by Ann Minnett
“What else?” Alice asked.
“That’s it,” said Lark.
“Finally,” Alice deadpanned, “we have the truth.”
* * *
Lark moved her clothes and some personal items into Dee's home that weekend. They invited Zane to dinner on Sunday, asking him to come alone so they could explain the bizarre twist of events. By week’s end, the best friends wondered why they hadn't lived together since college. It seemed natural, as long as Lark promised not to boss Dee around.
The case and their confessions sat in a file for weeks. Rob Whalen, if ever such a person existed, hadn't reappeared or filed an insurance claim. He simply vanished.
Bloody fabric samples and the earrings were sent to a national database for DNA testing. Two of the earrings were linked to rapes in the last five years in St Paul. Authorities had not included the detail of the earring taken at each assault, so there was good reason to link Rob, whoever he was, to the crimes. More results to be determined. Alice handled everything and was guaranteed free haircuts (along with free housecleaning) for life.
Sam Sorensted called Lark once and stopped by twice to check on them. His third visit occurred one evening after the weather had turned warmer. He was out of uniform.
Dee answered the door. “Really, Sam, we’re doing fine. You— “
“I was hoping to talk to Lark,” he said. “She here?” He grinned.
“Oh.” Dee regrouped, finally understanding. “Lark and Zane are having dinner together. She won’t be home for another hour.”
He nodded. “I should have called first. Do you mind if I wait out here?" He gestured toward his truck parked on the street.
Dee sized him up and down. “For heaven sakes, come in.” They sat in uncomfortable silence together, watched CSI and waited.
At a commercial break, she asked, “Anything new on the case?”
He hesitated, staring at the TV, rigid and uncomfortable.
As he opened his mouth, she interrupted him. "Okay. You need to know," Dee said with both legs tucked under her on the far side of her couch, "you’re the first man I've been alone with in my house."
When she sniffed, he feared she might cry.
"Would you rather I leave?" He leaned forward to rock out of the recliner she had offered him.
"No. I just wanted you to know.” She tugged her legs in tighter and stared at the television. “It was a compliment."
"Thank you." Sam didn’t know what else to say. He stifled a sigh of relief when Lark's rattle trap pulled into the driveway.
She breezed into the house shouting, "Whose truck is—Oh, hi." She had the most gawd-awful crinkled dress on over tights and boots.
Lark seemed happy to see him, but her black-rimmed eyes opened wide in obvious alarm. "Has something happened?"
He smiled and shook his head. “I don’t always bring terrible news.”
"Sam's been waiting for you."
"Actually, I have great news, now that you’re both here.”
Lark dropped her bag onto a chair. The abrupt movement made noise—jewelry, keys. She carried a lot of stuff in there. She sat beside Dee, and they both waited with such fear masking their faces, he regretted putting them through it.
“Rob Whalen was captured in Redding, California this morning.” There, they can stop worrying.
But Dee broke into a sob, and Lark’s hands clamped over her face.
He wanted to comfort them, reassure them. Oh hell. He wasn’t in uniform. He joined them on the couch, sat side to side by Lark and extended his arm over her shoulder to include Dee in his concern.
Lark lowered her hands. Her wet eyes looked up at him from mere inches away, and he fell—hard. It’s her I want, he thought.
She said, “How?”
His thoughts careened back to the message, the facts. “Rob took Raven to a vet there. They suspected something hinky when he asked to have her chip removed. They checked the registry and connected Raven to Flathead County warrants. Of course, the FBI’s involved now, too.”
“What does this mean?” Dee looked at Lark. “For us?”
“To be determined,” he said. He was aware of not letting go of either woman, and reluctantly dropped his arm behind Lark. “But the most important thing is that he won’t ever threaten you two again.”
Lark mumbled, “Or Zane.”
“Or Zane,” Sam repeated. “The story and evidence you provided could link him with several rapes. We’ll just have to see what develops.”
“He’ll come after me for shooting him.” Dee shivered.
Lark took her hand in both of hers. “We have good attorneys. We’ll be alright.”
Sam felt like an intruder on the moment. He stood and stepped back, acutely aware of his towering size to the seated women. He took another step back.
To his surprise, Lark said, “You aren’t in uniform.”
He shrugged. “My day off. I thought you might like some ice cream.” He made a grand effort to look away from Lark and include Dee in the invitation.
"Ice cream?" Lark said.
“You know, to celebrate.”
"You’re talking to a confessed arsonist and a shooter," she said earnestly. "Are you sure we won't damage your reputation?"
"I can take it. Why the hell not?" And that's exactly what he had thought all day long. "Besides, you haven't met my son."
"Huh?"
Embarrassed, he said, “Never mind.”
"For heaven sakes, you two,” Dee said. “Bring me some Salted Carmel Fudge."
That's how Lark and Sam started.
* * *
Their lives in small-town Montana approached normalcy toward the end of April. Civil dinners with Zane, and now Katie, produced a tentative plan for his return home. No one argued. Nora and Kirk returned to their auto repair business to open arms and resumed routines at McCord’s in the evening—with the addition of Sam. The owners loved having a deputy sheriff counted among their regulars. They offered him free drinks, but Sam always refused.
Rob Whalen remained in California, awaiting extradition to Montana, but he might never arrive. One by one, authorities were connecting him as a possible suspect in a string of rapes in Missouri, Illinois and Minnesota for the past fifteen years.
Alice and Cheryl at Sister House met with Dee and Lark and referred them both to a counselor who worked with trauma victims. Dee decided to give it another try, but only if Cheryl would counsel her, too. On the other hand, Lark believed she had eclipsed trauma, although she couldn’t shake the guilt of trying to kill a man. Her new therapist warned it could take time to work through. So be it.
Given this normalcy, Lark still hadn’t moved back to the condo, and it took a toll on her precarious finances. The financial strains of paying her mortgage, paying extra to the Mathissens, and helping Dee with expenses drained her meager savings.
Zane and Katie began dropping in at Dee's house of an evening. One night after the teenagers left, Dee said, “They think we're lesbians."
Lark laughed. "They do not."
"Did you hear Katie call us a couple? I don't really care, but it's funny." Dee cleared the table and added, "Why not just move in here for good?"
Lark perked up. “Sell the condo?”
“Sure. Let’s save some money, maybe even get ahead.”
"We could share expenses." They had gotten along well. "But what about Zane? I want him to come home."
"I know." Dee lifted the empty casserole dish, and Lark followed her, carrying four water glasses into the kitchen.
The obvious plan materialized as they cleaned up. Lark would sell her condo and pay rent to Dee. The two would renovate attic space off the attached garage for Zane to have his privacy until he graduated high school.
"Or until other circumstances arise," Dee said mysteriously.
"Huh?"
"What about Sam?"
"We're new. Who knows what will happen there." Although Lark had given it more than a little thought.
"Then we're agreed?"
Lark hugged her dearest friend. "Agreed."
* * *
Sam offered his truck and strong back to move Lark's furniture out of the condo and into Dee’s home. If Lark didn’t sell it right away, she'd easily rent to seasonal workers for the summer and then try again in the fall.
Zane helped Sam haul the first load over to the house, Dee catered to clients at the salon, and Lark cleaned. She was deep into scrubbing the condo's pale green bathroom when her phone pinged with a text, followed quickly by another.
Thinking Zane and Sam might be locked out of Dee’s house, she checked her messages. An anonymous number had texted:
I want my mementos
Or I tell everything
The phone flipped out of her trembling hand and into the toilet’s blue water. She fished it out and rubbed the screen on her shirt hem. The phone still worked.
Once her breath normalized, Lark took stock. Startled, yes. Afraid? No.
She forwarded the text to Alice’s phone and then called her.
Alice answered without the formality of hello. “The authorities will be thrilled with this new evidence.”
“Rob’s still in jail,” Lark said. “Right?”
“Oh yes. He’s being held in California, awaiting extradition to Minnesota. I hear that multiple police departments have made inquiries about him.”
“How was he able to text me?”
“Bribed someone—my guess. The important thing is that Rob’s weakness for mementos—not to mention his dog—will be his undoing. His defense attorney will shit bricks when she finds out about his texts to you.”
“She?”
“He’s hired a big firm in Minneapolis, but the woman is lead. Standard tactic. Doesn’t matter.”
Alice’s blunt confidence rubbed off on Lark. Like always.
“It’s going to be all right,” Alice added. “Go about your life, my dear.”
Yes. Get on with her life.
Lark parked in front of The Blue Heron, waiting to drive Dee home. Spring sun warmed her body through the windshield, toasting her arms and coaxing her to close her eyes.
They would all be fine.
The passenger door creaked open. "All done?" Dee asked, landing hard in the seat.
"So, so done,” Lark said. “Here. Read this.” Lark handed Dee her phone.
She shoved the gearshift into drive. "Let's go home."
END
Acknowledgements
Many people helped to bring Fifteen Years of Lies to life. First, my wonderful critique partners who suffered through early drafts: Debbie Burke, Debbie Epperson, Jake How, Betty Kuffel, Marie Martin, Phyllis Quatman Dixon Rice, Brian See, and Constance See. Beta readers edited and helped make sense of the entire story when I only thought I was finished: Debbie Burke, Mary Dodd, Hedy Helsell, Janice McCaffrey, Mary McCarthy, Ginny Merett, Ginnie Minnett, Karen Wills, and my first reader and biggest fan, Mike Coleman.
Thank you to all for your encouragement.
About the Author
Ann Minnett grew up in Denver but lived for most of her life in Dallas, conducting research in child and family development. She set aside her career as a Developmental Psychologist to live with her husband in beautiful NW Montana where she makes up stories of Domestic Suspense based on years of research and constant observation of the human condition. Fifteen Years of Lies is her third novel and her first set in Montana. She’s working on a fourth, also set in The Last Best Place.
Also Available by Ann Minnett:
Burden of Breath
Serita’s Shelf Life