Lies That Bind (Maeve Conlon Novels Book 2)

by Maggie Barbieri

  In the parking lot, she ran into a few of the women she had met that first week: Lorraine Mackin, Judy McDermott, Ann Marie Cardona. The three women peered into the hatch of Maeve’s Prius and marveled at the assortment of miniature baked goods, all displayed on gold rounds and covered with red and green cellophane, waiting to be brought into the Y.

  Lorraine stepped back. “You’re the real deal, huh?” she said admiringly.

  “I’d like to think so,” Maeve said, handing each woman a tray of desserts. In the lobby, the Christmas tree greeted them, some of its lights now burned out, the garland hanging limply. Ann Marie stayed behind to fix it, giving the tray she was carrying to Maeve.

  It was a potluck supper, something that Maeve found a little off-putting and actually struck a little fear in her heart. She was bound by Health Department rules at The Comfort Zone but every home kitchen was a complete free-for-all in terms of cleanliness; she had learned that the hard way after seeing a friend open a can of tuna with the same opener she had used to open a can of cat food. There had also been the Great Stomach Flu the previous Thanksgiving that had felled her and Heather, sparing Jo, thankfully, after she had drunk some way-past-its-prime eggnog at a Christmas party in town. She eyed the buffet table warily, spying the requisite Swedish meatballs, old school but making a comeback; a crock of something that appeared to be short ribs; a frozen pizza cut up into bite-sized triangles. She made a move toward the basket of crackers next to the cheese platter and took a few in a napkin. They would have to do. She wasn’t going anywhere near the rest of the fare.

  Mrs. Alderson wheeled over and took a spot by the punch bowl. “Hello, Maeve, my fair Irish lass.”

  Maeve gave the older woman a kiss on the cheek. “Hello, Francine. How are you today?”

  “I’m good,” she said, pushing her walker toward Maeve. “This time of year makes me sad but I’m trying hard not to let it get me down.” She smiled sadly. “Really, how many Christmases do I have left? Might as well make them happy ones.”

  “Do you have other children?” Maeve asked. “Family?”

  “Just my dog, Prince Philip,” she said. “He’s enough, though.” She pulled a photo album out of the pocket of her sweater and handed it to Maeve. “Here he is in all of his Labrador glory.”

  Maeve politely flipped through the photo album and remarked on Prince Philip’s handsome face and physique. She handed the photo album back to Francine. “He’s beautiful.”

  “Best dog I’ve ever had. And I’m old. I’ve had more than a few,” she said, laughing. “Winston will love him when they get to meet.”

  “If it’s not too personal, Francine, can I ask you what you’re doing to find Winston?” Maeve asked.

  “I go to the support group,” she said. “People have very good ideas about finding our loved ones. And I am working with a private investigation group, but so far, there hasn’t been too much to report.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I find that the comfort I get here, as well as the information about what has worked and what hasn’t, is far more helpful than anything else,” she said.

  Maeve pondered that. She wondered what kind of PI firm was taking this woman’s money and for how long but didn’t think it right to ask.

  Maeve watched Francine make her way along the buffet table, the tennis balls on the bottom of her walker wheels making her journey a silent one. She wondered how a woman so old, and with a search for her son the only thing she really had left beside an old dog with a graying face, could be so happy. So lighthearted.

  She wondered. Could that be her someday, too?

  Lorraine approached her. “Hmmm. Frozen pizza. I’m not going to judge but that doesn’t seem like it took a lot of effort.”

  Maeve leaned in conspiratorially. “I already went there in my mind but didn’t want to say it out loud.”

  Lorraine picked up a square of cheese and examined it on all four sides before popping it into her mouth. “Any new developments on your sister?” she asked. “Finding her?”

  Maeve decided to keep Margie’s information to herself. Many people at the support group had been on a search, and with only two members finding their loved one—one dead and one in a group home in Canada—she didn’t want to gloat that she had a little information. “Not really. I’m closed for two weeks after Christmas so I’m going to pick up the search in earnest then. You?”

  Lorraine, her piercing blue eyes looking at a spot over Maeve’s head, shook her head. “I stopped a long time ago,” she said, which surprised Maeve; she thought everyone here who was missing someone was still actively searching, hunting. “Every clue led to a dead end. Every private investigator who could help me ended up being a zero.” She reached out and grabbed Maeve’s hand, the one not holding a napkin full of crackers. “Don’t get your hopes up, Maeve. I hate to say that, but it’s true. It’s like some of these people just vanished into thin air. And those who didn’t probably wished they had. I just come here to find out if anyone has had any luck. Found their family member.”

  Maeve felt a steely resolve creep up her spine. No one told her something was a lost cause, ever. Jack had always said that if he wanted to get her to do something, he just had to tell her that she couldn’t. That was all it took. “Thanks,” she said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “I just don’t want you to get your heart broken,” Lorraine said. “Like I did.”

  I won’t, Maeve thought but didn’t say. First of all, my heart is already broken.

  And second, if she’s out there, I’ll find her.

  Back home, in her bedroom, she took off her clothes and put on a pair of pajama pants and a T-shirt, leaning over to set her alarm, even though she awoke at the same time every morning, alarm or not. Her fingers brushed across the various items on her nightstand, coming into contact with a manila envelope that hadn’t been there before. She was almost too tired to comprehend what was in there but handling money every day made her fingers fly through the bills.

  The stack totaled three thousand dollars, all in twenties.

  CHAPTER 31

  Christmas dawned bright and cold. Before she went to the store, giving herself a late open—nine o’clock—she and the girls opened presents and had breakfast. She watched both of them carefully for any signs of guilt or discomfort that might accompany their having stolen, cashed, and then replaced the money from a check that had been on her nightstand, but there was nothing. Before she went downstairs to begin the present opening, she tucked the wad of cash between her mattress and the box spring, as far into the middle as she could reach, smoothing down the comforter when she was done.

  This incident would make an interesting blotter entry in the Farringville paper:

  Parker Avenue resident reported that some time while she was at work, someone absconded from her house with a check in the amount of three thousand dollars. Check was subsequently cashed and the money was returned to her. The police are not investigating.

  Oh, but did we mention the severed finger that they found in the Parker Avenue resident’s place of business?

  She watched the girls open their presents. Rebecca was delighted with the new down vest that she had wanted as well as the earrings that Jo had picked out at one of the girls’ favorite sites and told Maeve to buy. Heather was her usual quiet self, opening each present as if it were the last one she would ever receive, gasping when she saw that her sister had bought her a beautiful chunky necklace, the kind that were all the rage.

  After she sold her last pie at the store—a gorgeous apple crumb, if she did say so herself—she and Jo exchanged gifts. Jo was so excited, clapping her hands together gleefully, as Maeve stripped off the shiny Christmas paper from a long, rectangular box.

  “A shovel?” she said. She couldn’t help it. It was the last thing she expected to open.

  “Yes!” Jo said. “I couldn’t believe when I found it in T.J. Maxx. It is lightweight and has a pink handle, so it’s perfect for you.”
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  Maeve turned the box over in her hands. “A shovel,” she said, more definitively this time. “We haven’t had any snow yet, but when we do, I’ll use it.”

  “Remember that time you got stuck in the snow out back and you had to call Cal to dig you out?” Jo said, so pleased with herself that her cheeks had flushed a deep red. “And you were complaining that you couldn’t do it yourself? And your Triple A membership had lapsed? You were mad,” she said, grimacing at the memory.

  It was one time, Maeve thought, and there were a million other things that would have been more helpful to her at that exact moment: a new piping bag, a cast-iron skillet, other sundry baking items. That new stove that she coveted, but couldn’t afford. She looked at the box in her hands. “I love it, Jo. Thank you. Never again will I need a man’s help to get me out of the snow.”

  Jo gave her a hug. “Next year will be better,” she said.

  Maeve wasn’t sure if she meant it in terms of gift giving or in general. Next year had to be better because any gift was better than a shovel and she was running low on people left to lose.

  “It will go nicely with the headlamp you gave me last year,” Maeve said.

  “Oh, the headlamp! That was the best gift ever,” Jo said, proud of herself. “Hakuna matata. See you soon.”

  Maeve went into the kitchen to box up the items she was going to bring to Cal’s, surprised and happy to see Chris Larsson looking through the window of the back door, tapping lightly to get her attention. She was still holding the shovel when she let him in.

  “Doing some bulb planting?” he asked, pointing at the shovel. “You’re lucky it’s been so warm.”

  “Christmas present. From Jo,” she said.

  He took it from her, turning it over in his hands. “And the reason?”

  Maeve shrugged. “She thinks I need a shovel.” She pointed to the counter, strewn with an assortment of items that would end up in the trash if he didn’t take them. “Everything except the pecan pie, lemon bars, and a few cupcakes are yours for the taking.”

  “If I take them, does that mean I have to sleep with you?” he asked. “I’m not that easy, Maeve. I’m not that kind of guy.”

  She put a pie in a box, followed by some cookies and a cranberry tart, tying all of the boxes together and handing them to him.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” he said, leaning over and giving her a kiss.

  “We’ll see about that,” she said. She wrapped her arms around him. “Merry Christmas, Chris. I’m looking forward to seeing you again.” She sounded stilted. She didn’t know how to do this. Jo was right; she had said it many times in the past few days and it was becoming clear to Maeve that she was out of practice.

  “I’ll call you,” he said, looping his fingers through the red and white string that held the boxes together.

  She stood by the back door and watched him go, wondering if she would ever get any “game,” as Jo called it, if she would ever find out just exactly how this was supposed to go.

  An hour later, she pulled up in front of Cal and Gabriela’s, checking her makeup in the rearview mirror. It would have to do. She used to think about what to wear in front of the flawless Gabriela, but that had stopped a long time ago. She was old enough now that she knew what looked good on her and that her uniform of black turtleneck and jeans covered most social engagements. She wasn’t surprised to find Gabriela in a tight wrap dress that accentuated the one curve she had, the one that started at her hips and ended at her perfectly round ass. On her feet were impossibly high heels, and around her waist an apron that said Kiss the cook! on it. Maeve obliged.

  “I’m so glad you could come, Maeve,” Gabriela said. Clearly, she was on her meds this day.

  Maeve handed over her down coat, the one with the ripped sleeve, quickly swiping at the flour that ringed the collar. “Thanks for having me,” she said.

  Devon toddled toward her on the slate floor and Maeve held her breath until he reached her safely. That floor, in addition to most of the design choices in the old stone Tudor, was a hazard to the baby and Maeve wondered how he had escaped injury thus far.

  After the girls and Gabriela left the foyer, Maeve grabbed Cal’s arm. “The check? It was cashed. Or someone gave me the money. The entire amount, all three grand, was on my nightstand.” She looked up at him, illuminated by the large chandelier hanging over his head. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that at this angle, it was clear that his hairline was receding. He would be crushed to learn that if he didn’t already know. “I feel like I’m going crazy.”

  “Well, case closed, then?” he said, looking as happy as if he had solved the mystery of the missing check all by himself.

  “Not really, Cal,” she said. “Someone was in my bedroom, took something that belonged to me, and while they did return it, the whole thing just seems odd.” She stripped off her sweater; with the fireplace ablaze and the oven going in the nearby kitchen, the house seemed as if it were a thousand degrees.

  “But you got the money back, right?”

  “Do you hear me? Someone took the check, cashed it, and then replaced the money.” She looked at him, studying his face for recognition of how odd that was. “Do you get it now?”

  He pursed his lips. “I get it now. But you got the money back, right?”

  She ignored that; that wasn’t the point. “I’ve got to ask you: Do you think Heather took it?” It was a thought that had floated through her mind a few times over the past few days. Yes, there was the Tommy Brantley angle, but the only other person who had ready access to her bedroom, and who was in the house a lot, was her second-born. The unflappable, inscrutable, sometime liar.

  Cal and Heather had a special bond that Maeve didn’t understand and which she thought clouded her ex’s judgment. He wasn’t quite as lenient when it came to Rebecca, even though that girl hadn’t given him cause for even one drop of sweat crossing his brow. “God, Maeve, you are so hard on that kid. Why on earth would she steal something from you? We give her everything she wants. You’re probably right. It was Tommy. We don’t know why, but you’ve got the money back. Let’s put an end to all of this.” He sighed, tired of her suspicions, her thoughts always going to the dark side. “You got the money back,” he repeated. “Are you really going to take this further, possibly ruin that kid’s life?”

  “I thought you hated him,” Maeve said, recalling their earlier conversation.

  “I was angry,” he said. “It’s over. You’ve got your money.”

  Gabriela called out for them, putting an end to the conversation and stopping what would have turned into a full-blown argument.

  Cocktails were being served in the great room behind the kitchen. Maeve noted, with interest, that Rebecca, her college freshman, was nursing a glass of white wine. And here we are again, letting the inmates run the asylum, or at the very least, letting the underage members of the family drink. In her mind, Rebecca should still be drinking apple juice from a sippy cup. To Cal, she was old enough to partake with the adults. Rebecca avoided her eye as she took a sip from her crystal goblet. When Maeve accepted the glass of wine that Cal brought her, she made Rebecca’s glass her first clink of “cheers.”

  Gabriela took time out of cooking what smelled like a delicious dinner to sit on the arm of Cal’s leather recliner and join them for a drink. Cal was right: it was awkward, at least at the beginning, all of them unaccustomed to being together in the same room, pretending that the joining together of a divorced set of parents, his new wife and baby, and the two daughters from the original union was a completely normal occurrence. Maeve focused her attention on the baby, hoping against hope that today wouldn’t mark his first trip to the hospital. In his hands, he held a box of fireplace matches, the head of one making its way toward his wet mouth. Maeve snatched the box away just as Gabriela turned her attention to her husband’s ex-wife.

  “So, Maeve, Cal tells me that you have a sister,” she said, swinging one long leg, the heel of her
shoe dangling from one dainty ankle. “Tell me everything. The whole story.”

  Cal looked away. For some reason, this topic made him more uncomfortable than Maeve had ever seen him look; he hadn’t been this unnerved the day he moved out of the house. On that day, even, he had asked for help with one of his boxes. That takes some nerve.

  The sun streaming through the almost floor-to-ceiling windows made her feel hot, but suddenly, Maeve was happy to tell the story again. Telling it again, saying the words, made it more real and gave her the strength she needed to continue her search. She caught Gabriela up on the story. “So, she was apparently at this horrible place. I’m not sure why. I can’t imagine my father doing that unless he had a good reason.”

  “He had a good reason,” Gabriela said. “He loved her but he didn’t think he could take care of her.”

  In that short retelling, Gabriela had hit on the answer to that one, major loose end that was keeping Maeve up at night. It was the one thing that no one had articulated so succinctly, and although this was what Maeve hoped was the reason for her sister’s departure, she didn’t know.

  “Your father was a very good man, Maeve,” Gabriela said, wiping her hands on her silly apron. “There wasn’t a bad bone in that man’s body. He wanted to take care of her. Make sure she was safe.” She paused and looked out the window. “Maybe he got her out of there before it was too late.”

  Maeve sat in stunned silence. Here she had spent all of this time—the time since Cal had left—thinking that this woman was her enemy, even though they were once friends. Hearing Gabriela speak those words reminded Maeve that she had once liked her, had trusted her opinion on matters large and small. “Then why didn’t he tell me?”

  Gabriela shrugged. “Things were different then, Maeve. People like your sister went away to places we would never dream of sending our children to now,” she said.

  And this from a woman who Maeve had never seen hold her own child.