The Lying Woods

by Ashley Elston

  A few minutes later, we’re standing in the driveway next to the truck, talking with Detective Hill, while the inside of the Blackwells’ house is invaded with agents from every branch that were assigned to Dad’s case.

  “So who’s going to tell Peter that Robert was the one who gave him up?” Noah asks.

  The letter Noah got in the mail the other day was more than just a note saying to go to Frank’s on Wednesday for the nightly special. There was a stack of papers included, the stack he shared with Mom. But it wasn’t banking information like she told Mr. Blackwell. It was a list of business names, dummy corporations, and shell businesses that Robert created for the sole purpose of funneling money out of Louisiana Frac.

  The list of names was long.

  “I’ll be happy to tell him,” Detective Hill says. “But I’ll have to give Owen some of the credit.” He looks at me. “Not sure I would have put two and two together so fast if you hadn’t called me about Seth’s hand.”

  “I’ll have to share that honor with Pippa because if it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have known Seth’s hand was burned instead of fractured,” I say.

  Elise Sullivan’s name had already come up in this investigation after that brick went through Mom’s window. The brick was from the old bank building downtown that was torn down and Mrs. Sullivan was one of many who had purchased some of it, using it to build a small water feature in her backyard. Even though he knew Elise was Peter Blackwell’s sister, there was no reason to suspect Elise since her business didn’t seem to be impacted by Robert’s theft while a few of the others on that list were.

  But Seth’s burned hand moved her up to a person of interest and had him checking every name on the list we got to see if any of them connected to her.

  And he got a hit.

  One of the fake business names was Cavaille Enterprises. Cavaille was Mr. Blackwell and Mrs. Sullivan’s mother’s maiden name.

  Noah said Dad probably did that on purpose to make sure if he got caught, he wouldn’t go down alone.

  But that wasn’t enough. A confession would help seal the deal and Mom stepped up to make that happen.

  Mr. Blackwell wouldn’t say another word once the police showed up, but Seth wasn’t as quiet. He told the police he’d overheard his uncle yelling at Dad a few weeks before Dad disappeared that he was getting careless and that Mr. Blackwell wanted out, once he got his share of course. So after Dad disappeared, Seth confronted his uncle with what he heard. And since Mr. Blackwell has been taking care of Seth and his mom financially now that Mrs. Sullivan was divorced, Blackwell’s money troubles became the Sullivans’ money troubles, so he had no problem getting Seth to do his dirty work for him with the threats.

  “Well, I better get inside. Looks like it’s going to be a long night for us,” Detective Hill says, then disappears into the house.

  The three of us get in the truck and head back to the orchard.

  • • •

  I drop my phone in my back pocket and pace the length of the living room of the main house. Over the last week or so, Noah has moved a few things inside—mainly stuff for the kitchen—but this room is still empty. It’s hard to believe how much has changed since I first entered this wreck of a house just a month ago.

  Pippa was quiet while I caught her up on what went down tonight. Once I got it all out, she offered to come over even though it’s closing in on midnight—which was huge since I know she’s still a little scared of this place—or for me to come back to her house, but seeing her will have to wait until I figure out what Mom wants to do.

  Leaning against the wall next to the opening that leads to the kitchen, I slide down until I’m sitting on the floor. I smell coffee and know they’re sitting around the island in the next room but I can’t bring myself to join them just yet. Tonight’s events have left me drained. And my mind spinning. I need a little space from both of them right now.

  Mom’s soft voice floats out of the open doorway next to me. “Are you okay?” She’s asking Noah, not me, since I’m sure she isn’t aware that I’m parked out here, listening in. I pull my legs in close and rest my head on my knees.

  “Owen…he’s incredible. You did a good job raising him,” Noah says.

  My stomach feels like I’m on the downhill drop of a roller-coaster ride. I should get up…move away from the doorway…but I’m frozen. I’m in a strange place where I’m desperate to hear what he really thinks about me.

  “There are so many things about him that remind me of you,” she answers.

  I do a mental inventory, thinking about him and wondering what parts of me are similar. Is it physical? Or maybe mannerisms?

  “I’m surprised you didn’t have any more kids,” he says.

  “I guess we’re talking about this?” she asks.

  And that’s my mom. Always straight to the point.

  “Yeah, I guess we are.”

  “We tried,” she says. It’s quiet inside for a minute or so then she says, “Ask me what you want to ask me.”

  I lean my head back against the wall knowing I shouldn’t be listening in but doing it anyway. I don’t think Noah is going to say anything but he finally asks, “Do you love him?”

  I close my eyes and brace myself for her answer even though I don’t know what I want it to be.

  “I cared for him. He was there for me when I needed someone. I thought marrying him was the right thing to do. But I’m not sure I can get over the fact that I chose to be with the person who sent you to jail and kept you from us,” she finishes in a soft voice.

  The heels of my palms dig into my forehead as if that’s all it will take to stop the thundering chaos rolling around inside my brain.

  “I’m not sure I can get over the fact that I put you in the position that you had to make that choice,” Noah says.

  I can’t take any more. I can’t hear anything else. Jumping up, I turn the corner and interrupt their conversation.

  “Mom, it’s late. We should probably be going.”

  She nods, then turns back toward Noah. “Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. Do you have any plans?”

  He shakes his head. “No. I don’t.”

  “We have plenty since I don’t think Elise will be showing up to pick up all the food she ordered.” She looks at me, silently asking permission and I give her a small nod. “Maybe Owen and I can bring you some?”

  The smile that breaks out across his face hits me in the gut. “The day I met you, you were bringing food to this house.”

  “I remember,” is all she says.

  “Only if you’ll stay and eat with me,” he answers, then looks at me. “Both of you.”

  We stare at each other for a few seconds before I finally nod and say, “I think we could do that.”

  27

  We decided on an early dinner since we were all up late last night. I pull up in front of the big white house but instead of walking up the brick path to the front door, I move deeper into the orchard.

  Even though we haven’t had a traditional Thanksgiving dinner in years, since we were usually vacationing in places that didn’t recognize this holiday, today is stranger than normal. I’m still trying to sort the pieces from yesterday in my head.

  But knowing everything I do doesn’t automatically change how I feel, and even though I agreed to this last night I don’t think I can walk into that house…the same house that only weeks ago looked like it was being taken over by this orchard…and act like we’re a big happy family.

  “You okay?” Noah says from somewhere behind me.

  I turn around and he’s about ten feet away, watching me with concern on his face. Moments like this I wish I still knew him as Gus. Wish I could talk to him like I did before and not wonder what things would have been like if he hadn’t gone to jail all those years ago.

  I shrug and he nods.

  We continue walking down the lane between two rows of trees. Neither of us speaks for a long time.

  Finally, I say, “I feel gui
lty. I’ve had a good life. But having that life came at the expense of your freedom.”

  Noah stops and so do I. “That’s all I ever wanted for you. Everything that happened—none of it is your fault. I made my own choices and the only thing I regret is missing out on all those years with you.”

  I swallow. It’s still hard to think about all that time Noah was in jail while I was clueless of who he was.

  “There’s something I want to run by you before I mention it to your mom,” he says. “I know neither of you is happy at your aunt’s house.”

  That’s an understatement.

  I nod and we both turn and start back toward the house.

  “What if I stay in the apartment in the barn and you and your mom move into the main house?” he says. “It’ll give y’all a place to go. We can fix up the preacher’s house to give you and your friends a spot to hang out. What do you think?”

  “That would be…okay,” I say. Truthfully, it will be weird, but I love it out here. And it would be nice not to live at Lucinda’s.

  “You think she’ll go for it?” he asks and I can see he’s a little worried if she’d actually agree to this.

  “She’ll be difficult at first but I think we can probably talk her into it. Especially after she spends today in your gigantic kitchen.”

  He laughs. “Maybe I can win her over with a new set of pots and pans.”

  “And one of those fancy mixers.”

  We’re almost back to the house when I ask, “Why do you think Dad wanted us to meet? Was he even sure you knew I was your son?”

  He’s hard to read sometimes and this is one of them. “Your mom told him that Gus knew the truth and he was sure that Gus would have told me, so yeah, he knew I knew who you were. And the only thing I can think of is no matter what, he wanted you taken care of and he knew I could do that now. So I think he did it for you. And honestly, I’ve been racking my brain to figure out why he sent that list of names that led us to Blackwell and it wouldn’t surprise me if he did that for you, too. It would be just like him to somehow be clued in on what’s going on here and if he got wind of the threats, that was the quickest way to shut it down.” Noah lets out a laugh. “It would also be just like him to stick it to Blackwell as a parting ‘screw you,’ but I’ll guess we’ll never know.”

  I hate to admit it but his second guess is probably the right one.

  Noah looks over my shoulder and smiles. I turn around to see what’s got his attention and spot a black Suburban pull in the driveway.

  Jack jumps out of the passenger seat and I’ve never been happier to see my friend. He throws an arm around me the second he’s close enough.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  “Came to see you. Heard it’s been a helluva of a few days,” Jack says.

  Noah moves to the other side of the vehicle and greets Mr. Cooper.

  “Damn, I’m glad you’re here,” I say.

  We follow Mr. Cooper and Noah up the front walk and into the house. “You may regret it because I’m not leaving here until I get you back. So you may want to sleep with one eye open.”

  I won’t ruin his good time by telling him I’ll take whatever he dishes out.

  Noah holds the front door open for us and I’m the last to go through. I stop next to him and we study each other.

  “This is hard for me,” I say. “Separating what I know and what I feel. Even though I hate what he did, in my mind I still think of him as my dad. I wish I could just flip a switch but I can’t.”

  Noah nods. “I know this is tough for you. No matter how I feel about him, he was good to you. I don’t want to push, but I would like to be a part of your life. In any way you’ll let me.”

  “I’d like that, too,” I say. “I’m just going to need time to sort through everything.”

  “Time is something we have plenty of. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Six months later…

  “The tassel goes on the right side. Then you move it over to the left side after you get your diploma,” Mom says as she straightens my cap while Noah takes pictures of us from every angle.

  We’re on the front porch waiting for Pippa to show up. Mom wanted to take some pictures of us here before we go to the school for the ceremony.

  It’s been a long and bumpy six months as we’ve tried to find our new normal, but finally we seem to have figured it out.

  I’m not going to lie, it’s hard growing up believing your life to be one thing only to find out it’s not that at all. I wasn’t the only one struggling, though. Mom and Noah have had some rough patches, too. They pretty much had to start at the beginning and get to know each other all over again.

  But we’re in a better place now and the overwhelming feelings that sucked out so much of me in the beginning—the anger, the sadness, the guilt—have faded. I’m not saying I don’t have moments where they flood back through me, but it happens less and less these days.

  We’re all living in the main house together now and Mom and Noah are planning a small wedding under their tree. I’m really happy for them. If any two people deserve to be together, it’s them. All they’re waiting for is the paperwork to clear for Mom’s divorce. She’s claiming abandonment. It may be the greatest mystery this town has ever seen—where is Robert Foster? Since the police are no closer to finding him than they were when he first disappeared, no one believes he will come forward to dispute her claim.

  Peter Blackwell didn’t get so lucky. He took a plea deal for a shortened sentence. His house, and everything in it, was seized just like ours was along with any money they found, so the amount given back for restitution was a little higher when all was said and done. In exchange for testifying against his uncle, Seth Sullivan was given probation, and he and his mom moved away to somewhere in Texas, I think.

  The town embraced the reopening of Louisiana Frac, and hopefully in the next few years it will be back to where it was, but Mom’s catering business was a harder sell. At first, no one wanted to hire her, but people seem to be coming around. She’s teaching Noah how to bake and he’s terrible at it but it doesn’t stop him from trying. My friend Ray is coming to stay the first week of summer and he’s promised to give Noah some pointers.

  Pippa finally arrives and she flies up the front porch steps, nearly knocking me over when she throws her arms around me. “We did it, O!”

  I pull her in tight and lift her off the ground. This has been the best part of the last six months; the main reason I haven’t completely fallen apart.

  Since I miss New Orleans and Pippa has always dreamed of living there, we’re headed to Tulane in the fall where I’ll once again room with Jack.

  I’m already plotting revenge for his latest prank, which involved him uploading a video to the school website of my humiliating moves at our eighth-grade dance with St. Ann’s.

  Noah takes more pictures of the two of us, then Pippa grabs the camera from him.

  “Now let’s get a family picture of you three,” she says, pushing us together.

  Noah looks at me, gauging how I feel about that. He was true to his word when he said he wouldn’t push and even though I still deep down think of Robert as my dad, that part is getting smaller and smaller every day while my feelings for Noah get stronger and stronger.

  I pull Mom to my side and then look at Noah. “You going to join us…” I ask. And then add the part I know he’s been dying to hear. “…Dad?”

  His smile is huge and his eyes look a little watery but he holds it together. “I’d love to,” he says, moving to my side. He puts his arm around my shoulder and squeezes me tight.

  The three us of us look at Pippa and smile for the camera.

  Acknowledgments

  I started writing The Lying Woods in the summer of 2015, and this book has truly been a labor of love. Some days I thought I would never be able to finish it and other days my fingers were flying across the keyboard. But certainly, this book would not be what it is without the love an
d support of so many. I always get a little sentimental with this part, so please bear with me!

  Always, thank you to my agent, Sarah Davies, for believing in me and my work.

  A huge shout-out to my editor, Laura Schreiber. Four books (and counting!) together! Thank you for pushing me to make each draft better than the last.

  And to the entire team at Hyperion, thank you for making me feel like part of the family.

  To my critique partners and dear friends, Elle Cosimano and Megan Miranda, thank you, thank you, thank you for everything.

  Thank you to my friends who read messy first drafts and listened to every possible scenario I could think of for this book—Elizabeth Pippin, Aimee Ballard, Missy Huckabay, Lisa Stewart, Christy Poole, Pam Dethloff, and Lori Mays. Thank you to Stacee Evans for reading this when I needed a fresh set of eyes on it. And thank you, Stacee and Rachel Patrick, for the continued support on social media. I love y’all and I’m determined we will meet in real life soon! And a special thank-you to Nicole Cotter. I don’t think I would have gotten the ending right without you.

  A special shout-out to the winner of the St. Mark’s “name a character” auction: William Cooper Allen—thanks for letting me use your name!

  To all my friends who answered questions about the oil and gas business, fraud, embezzlement, funerals, headstones, etc….thank you! Any and all mistakes made and liberties taken are fully on me.

  To my family, thank you for making me feel like a rock star.

  To Miller, Ross, and Archer, thank you for being the best sons a mother could ask for. I’m so proud of all three of you. To my husband, Dean, thank you for being my biggest supporter. I couldn’t do this without you.

  In every one of my books, there is always a slice of my personal life included, and The Lying Woods is no exception. My husband has custom-harvested pecans in North Louisiana for years, and my favorite part is watching him shake trees. I loved being able to share this entire process and hope you think it is as cool as I do.