The Lying Woods

by Ashley Elston

  I drop down in the seat closest to the door and lean back. And wait.

  Twenty minutes later, Detective Hill sticks his head out of another door and motions for me to come in. I follow him through a big room full of desks where other officers are either on their computers or talking on the phone. Every eye in the room lands on me and stays there until we cross through another door.

  “You must be pretty high up to get your own office like this,” I say. The office is small with barely enough room for his desk and chair and another small chair, which I drop down into before he has a chance to invite me to sit.

  “What brings you by here this morning, Owen?” Detective Hill asks. He glances quickly at the clock. “Thought you’d be in school. Would hate if a truancy officer had to get involved with everything else y’all got going on.”

  “I need to know what you’re doing to keep my mother safe,” I say.

  His face changes. The smart-ass expression falls away and he presses his lips tightly together. “Did she finally tell you what’s going on?”

  “The threats? Yes.” I don’t mention that I had to hear it from Pippa. Seeing Mom so upset last night I just couldn’t push her for details, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want them. “I heard there have been some calls and a brick through her window. And that someone was in our house. Our old house.”

  Detective Hill nods like he’s expecting me to say more. When I don’t, he sits down in his chair, leaning back, and kicks one foot up on his desk. “To keep you both safe, I’ve got a tap on the house phone…at her request. We’re also monitoring the incoming calls on her cell phone through her carrier. I’ve got patrols making regular rounds through your aunt’s neighborhood.”

  I wait for him to say more but he just stares at me. “That’s it?” I ask.

  We stare at each other long enough for it to get uncomfortable. He finally drops his foot down to the floor and opens his desk drawer. He pulls out a plastic bag that has a piece of paper in it and another bag that holds the brick. I can’t take my eyes off of it.

  “We are taking these threats very seriously. I’m taking it very seriously. There are a lot of people who believe your mother knew what your father was doing. I’m not one of them.”

  I lean forward so I can see the note better. It’s written on one of Mom’s monogrammed notecards. Her initials are at the top in scrolly green letters. I remember these cards. They were in a flowery box on her desk and she always used them for thank-you notes. But I haven’t seen that flowery box since I’ve been at Lucinda’s house.

  “The note on her stationery was the first threat she got. It was about a week after your dad took off. Your mom was trying to act like everything was normal. There was no forced entry.”

  I move in closer so I can read the note.

  IF HE FUCKS OVER MY FAMILY,

  I’LL FUCK OVER YOURS

  The words are written in black marker. The letters are thick and angry looking and my stomach rolls reading the words someone left for Mom.

  “I’m guessing the black smudge all along the edge is where you dusted for prints?” I ask.

  “Yes. We didn’t find any,” Detective Hill answers. “The brick came a few days later. Someone threw it through her bedroom window while she was sleeping.”

  Then I study the brick. The words are painted in red. It’s crude and messy since the brick’s rough surface wouldn’t make it easy to write on.

  But it’s the brick I’m studying more than the words. It’s old with bits of blue paint on it.

  “This is reclaimed brick,” I say.

  “Yeah, we figured that out,” Detective Hill adds. He’s trying to make me feel stupid for being here.

  “Have you matched it? Have you even tried?”

  Reclaimed brick is expensive. It’s what people use when they are building a new house but want to make it look old. The bricks are salvaged when an old building is torn down and then reused on new houses. There’s a chance a local builder would recognize this brick if it were used on a house around here, especially if the bluish-green paint color matches.

  “We’re working on it.”

  “So someone is threatening my mom. Who do you think it is?”

  Detective Hill cocks his head to the side and studies me. “It’s tough to say.”

  “Do you think the note and brick are from the same person?”

  He shrugs. “We’re looking into both options.”

  These are useless answers and I’m trying not to get pissed off. His phone rings and he spins around in his chair when he answers it, I guess to make sure I don’t hear what he’s saying. He digs around in a drawer while he talks and I take my phone out and snap a quick picture of the brick and the note before he ends the call and turns back around.

  I stand up to leave. “On that first day, you told me where to go for a run. Did you know I’d end up at Gus Trudeau’s house?”

  He tilts his head to the side. “Depends on how far you could run.”

  “I guess you know my dad used to work out there. Live there.”

  Detective Hill nods slowly but doesn’t say anything else.

  “So you wanted me to meet Gus?”

  He ignores my question and says, “I know you’ve heard from him.”

  “Dad? You think I’ve heard from him?”

  Detective Hill nods slowly. “Yep.”

  Digging my hands in my jean pockets, I stand there and stare at him, shaking my head. “Nope.”

  The only sound in the room is the ticking from his wall clock. Almost thirty seconds go by before he speaks again.

  “Did you know that fancy school of yours keeps a log in the mail room?”

  It takes everything in me not to react.

  “It’s a new thing, and students and parents don’t even know they’re doing it. Last year, one of the students had his dealer mail him drugs. So now the mail is monitored.”

  Jason Holmes.

  He’s waiting for me to tell him about the letter I got. He can’t know for sure it was from Dad but the timing is too coincidental, especially since very few people get snail mail anymore.

  “Yeah, I knew that kid. He’d sell joints for twenty bucks each. Total rip-off.”

  Detective Hill smiles before he can stop himself.

  “Owen, we’re looking into everything. Every lead. Every threat. If you know something that could help, you need to share it with me. It’s the only way to keep you and your mom safe.”

  Deep down, I know there’s got to be more to what they say Dad did. And if he’s as guilty as everyone thinks he is, I’ll be the first one to turn him in.

  But I need to talk to him first. I need to know why he wants to see me.

  “We know you got a letter the day before your mom and I showed up at school. And we know it’s the only physical mail you’ve received all year.”

  “That was a reminder from my dentist that it’s time for a cleaning.”

  Detective Hill rolls his eyes. “You know I can check that out.”

  I shrug. “Check away.”

  And then I leave his office before I have to lie to him again.

  I pull the truck into the school parking lot just as the bell rings in the distance. Checking the time, it’s probably the end of first period or beginning of second.

  I jog up the front steps and into the building, stopping to check in at the office.

  “And why are you tardy this morning?” the woman behind the counter asks.

  I could probably tell her I was at the police station and get an excused tardy but I don’t want anyone knowing any more about us than they already do. “A reporter was following me when I left for school so I drove around until he got bored.”

  Her mouth hangs open slightly like she doesn’t know how to respond to that. “Oh, of course. Um, we’ve just started second period.” She checks the excused box and slides the slip across the counter.

  “Thanks,” I mumble and head to class.

  Fumbling around
in my backpack, I pull out my schedule to see where I’m supposed to be for second period. Trigonometry.

  I pull the door open slowly, hoping to avoid making a scene, but there’s no way every eye won’t be on me the second I step into the room. I only have this class on Tuesdays and Thursdays so I have no idea where I’m supposed to sit.

  “Mr. Foster, please join us,” the teacher says with his hand out, waiting for my tardy slip. “I’m Mr. Hanson. Take a seat.” I hand the slip to him and survey the room. Pippa’s in the back corner but after a brief glance at me, she ducks her head. The only empty chair is on the second row, nowhere near her.

  I slide into my seat and fidget with my notebook. Hanson hands me a textbook and says, “We’re on page forty-two. Not sure how far along you were at your old school so see me after class if you feel behind.”

  I turn to the page they’re on and realize I’m a little ahead. We covered this a couple of weeks ago at Sutton’s.

  Hanson turns back to the whiteboard and finishes a problem that he started before I interrupted.

  Most of the other students look back to the board or to their own textbook but a few are still staring at me. I want to flip them off. I want to tell them to turn the fuck around. I want to haul ass from the room.

  But I stare ahead and focus on the calendar tacked up on the wall next to the whiteboard.

  I have a little more than a week until every last thing we owned is auctioned to the public. Before strangers are walking through my house, looking at our things, judging their worth. Will people be there to buy something they really want or need? Or will they buy something just to have a piece of our downfall?

  And then I think about the letter from Dad. If I’m reading the message he sent right, he’ll be at Frank’s in thirteen days.

  It’s not a far drive. Twenty minutes without traffic. I’m guessing since the Wednesday-night special starts at five I should be there by five.

  Will he just walk inside and sit down next to me? Every person in this town—probably everyone in the state—is looking for him, everyone thinks he’s run off with the money he stole, but could he really still be here, hiding out somewhere, waiting to see me?

  I’ve already got a list of questions I want him to answer, and the first is did he start embezzling right away or was it something that just happened when he got into a financial bind? More than anything else, I want to know this. I feel like the only way I can someday come to terms with what he did is if he did it out of some sort of twisted desperation.

  “Mr. Foster, are you with us?” Mr. Hanson asks. Half of the class is laughing that I’ve been called out.

  “Yes, sir,” I answer.

  “Then come complete this problem so I know you’re understanding this lesson.”

  I walk to the board and take the blue dry-erase marker from his outstretched hand. Quickly, I complete the problem, then drop the pen in the narrow metal holder at the bottom of the board.

  Mr. Hanson moves closer to the board. “Wonders never cease.”

  “We covered this a month ago,” I say, even though I know it makes me sound like an ass.

  “Where did you transfer from?” Mr. Hanson asks.

  “Sutton’s,” I answer just before I sit back down.

  Mr. Hanson makes a clucking sound with his tongue. “Ah, very prestigious indeed.”

  There’s a guy with a cool faux-hawk of short dreadlocks sitting next to me who says in a singsong voice, “Best our money could buy.”

  Seth, who’s sitting next to him, laughs loudly and they bump fists.

  Rage consumes me. I stand up quickly, almost knocking my desk over. The guy stands up too and we’re chest to chest. We’re evenly matched in height but I’m broader than he is.

  “Whatcha going to do?” he says. “Gonna hit me for telling the truth?”

  “David, Owen, both of you stop this,” Hanson yells, then tries to wedge himself between us, but neither of us is moving.

  I want to hit him. My fists clench and every muscle in my body is ready.

  “O,” Pippa says from behind me. There’s something about the way that single letter sounds that makes me step back. I throw my hands up to show Hanson I’m not going to hit anyone but David flinches and punches me. I’m knocked backward, taking Pippa down with me. She hits her head on the side of the desk and there’s a small cut above her left eye.

  David drops down next to her. “Pippa, I’m sorry! Are you okay? I thought he was taking a swing at me.”

  She pushes his hands away. “I’m fine.”

  “You need some ice. And a towel,” I say.

  “Yes, Pippa, straight to the nurse,” Hanson says as he helps her to her feet. He spins around to David and me. “And you two, straight to the office.”

  David storms out, mumbling how this was all my fault. Apparently, I’m to blame for everything that happens.

  I try to help Pippa up but she pushes me away, too. We leave the classroom and I run ahead to the bathroom and grab a few paper towels.

  “Here,” I say when she catches up and hand them to her.

  She presses it against her forehead. “Thanks.”

  We walk quietly down the hall until we’re outside the office door. Pippa pushes through and heads left toward the nurse while I join David in the waiting area outside of the principal’s office.

  He doesn’t say anything, just throws disgusted looks my direction every few seconds. He’s wearing a lacrosse team T-shirt, and if we weren’t sitting out here probably about to get suspended for fighting, I would have asked him if it’s too late to join.

  “Owen, David, please step inside my office,” Dr. Gibson says.

  Our principal is younger than I expected. He can’t be more than thirty and he’s tall enough that I have to look up at him, which is not something I normally have to do.

  “Have a seat,” he says. “David, tell me what happened?”

  David’s account is pretty accurate and he takes full responsibility for Pippa’s injury and now I feel like a bigger jackass seeing how stand-up he’s being about this.

  Dr. Gibson watches us, watches me, then addresses David. “You’re suspended for the rest of the day. And I want you here thirty minutes early tomorrow morning and every morning next week. You’ll help the janitorial staff in whatever way they need you.”

  David slumps in his chair. “Seems a little harsh, Dr. G.”

  “I’m hoping word gets around that I’ll not tolerate this any longer. Go home and cool off.”

  David nods and leaves his office without another glance at me. Just before David leaves the room, Dr. Gibson says, “Good luck on the upcoming season.”

  David throws him a smile then shuts the door behind him.

  “Owen, this is your second day here and your second altercation with another student.”

  So he heard about the almost-fight yesterday.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I understand the situation you and your mom are in but it’s difficult for your father’s victims to have you here.”

  The words are like a knife.

  “I’d like to promise you that no one will say anything to you, but we both know that’s not something I can control. Something you can’t control. But you can control your behavior.”

  “You call them victims. But Mom and I are victims, too.”

  “Yes, I know,” he answers. “I never said it was fair that they’re taking this out on you. It’s not fair. But you are a constant reminder to them.” Dr. Gibson throws his hands up. “Truthfully, Owen, I don’t know what to tell you. This is a terrible situation for everyone involved.”

  I nod and stare at the ground. Maybe I should drop out. Get my GED. Work at Gus’s full-time where it’s no one but us out there.

  “Have you spoken to your dad?” Dr. Gibson asks and my head pops up.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Has he contacted you? Do you know where he is?”

  “No.”

  Dr. Gibson leans for
ward, resting his elbows on the desk. He’s trying to determine if I’m lying but he doesn’t know me well enough to read me.

  “Did you know someone who worked there?” I ask him in a quiet voice. “Your parents? Maybe your wife? Are you wondering if Mom and I know where the money is?”

  He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “I think you should take the rest of the day off as well. And why don’t you join David and the janitorial staff. We’ll see you tomorrow, Owen. And next time you’re in any sort of fight, I’ll recommend you be moved to the alternative school for those who need a bit more supervision.”

  I nod and leave the room before I get myself in any more trouble. Pippa heads out of the front door of school just ahead of me.

  “Are you out for the day, too?” I ask as I sprint to catch up with her.

  She throws me a glance over her shoulder but keeps walking. I slow down once I’m next to her but she won’t look at me or speak to me.

  “Is your head okay?” I ask.

  Silence.

  I nudge my shoulder gently against hers. “C’mon, Pippa. Talk to me.”

  She nudges me back but it’s hard enough that I stumble away from her. “I don’t want to talk to you. And anyway I’m not the one you should be making sure is okay.”

  I stop and say, “Pippa, please.”

  She takes another step then stops, too. She still has her back to me but at least she’s not moving. “Maybe instead of taking the bait from David you should find out why he’s so upset. Find out what your dad did to his family.”

  I close the distance between us until I’m right behind her but I don’t know what to say.

  “It probably doesn’t matter anyway, Owen. I’m sure as soon as you can you’ll be leaving again, so maybe there’s no point.”

  Even though she says we’re strangers now, she knows me well. The first chance I get, I’m out of here.

  Noah—Summer of 1999

  The headlights of the little black sports car sweep across me when she pulls into the driveway and she stops long enough for me to jump into the passenger seat.

  “Hey,” she says. “Where to?”

  “Follow the driveway to the house, then veer to the right when it splits,” I answer. She looks prettier than I remember. The smell of pizza makes my mouth water but I feel shitty I couldn’t take her out tonight.