Lie Catchers

by Anderson, Rolynn

  Liv didn’t have the energy to explain the jewelry fetish that accompanied her date-mongering. “Special Agent Parker is the first person I’ve told about my freakish brain. He’s so worried about the facts I’m storing in my head he’s got me petrified.”

  “If he thinks you’re in danger, maybe you should get on a plane and come here. After all, you’re my cash cow; I’ve got to keep you safe.”

  Liv laughed. “You always cheer me up.”

  “But you won’t leave, will you?”

  “No. I owe Tilly and I owe myself. None of us can live in this town comfortably until we’ve found the killer. Killers.”

  “Be careful, Liv. Seriously.”

  Sighing, Liv said, “I have two guns and I know how to use them.”

  “Whoa! Okay, the only way I can feel comfortable about this conversation is if you, one, promise to stay safe and two, write all this down.”

  “Huh?”

  “This is grist for a novel, Liv. I’m hearing one of the big six publishing houses pounding on our door for the story.”

  Liv made a noise in her throat. “You are such an opportunist.”

  “Just stay safe so we can make more money!”

  An image of Tilly’s lifeless body slammed into her consciousness and her mood darkened. Could someone have forced Tilly to take the pills that killed her? “I’ll try, Renee,” she said, the energy draining from her so quickly she felt lightheaded. “I’ll try.”

  ****

  Color had come into the gray cavernous workroom of the Municipal Building, but not the soothing kind. The once bare wall opposite the window bristled with suspect photos and case notes, the papers slashed and circled with red, black and green permanent marker.

  Across the top of an eight foot blackboard, Nilson and Parker had taped a series of pictures: Everett Olson, Tuck Barber, Tilly Grant, Susanna Halley, Bob Halley, Josh Cameron, Liv Hanson, Harriet Hanson, Mallen, and Jenny Skogland. A gap between Susanna’s picture and her father’s was filled by a vertical time line of significant dates and events: Ev and Tilly’s death, the fishball dinner, the shooting in Sing Lee Alley.

  Under each picture, in chalk, was a four-point bio, followed by a series of questions, some with answers, about the suspect’s culpability. A line of clipboards rested in the chalk holder, containing transcriptions of every interview conducted with the suspect.

  To the left of the blackboard, in bold black letters on poster board: Fuck Protocol!

  To the right of the blackboard, Liv’s six pages of dates and detail, stapled to the wall in chronological order.

  Parker and Nilson invited Ivor and Chet into the room, and with coffees in hand, they stepped back to view the collage. “This represents a lot of investigative hours,” Parker said.

  Nodding, Nilson walked to the clipboard under Tuck Barber’s picture. “I’ve done four interviews; you’ve conducted one. Any more and he’ll call us on harassment. Unless we can get stronger evidence on Barber, we have to back off.”

  “But he’s my pick for both deaths,” Ivor said.

  “We can’t prove foul play in either case.” Parker toyed with a marker pen as he gazed at the time chart.

  Ivor went on. “Susanna’s statements were our first break in the case. My gut tells me Everett, Tilly, and Tuck put money in the tropics, but Everett was going to take it all for himself, supposedly sharing some of it with Susanna.”

  Nilson shrugged, sat down, and stared at Susanna’s picture. “She lies like a rug, but she’s not smart enough to sort out fact from fiction.”

  “Everything she says is self-serving,” Chet observed.

  Ivor shrugged. “But she didn’t kill Ev or Tilly. Her alibis check out.”

  Nilson walked over to Liv’s picture. “Why did you say she was next; I mean, if we surmise Tilly was drugged to death, why is Liv the next person in danger?”

  “I’m wrong about Liv’s importance.” Parker waved a hand at her chart. “Even if one or two of those dates were true, the jewelry fetish will ruin her credibility on the stand.”

  Nilson bit his lower lip, eyes on the list. “When we checked with Barber about his whereabouts yesterday night and morning, he said he was sleeping in his own bed. Liv contradicts him, convinced she saw him return to his place around 5:30 a.m.”

  “It’s all we have on Barber, and Liv’s assertion may not be believed by a jury.”

  “Barber is usually a late sleeper because he works at Lito’s until two in the morning. Liv can attest to that.”

  Parker slapped the marking pen in the chalk tray. “Look, on that rare morning, she got up early. Normally she doesn’t start writing until 6:30 a.m. How many times could Barber have come home earlier than 6:30 when she was still sleeping? It won’t wash, Nilson, and you know it.”

  “Shit. Then we’ve returned to square one.”

  “I’m going back to Halley with Tilly’s ledger to figure out some skimming scenarios,” Parker said.

  Nilson stood. “I’ll work with the office on getting information about the money in the Grand Caymans. Want me to go back to question Barber?”

  “No. Let him stew about our next move. No mention of Liv’s dates, either. We don’t want him going after her about the contradiction. Let’s let him think he’s off the hook with Tilly. See what he does.”

  “Can’t help you guys,” Ivor said, heading for the door. “I’m backed up on thefts and assaults, but call me when new shit hits the fan.”

  “I’m off to my clerking job,” Chet said with a wave. “Good display, that.” He pointed to the collage. “Hope you find a devil in those details.”

  Nilson hunched a shoulder. “We could use some luck, I’ll tell you. We’re waiting for a tox report on Tilly and begging for favoritism from the fucking Caribbean government while the case freezes up. God, I hate this job.”

  ****

  “We’re going fishing,” Chet said at store closing time.

  Liv frowned. “At five o’clock at night? We’re going fishing?”

  “Damn right; it’s not slack, but we’ve got a half moon so tides are small,” he said. “Everything’s set. Put on your rubber boots and grab a crappy raincoat. Matt’s warming the boat up as we speak.”

  “But I…”

  Chet squinted at her. “Bodyguarding is cutting into my fishing time. You owe me.”

  “Guilty as charged,” Liv said as she scrambled upstairs, changed quickly and came flying down to the store. “Fishing gear?”

  “On the boat. Let’s go.”

  Chet waited while she locked up the store. He grabbed her elbow and literally pulled her the two blocks to the marina. Since it was dinnertime, the streets were almost empty of people. “It will be dark soon.” She glanced at the marina office. “Candy’s gone home.”

  “We’ve got a couple hours. That’s all we need.”

  They approached the top of the gangway, steeply angled for a low tide. Liv saw smoke drifting from the motor of a fishing boat, relieved to see it was Matt’s large Grady-White with a closed-in cabin to shelter them from the rain. A hooded figure, back turned, was zipped in at the helm.

  They walked single-file with Chet in front, both of them stepping carefully on the gritty shingles instead of on the slippery planks. Chet helped her into the boat, but by the time she was able to move away from the gunnel so he would have room to step down next to her, he’d thrown the line into her hands and pushed the boat away from the dock.

  “What?”

  “You need a break. Have fun.” Chet yelled, “Lines off.”

  “Aren’t you—?”

  Chet pointed to the driver. “He’ll watch over you. Tell him ‘Happy Birthday.’”

  Rattled, Liv pulled in a breath. She wound the line, stowed it and pulled up the fender. In moments the boat reached Wrangell Narrows and she unzipped the entrance to step into the cabin.

  Parker cast a quick glance her direction, then mouth open, he stared. “Liv?”

  “Parker! What in the wo
rld?”

  He chuckled and pushed back his hood. “Damn him.”

  “Chet said ‘Happy Birthday.’ Is it?”

  “Yeah.” Parker gave a no-big-deal shrug. Hand on the power stick, he said, “Might as well make use of this gift. Can you think of a place we could put down anchor for awhile without anyone spying on us?”

  “Sure,” Liv said, covering a mixture of uncertainty and excitement about being alone with Parker. She glanced at him, wondering what he was feeling about Chet’s surprise. His wide grin answered her question. He was a guy ready to goose a speedboat over the water as fast as it could go.

  Hands on the power bar he said, “Help me spot bergie bits and debris and let’s see what this baby can do.”

  She settled into the chair to his left and pointed toward Frederick Sound. They rose out of the water and flew north on Wrangell Narrows.

  ****

  Liv picked a spot off the Sukoi Islets, about four miles northeast of the Narrows. Parker threw out the anchor, reversed the motor to grab a solid bite, and shut off the engine. Rain fell steadily, but they were cocooned inside, dry and safe from prying eyes, a wall of evergreens semi-circling their cove. Parker removed his rain gear while Liv watched silently. “Want to take off your coat?” he asked.

  Liv shivered from her raised co-pilot seat only four feet from Parker’s chair. “I’m not ready, yet. Still in shock.”

  “My dad knows I’ve been dying to get out on the water. I should have guessed he’d concoct something like this.”

  “With me?”

  “Even better.”

  He put his hands to the side of her hood. When she shivered again, he asked, “Could we take this off?”

  The hood moved in his fingers from her nod so he pushed it back. Shining blonde hair framed a face far too delicate for this rough setting. A slim, fragile nose, and blue eyes, precious gems. Arching brows and curving cheekbones. The work of an artist, who’d built a visage of rare beauty, too easily bruised or broken. Carefully he helped her free her injured arm from the coat. She might have been killed because of me.

  Her lips quivered.

  “Are you cold, Liv?”

  Reddening, she shook her head.

  His pulse quickened with the realization she was as aroused by the intimate setting as he was. While condensation crept up the plastic windows with their sped-up breathing, Parker said, “Let’s do this,” and slowly unzipped her slicker. As he opened the coat he brushed soft, unencumbered breasts, and he gave her a half smile. “Oh.”

  “I was in a rush, Parker. To go fishing with your dad before it got dark.”

  He looked to the heavens, “My luck.” Thumbing the sweat on her upper lip, he asked, “And this?”

  “Kidnapping has a way of heating up a situation.”

  Parker laughed. “Stand. Let’s get this off.” He took his time, passing his palms over her breasts as he removed her coat. When she closed her eyes at his touch, he pulled her in close and kissed her. She adjusted her thigh against his jeans, her mouth turning up at his intake of breath.

  Liv drew away and held his face close to hers. “I don’t think your dad realizes how hard this is for you.”

  When he started to shake his head, she strengthened her hold. “You’ve made up your mind about me, which means we won’t accept your dad’s gift, not wholeheartedly. Chet rigged this…this…tryst because he’s worried you’ll never let a woman get close to you again.”

  “I didn’t say—”

  Liv dropped her hands in her lap. “Chet doesn’t listen to you the way I do. On November 17, a rainy Monday when I wore my gold loops, you said: “If Liv gets hurt again, I’ll never forgive myself. Never.”

  Parker made a sound in his throat, the beginnings of a protest.

  Looking stern, Liv said, “Parker, I am infallible about dates and events.” She licked her lips. “In the letter you wrote to me, dated November 14th, you assured me “You and I represent a bridge too far.”

  He looked at the instrument panel. “I did.”

  “I wrote the article about detectives, remember, the stereotype you so aptly played when we were fooling Tilly and Nilson. ‘Laconic, obsessive about the hunt, tireless, nascent violent tendencies, puzzle-bound. Single.’ You’ve had a horrendous experience with your former girlfriend that’s convinced you never to love again.”

  “God dammit, Liv.”

  “Now you understand why I’m alone and why I could have told Chet this surprise date wouldn’t work. I’m a lie catcher, weaving my web of dates, strung together with jewelry and bizarre details I seem to be the only person on the planet to recall. Instead of catching dreams in my web, I catch lies, and stop romance cold every time.”

  She spread her hands on her knees. “Parker, you told me you’d break my heart. Why would I let you? Tell me, because I’m weakening here. You are, without doubt, the most attractive man I’ve ever met, but I’ve also never been more afraid of a guy than I am of you.”

  He nodded, morose. “I don’t blame you.” Eyeing the door to the V-berth, he said, “Dad holds out hope I’ve moved on from the pain, but I haven’t. When I think about your being hurt because of me, my heart beat kicks up and I can hardly breathe.”

  “Could be passion,” she said wistfully.

  Parker gave her a thin smile. “Along with panic, Livy. Pure, bald fear for your life.” He cradled her face with his hands. “And it’s not irrational or imaginary. You are in danger.”

  Her expression clouded and she drew away from his touch. “We’re all in danger. Dammit, I came out of the closet for you, Parker. You encouraged me to unveil my quirky brain, which may end up ruining my chances to stay in Petersburg to help my mother. You convinced me to take huge risks, yet you’re still holding back.” Softer, she said, “The future is uncertain; danger lurks. We deal with it.”

  He gazed at the waning light, through foggy plexiglass. “You are tougher than I am.”

  She smoothed his forehead with the pad of her thumb. “I haven’t been through your trauma. Your loss.”

  Neither spoke while Parker trailed his fingers up and down Liv’s jeans, thigh to knee, knee to thigh. His need to touch her, to stay connected with her, verged on desperation, but he couldn’t find a word, a phrase or a sentence to say that wouldn’t be a lie. So he bent his forehead to meet hers, and let the silence express his agony.

  Liv sighed. “Let’s discuss something we’re not confused about, okay? How is our charade working so far…your plan to keep us at odds?”

  “Thank you, Liv,” Parker said, kissing her on the nose. “Finally, something I can talk about.” He scooted closer to her. “The cover keeps you safe and allows you to play the role of fact-checker.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Unpaid date savant.” He leaned in and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I’ll see about recompense.”

  She laughed, pushed out of her chair, and stepped down to open the door leading into the forward cabin. The room was tidy with a V-berth ready for sleeping. Liv stared at the area below and said, “So we’ll have a nice picnic and talk about the case. Let’s see what food and drink treasures Chet gave us for the party.”

  To get to the cooler, Liv had to squeeze through the space between chairs. Parker captured her between his knees and kissed her, moving his palms onto the swell of her breasts. He whispered in her ear, “Ah, Liv. You’re killing me. All my life. Seems like all my life I’ve wanted to touch you here.”

  She smiled as she leaned toward him. “All your life? Stretching back to babyhood?”

  Nodding, he groaned as his thumbs found her nipples. “Primordial. Epic. I’m the wayward explorer who’s finally come home.”

  Liv kissed his earlobe and sighed. “Maybe that was your dad’s plan, to give us a window into the future.”

  When she sidestepped to the cooler, leaving Parker on the chair, he grieved. “I see you in that window, Livy. I want you in the window.”

  She blinked, maybe to keep from crying
. “But not behind glass.”

  Liv reached into the cooler, bringing out a bottle of white wine and two chilled goblets. “This is my favorite wine, which means my Mom might be in on this, too.”

  “I’ll bet they had fun cooking up our surprise.”

  Her mouth formed an ‘O.’ “My God, you think they’re having monkey sex right now at Mom’s?”

  Parker made a face. “Not fair. “

  Taking a deep breath she said, “We’ll cool down by talking about cold cases.”

  Parker rummaged through the cooler while Liv poured wine. “I’ve got fried chicken and potato salad with chocolate cake for dessert. All cold.”

  Liv held up her glass and clinked it against Parker’s. “Happy Birthday, Parker,” she said, energetically. Parker smiled his thanks, but inside, his stomach felt hollow. He loved everything about Liv Hanson. Why couldn’t he allow himself to love her?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Petersburg, 1932

  Truths Come Out

  (The Murder of Sing Lee: A Retrospective

  by Liv Hanson)

  The change came to Gus in a flash one day as he took breakfast at the bakery, splurging ten cents on pastries and coffee. When he’d first arrived in town, his presence was a cause for discomfort and concern. Conversations would stop when he entered a room; people would avert their eyes and choose their words carefully in Gus’s company.

  What a difference three weeks had made. This morning, when he’d entered the bakery, Gus got smiles and nods from the patrons and their discussion continued. Nels beckoned Gus to his table and included him in a never ending conversation about boat anchors.

  As he listened to Nel and Aage’s Bruce-versus-Delta anchor argument, he watched pretty Greta and a young man, in silhouette, standing nose to nose in the back alley doorway. The guy was shaking his finger at Greta while she shrank back. When he grabbed her arm, she made a sound of protest, wrenched away from him, and stumbled into the kitchen.

  Though Nels and Aage witnessed the drama, responding with winces and raised eyebrows, they made no comment about Greta’s troubles.