Sweet Little Lies

by Bianca Sloane

  She had gotten a bunch of information from the New Orleans phone book while she was at the library. She pulled out the piece of paper with the phone numbers and addresses she needed out of her purse and gave them a quick scan. Kelly looked at her watch. It was eight a.m. She’d get a quick shower, then head over to the first place. She performed the same ritual as yesterday, smoothing on makeup, stepping into baggy, uncomfortable clothes, raking fingers through messy and unkempt hair. Reaching for her glasses, she put them on and then walked out to the front of the hotel. Kelly was stunned to see a cab making its way down the street and all but jumped in front of it to get it to stop.

  “City Hall, please? It’s on Loyola,” she said, slithering back into her Southern accent.

  Much like the last cabbie she’d had, this one was extremely friendly, chatting her up about where she was from, how long was she staying, etc. While Kelly felt less like a hunted animal in New Orleans, she was still on guard and wanted as little as possible to be recognized and gave innocuous answers to his questions.

  The driver pulled up in front of City Hall and let her out. Kelly inhaled deeply, almost terrified of what she would find inside. She walked up the steps with timid movements and pushed open the door. She stood in the middle of the vast entryway, unsure of what she should do. She made a slight turn with her head and saw a security guard the color of tar manning a desk just to her left. Kelly straightened up and walked over to him.

  “Hi,” she said, her voice dripping with Georgia peachiness. “I was wonderin’ if you might be able to help me out.”

  The security guard smiled, and Kelly had to stop herself from cringing when his gold tooth flashed at her.

  “Well, what can I do for you little lady?” he asked, his own Southern drawl in full effect.

  Kelly hated when men were condescending to women, but she was here today to play a role. She placed her elbow on the desk, put her chin in the palm of her hand, and smiled at the slimy man.

  “Well, between you and me, I think my boyfriend might be married, an’ I just wanna see if I can find a marriage certificate. Do you know where I could go to find something like that?”

  The guard leaned down so he was almost eye level with Kelly, his bad breath smacking her in the face, his gut spilling across the edge of the desk.

  “Now, I can’t believe a man would be cheatin’ on you, cute as you are.”

  Kelly laughed. “Well, isn’t that sweet!” She leaned a little bit closer and batted her eyes. “Where did you say I might find that information?”

  The guard pointed his finger up. “Public records, third floor. Minnie’ll take real good care of you.”

  Kelly stepped back and gave him a broad smile. “Well, you sure have been a big help to me today. Thank you so much,” she said as she started to back away.

  “Oh, wait, Miss? I need you to sign in.”

  Kelly looked down and giggled softly. The guard giggled back.

  “Oh, silly me. Sorry.” Kelly scribbled something illegible into the sign-in book and set the pen down. She gave him an airy wave as she backed away.

  “Bye, now.”

  “Bye,” he called back. Kelly kept the smile plastered on her face and as soon as she was in front of the bank of elevators, she rolled her eyes and pushed the “up” button. Kelly whistled softly under her breath while she waited. The rickety old doors creaked open, and reluctantly, she stepped in. She pressed “three” and concentrated on her reflection in the muted metal door. The elevator dinged to indicate she had reached the third floor, and Kelly got off.

  The door directly across from the elevator read “Public Records.” She turned the knob of the door and closed it silently behind her. The room smelled like the brittle, musty papers it housed, and the harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. It was filled with industrial gray metal filing cabinets and wobbly metal shelves brimming with overstuffed boxes. A pale middle-aged woman with dirty brown hair in a simple cotton flowered dress came shuffling up to the front desk.

  “May I help you?” the woman asked. Yet another thick southern accent.

  “Are you Minnie?” Kelly asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. What can I do for you today?”

  Kelly moved a little closer. “Well, I’m trying to find a marriage certificate for someone. It would have been about, oh, ten years or so ago.”

  “Do you know the exact year?”

  Kelly flashed to Monday.

  “Earlier today, a woman by the name of Geneva Monroe held a press conference at her attorney’s office and declared that she was Mark Monroe’s wife of ten years.”

  Kelly jerked back to the present. “I can’t really be sure of the year. Maybe 1995. Would one of the names help?”

  Minnie nodded. “Sure. Whatchya got?”

  Kelly licked her lips, almost afraid to say it. “Mark Monroe?”

  Minnie scrunched up her face. “Gosh, for some reason that name sounds familiar.” She shook her head quickly and bent down to grab something from underneath the counter.

  “I’ll need you to fill out this request form,” Minnie said as she placed a small piece of paper down in front of Kelly. “I’ll start looking for it while you do that,” she said as she put her hands on her hips and began to walk back among the stacks.

  Kelly’s heart was racing as she pressed trembling fingers around the pencil Minnie had handed her and began to fill out the form.

  Please don’t figure out who I am, please don’t figure out who I am.

  “You said Mark Monroe?” Minnie’s voice floated out from somewhere in the room.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Alright. Hold on a minute.”

  Kelly filled out the personal information on the piece of paper with more illegible scribbles and waited for what seemed like an eternity for the woman to return to the front. Finally, she came out, hauling a dusty, dark brown box. She plunked it down on the counter and wiped her brow.

  “Boy howdy! We put everything five years up on computer a few years ago. Everything older than five years means I’m dragging a box out from somewhere. Now.” Minnie opened up the top of the box and licking her thumb and forefinger, began to flip through the decaying papers in search of the last name “Monroe.”

  “Let’s see here…James Monroe, Jesse Monroe, Lorna Monroe—ah, here it is, Mark—Marcus Monroe?” Minnie gave Kelly a questioning look.

  Kelly nodded, trying to tamp down her excitement. “Yes, that’s it, that’s him.”

  Minnie nodded and plucked the certificate out and laid it out on the counter.

  “Marcus Brian Monroe. Applied for a marriage license on February 19, 1995.”

  Oh, God. That was him. That was Mark.

  The Search…

  “That will be five dollars.”

  Kelly blinked. “What?”

  “Five dollars, for the copy,” Minnie said.

  “Oh, right.” She pulled a ten out of her purse and passed it over, along with the copy request she’d filled out. Minnie slid the certificate off the counter along with the money.

  “I’ll be back with your change and your copy in just a moment.”

  Kelly hadn’t realized how much she was shaking until she brought her hand up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear. Minnie came back up and set the copy and her change on the counter.

  “Is that all you need, ma’am?”

  Kelly smiled and turned on the Southern charm she didn’t know she had.

  “Yes, ma’am, it is. I can’t thank you enough for all your help.” She folded up the copy and put it and her change in her purse. “You have a great day and thank you.”

  Kelly forced herself to take slow steps out of the office and the two short steps to the elevator. She was burning to look at this thing but reminded herself to wait until she was in the elevator. Finally, it dinged, and the doors opened. She scurried in and jammed the “Door Close” button. Shaking, she yanked the piece of paper out of her purse and almost ripped it in her haste to u
nfold it.

  “Marcus Brian Monroe and Geneva LaRue Jenkins marriage license.”

  The rest of the document looked similar to what she and Mark had signed when they got married. Wait. Kelly looked closer. There it was. Witness. Tim Landry…the name she had written down in the folder. She pressed “L” for lobby, and the elevator strained and groaned before it delivered her to the ground floor. In a daze, Kelly began to walk toward the door, when the guard called out to her.

  “Miss? Oh, Miss, I need you to sign out.”

  Kelly whipped around and saw the guard standing there with a goofy grin on his face. She groaned inwardly but slapped on her Georgia peach smile and sauntered back over to the desk.

  “Oh, gosh. Did I forget to sign your book? That’s twice today.” She gave a bubbly giggle.

  “Oh, now that’s okay. Minnie get you what you need, little girl?” The guard was leering at her now like she was a slab of pork, and Kelly had to resist the urge to punch him and his gold tooth.

  “Oh yes, thank you,” she nodded as she picked up the pen and scrawled the same chicken scratch she’d written when she signed in. “Turns out it was his brother not him, so—” Kelly looked up and smiled. “Still off the market!”

  The guard put on a mock frown. “Awww, shoot. Well, that’s too bad. I was hopin’ I might be able to take you out some time.” He paused and gave her the once-over again. “I sure hope he’s treatin’ ya right.”

  “Oh, yes. He treats me just fine. You have a real good day now.” Kelly gave another little airy wave of her hand, turned on her heel, and walked out of City Hall.

  •

  Kelly removed the glasses she’d bought and slipped her sunglasses on instead. Her shoulders slumped some as she put her hand over her forehead and tried to think. She pulled the paper with the addresses out of her pocket and looked around. It should be around here…she started walking, shifting her attention between the paper and the numbers on the buildings. Finally, she looked up and saw what she was looking for. Kelly began to jog across the street to the New Orleans Public Library. As she opened the front door, the blast of arctic air almost slapped her silly.

  She fanned herself with her hand as her body temperature adjusted to the change. Kelly spotted an empty table next to a window and made her way over to it. She sat down and retrieved the marriage certificate from her purse once more. She wasn’t sure how long she stared at it, but it was the real thing. Mark and Geneva had been married over ten years. Kelly looked at the witnesses again. She didn’t recognize the second name, but Tim Landry…

  When she and Mark had first met, he had raved about Tim and how he was like a brother to him, especially since things were so strained with him and Roy. Mark said he couldn’t wait for Kelly to meet him and, when they got married, Tim was supposed to be best man. But his daughter had to be rushed to the hospital for a burst appendix and couldn’t make it, so his friend, Danny Lloyd, had filled in.

  Every time they had tried to meet, something had always come up and, as a result, Kelly and Tim had never met. Then about a year ago, she suggested a trip to New Orleans so she could finally meet Tim, and Mark had mumbled something about a falling out and didn’t want to talk about it. Kelly let it drop, since he seemed so upset. It had started to nag at her as she started to think about how to put the pieces of the Mark and Geneva puzzle together. And then Tim’s name popped into her head, and she knew he had the answers she needed. Now…she just had to find him. Kelly’s gaze wandered over to the bank of computers across the room.

  She rolled her neck around, suddenly tired, before plopping down at the station closest to her.

  She called up Google and waited for the page to load.

  Mark Monroe.

  As expected, a ton of links to stories about his murder came up. The deal last week for Curtis Marshall, various other mentions. His bio page at Bell, Banks, and Crawford was still active. She clicked on it. His face filled the screen, and Kelly gasped. She gently touched the screen, caressing the outline of his face. He was just so beautiful. Tears welled up in her eyes. Her nose started to run, and she had nothing to wipe it with. Frantic, she looked around for something and, out of desperation, grabbed one of those scrap pieces of paper out of the little cardboard box next to the computer. She dabbed her nose until it stopped running, sniffed, and resumed her search.

  Nothing really out of the ordinary. She returned to Google and typed in Geneva Jenkins. Nothing. She tried Geneva Monroe, and it pulled up more links to stories about the past few days’ events. She skimmed a few before deciding to move on.

  “Tim Landry,” she mouthed to herself as she typed.

  Hmm. He was an attorney…with the Spence Law Firm. Spence…she hit the “Back” button until Mark’s bio came up again. He’d worked at Spence. How could she have forgotten that? He worked there just before he came to Chicago. She hit the “Forward” button until she was brought back to Tim Landry’s info. She scanned his bio. Had been with Spence for twelve years, married with three kids. Was one of the city’s most prominent and well-known attorneys. Kelly hit “escape” on the keyboard until it brought her to the InfoTrac screen. It gave her the option of searching for stories from 1995 through 2002 and 2002 to present. She selected the option of 1995 through 2002 typed in “Mark Monroe” and waited. Nothing.

  She tried Marcus Monroe, and only a few things came up. A small notice about his joining the Spence Law Firm as a clerk. Some things he’d done at Tulane. She tried Geneva Jenkins. She was listed in the police blotter for an astounding amount of crimes. Weapon and drug possession, prostitution, fraud, and theft. The list went on. Jesus Christ…maybe Mark had represented her in a case, and that was how they met? Kelly shook her head, more determined than ever to get to the bottom of this mess. She turned her attention back to the screen. Tim Landry. He, she knew, was at this bottom of this mess. She typed in his name. His press was similar to Mark’s, although there was an item announcing his marriage to a local girl, and…Kelly stopped. Marcus Monroe was the best man. She hit “escape” on the keyboard. This time she chose the 2002 to present option.

  The name “Mark Monroe” yielded significantly more stories. The various deals he’d closed, the clients he represented, the waves he made in Chicago, his marriage to Kelly. Her eyes misted over as she read some of the accounts of their wedding. She sealed her lips together and tapped her foot, unwavering in her resolve not to cry.

  Tim Landry produced equally impressive press. He was quite the man about town in New Orleans. His wife was from one of the wealthiest and oldest families in the state and was a well-respected doctor. They also seemed to make the social rounds, much like she and Mark had in Chicago. Interesting. Kelly went back to the Internet and found the number for the Spence Law Firm and wrote it down. She felt her stomach rumble. She pushed back from the table and wandered out into the street and found a small café.

  As she ate her sandwich and sipped her Diet Coke, she thought about what she would say to Tim Landry. What would he say to her? Kelly pulled out her compact and touched up her makeup. God, she hated foundation. It felt like it was dripping off her face in this blistering New Orleans sun. Kelly picked up her Diet Coke and walked over to the payphone in the back near the bathrooms. She fished fifty cents out of her wallet and dialed. It only rang once before someone answered.

  “The Spence Law Firm, may I help you?”

  “Tim Landry, please.”

  “One moment.”

  Kelly tapped her foot while she waited for Tim Landry to pick up his phone.

  “This Tim,” the man on the other end said, the “is” getting lost in his lazy southern drawl.

  Kelly paused for a moment. “Kelly Monroe.”

  She heard him suck in his breath.

  “Are you there?” she asked.

  “Where are you?” he finally said.

  “Right in your backyard.”

  “I guess you have some questions for me.”

  “Damn straight.”
r />   “How much do you know?”

  “Not enough.”

  Tim let out a tired sigh. “Where are you stayin’?”

  “Wrong.”

  “You can trust me.”

  “Mark said the same thing.”

  “I guess you’ve got a point.”

  “I pick the place. You stay by the phone, and I’ll call you when I’m ready.” She went to hang up before she pressed the receiver to her ear again. “And don’t try any bullshit either.”

  Kelly slammed the phone down before he could say anything. Her heart was thumping wildly. She looked at her watch; it was three-fifteen. Taking a big sigh, she picked up the phone to make another call. Scrounging around in her purse for the change she’d asked for at the counter earlier, she began to deposit all of it into the phone. God, she missed having a cell phone. Dialing from memory, Kelly waited for the line to connect.

  “Hello?” the pleasant voice on the other end answered.

  “Jeannie, it’s Kelly—”

  “Oh, my goodness, baby, are you okay?”

  “Jeannie, I don’t have a lot of time. I need you to walk, very calmly, next door and tell my father you have a leaky faucet you need help with. Tell him you need him to look at it right now because the drip-drip-drip is driving you crazy. You cannot tell him anything else, and you must stay calm. That’s very important. I will call back in exactly five minutes.”

  “Oh, yes, yes, yes, of course, dear, of course. Five minutes.”

  “Thanks, Jeannie,” Kelly said abruptly before she hung up the phone.

  Kelly sipped her Diet Coke while she waited for the five minutes to pass. Jeannie had been the Ross’ neighbor the entire time they’d lived on Barton. Kelly and Stacy had grown up with the Pullman’s three children. Mr. Pullman had been killed in a car accident a few years ago, and Jeannie would often call on Harry Ross to help her with odd jobs around the house. Out of habit, Kelly drummed her finger against the phone, forgetting she no longer had acrylic nails to make that distinctive tapping noise she liked. Kelly looked at her watch and saw the five minutes was up. She picked up the phone, pumped it full of change, and re-dialed Jeannie. The phone had barely made one ring before it was snatched up.