance slept silently beside her. Kristy studied his handsome, weathered face, the crow’s-feet and laugh lines he wore so well, and her stomach churned. Almost as if he sensed her watching him, Lance stirred. She could feel his arousal pressing into her, and though she dreaded sex with him, she didn’t resist. Instead, she kissed him tenderly, her voice low and sexy.

  “Babe, we’ll have to be quick. I’ve got to drop Ryan at the bus before I get on the road.”

  Lance stilled, his arms around her. Kristy braced herself for Lance’s retaliation, but he simply smiled, offering Kristy a chaste peck on the lips.

  “Go on, darlin’. I’m gonna get a few more minutes of shut-eye. Tell Ryan to kick some ass and I’ll call you later.”

  Kristy murmured the required “I love you,” and Lance turned over, effortlessly slipping back to sleep. What went on in Lance’s mind when he slept? Maybe his dreams were a celebratory bacchanal in which he toasted the fact that he’d broken another woman completely, or maybe they were the peaceful dreams of a man with no conscience whatsoever.

  Kristy showered and dressed in her nicest pair of jeans and a navy silk blouse. Heavy bags hung under her eyes, dark circles that seemed to have appeared overnight. Those women’s magazines didn’t lie when they said stress ages a person. She looked years older, her face and body ravaged by fear and indecision.

  By the time she made it downstairs, Kristy was already running fifteen minutes late. Ryan sat at the dining table, dressed in his neatly pressed white shirt, his gold tie loosely slung around his neck, his sports coat hanging nearby. She braced herself for a sarcastic comment but he was busily poring over his debate notes. He’d be seventeen in less than seven months, and before long he’d be heading off to college. All she wanted was to see him off to school, to make certain that everything he worked for, everything they dreamt about, came true.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said. He looked up from his notes and smi
led.

  “No worries,” he said. “I made you some coffee.” He pointed to Kristy’s thermos, filled up and ready to go. “This case is a bitch but I think we’ve got it.”

  “I don’t doubt that. You’re going to knock ’em dead today,” Kristy said. “You ready?”

  “Mama Bear, I was born ready. Got the eye of the tiger right here,” Ryan joked. He was hyped up and focused, “tournament mode,” he dubbed it. He picked up Kristy’s duffel bag without even asking as he headed for the door.

  “We’re prepared. East Tyler and Houston Prep are tough competitors, but our case is solid. If we don’t let nerves get in the way, I think we’ve got this.”

  Kristy loved how modest Ryan was, that he didn’t feel the need to brag and boast, letting his abilities speak for themselves. Ryan’s aw shucks nature drove Lance crazy. Over the past two years, she’d heard Lance challenging Ryan to “man up.”

  “You gotta own your success, Ry. Let people know you’re not a punk. That you’re someone they should take seriously.”

  Kristy never chimed in during those conversations—that wasn’t allowed—but except for those brief moments at his birthday party, Ryan’s humble nature hadn’t changed. She prayed it never would.

  They headed outside, clouds darkening, air thick with moisture, booming thunder rolling through the sleepy hills. Kristy drove, Ryan in the passenger’s seat. For once, his phone was put away.

  “You sure you’re okay driving to Austin all alone?” Ryan asked.

  “In case you’ve forgotten, I am capable of looking after myself. I did it for years.”

  Kristy didn’t bother putting on her life is good smile. She simply didn’t have it in her.

  “I know that, Mom. I’m just checking. Since the accident you’ve seemed a little …”

  “A little what?”

  “I don’t know, off, I guess.”

  Kristy covered.