Deadly Lies

by Chris Patchell

  Staring at the front of the sanctuary, Jill didn’t think about Jamie. She didn’t think about her mother. She didn’t think about anything at all. Even Dana Evans’s wailing exit from the church barely registered.

  On the way out of the church after the service, Rachel cast a sly, sidelong glance at Jill. “Don’t be surprised when Barry comes looking for you.” There was a knowing glint in her eyes, a clear sign that she knew more than she was letting on. She’d met Barry Reynolds, Jamie’s boss, a few times during project reviews but had not anticipated an audience so soon after Jamie’s death.

  “About what?” she stammered.

  “You’ll see.” Rachel’s enigmatic smile made Jill’s pulse skyrocket. Pressing her lips into a thin line, she stepped out of the chapel and into the California sun.

  Safely ensconced back in the guest office at ZyraNet’s headquarters, Jill closed the door and tried to bury herself in work

  Staring blankly at the computer screen, her eyes strayed down the hallway to Jamie’s corner office. The door was open, and she could see the empty desk. She didn’t want to think about Jamie, but she couldn’t stop the memories from flooding in. It was the beginning and not the end of their relationship that filled her head: Jamie as she remembered him best—sharp, witty, and engaging. If only he hadn’t backed her into a corner. If only he’d been honest.

  The gentle rap on the door took her by surprise. She started at the interruption. Glancing up, she half expected to see Jamie’s face. Instead, she saw Barry.

  Jill forced a shaky smile. Mentally, she collected herself. Get it together, girl.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Barry said as he eased the office door open.

  “I think everyone’s on edge.” Jill angled her eyes down toward the carpet, struggling to maintain her composure.

  “Rightfully so. How are you doing?” Barry leaned against the door-jamb, voice warming with compassion. She wondered how many of these conversations he’d had over the past few days. Of course, none quite like this, she acknowledged. She had a special relationship with Jamie.

  “I’m hanging in.”

  “Good. When do you head back to Seattle?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Are you free for dinner? I know it’s short notice …”

  Jill glanced up in surprise. What could he possibly want to talk about? Had Jamie shared some of his doubts about her? Did Barry know something about their relationship?

  “Sure. Of course.”

  “How about A.P. Stumps—say, seven o’clock?”

  “See you there,” she said with a tight smile as Barry turned to go. A.P. Stumps. Of all of the places to pick, he had to choose that one. She had spent an hour waiting there for Jamie only a few short weeks ago. She wondered if the bartender would remember the scathing message she had asked him to pass on to Jamie as part of her grand exit. She sincerely hoped not.

  The hostess seated them at a table for two by the window. Jill looked over the menu, pausing as she felt Barry’s eyes on her. Her smile was subdued as she met his gaze over the top of the menu.

  “How is the Seattle team taking the news?” Barry asked.

  “They’re okay.” She set the menu down on the table, pausing to take a long sip of water. “It was a shock for them. For all of us,” she amended.

  Barry nodded slowly. He studied her face, and she stilled herself, quelling her impulse to squirm. She kept her features arranged in a cool mask.

  Fortunately, the waitress arrived just then, and they ordered dinner. She sipped the Pinot Noir slowly and waited for him to say what was really on his mind. At last, Barry spoke.

  “You’ve done a good job getting the project back on track.”

  “Thanks. The team has really stepped up. Feedback on the public beta has been positive, and the bug count is starting to ramp down. We’re on track.”

  “Rachel said that after weeks of the team frantically reviewing code, you were the one to actually identify and fix the issue. Pretty impressive.”

  “We were taking a narrow view of the problem. The code itself was fine. It wasn’t until I took a look at it from a more holistic perspective that the conflict with the antivirus software became apparent. Working around it was the easy part.”

  “You’ve got good instincts.” Barry tipped his glass at her in a silent salute.

  The first course arrived, and Jill picked up her fork to start working on her salad. Barry hesitated, looking at her over the rim of her wine glass. His expression was inscrutable.

  “I’ve been thinking about your role.”

  Jill tensed. About what, exactly? About firing her? About stripping her of her management title and making her an individual contributor on the team? Her resolution of the code issues at least showed that she still had her engineering chops. Setting her fork down, Jill met his gaze directly.

  “What were you thinking?” Her voice sounded strained. Thin. Dry. Fragile.

  “For starters, how would you like to present the demo at the WebNOW conference?”

  A rush of air escaped her lungs in surprise.

  “That’s the week after next.”

  “True, but you know the technology inside and out.” Barry took a sip of his wine as he waited for her to process the request. “I could do it, if you’d rather.”

  “No. I’ll do it.” She knew that she’d be a fool to pass up this type of opportunity for visibility.

  “Excellent.” His smile underscored his approval.

  They both picked at their salads as the color trickled slowly back into Jill’s cheeks. Her appetite suddenly improved as the second course arrived.

  Barry swirled the red wine around in his glass, Jill’s eyes fixed on the dark, velvety teardrops sliding down the bowl, settling in a pool at the bottom. Dark red. Almost black. Almost like blood. Jill shook her head and shifted her eyes away from Barry’s glass. She looked up to find him watching her.

  “Jamie and I had a few conversations about you,” he said at last. Jill shifted in her chair, searching for the right thing to say.

  “You know what they say: ‘Only believe half of what you read and less of what you hear.’ Or something like that.” She gave a self-deprecating shrug.

  Barry’s laugh was a deep rumble that started in his chest.

  “Well, you know Jamie. He wasn’t generous with praise.”

  Jill forced a smile as she dropped her gaze to her wineglass. Boy, you don’t know the half of it. Some perks come with a hefty price tag.

  “But he did have good things to say about you. He trusted you with the biggest project on the team. That’s no small thing. It speaks to the level of confidence he placed in you.”

  Jill straightened and grew still as she wondered where this was going. A prickling sensation traveled along her spine as fear started to dissipate and was replaced by curiosity. Anticipation. Barry bent forward.

  “So I asked you here to see if you were interested in taking on a larger role within the organization.”

  “What kind of role?” she asked, though she could hardly breathe.

  “A director position. You’d keep responsibility for your current team, of course. But I would also want you to take on some direct reports in San Jose.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, not kidding, actually.” Barry chuckled. “I’ve seen how you perform under pressure.” His head angled to one side, as if he was weighing his words. “Normally, we’d do a search, interviews—you know the process. But given the circumstances, it didn’t seem appropriate. The job is yours if you want it.” He took a sip of his wine while he waited for her to respond.

  “How about it?” he prompted at length.

  Jill’s pulse raced, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she smiled—a genuine smile, the kind that came from the heart. All the weeks of stress, all the feelings of anger and betrayal fell away. Her hard work over the past weeks and months had paid off. And all despite Jamie.


  She picked up her wineglass and held it aloft.

  “I’d love to,” she said without further hesitation.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Alex stood waiting outside the front door of a small house in the Greenwood neighborhood. Hands shoved in his pockets, he hunched his shoulders against the steady drizzle. Days had passed since he had delivered the shocking news of Natalie’s death, and he couldn’t get Abby out of his head. Hearing the footsteps in the hallway, he straightened.

  As the door swung open, Abby’s blue eyes rounded in surprise. An emotion he couldn’t name rippled across her face.

  “Alex. Come in,” she said quickly, moving back so he could enter.

  He followed her down the cluttered hallway. A small mountain of shoes was piled near the door, and Abby followed the trail of toys into the living room.

  “Sorry about the mess,” she said over her shoulder. “We weren’t expecting guests.”

  Clearing space off the couch, she gestured for Alex to sit. As he eased into the soft cushions, he saw a little girl playing with a doll-house in the corner of the room. From the toddler’s round cheeks and sturdy hands, he gauged her to be around three years of age. He smiled at her, and she went back to arranging her dolls.

  Abby sat at the other end of the couch.

  “What brings you here this morning?” She sat very straight. The tension in her body was like a coiled spring ready to burst, and she looked as if she was bracing herself for more bad news.

  Standing on the front porch, he had asked himself the same question.

  “I just wanted to stop in to see how you were doing.”

  She sighed, her shoulders sagging ever so slightly. Red-rimmed eyes glistened in the pale morning light.

  “Oh, I’m managing.” She flashed a half smile as she looked away, directing her gaze toward her daughter.

  “How about your parents?” Alex’s fingers fiddled with the edge of a pillow, and he realized coming here was a mistake.

  Only the news of Honeywell’s arrest would bring Abby and her family comfort. Anything short of that was useless. So why was he here? Because he wanted to see her. The truth was as simple, and as unsettling, as that.

  “Mom’s a mess. Dad’s a rock. You know how they are. Any news on the case?”

  Alex paused, considering the question.

  When he finally tracked down Lisa Cullen’s family, her mother had been surprisingly tight-lipped. Eventually he learned that Lisa had died seven years ago, the victim of a hit-and-run. Mrs. Cullen claimed Lisa hadn’t heard from Jerry Honeywell after the family left Winthrop. While her tone was emphatic, Alex couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the story than she was letting on.

  Telling Abby about Lisa Cullen wouldn’t help. Abby needed something concrete, something actionable, something that he could not give her.

  “Unfortunately not. We’re looking for any sign of Honeywell to surface, but so far he’s flying under the radar.”

  She took in the status with a slow bobbing of her head.

  “I know you’re doing everything you can to find him. I know you probably have a mountain of other work on your plate. I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you’ve been working the case, Alex.”

  Her blue eyes were bright with tears. As she blinked them away, he was reminded of her gentleness. Abby was good. She didn’t deserve this kind of pain. Alex stretched his hand out toward her when he felt a tap on his knee.

  “Tea?” the little girl asked, holding out a plastic princess cup on a pink saucer. She had the voice of a baby bird, sweet and clear.

  “Hannah, not now,” Abby said softly to her daughter.

  “I’d love some tea,” Alex said, taking the cup away from the girl and making loud, slurping sounds as he pretended to drink the liquid.

  “Hot?” she asked, eyes solemn as she looked at him.

  “Very, but I’m being careful so I don’t spill. What’s your name?”

  “Mamma said no talk to strangers.” Her tone was so serious he had to smile.

  “Well, that’s good advice, but you see, I’m a policeman. I’m here to help.” Setting the teacup down on the corner of the coffee table, he pulled out his badge to show her. “See?”

  Her mouth formed a silent, reverent ‘Oh’ as she looked at it. “Police.”

  “My name is Alex. What’s yours?”

  “Hannah,” she said and looked over at her mother. Slipping his badge back in his coat, he handed her the cup.

  “Could I have some more tea please, Hannah?”

  With a bright smile, she gripped the teacup in her chubby fingers and hurried across the room to where her dolls sat encircled around a small table. Empty teacups were placed in front of each.

  “She’s lovely,” Alex said, glancing over at Abby, who was staring at the floor.

  “Yes, she’s a real comfort.”

  “When do you go back to work?”

  “In a few days. Routine is probably good right now.”

  “How’s Darren?” Alex was pleased that he recalled her husband’s name. They had only met in passing a few times. He had the vague recollection of a big guy, short blond hair, and stern face.

  Abby grimaced, and Alex instantly regretted the question.

  “Well, we’ve hit a rough patch. He’s moved out for a while.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. The line slid from her lips with the ease of a memorized verse. Alex cringed and wondered how many well-meaning relatives had asked the same question.

  Then Hannah was back, bearing more tea. Grateful for the distraction, he took the cup and started to sip. Looking over at Abby, he caught her eyes.

  “Sorry.”

  Abby’s dry laugh came out as a short bark.

  “How could you know? I barely told my mother before this whole nightmare began. I didn’t want to hear the I-told-you-so. She never liked Darren much. I think she always hoped I’d marry someone more like—”

  She stopped short, as if realizing how the revelation would sound. An awkward silence fell between them. A deep pink flush stained Abby’s cheeks.

  “Want more?” the girl asked, offering the princess cup to Alex.

  “No thanks, Hannah. It’s very good tea, but I have to get going.”

  “Mommy sad,” the little girl said, her small, star-shaped hand resting on his knee.

  “Yes, but I know you’re taking good care of her.” Alex brushed his hand lightly over the child’s soft hair. He admired her perfect beauty. Pixie face. Blond hair in wispy curls. Hannah looked a lot like Natalie had at her age. A lump formed in his throat, and he swallowed hard.

  “I help.”

  “I’m sure you do.” The smile he gave Hannah was soft, but his eyes fixed on Abby. Her head was lowered, and he couldn’t see her face through her soft curtain of blond hair. But he didn’t need to see her expression to know that she was crying. Her hands balled into tight fists as she tried to pull herself together.

  Hannah caught sight of the cat walking across the room and took after it at a run. Alex stood up.

  “I need to get going,” he said softly.

  “Sorry. I just don’t seem to be able to stop crying.” Abby nodded and rose to her feet, roughly wiping the tears from her eyes.

  He wanted to say something, but the endless platitudes that came to mind sounded trivial. Instead, he held out an arm. She closed the distance between them, burying her face in the front of his coat. Alex could feel her shudder with silent sobs, and he flattened his palm against her back, wishing there was something he could do to ease her pain.

  The smell of her hair filled his senses. Warm peaches. The welcome feel of Abby in his arms felt achingly familiar. She was the first girl he’d kissed, and a flurry of memories flooded back in a rush. He could remember the first time he’d kissed her, at a friend’s house. His hand buried in her hair, he realized he didn’t want to let her go. He also realized that was probably reason enough to get the hell out of here.
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br />   The appropriate length of time to hug a friend had long since passed, and he tried to step back, but her arms remained closed tightly around him. She tipped her head back, and he stared into her blue eyes. She looked so lost. So vulnerable.

  His hand cupped her cheek. Stroking a thumb across her soft skin, he brushed away her tears. He wanted to kiss her, like he’d done a thousand times before. He could almost taste the salty sweetness of her lips.

  He knew it wasn’t right.

  “I’ve got to go,” he said quietly as he gently disentangled himself from the circle of her arms. Abby stepped back. Her lips formed a pursed white line.

  “If you hear anything …” Her voice trailed off.

  “I’ll call.”

  He waved good-bye to Hannah before turning to leave.

  The feel of Abby in his arms stayed with Alex long after the door to the small house in Greenwood closed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  Thanksgiving feast at the Shannon household was something Alex always looked forward to. Football on the television, beer in the fridge, great food. What could be better? Today, though, as he stood outside his parents’ brick Tudor house, Alex tried to get into the spirit of the holiday. Family. There was one family who had little to be thankful for. He tried to push the image of Natalie Watson’s dead body out of his head. The desire to find Jerry Honeywell consumed his every waking thought.

  Squaring his shoulders, he took the concrete steps two at a time. The house smelled like turkey and sage, and his stomach rumbled in appreciation. An afternoon with his family promised a welcome distraction from the case.

  “Alex,” his mother said, a smile on her lined face as she greeted him. Crossing the room quickly, she enveloped him in a warm hug. After spending thirty years as a nurse, his mother had turned her passion for caring for people into a love of everything green. She took pride in tending her garden, which was now the showpiece of the block.