Truth-Stained Lies

by Terri Blackstock

  Should she take it with her? No, she had to leave it here. Quickly, she took a picture with her cell phone.

  She slipped back across the hall into the bathroom, flushed the toilet, and ran some water in case Mrs. Haughton was listening. Hands trembling just like the sick woman’s, Holly texted the picture to Michael, Cathy, and Juliet. She wrote,

  Found this in Warren’s room. Catalog addressed to Doug Streep!

  She hit SEND. Then, trying to behave normally, she came out of the bathroom and went back to the living room. Mrs. Haughton was nibbling on a donut. Holly couldn’t look her in the eye. The cancer-stricken woman had no idea what was going on in her own home. She had no idea that her own family was being ripped apart by a selfish, psychopathic son. She had no idea that she was nothing more to him than an inheritance.

  “Mrs. Haughton, I have to go. Is there anything else I can get you?”

  “No, I’m fine, dear. Thank you for thinking of me. Let yourself out.”

  Holly burst out of the house, got back into her taxi, and quickly called her sister.

  “Holly?” Cathy answered, out of breath.

  “Did you get my text?”

  “Yes, I got it. What are you doing there?”

  “It doesn’t matter. The point is, it’s there, in his trash can in his room.”

  “That was dangerous, Holly, not to mention illegal.”

  “Are you kidding me? I just proved who Annalee’s killer is, and you’re chastising me? Besides, I didn’t break in. I took Mrs. Haughton breakfast. She invited me in.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “Leaving their house.”

  “Good. I have to talk to Michael and figure out what needs to be done.”

  “Do a three-way call. I want to talk to him too.”

  “Okay, hold on.”

  She waited as Cathy got Michael on the phone. When he came on, he said, “Holly, good work.”

  Holly couldn’t help smiling. “Thanks, boss.”

  “That gives us an unmistakable link. We can prove he’s the one who bought the clown suit.”

  “I knew it was him!” Cathy said. “So do we call the police yet?”

  “I just told Max,” Michael said. “But he doesn’t think it’s enough for a search warrant. We haven’t proven he’s done anything wrong yet. It’s not illegal to have a post office box or to order a clown suit. If Holly had found tainted food …”

  Cathy grunted. “But Warren’s the one who brought the food from their house. He surely disposed of the contamination. He works at the lab where they test for E. coli. He had access to it. He fed Jackson Sunday!”

  “Those things will matter. Holly, again, you’re doing great work.”

  Holly beamed. When was the last time anyone had said that to her?

  “What if we went to the house and showed Mrs. Haughton what we found? Maybe she would consent to allowing the police to search her house.”

  “I don’t think she would,” Holly said. “She’s protective of Warren. If she had any reason to think he could be arrested …”

  “But if we convince her that he killed her daughter?” Cathy asked. “That he almost killed her grandson?”

  Holly closed her eyes. “That poor woman. She’s sitting there dying alone, and she doesn’t have any idea what’s going on. She can’t take this.”

  “She has to take it, before she loses her grandson too.”

  “I hate to make matters worse,” Michael said. “But Jay called this morning to ask about Jackson. He got cut off, and it sounded like a fight. We have to get him out of there.”

  “Oh no.” Holly’s throat closed.

  Cathy managed to speak. “I’ll call and get his attorney to find out what happened.”

  “We have to talk about this,” Michael said. “Plan a strategy. Call Juliet, and all of you come to my office. We’ll figure it all out.”

  “We have to hurry, Michael,” Holly said. “Time could be running out for both Jay and Jackson.”

  CHAPTER 37

  Juliet had gotten home at seven a.m., after spending the night in the hospital waiting room. Bob was already dressed and ready to head to his office, but he hadn’t bothered to get the kids up for school.

  She had thirty minutes to get them up, feed them, and drive them, since they’d missed the bus. Popping pop tarts in a toaster — something she rarely did — she dragged Abe and Zach up and hounded them into their clothes. When Abe came into the kitchen, he was wearing yesterday’s outfit. The shirt still had a spaghetti stain on it.

  “Abe, go change clothes. Those are dirty.”

  “But it’s my favorite shirt,” he whined. “I want to wear it.”

  She grabbed the pop tarts out of the toaster, wrapped them in napkins. “Change now, Abe. Your blue shirt is clean. It makes your eyes pop.”

  “I don’t want popping eyes.”

  “Go!” She turned to Zach, who stood in front of her with groggy eyes. “Zach, did you brush your teeth?”

  “I scraped them with my fingernail.”

  “That’s gross, son. Go brush. Hurry.”

  Abe appeared back in the kitchen with the clean shirt, but the same pair of dirty jeans. She decided it was good enough.

  “Get your backpack. You’ll have to eat in the car.”

  Abe took his pop tart, bit into it. “I didn’t finish my homework,” he said with his mouth full.

  Juliet gaped at him. “Are you kidding me? Your dad didn’t help you?”

  “He didn’t finish helping me.”

  Wonderful. What had he done last night? She got the kids into the car. “Abe, you’ll have to take a lower grade. It’s your responsibility to do your homework.”

  “Even if I don’t understand it? I was waiting for you to get home.”

  “Is Jackson gonna be all right?” Zach cut in.

  “I hope so.”

  “What about Uncle Jay? Dad says he’s in jail. What did he do?”

  She winced. What had her husband been thinking to tell them that? “Nothing. It’s all a big mistake. It’ll get worked out today, I hope.” She reached Zach’s school, kissed her son before he got out of the car. “Remember who you are,” she said.

  She watched Zach trudge in, then glanced at Abe, who had pop tart jelly on his clean shirt. Sighing, she pulled a wet wipe out of the box on her floorboard and rubbed it off.

  “I have a headache,” Abe said.

  “No you don’t, kiddo. You’re fine. Going to school.”

  “But I’m sad about Jackson and Aunt Annalee.”

  She sighed as she reached the line of cars at his school. “I know, son. I’m sad too.”

  “What if people ask me if my uncle killed his wife?”

  “They won’t know you’re his nephew.”

  “But I already texted some of them.”

  She groaned. “Well then, I don’t know what to tell you.”

  “Can’t I just stay home and hang out with you today?”

  “No, honey. I have a lot to do today to help Jackson and Uncle Jay.”

  “I could help too.”

  “You’ll help best by going to school. The fourth grade can’t possibly go on without you.”

  He rolled his eyes and opened the car door. “Remember who you are,” he said before she could get the words out.

  She smiled and grabbed his face with both hands, smacked a kiss on his mouth. He grinned and wiped it off, then scampered up the walk.

  As she was pulling away, her phone rang. Cathy. She clicked it on.

  “Juliet, we need a quick powwow at Michael’s. Have you seen Holly’s text?”

  “No. I’ve been getting the kids to school.”

  “She found a catalog addressed to Doug Streep in Warren’s room.”

  “What? How did she —?”

  “We’ll tell you everything at Michael’s office.”

  Juliet turned her car around and headed to Michael’s office.

  CHAPTER 38

  Cathy had ju
st arrived at Michael’s office when Juliet burst in with both barrels loaded. “We’ve got to get Warren away from him!” she cried.

  Cathy felt the same way. Jackson’s life was in danger.

  Michael was the only one who seemed calm. “Okay, I’ve got a plan.”

  Cathy shook her head. “If it’s the one about going to Mrs. Haughton, I don’t think it’ll work.”

  “Just hear me out. Mrs. Haughton is grieving over her murdered daughter and is upset about her grandson. If we tell her … show her … what Holly found, she may agree to let Max and his team search her house. They can’t get a warrant yet, but if she voluntarily lets them in …”

  “She won’t,” Holly said. “She’ll protect her son to the death.”

  “Even if we show her that he’s tried to kill two of the people she loves most in the world?”

  Cathy stared in front of her, trying to imagine how it might go.

  “But I’m not sure she’s in her right mind,” Juliet said. “I mean, think about it. She let Warren take Jackson home, even though she knew she couldn’t care for him. She listened to him crying for hours and hours and didn’t let him go back to Juliet. She sat by while he had diarrhea and vomiting, and didn’t even call the doctor.”

  “I know,” Michael said, “but my guess is that she’s already thinking of things that Warren said and did. She may be in denial, but there must be things gnawing at her.”

  “But I wasn’t supposed to be prowling around in their house,” Holly said. “Wouldn’t it mess up the case if it went to trial and it came out that I found the mail when I was snooping in his room?”

  “You were invited in,” Michael said. “You got a little nosy, but you weren’t breaking and entering. And you weren’t doing an illegal search, because you’re not a police officer.”

  “So let me get this straight,” Juliet said. “If Mrs. Haughton gives the police permission to search, then it’s not an illegal search? And they won’t need a warrant?”

  “That’s right. And it’s probably the only way we’re going to get the police to do it.”

  “Are you sure they will, even then?” Cathy asked.

  “Yes. Max has already told me he would if he got her permission. I’ll call him as soon as we hang up so he’ll be ready if she gives the word.”

  Cathy sighed. “I guess it could work. We can be persuasive. And as sick as she is, Mrs. Haughton is a reasonable woman. She must want the truth, especially if Jackson is still in danger.”

  Holly closed her eyes. “We might just kill her. Hearing this is just gonna put her over the edge. I don’t know how much more that woman can take.”

  “That’s the whole point,” Cathy said. “When we tell her that her son is trying to get her money, that this is all about greed, that he was taking his sister out of the equation and now is trying to take her grandson …”

  Juliet brought her hands to her face. “I can’t stand thinking about the danger Jackson’s in.”

  “That’s why we have to hurry.”

  CHAPTER 39

  Twenty minutes later, the three sisters stood at the front door of Mrs. Haughton’s house. Cathy was tense, but she bolstered herself. But Holly was breathing hard enough to hyperventilate. “Get a grip, Holly,” Cathy said. “We don’t have time to fall apart.”

  Holly bent over, hands on her knees. “I’m just feeling a little sick.”

  “We can do this together,” Juliet said. “Just stand up and breathe.”

  Cathy rang the bell and followed it up with a hard knock.

  “I feel horrible about this,” Holly whispered. “When she answers the door, she has to get up and get her cane and roll that oxygen tank with her. And for what? So we can rip out her heart and stomp on it?”

  “It’s kind of important,” Cathy said.

  They heard a creaking, a shuffling, and finally the door opened. Mrs. Haughton’s breathing sounded more asthmatic than before. Her eyes were wet and sunken. Her skin was even more gray.

  Holly was the first to speak. “Mrs. Haughton, I’m so sorry to bother you again.”

  “Is Jackson all right?”

  Cathy answered before her sisters. “Actually, he’s not. We need to talk to you. Can we come in?”

  “Of course.” Mrs. Haughton looked stricken, and she stepped back from the door and allowed them into the house. They closed the door. The smell of stale air and disease wafted over the room. Cathy remembered those smells from her mother’s illness. “Let’s go sit down, if you don’t mind.”

  A look of stark dread on her face, Mrs. Haughton shuffled back into the living room. Holly took her tank and helped her get there.

  Mrs. Haughton’s sunken eyes looked haunted by the time she reached her couch and sank down onto it. “Just tell me. He’s dead, isn’t he?”

  “No ma’am,” Holly said quickly. “He’s alive.”

  The woman blew out a sigh of relief, then doubled over in a coughing fit.

  “He’s still in ICU,” Juliet said when the coughing slowed. “His kidneys have failed.”

  “He’s worse?” Her face twisted, and she brought her hand to her face. “It should be me, not him. Is Warren still with him?”

  “Yes, that’s why we’re here.” Cathy nudged Holly. “Why don’t you tell her what you found?”

  Holly shot Cathy a look of protest, so Cathy kept talking. “Mrs. Haughton, we need to be very honest with you about what we know about Annalee’s death and about Jackson’s illness.”

  The woman drew her brows together, her forehead pleating like an accordion. “You think the two are connected?”

  “We know they are,” Cathy said.

  Holly looked nervously at her sisters, then patted Mrs. Haughton’s cold hand. “Mrs. Haughton …” Her voice sounded shredded. She cleared her throat and tried again. “When I was here earlier today and I went to the bathroom, I saw Warren’s room. I went in there and looked around.”

  “You did what?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her pitch rising. “It’s just that things weren’t adding up, and I had some suspicions.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The way he’s been acting,” Cathy said. “Warren’s insistence that Jackson come home with you even though he was so upset … Jackson’s sudden illness.”

  “He just wanted to … look after his nephew,” she said with as much indignation as she could muster. “You had no right!”

  Mrs. Haughton began to cough again, and for a moment, Cathy thought she wouldn’t be able to catch her breath. She waited, hand on her shoulder, as the sick woman worked to clear her lungs.

  Finally, Mrs. Haughton got a breath and gaped at Holly. “You searched his room?” she said, touching her chest.

  “I just … looked around, and I saw something in his wastebasket.”

  “His wastebasket?” Her shoulders heaved. “You were looking … in his trash? What for?”

  “Mrs. Haughton,” Cathy interjected. “Holly was looking for a clown suit.”

  The woman pulled her head back as if that didn’t make sense. “A clown suit?”

  “Yes. Our brother told us that when he got to Annalee’s house that day, he saw a man coming out in a clown costume. That’s the person who killed Annalee.”

  Mrs. Haughton shook her head. “But that’s a ridiculous made-up story. Even the police don’t believe it. It didn’t really happen.”

  “Mrs. Haughton, we’ve been working with Michael Hogan,” Cathy said, “and he was able to find where it was purchased, and the post office box it was shipped to here in town. It was shipped to a man named Doug Streep. Does that name mean anything to you?”

  “No.”

  Holly picked up the story. “Juliet and I sat outside the post office, taking turns watching to see if any of the men we thought might be guilty showed up to check that box.”

  “But it wasn’t one of them who showed up,” Juliet said.

  Holly shook her head. “It was Warren. He showed up that
day.”

  Mrs. Haughton grunted. “Just because … he has a post office box …”

  “Mrs. Haughton, if you go with me to his room right now, you’ll see what I saw this morning. Mail addressed to Doug Streep at the same post office box. Why would he have that mail if it’s not his box?”

  For a moment Cathy thought the woman might shut this talk down, but she didn’t. Not yet.

  “I don’t know who Doug Streep is, but … it isn’t Warren.” She dragged in a breath. “Your brother created that clown story … to get himself off the hook.”

  “He didn’t make it up, Mrs. Haughton,” Holly said.

  “It’s true. Warren’s getting mail addressed to Doug Streep because that’s the alias he used to rent the post office box.”

  Mrs. Haughton hacked again. Holly shot a troubled look at Cathy. The woman got to the end of it, her words ripping out. “I want to see it. Show me.”

  “All right,” Holly said. “Come and I’ll show you.”

  She helped Mrs. Haughton get up, wheeled her oxygen tank, handed her her walker. Cathy and Juliet followed as she shuffled into Warren’s bedroom. Holly pointed to the mail in the trash can.

  “You could have put it there!” Mrs. Haughton said. “Prowling around in my house …”

  “You know I didn’t. You answered the door when I got here. I wasn’t carrying anything but donuts. I didn’t even bring my purse in.”

  Mrs. Haughton stared at the catalog, sweat breaking out on her temples. “Get the mail out of there. I want to see all of it.”

  Holly gathered it and showed it to her.

  As she flipped through it, her body seemed to shake harder.

  “Mrs. Haughton, do you remember if Warren ever brought a package home that might have held a clown suit?” Cathy asked.

  She rubbed her eyes. “No. He wouldn’t …”

  “Are you sure? Maybe he lied about what was in it,” Juliet said.

  “No! I told you, there’s no clown suit.”

  “Mrs. Haughton,” Holly said, “we want you to do one simple thing, and it will prove whether Warren is guilty or innocent.”

  “He’s innocent!” she said as forcefully as she could manage. “I don’t know why he has a post office box in someone else’s name … it’s nothing to do with Annalee. Your brother did this! He was there.”