The Perfect Deception

by Lutishia Lovely

  “Excuse me?” Indignant. Appalled.

  “You disagree with me? After she killed your parents?”

  “What?!” Jessica angrily jumped to her sister’s defense. “Sissy didn’t kill them. They died in a fire!”

  “Yes, the one that Jamie set after she’d stabbed one to death and poisoned the other.”

  At the mention of poison, Jessica’s jaw dropped, along with her voice. “I don’t believe you.”

  “I’ve got proof, darling.” Mrs. Hurley’s voice was soft but steady, and laced with regret. “My family has lived in this town more than seventy-five years. There are very few people that I don’t know, therefore there’s very few situations that I don’t know about. As I learned things about that Jamie and her cold, calculated deeds, your situation included, I gathered what I could—any kind of document, newspaper article, or such—cause I knew if I ever got the chance I’d tell what happened. And I had an idea that you wouldn’t believe me.”

  “I know what happened!” Her voice sounded confident but her heart was unsure.

  “Child, it’s best you know the truth.” Jessica gripped the phone. Vincent held on to Jessica. “Jamie isn’t really your sister.”

  She yanked her arm away from Vincent and jumped to her feet. “You’re lying!”

  “Shortly after your dad moved here, he fell in love with a woman who was drop-dead gorgeous but as crazy as a loon and wild as a cheetah. He married her as fast as he could, only to find out a couple months later that she’d been pregnant when he did. But doing the right thing, he stayed with her and adopted the kid, Jamie. Three years later, she ran off with another man—just up and left the family without so much as a God-bless-you. Jim was distraught, started drinking, probably would have died sooner had he not met your mom. She took them both in, though she drank even more than he did. Then you came along: petite, bubbly, more beautiful. Everybody doted on you because you were the cutest, happiest baby we’d ever seen. Everyone except Jamie.”

  Jessica returned to the couch, and sank down on its cushion.

  “She came over to my house one day, Jamie did. Couldn’t have been more than six or seven years old. Said she hated you, and wished you were dead. I watched her mouth form the words before they hit my ears! I told her there was no such thing as hating your kinfolk; told her to never talk that way again. Other than that I didn’t pay what she said any mind. Talking a bunch of nonsense is what children do.

  “A few years later, the fire happened. Eventually, when she turned eighteen, she got a wad of insurance money from your mother’s estate. Your mother, not hers. You said the two of you are in contact. Did she tell you about it? Did she give you any of the money she stole?” No answer. “I saw her a year or two ago and didn’t recognize the highfalutin society woman she’d become. But she recognized me and made sure I knew who she was. Under all that makeup and fancy clothes was the still hateful little girl who got away with murder.”

  “If she did it, and you know she did it, how did she get away?”

  “The police believe she did it, too. Couldn’t prove it though, not enough to satisfy the law. She’s fooling a lot of people, but not Mrs. Hurley. Designer clothes and expensive perfume can cover up a dark soul, but that don’t change it. Especially when what she’s enjoying rightfully belongs to you.

  “Now darling, I can’t begin to imagine your feelings about all I’ve told you. But I had to tell you, Jessie. You have a right to know. I’m sorry to have talked badly about your Jamie. Being your half-sister, she is kin. But like her mama, that girl is from the devil. The farther you stay away from her, the better off you’ll be.”

  CHAPTER 47

  She’d never been a drinker. But in the thirty-six hours since the painfully revealing conversation with Mrs. Hurley, she’d finished two bottles of wine. In the eight hours since reading the packet her old Canadian neighbor had sent, she’d drunk one more. Inebriated, devastated, and reeling from the revelations, Jessica now sat at her dining room table, fingers on her laptop keys, trying to type a letter. Any other day it would have been easy. But today, words—errant, disjointed—floated around in her head. Somewhere she knew that if put together they’d form a sentence. But for the life of her, it seemed to be the hardest thing to do.

  Closing her eyes, she tried to concentrate but was quickly interrupted by her ringing cell phone. She checked the ID and closed her eyes again. His calls seemed constant since she made him leave several hours after the Hurley call. He hadn’t wanted to. “I’ll worry,” he said. But she’d insisted. He’d called the following morning, noon, and night. And yesterday. This morning she didn’t answer his call, but sent him a text saying she’d talk to him soon. Please, Vincent, just stop calling. I told you that I needed space, that I would be all right. And I will.

  She struggled yet again to focus on the screen, and began typing.

  Dear Nathan:

  No, that sounds too formal.

  What’s up, Nate:

  Delete. That’s more like what one of his boys would say.

  To My Love:

  Her eyes welled with tears, amazing since she felt all cried out yesterday. “You were my love,” she whispered, wiping tears. “But not anymore. Trying to take your life killed my chances of having one. And all for somebody who it turns out I never knew at all.”

  She decided to start the letter without a heading. The more she typed, the more her flow returned. Soon she was almost back to her regular speed, the words spilling from her mind to the page as her fingers deftly punched keys. Once done she read it, changed a few things, and read it again. Believing she’d conveyed how she felt as best she could, she placed one word in the subject line, placed her finger over the Send button . . . and pressed it.

  Taking a deep breath, she sent out two more e-mails. They were shorter but no less heartfelt. After sending the last one, she fell back against the chair, as if this task had drained the last bit of her strength. Struggling from the chair, she reached for the wine bottle, poured its remaining contents into a glass, and weaved her way to the window.

  It was a picture-perfect spring day in Atlanta. The sky was a vibrant blue with fluffy clouds, the new leaves bright green, the sun’s rays warm on her face. For a long time she stood there, taking in the trees, flowers, cars, and other buildings in view. She watched a bird soar to a tall tree and balance its round body on a tiny branch. That’s what I am going to do . . . soar just like that bird.

  Jessica went upstairs to her bedroom. She climbed on the bed, reached for the vial on the nightstand, and poured its contents into the wineglass, which, after swirling to mix it with the wine, she drank straight down.Wiping her mouth and setting down the glass, she reached for a pillow and lay on her side. A myriad of thoughts crisscrossed her mind. The last one she remembered, however, was the one she now hoped for the most.

  . . . that death comes quickly.

  Nathan arrived home on Sunday night around nine p.m., tired but content after a day spent in the company of a good friend and a lovely young woman. Earlier, Ralph had called with an invitation to join him and his wife for brunch at their home. Not one to turn down the rare opportunity for a home-cooked meal, he readily accepted the invitation. Once there, Ralph’s wife had got an unexpected call from a longtime friend in town for the weekend. She was invited over as well. Any trepidation about meeting a strange woman disappeared as soon as she entered the room. Thick and curvy, with naturally curly hair, bright eyes, and a warm smile, the unassuming woman was down-to-earth and so funny she could have been a comedienne. Not wanting to stop the fun begun at the dinner table, the foursome decided to go bowling—something Nathan had never done. The ladies didn’t bowl much either, but Ralph was a pro. To say the results were hilarious would be an understatement. They ended the night with coffee and dessert. Nathan was thankful to have pleasant memories to cover the hellish ones of the past week.

  Nathan changed into a pair of comfortable sweats, grabbed his laptop, and settled in front of th
e TV to catch up with sports news. He casually scrolled through his e-mails—first work, then home—to see if there was anything that needed to be addressed before morning. One particular e-mail address made him look twice: Nuts-n-Bolton@gmail.com.

  One word in the subject line: GOOD-BYE. He paused, his finger set to open the e-mail, then quickly changed his mind.

  “Been there, done that,” he murmured, scrolling further down the page. “All the good-byes we needed happened before they hauled you away in handcuffs.”

  No longer caring about the contents of his inbox, Nathan closed the computer, turned off the television, and went to bed.

  The next morning, Nathan had just finished a conference call and was about to head to lunch when his assistant rang the intercom. “Nathan?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Givens is here to see you.”

  “Who?”

  He heard muffled conversation before she answered, “Mr. Vincent Givens. He says it’s urgent.”

  It only took a second for the name to ring a bell. “Send him back in five minutes.” Nathan swiveled around and looked out the window. This should be interesting. He fired up his laptop and put Vincent’s name into the search engine. A profile came up immediately. Attorney; Graduate, Loyola Law School at Loyola Marymount; Member, American Bar Association, Association of Corporate Counsel, National Black Business Council, etc. He closed the screen and switched to the one containing a memo from the corporation’s investors, and had just begun to read when the door opened.

  After being announced, Vincent entered the office and closed the door behind him. Nathan stood, not knowing whether to expect a formal handshake or a thuggish beat-down. He could handle either.

  “Vincent, what can I do for you?”

  “You can’t do anything for me, man. It’s about Jessica.”

  Nathan gestured toward the chair in front of his desk before sitting down.

  “No need to sit. I won’t be long. I’m worried about her. She was very upset when I left her on Friday, and soon after she stopped taking my calls. I went over there, knocked, but got no answer even though her car is in its spot.”

  Nathan shrugged. “As I’m sure you’re aware, Jessica is no longer my problem.”

  “Are you hearing me?!” Vincent’s voice rose before, remembering where he was, he lowered it. He placed his hands on Nathan’s desk and leaned in close. “I don’t give a damn about what happened between y’all: what you did, what she did, or why.”

  Nathan’s voice was cucumber cool. “You need to back up.”

  Vincent stood straight. “Do you have a key to Jessica’s place? Something is wrong. I need to check on her.”

  Nathan’s casual expression masked turbulent thoughts. As angry, disgusted, and done as he was with her, and as much as he believed she should go to prison for what she’d tried, Nathan just wasn’t the type of man to wish serious harm on anyone. Nor did he necessarily want to turn over his spare key to Jessica’s colleague. He didn’t know the nature of Vincent’s request. For all Nathan knew, Vincent could be using his legal contacts to help Jessica get away with trying to kill him.

  “You’ll have to get into her place some other way,” he finally said. “Perhaps there’s a management company you can call or a neighbor who can help you, because I can’t.” He once again closed his computer, stood, and reached for his suit jacket. “I’ll see you out.”

  “Just remember this moment, because if she’s found dead because you couldn’t help me, her blood will be on your hands.”

  Nathan left the office and headed to a steakhouse just down the street. He tried to shake them off, but Vincent’s words continued to haunt him. So much so that after placing his order he reached for his phone, tapped on the e-mail icon and scrolled to the e-mail Jessica had sent yesterday.

  He started reading, and his heart fell.

  I’m sorry, Nathan. For everything. So very sorry for so many things, but most of all . . . for hurting you.

  I could sit here and rehash the whole sordid mess of what happened and why I did it. You may already know. If you don’t, you will. Either way, what does it matter? It won’t fix what I did. It won’t change how you feel.

  Know this: You were the BEST thing that ever happened to me. I realized that when it was too late. I could have had the family I wanted, the love that I wanted. I could have had it all. But I ruined it. And without you, I don’t want to be here.

  He’d read enough. Nathan threw a twenty on the table and ran the block from the restaurant to his office’s parking garage and jumped in his car. Swerving through traffic, his mind racing, Nathan was hit with a sobering thought. Why am I rushing to potentially save a woman who tried to kill me? His foot eased off the pedal. His blood pressure dropped, and he released the race-car-driver hold he had on the steering wheel. Chances are this is much ado about nothing; maybe a move by Jessica to get me over there. If I find out that this is some bullshit . . . He turned up the stereo, letting TLC help him escape by chasing waterfalls.

  He stopped by his house, grabbed the key that until Vincent’s visit he’d forgotten he had, and then proceeded over to her condo. While parking, catching the elevator, and walking to her door, he told himself that this was more than likely a huge overreaction on the part of a brothah trying to get points by showing concern. Good luck with it, Vincent, he thought, reaching her door and unlocking it. But watch your back.

  Stepping inside, the quiet gripped Nathan, producing a chill. He pressed forward.

  “Jessica! Jessica, are you here?” No answer. “It’s Nate. I’m dropping off your key.”

  Still hearing nothing, he walked to the bottom of the stairs. “Jessica! Are you up there?”

  He mounted the stairs, all the while telling himself he was probably getting alarmed for nothing. Vincent may not have been able to reach her because she was with another man. If she was home and ignored him when he came to the door, then she might call the cops and have him arrested.

  “Jessica?”

  He reached her bedroom and stepped inside. Relief washed over him. She was here, asleep. Or is she? “Jessica!” No reaction. Nathan raced to the bed and attempted to wake her. After yelling and shaking her with no response, he reached for his phone and dialed 9-1-1. “Operator, I just discovered a friend who is unresponsive. We need an ambulance.” He gave the address. “Please hurry.”

  An hour later, Nathan was still in the waiting room, hoping to hear something from the doctors. He’d tried to reach Vincent by calling the law firm, but his call went to voice mail, and considering the circumstances, Nathan didn’t want to leave a message at the front desk. He also didn’t want to leave without knowing whether or not Jessica survived what the paramedics believed was a suicide attempt. If she lived, he’d have an urgent, confidential note delivered to Vincent, who would no doubt be happy to take it from there.

  A doctor came into the room, obviously searching for someone. Nathan stood. She walked over. “Are you the person who called the ambulance for Ms. Bolton?”

  “Yes. Is she alive?”

  “Thanks to you. Another hour or two max and her organs would have totally shut down. As it is, there have been varying degrees of deterioration. We won’t know for another twenty-four to forty-eight hours how bad the damage is and her prognosis. Right now, it’s touch-and-go. But, as you probably know, her organs are not our only concern.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If her organs can’t be brought back to a fully functional level, and quickly, it will be hard to save the child.”

  If “what the hell” had a face, it would look like Nathan’s did right then.

  The doctor pulled off her glasses, wiping them as she studied Nathan. “I guess you didn’t know. Perhaps she didn’t either. Ms. Bolton is pregnant. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to trying to save that baby.”

  CHAPTER 48

  The baby news changed everything.

  After finding out that Jessica would spend
the night in intensive care and not be allowed visitors, Nathan called the office and took the afternoon off.While at the hospital, he’d read the rest of Jessica’s letter, which mentioned a package from someone in Canada. She’d written that he should read it. He couldn’t imagine why.

  Five minutes after entering her condo and scanning the packet’s contents, which included a short letter that Jessica wrote, the reason became clear. And Nathan’s world changed once again.

  He ended up in his parking garage, but didn’t remember driving. With effort he made it home to his office, collapsed in the chair, placed a phone call to Vincent, e-mailed his sister, and now waited for her call.

  He’d never gone to war, but Nathan believed he now knew what it meant to be shell-shocked. In fact, after what he’d learned in the past two hours, a word had probably not yet been invented for how he felt right now. Jessica was from Canada? Their initial meeting was a plan to set him up? Jessica was pregnant? Jessica Bolton was Jacqueline Tate’s sister, only—wait for it—not really? He placed his elbows on his legs and his head in his hands. Either he was going crazy or had entered the twilight zone.

  Seriously, it was too much.

  “Sherri’s going to freak out,” Nathan muttered, changing positions to rest his head against the back of the chair. He tried to relax. Impossible. He attempted not to think. Ridiculous. Chasing the thoughts running through his head was all he could do. He’d just jumped up to go to the roof and try and clear his head, when the phone rang.

  He pushed the speaker button. “Sherri.”

  “I. Can’t. Believe it.”