Living Lies

by Dawn Brown

  He nodded. “So consider motive.”

  “Excluding your alleged obsession.”

  He turned and scowled at her.

  “I said alleged.”

  “Who else?”

  “Lara? She tried to make Jonathan believe that you and Michelle were still seeing each other. Would she have killed her because of him?”

  He opened his mouth, but hesitated for a moment. “I don’t think she has the brains to kill anyone and successfully get away with it for over a decade. What about Jonathan? He was the last person to see her before she disappeared.”

  “The police ruled him out before looking at you. Jonathan had an alibi. The housekeeper saw Michelle leave and he didn’t go after her.” Haley stared out the windshield at the rows of red lights from the cars ahead of them on the highway. “We need to know what was going on in her life before she went missing.”

  He glanced at her again and hesitated before speaking. “Who would she confide in?”

  “Her friends. Maybe Erin or Lara.”

  “I don’t think Lara’s going to be much help. What about Paige? She was closer in age than you are, did they talk?”

  “They fought, but I don’t know if they had many sisterly heart-to-hearts.”

  “This is our exit,” Dean said, nodding to the sign on the right. “Maybe Sandra will solve everything for us.”

  “Wouldn’t that be nice.”

  Haley read off the directions while Dean steered down the dark streets. He pulled up to the curb in front of a small town house. White Christmas lights dotted the eaves and green floodlights cast an eerie glow on the small porch. A black SUV stood in the driveway, and light seeped out from around the blind on a window upstairs. A good sign.

  “Looks like she’s home,” Dean said as he climbed out of the car.

  Haley nodded as she stepped onto the driveway, pushing the door closed behind her.

  “Do you know what you’re going to say?” Dean asked when they reached the front porch.

  She shook her head. “Nope. But after yesterday, I’ll just be happy if she doesn’t slam the door in our faces.”

  After a deep breath, Haley knocked. Tiny silver bells, dangling from the wreath on the door jingled with the vibration.

  A loud clatter rose up from inside followed by two ferocious barks. Haley automatically took a step back, certain some kind of vicious hellhound with matted fur and glowing red eyes waited for them.

  The door opened and a small woman with dark hair struggled to hold back a large barrel-shaped dog. The yellow Lab lifted his big, grinning face and barked, his backside wiggling wildly. After successfully blocking the dog with her leg, the woman lifted her head, smiling apologetically, but her smile melted away when her gaze fell on Haley.

  Dean must have noticed too. He stepped forward, moving in front of Haley.

  “Sandra Gallagher?” he asked.

  Sandra nodded.

  “I’m Dean Lawson, this is Haley Carling.”

  “You’re related to the girl we found?” Sandra asked.

  “She was my sister.”

  Again Sandra nodded as if struggling to comprehend. Behind her, the dog whined, his wagging tail banging and rattling the mirrored closet doors.

  “We were hoping you wouldn’t mind talking to us,” Dean said.

  Sandra hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Of course, come in.”

  Haley stepped past Dean as she entered the house and met his gaze. He shrugged.

  “For a minute,” Sandra said, holding the quivering dog by the collar. “The way the floodlights hit, I thought… You look like her.”

  Haley didn’t think she looked anything like Michelle, but she didn’t contradict the other woman. At least she hadn’t slammed the door in their faces. Already this was going better than their visit with Rhonda.

  “Settle down Cooper,” Sandra said. The dog ignored her and tugged free of her grasp, bounding first to Dean then to Haley, his tail wagging with wild abandon. Haley chuckled and rubbed the short fur on his side. His eyes closed and he groaned in ecstasy while slowly sliding down her legs. As soon as he hit the floor, he rolled onto his back, exposing his belly.

  “He’ll never leave you alone,” Sandra warned.

  Haley rubbed the dog’s pink tummy. “I don’t mind.”

  “Come on, Cooper, out of the way.” Sandra snapped her fingers and pointed down the hall. With a huff, Cooper rolled back onto his stomach, stood and ambled away as dignified as possible.

  “Come on in,” Sandra said. Haley and Dean followed her down a narrow hall that opened into the den. A man sat on the sofa, his feet propped on a square, wooden coffee table, his gaze glued to the large TV on the opposite wall. A playpen tucked in the corner of the room sat empty except for a few forgotten stuffed animals.

  “Brian,” Sandra said.

  He looked away from the screen and offered them a bewildered smile.

  “This is Dean Lawson and Haley Carling. Haley’s the sister of the girl we found.”

  He muted the TV with the remote and exchanged a quick, questioning glance with his wife. “Please, sit.” He gestured to the loveseat on the far wall.

  Haley sat next to Dean, her cheeks warm. God, she felt foolish, descending on these poor people in their home. For a moment no one spoke, the soft hiss from the baby monitor on the side table the only sound in the quiet room.

  “We appreciate you speaking to us,” Dean said at last. “We saw Rhonda Kearney yesterday. Did she tell you?”

  Haley shot him a quick look. Why bring her up? He ignored her.

  “I haven’t spoken to Rhonda since—” Sandra hesitated. “Well, in a while.”

  “What did she tell you?” Brian asked, frowning.

  “Not a lot,” Dean admitted. “We wanted to know what made her dig up the floor, and she said we should ask you, Sandra.”

  Sandra paled and sat next to her husband.

  “This will be hard to believe,” Brian said. “You’ll probably think we’re crazy or liars, but I swear every word is true.”

  Brian launched into a story about how they picked up a girl hitchhiking on the highway who disappeared from the backseat of their car. As he spoke, Haley’s patience ebbed away. Who was this ghostly hitchhiker supposed to be? Michelle? What a load of crap. She glanced at Dean. His expression was stoic, but the tic in his jaw made her suspect he felt the same way.

  “Once the body had been identified, we saw your sister’s picture in the paper. It was the same girl we picked up in the snow storm.”

  Of course it was. “But how did you know she would be buried there?”

  “I saw it,” Sandra said, her voice trembled when she spoke. She was quite the performer. “Because of the weather we had to spend the night. I guess I walked in my sleep. The whole thing felt like a dream.”

  “What did?” Haley asked, her tone sharper than she had intended. Brian’s eyes narrowed slightly.

  “I was in the basement, watching someone bury her.”

  “Who?” Dean asked.

  “I couldn’t tell. I could hear the shovel, but whoever was digging stood in the shadow. All I could really make out was a bundled blanket with strands of her hair, poking out the top.” Sandra shivered. “When I woke up, I was digging. I knew she would be there.”

  What drove people to make up things like this? Had Rhonda done this for some kind of sick revenge for the house she couldn’t sell or live in? Or was this a cover, to protect whoever really told them where to dig?

  Haley tensed, ready to stand, but Dean gripped her hand. She relaxed, turning to him.

  “This phantom hitchhiker, did she say anything?” he asked.

  Brian shrugged. “We asked her what she was doing out there by herself, and she said she’d had a fight with her boyfriend. Nothing too strange.” He frowned then added. “But when Sandra said something about her boyfriend leaving her out there she said it was okay because someone always stops. That did strike me as kind of weird.”

>   I’m sure it did. “Well, thanks for talking to us,” Haley said with a tight smile as she and Dean stood.

  Sandra walked them to the door while Cooper plodded behind them. As Haley was about to step outside, Sandra touched her arm and stopped her.

  “I know you don’t believe us,” Sandra said slowly. “I wouldn’t either, but she said something else, just before she disappeared. ‘He used to send me flowers.’ Does that mean anything to you?”

  The blood drained from Haley’s face and the air sucked from her lungs as if she’d been kicked in the stomach. She shook her head dumbly. Those words did mean something to her, she just didn’t know what.

  How could Sandra have known what Michelle had said in Haley’s dream? Standing on the glowing green porch, cold reality set in. She couldn’t have.

  Chapter Sixteen

  He used to send me flowers.

  Haley stared into the darkness. The words played over and over in her brain like an audiotape caught on an endless loop. There was something horribly invasive about hearing the words from her nightmare spoken out loud. How could Sandra have known?

  There had to be a reasonable explanation. Haley didn’t believe for one moment that Michelle was some phantom hitchhiker, haunting the road into town. Nor did she believe Michelle’s ghost had shown Sandra where to find her grave. It was crap, all of it.

  He used to send me flowers.

  A line from a movie, or a song maybe, that had seeped into her subconscious. It was sheer coincidence that Sandra would choose the same line for her bogus ghost story.

  Haley was grasping, and she knew it.

  “Are you okay?” Dean asked.

  She nodded. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re quiet.”

  “I’m thinking.”

  “They were full of shit, Haley.” He kept his gaze on the dark road ahead of them. “The things people will do for their own sick amusement never cease to amaze me.”

  “They didn’t look like the kind people who would do something like that.”

  He turned his head sharply. “You don’t believe them, do you?”

  “No.” How could Sandra have known?

  Dean nodded and turned onto 25. Haley held her breath and peered into the darkness, searching for anything that remotely resembled a person on the side of the road. There was nothing but the wide expanse of snow-covered fields stretching out like a great white sea.

  When they reached Hareton, instead of turning toward her house Dean continued straight through town.

  Haley sat up straight. “Where are we going now?”

  “The Mountainview,” he told her as the green neon sign advertising ‘M TEL’ came into view.

  “I told you I didn’t want to stay there.”

  “I know, but I have to go to the city tomorrow and I need a change of clothes.”

  “You’re planning on sleeping on my couch again?”

  “Did you get your locks changed?”

  “No.”

  “Then yes, I plan on sleeping on your couch.”

  He parked in front of his room and left the motor running. “I won’t be long.”

  She nodded, but didn’t say anything.

  Dean had found her unusually quiet for the most of the drive. He didn’t like her this way. Pale and withdrawn. He’d rather be faced with her sarcasm than deal with her monosyllabic replies all night. She was keeping something from him.

  As he stepped onto the wooden walk, dusted with a thin layer of fresh snow, he dug his room key from his jacket pocket and unlocked the door.

  A cool draft closed around him like icy fingers as he moved into the dark room. He flicked the light switch on the wall. Nothing happened.

  The bulb? No, something felt wrong. He leaned back so he could see Haley. She was fiddling with something on the dash. Probably the radio. Turning back to the dark room, he reached his hand around the corner, flipping the switch in the bathroom.

  White light spilled out the doorway, illuminating the apocalyptic mess in the rest of the room.

  “Shit.”

  Dean kicked a path through the clothes and bedding dumped on the floor. The lamp that had once sat on the end of the dresser now lay in pieces on the stained carpet. Certainly explained why the switch hadn’t worked. The mattress, stripped of covers and pushed askew, teetered on the edge of the box spring. The desk had been toppled and the chair broken beneath it.

  “Someone smashed the bathroom window too.”

  Dean jumped at the sound of Haley’s voice. “I thought you were waiting in the car.”

  “I wondered what was taking you so long. What happened?”

  “The room’s been ransacked.” He sighed. “I’m going to lose my deposit.”

  “What was taken?”

  “It’s hard to tell with all the mess. My laptop, which is all I have of any real value, is in the car.” He moved to the desk. “The articles about your father are gone.”

  “Taken by someone determined to keep you looking guilty? The same someone who spoke to Lara?”

  “Could have been Lara.”

  “Why do you think so?”

  “Whoever did this couldn’t be overly bright. Those articles were copies. Not only could I get them all again, but anyone could. Unless our thief planned on stealing the originals from the clerk’s office, I’d say this was a waste of their time. And my two hundred dollar deposit.”

  “Did you want to call the police?”

  “Because they were so helpful last night?”

  Haley grinned. “Now that your room’s been broken into, I’d say you might be in a whole lot of danger. You better sleep on my couch where I can protect you.”

  He knew where he’d rather be sleeping, but kept that thought to himself. “Let me just get my things off the floor.”

  “Coffee?” Dean asked, setting his bag down in the hall.

  Haley nodded as she struggled free of her coat, dropping it in a pile on the floor and flopping onto the lumpy couch. If the day could have been longer, she didn’t know how. Between the store, Paige, Nate and the Gallaghers, she felt like she’d been through an emotional gauntlet. She closed her eyes and lay there for moment, letting her tense muscles sag.

  The banging and clattering of Dean rummaging through her cupboards forced her to open them again. She should help him, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to move. Besides, her kitchen was small; he’d find what he needed—eventually. She closed her eyes once more.

  “You’re not going to sleep on me?” Dean asked, emerging from the kitchen.

  She shook her head and forced her eyes open. “No. Just resting.”

  “If you say so.” He smirked and sat next to her. “Long day.”

  “And unproductive.”

  He frowned. “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “The Gallaghers’ ghost story was hardly helpful. We’re no further ahead than we were last night.”

  “We still have to talk to Lara.”

  Haley sat up a little. He had a point. Lara knew more than she was saying, and while she wasn’t talking to Dean, maybe she would talk to Haley.

  “And maybe Erin,” Dean continued.

  “Why Erin?”

  “She was Michelle’s friend. She might know what was going on in her life when she disappeared.”

  Haley nodded. “Jonathan too. He may have an alibi, but he was the last person to see her alive.”

  “I wouldn’t put too much stock in his alibi. I’d be curious to know if his housekeeper received any substantial bonuses that year.”

  “What were you doing the night she disappeared?”

  He turned sharply.

  “I’m curious,” she said, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “Not accusing, just curious.”

  “I was home, watching a movie on TV and drinking beer. Pissed off at your sister because she embarrassed the hell out of me, and sulking about it.”

  “Your mom wasn’t home?”

  “No, it was Saturday night.
She didn’t get home until around two the following afternoon. Just in time to see the cops cart me off for questioning.”

  “Do you ever get angry at her, for never being around, or at your father for leaving?”

  His gaze fixed on her face and he looked at her a long time until she had to look away, afraid he could see inside her and read her every thought.

  “When I was young maybe. Not so much now.” He shrugged. “My mother wasn’t cruel. She worked hard to keep a roof over our heads, but she wanted her own life. As for my father, I was so young when he left I don’t remember him at all.”

  “You don’t think they owed you a little more than a roof over your head?”

  “Would I raise my kids the way they raised me? No, but I’m not going to waste my life resenting them for it.”

  “They had responsibility to you.”

  “Are we still talking about me?”

  “Yes,” she snapped. Were they? “Did you want a cup of coffee?” As she started to stand, Dean took her hand and pulled her back down to the couch beside him.

  “Are you angry at your parents? Your mother for giving up and your father for leaving?”

  “Don’t be stupid. My father died, he didn’t leave.” She didn’t want to talk about this. “When did you start wearing glasses?”

  “Abrupt subject change.”

  She shrugged. “I think we’ve got enough to worry about, without psychoanalyzing our families.”

  “You brought it up.”

  “Do you only wear them for driving?”

  His smile was slow and a little sardonic. It made her heart thud. “Driving, movies, TV. Anytime I need to see distances.”

  “How long have you had them?”

  “Almost a year. I got them the day before I turned thirty.”

  “You’re thirty-one next month right?”

  He nodded.

  “I thought the age gap between you and Michelle was bigger. I didn’t realize it was only two years.”

  “She would have been thirty-three October fifth.”

  “You remember that?”

  “I remember.”

  He used to send me flowers.

  The words popped into her head and she shivered. God, she wished she would stop hearing them in her mind.