Depth of Lies

by E. C. Diskin

  Ryan took a sip, as if he was considering the suggestion. “Well, let’s not tempt either of them with this,” he said, slapping his chest like Tarzan.

  Shea laughed. “No woman can resist that, I suppose?”

  “Whatever,” he chided. “Just because I’m not Tom Selleck anymore.”

  “What, are you sixty now? You need some new references, buddy.”

  “Ha-ha. Let’s just have a quiet dinner with Dee and Charlie. It’ll be fun.” He took the TV off mute, ending the conversation.

  Another night with just the two of them. And the thought of Charlie—of whatever he might have been implying at the club a few weeks ago—had sat at the pit of her stomach for weeks. Shea had finally been able to push that night with Blake away from the front of her mind. She could finally close her eyes without thinking about his hands digging into her arms.

  Though perhaps this would be the chance to find out what Charlie knew. She could ask Dee. What could he know, anyway? Georgia would never have said anything. Maybe that was just Charlie being Charlie, making some general comment about “women gone wild.”

  When Dee and Charlie arrived, they all worked together in the kitchen. Dee offered to chop the salad while Shea worked the side dishes. Charlie made the drinks while Ryan focused on the tenderloin. When Shea looked over at Charlie and Ryan in the corner about thirty minutes later, laughing and whispering like two adolescent boys, tension began rising into her neck, as if she was getting in over her head again. But looking at Dee, oblivious to any whispers and happy to talk about the kids, the holidays, and everything else that had them stressed out, she told herself to calm down, that she was panicking for nothing. Ryan was obviously feeling no pain; his close talking and those telltale flushed cheeks told her the drinks had kicked in. With a fresh martini in hand and three blue-cheese olives, her anxiety began melting away.

  The dinner was a success. Everything was hot at the same time, and the foursome lingered at the table over the wine. Ryan pulled out the cognac afterward while Shea got some sweets to pass.

  When Charlie began to reminisce about the antics of their last foursome dinner, Shea laughed along with the others. Perhaps it was the alcohol making her relax, but these were friends of nearly twenty years. A few weird kisses were not going to ruin that.

  Charlie held up his glass for a toast, looked at Dee, and winked at Ryan before speaking. “So, my dear friends, I have a little proposition.”

  Shea looked at Dee, wondering if she knew where this was going, but Dee was now focused on downing her drink.

  “Dee and I discussed this, and I hope you both know that we would never suggest this to anyone else, and if you’re against it, we don’t ever have to speak of it again.”

  Shea’s stomach dropped. She looked at Ryan, who was smiling broadly, like he knew exactly where this was going, eagerly awaiting the finish.

  “I don’t know about the two of you, but Dee and I are always looking for ways to keep some excitement in our life, right?” He looked at Dee for affirmation. She was midgulp and pulled her glass from her mouth, nearly choking down the liquid as she concurred.

  “And here I sit with the two most beautiful women in this town, and the best friend a guy could have. Ryan and I have shared stories and laughs, so why not share a little more . . .”

  Shea looked to Ryan for help, but before she could say a word, Ryan held up his glass, as if to toast, and smiled at Shea. “I’m up for it if you are, babe. Time to get a little wild, right?”

  “Exactly,” Charlie said. Dee laughed, looking over at Shea. It seemed like everyone at the table knew this was coming, and they were all okay with it.

  “I need a drink,” Shea said.

  “Oh yes, let’s all do a shot,” Charlie suggested.

  Shea stood to clear the dishes, and Ryan followed her to the kitchen. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  “Are you telling me you want to have sex with Dee?” she whispered. Before he could respond, she added, “And you’re okay with me sleeping with Charlie?”

  Ryan took her hand and squeezed. “Maybe just this once.”

  Shea didn’t know what to say. Her head was spinning in a mix of rage, shock, confusion, disbelief. It took her breath away.

  “Hey, babe,” Ryan said. “I don’t love anyone else. This is just fun and games with our closest friends.”

  Dee walked up to them with two shots as an offering. “Charlie and I have already had ours,” she chided. She was obviously drunk. Shea’s buzz was gone.

  Ryan grabbed his shot and swigged before taking Dee’s hand. “Okay, everyone, we’ll be back!” He pulled Dee out of the kitchen and headed downstairs, to the guest room, she assumed, before Shea could say anything else. Her head felt ready to explode. She looked over at Charlie, who stood smiling at her like some schoolboy hoping for a kiss, and she swigged the shot.

  “Wanna go upstairs?” he asked. She didn’t know what to say. Everything felt off-kilter, and this voice in her brain, the twenty-year-old, who was still trying to be cool and fun and wild and exciting, said, Go for it. You can have sex with someone new! What woman, married to the same man for more than two decades, wouldn’t want that? Charlie’s gorgeous!

  But the other voice in her head, the one that wasn’t completely drowning in alcohol, knew it was reckless and dangerous and not the way to bring spice into their love life. She simply did not want to do it. She’d never looked at Charlie that way. She’d fantasized about Ryan Gosling, maybe, but not the neighbors. She turned from Charlie as he came toward her. He must have taken her hesitation as shyness, and he leaned over and kissed the side of her neck. She felt anchored to the floor, her shoes suddenly filled with cement, unable to move or react.

  “Ryan and Dee are having fun right now. Don’t you think it will be harder if we don’t do something? Otherwise, you’ll feel like he cheated on you. Come on, just sit with me.”

  Shea suddenly felt sick, almost like a little girl being pulled somewhere she didn’t want to go. She stumbled forward, resisting, silently shaking her head. He pulled her into the living room as her mind swirled, focusing on Charlie’s hand holding hers. Her husband was downstairs taking off her friend’s clothes. Kissing her, looking at her. Nothing would ever be the same.

  “I’ve fantasized about you for almost twenty years,” Charlie said. “And ever since that night when you gave me just a taste of what it could be like—”

  That was it. She stood, trying to pull her hand from his grip. “I’m sorry, Charlie. This can’t happen. Please don’t be offended, but we’re just friends. I love my husband.”

  He wouldn’t let go of her hand. “And I love my wife.”

  “This can’t happen.” She broke free and ran toward the basement stairs. She called out as she descended. “Ryan?”

  When she got to the bottom of the stairs, Ryan and Dee were standing in the middle of the family room, not the guest room, still fully clothed, laughing nervously. “We couldn’t do it, either,” Dee said.

  “We were just about to come back upstairs,” Ryan added.

  “Oh, thank God,” she said. Charlie had followed behind Shea and after some nervous laughter and bad jokes, everyone agreed that it was a silly idea and promised not to speak of it again. Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy.

  CHAPTER 15

  April 12

  ON WEDNESDAY MORNING, KAT AND Tori accompanied Lina to the hospital for her ninety-minute chemotherapy appointment. The nurse readied Lina for treatment, and Kat and Tori sat in nearby chairs, sharing magazine articles and focusing on lighter topics—good books and new shows to binge on Netflix. Within the hour, Lina fell asleep.

  Kat leaned toward Tori and, in a low voice, she asked, “Can you keep a secret?”

  Tori smiled. “Hell, yeah.”

  “For real.”

  “Okay, now you’re insulting me. I know I enjoy a little celebrity gossip, but I’m a great secret keeper. You wouldn’t believe all the dirt I have locked up he
re,” she said, pointing to her head.

  “I saw Georgia on Monday night. She knew all about Shea’s plan to return to the island for Blake’s memorial. She’d asked Georgia to go with her.”

  “What? Why hasn’t Georgia told Ryan?”

  Kat explained in more detail what had apparently happened between Shea and Blake and Georgia’s fears about saying anything.

  “What I don’t understand,” Kat said, “is why Shea told the innkeeper that she was expecting a friend if Georgia told Shea she wouldn’t go.”

  Tori tossed the magazine from her lap and gripped both armrests of her chair. Her eyes darted around the room like she was looking for something.

  “What is it?”

  Tori went to the window and turned back to Kat, leaning onto the sill behind her. “I think Georgia’s lying,” she said, her voice booming through the peaceful room.

  Kat briefly glanced at Lina, who was still asleep under a heavy blanket. Kat joined Tori at the window. “What do you mean?” she said softly, leading Tori back to a library voice.

  “That night in November,” Tori said in a near whisper, “after our excursion to the island, I woke in the middle of the night for some water. I found Shea in the living room, sitting in the dark, crying. She told me about the attack.”

  “But—”

  “Shea didn’t say anything about hitting the guy and running off. What she said was that she’d gone with him to his boat, she’d had second thoughts when she realized what was really happening, and that things got scary when he got angry.”

  “So—”

  Tori turned more directly to Kat, crossing her arms. “And then she said”—volume rising—“‘Georgia saved my life.’”

  “Maybe she meant, by being there . . .”

  Tori shook her head. “I pressed, but she refused to elaborate. The implication was clear that Georgia helped her get away from the guy.”

  They stood in silence for several minutes. Kat turned her focus out the window. Finally, Kat said what Tori had to be thinking, too. “If Georgia saw the struggle between Shea and Blake and she ran up to help . . .”

  “Georgia may have hit Blake over the head,” Tori said. “Oh my God,” she said back at full volume before catching herself and resuming her whisper. “What if Georgia killed Blake?”

  Kat shook her head. “First of all, this is Georgia we’re talking about. That woman probably doesn’t even kill spiders in the house. Second, there’s no way that Shea and Georgia could have acted normal and returned to the bar pretending like nothing happened if they’d knowingly killed a man. That’s insane.”

  “You’re right,” Tori said, nodding. There was a beat of emptiness between them before Tori turned to Kat. “But I shared that news story with Shea just days before she left town. They could have suddenly realized what they’d done.”

  Kat left Tori at the window, returned to her chair, and sat, looking at Lina, so peaceful. Of course Georgia wouldn’t have wanted to go with Shea if she’d been the one responsible for Blake’s death.

  Tori began pacing. “If Georgia hit Blake, and then she found out that he died that night, she would have been terrified of being implicated.”

  Kat froze, stunned by the thoughts that were forcing their way inside. Georgia had seemed nervous when they spoke on Monday and relieved when Kat said no one was investigating. “What if Shea had convinced Georgia not to involve police at the time, just like Georgia said?” She finally got up and moved toward Tori, now back at the window. “If all that were true, I can’t imagine how Georgia would have felt when she heard that he was dead. Accident or not, her whole life would be in jeopardy if anyone found out, right?”

  Tori looked at Kat, eyes wild. “She might blame Shea for all of it. But now . . . Georgia is saying Shea hit him, and there’s no one to say otherwise.”

  Kat winced. It was an outrageous leap. Georgia couldn’t hurt Shea. She was about as violent as a monk. It just wasn’t possible.

  Kat offered to get them both some coffee. She needed a moment alone. It was a disturbing theory, and she wanted out of that room.

  When she returned, Tori was sitting by Lina. Kat took the open chair beside her. They sipped in silence. Finally, Tori said, “What are you thinking?”

  “I have no idea,” Kat said. It was true. A topic change was in order. “Do you know what’s going on with Dee?”

  Tori nodded and blew on her coffee.

  Kat waited.

  “She’s going through a rough time,” Tori said. “Charlie left her.”

  “Yeah, Ryan told me.”

  “After you all left the lake house, she told me it was Shea’s fault, though she didn’t say why.”

  Kat took another sip, wondering if it she should say anything to Tori, her friend who enjoyed gossip more than anyone. Shea was dead, and it seemed wrong to share what she’d learned from Ryan. But, then again, maybe it was relevant. If Dee blamed Shea . . . could any of that craziness Ryan had told her about be a factor in Shea’s death? “I think I know why,” Kat finally said. “But, seriously, this has to remain between us.”

  Tori promised, and Kat shared what she’d learned from Ryan about their escapades with Charlie and Dee. Tori’s jaw dropped, just as Kat’s had when Ryan told her. The whole idea of Shea and Ryan swinging, or even attempting to—with Dee and Charlie, no less—was stunning. Kat’s idealized image of Shea had been shattered. She’d been struggling in her marriage and taking pills. Suddenly, the possibility of Shea having an affair sounded plausible. There were so many secrets.

  “I don’t know what I thought I’d learn when I came back. I wanted to make sense of Shea’s death, to understand what was going on. She was my closest friend. How did I know so little of what was happening in her life?”

  “How well do any of us really know each other?”

  “Until this week, I would have said I knew Shea better than anyone. I’ve assumed we all know each other very well. We’ve got twenty years of history.”

  “People know what we want them to know. Look at me. You probably wouldn’t guess that I’m seeing a therapist.”

  “Really?”

  Tori just chuckled and nodded. Tori’s life appeared to be filled with fabulous trips, excess money, and lots of free time.

  “Why?”

  “Nothing is what it seems, Kat. I know what you see, this fabulous woman.” She gave a dramatic head toss.

  “I do, you’re right.”

  “But I’m alone a lot, my husband and I are very different . . . there’s just stuff. There’s always stuff.”

  “I guess I do that, too,” Kat admitted.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I haven’t told anyone that Texas sucks so far, that Mack resents me for the move and I resent him for not trying harder to make it work. That I’m jet-lagged a lot, hoping to come home and find boxes unpacked, and he’s irritated that I come home and sleep. That I’ve worked for this kind of opportunity for years and much of it is great, but I can’t share any of it because he’s miserable. And we fight. A lot.”

  Tori reached for her hand.

  “Does that mean we’re not good friends, after all?”

  “Of course we are. We’re there for each other. If any of you want me, I’ll be there. But we can’t read each other’s minds.”

  “Have you been in therapy long?”

  “Only ten years.”

  “Seriously?” Kat chuckled.

  “No one’s life is sunshine and roses, Kat.”

  “I spent the last twenty years thinking Shea’s life was. I unloaded my stress on her because it always seemed like nothing got her down, like she was my laid-back, wine-sipping surfer girl who just coasted on top of every wave.”

  “Everyone has crap. It’s universal. But no one wants to complain or be a downer.”

  “So now Shea’s gone, and we realize she was taking pills. And she said nothing to me about trouble with Ryan last fall. Though she was pulling away by then.” Kat ha
d felt it, the distance that came once they were both sure Kat was moving.

  “She obviously didn’t want us to know,” Tori said.

  Kat watched Lina sleeping peacefully. “You know, I couldn’t stand the idea that Shea might have intended this. It was just too painful to bear. But now . . .”

  “What?”

  “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

  “Hey, which one of us is in therapy?”

  Kat smiled. “Well, after I spoke with Ryan yesterday, I did a little research. He told me about how common it was to fall asleep and drown in a bathtub. I’d never heard that. So I looked it up. I found some articles that said much the same, but I also read a quote from a prosecutor that I haven’t been able to get out of my mind. He believed many tub drownings could be unsolved homicides—it’s a difficult crime to prove, and a relatively easy crime to commit.”

  Tori seemed to be taking it in, considering it.

  “What if someone was in that room and caused her death and walked out, knowing exactly what it would look like?”

  “Come on,” Tori said. “That’s nuts.”

  “She was expecting a friend. She had drinks with a man we don’t know, who told the bartender they were staying at the inn. It seems like she opened her door after Mary put her to bed.”

  Tori didn’t respond.

  “I left Georgia’s with this sinking realization that someone might have known what happened between Shea and Blake. Someone who would blame Shea. At the time, I thought of Blake’s friends. I mean that big guy at the bar, Dave, he seemed a little scary to me. And he was on the island that day. He saw her.”

  “Yeah, but they say they left the memorial and got on the ferry. They never went to Rudolph’s that day.”

  “I guess.” She couldn’t look at Tori. “You just implied that Georgia could have benefited from Shea’s death. And Dee apparently blamed Shea for the end of her marriage. No one has come forward to say they were the friend who was supposed to go with her. That makes me think a friend is keeping a secret. Why?”