Rooted in Lies

by Kasia Chojecki

  "Holy shit, Sam," he blurted out. "You gotta come and see this!"

  Unfazed, Sam looked up and stretched the kink in his neck. His crew wasn't prone to drama, but the heat had a way of making some pretty jumpy. You never knew what kind of nonsense a bunch of grown-ass men could come up with. It wouldn't be the first time he had to break apart a couple of hotheads on his site.

  "What is it, Johnny?"

  "It looks like we got a..." he said almost in a whisper that took Sam a few seconds to register. "We got a dead body."

  "You're shitting me," he didn't have to be told twice. Sam was up and out of the trailer with Johnny at his heels.

  As the site was relatively small, it didn't take them long to reach a group of men gathered around. They loitered around, looking and pointing at something in the ground with various degrees of curiosity and dismay.

  Sam pushed his way through and looked down what looked like an old shaft or a well. Few meters down, under rubble and dirt, lay a human skull sticking out of the ground. It was hard to tell how long it's been there, but whoever it was, they likely have been there for some time.

  "Sweet Jesus," he closed his eyes, trying not to puke. The last thing he needed was to contaminate the scene. He's seen enough crime shows to know about the issues that could cause. Plus, it would be embarrassing to cast his stomach contents in front of the guys.

  Instead, he focused on moving everyone away from the immediate area and leaving the scene to the professionals. Groaning inside at the thought of the piles of paperwork and reports this discovery would undoubtedly add to his day, he took out his phone and dialled 911.

  It didn't take long for the cops to show up. It was clear that the site would be shut down not just for the day but for quite some time. Determining who the remains belonged to would take longer. This area was once full of drug addicts, dealers and other shady characters. Any one of them could have ended down there.

  It didn't take long for white tents to go up. They covered the area where the remains were found, blocking the scene from news choppers flying overhead. Cops were crawling everywhere while techs in white suits did their thing. The only remaining building on the site that would be incorporated into the new building now acted as a makeshift office where police collected statements from the crew.

  In the distance, a crowd gathered by the fence erected around the construction site. News crews were already setting up their equipment while curious onlookers in the surrounding condos peered nonchalantly through their windows. Others were more obvious, filming as much as possible on their balconies. This was going to be a shitshow for the suits at NorFast, nothing the hotshots in the PR department couldn't deal with.

  Sam unscrewed the cap on his water bottle and downed most of the content. As there wasn't much else to do at the moment, he headed back to his trailer to start on that incident report.

  ***

  Across town, Elizabeth Northam sat at her sleek desk in the elegant offices of the NorFast Group. Her office overlooked the city's downtown core with the shimmering waters of Lake Ontario in the distance. Usually, the views relaxed her, but today, she barely registered what she was looking at.

  Elizabeth, in her meticulous navy power suit and matching skinny heels, was not prone to hysterics. Her life, much like her flawless makeup and perfectly coiffed hair, permanently dyed a perfect shade of honey blonde, was perfectly organized and planned out. She's been running this company for over a decade, and she wasn't ready to give up the power.

  She dug her cell phone out of the massive purse that sat on her desk and punched in a number. It rang several times before the call was answered on the other end.

  "We have a problem at the site," she said simply without any trace of emotion. "How soon can you be here?"

  The call was short and to the point. Satisfied with the response, Elizabeth slid the phone back into her purse and slowly got up. She walked outside to the area dedicated to the Silver Clover project. It was just as sleek as the rest of the office, with lots of white space and tasteful décor.

  Elizabeth personally overlooked the room setup where a miniature model of the development was displayed on a massive table in the centre. On the walls were the artist's renderings, samples and blueprints that she used every day to ensure her company's vision came to life.

  She walked around the table, admiring her vision. This was going to be one of her best developments yet. A sure way to move her company into a very bright future.

  A girl can't run a construction company. Her father's voice echoed in her mind as if he was here in the room with her. She pushed the voice away. If he could only see her now.

  The discovery of the remains put a slight hitch in the project, but Elizabeth was sure she could get it moving forward as planned. Her dark eyes narrowed like a ready to pounce on its prey. There was no way she would let it all fall apart now.

  Chapter 2

  Ava left Halifax and flew straight to London, her home away from home. Her father and stepmother have lived here for as long as she could remember. Growing up, it was often tricky having to split time between staying in London with her parents and in Toronto with her grandparents. Still, all the adults somehow made it work, and so did she.

  Ava didn't have a place of her own, and that never bothered her. She was never in one place long enough for it to stick. That one failed attempt to live with Tom, and several short-lived relationships that followed made her realize that it was a lot easier not to rely on others. With no boyfriends demanding her time and a handful of friends, Ava was left to her own devices and to what she did best, solving missing cases.

  Her parents lived in a posh townhouse in Kensington, which was close to Hyde Park. Ava loved running here. Sometimes she incorporated routes in Hyde Park with Kensington Gardens, completing the entire loop around the parameter. Today, Ava didn't bother with any of the attractions along the way and kept it simple. She needed to run.

  Ava enjoyed coming to London. It was large enough to keep her busy and offered enough distractions to fill the time. Occasionally, she went out with some acquaintances or even squeezed in a date. But on this visit, she was getting restless. Sometimes, vacations were overrated.

  Satisfied with her run, Ava made her way home. Her parents lived in a stunning three-level townhouse with a pretty red brick exterior. In spring, the neighbourhood was filled with blooming wisterias that added a romantic vibe to the street. Nice digs if you can get them.

  Her stepmother, Joan, came from money, and the property has been in her family for an impressively long time. As a well-known interior designer, Joan knew everyone worth knowing in London. She was the doting corporate wife when it was required and the tony socialite when it suited her. She loved to garden and frequently hosted lavish parties. Over the years, they developed a friendly relationship that served them both. Joan fussed over Ava and dragged her to spas whenever she could. She never tried to take over as Ava's mother, choosing to play the friend role instead.

  The first time she met Joan, Ava was about six or seven. She was fascinated by her father's new friend, who spoke funny and looked like something out of a magazine. Over the years, Ava got accustomed to Joan's posh accent, but the memory of that initial meeting still made her smile.

  She found them having tea in the parlour off the kitchen. Even though it was a Saturday morning, both were dressed impeccably as they enjoyed their tea. Her father was dressed in casual slacks and a white Polo shirt, while Joan wore a fitting yellow dress that cut off just below the knees. Her blonde shoulder-length bob bounced slightly as she set her cup on the saucer in front of her.

  Her father spotted her first as he looked up from his paper. His dark eyes met hers across the room as he folded the paper and set it on the table.

  "Did you have a good run?" he asked.

  "Yeah, it was great," Ava grinned at him. "You should have come."

  She grabbed a plate from one of the cabinets in the kitchen and joined them at the table. Joan rea
ched for the teapot as Ava filled her plate with food.

  "Tea?" she asked, and Ava nodded in agreement.

  Michael Reed watched his daughter absently as she doctored her tea. It still jolted him sometimes at how closely she resembled her mother. She was taller, probably getting the height from him, but her mannerisms were all Sharon. Both could be persistently insistent, like a dog with a bone. Fiercely independent and stubborn as hell.

  While Sharon was friendly and outgoing, Ava was more reserved and introverted. She often came across as aloof and had a hard time making friends. It was even more challenging for her after Sharon went missing. Michael spent years worrying about his daughter and always tried to fill the void left by her mother.

  She got the love of running from him. Sharon never cared for it, so after she left, he introduced his daughter to his hobby. These days he preferred to run on his treadmill while Ava opted for the outdoors. It's been a while since they went running together.

  "Maybe I can join you for a run tomorrow," he said. "That way, I can see how out of shape you really are."

  "You're on," Ava grinned. "Just don't start crying when I leave you in the dust."

  "Oh, I highly doubt that," he laughed.

  As they planned, Joan poured herself another cup of tea. She listened with amusement as they argued over the best route and the distance. She wasn't a runner herself, but she could appreciate the joy it brought them.

  "We're thinking of heading to the Hawthorn House for the day," she said when they stopped arguing. "It's that gorgeous estate just outside town. I think we went there before on one of your previous visits. Since it's a nice day, we thought of making a day out of it. Would you care to join us?"

  Ava was tempted to decline, hoping to do some more digging into the new cases that Lori sent over. She also needed to look over the candidates Lori emailed. But they both seemed so hopeful. Work could wait for another day or so, she decided. Sometimes family obligations came first.

  "Sure," she said as she wiped her mouth with a napkin. "Let me shower and get ready."

  When she left, Joan patted her husband's hand with her own. They exchanged knowing looks. "She looks more and more like Sharon," he said absently.

  "I know. But she's not Sharon, Michael," she replied. "You have to remember that."

  ***

  Hawthorn House was as stunning as the National Trust brochure described. Joan was a huge supporter of the initiative because it focused on preserving the numerous historic sites, properties and green spaces. All things near and dear to her heart. As a member, she used her privileges frequently and always insisted that Ava visited at least one property when she was in town.

  While she didn't share her stepmother's passion for architecture and design, Ava always enjoyed the outings. Being there made Joan happy, and that was a small price to pay for a few hours of running around some random old estate. After all, it wasn't a hardship to stroll around perfectly manicured gardens and see how the rich used to live. Plus, it was always fun to see Joan ooh and ahh over some old tapestry, furniture or knickknack.

  Joan was still chatting excitedly about the stunning interiors and delightful gardens when they got home. Her father nodded patiently and made appropriate sounds of delight and agreement. Ava wondered how long it would take Joan to redecorate again. It wouldn't be the first time she got inspired by a grand manor house or a museum.

  She headed downstairs to the lower level where her room was located. The sun was still peeking through the windows, bathing the area in a warm glow. Ava contemplated sitting outside as she checked her emails but decided against it. They would likely sit outside after dinner anyway.

  Ava plugged her phone in to charge, then changed from her sundress into jeans and a t-shirt. Unlike Joan, she preferred to be out of a dress. The house was nice and cool inside, and the tiled floors felt refreshing under her bare feet. She ditched the heels the moment they got back.

  Somewhere inside the house, the phone rang. She absently heard her father pick up as she scrolled through her emails. As Ava debated whether she could squeeze in a few hours of work after dinner, she heard Joan calling for her. She poked her head out the door as Joan's voice became more urgent. She felt a sudden chill creep down her spine. It was not like Joan to raise her voice like that.

  Ava went upstairs and stopped as she got into the living room. Her father, his face white as a ghost, still held the phone in his hand. When he saw her, she saw tears in his eyes. Something was wrong.

  "Grandpa?" she asked.

  "No," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "It's Sharon. They found Sharon."

  Part of her already knew the answer. The small glimmer of hope that hung by a thread faded away.

  "Where?"

  Ava didn't hear Joan walk up beside her until she placed her arm gently around Ava's shoulder. There was no easy way to do this.

  "I'm sorry, darling," she whispered. "She's dead. Sharon isn't coming back."

  "No." Ava looked at her father, waiting for confirmation. He nodded slowly.

  "They found human remains on a construction site in Toronto not too long ago. They have just confirmed that it is Sharon." He said as he faced his daughter. "She's been dead all this time. They think someone killed her, Ava. I'm so sorry."

  Blinded by the sudden tears, Ava grabbed onto the armchair to steady herself. They made a mistake. Sharon couldn't be dead. She lived with anger, pain, and even hate all these years towards a woman she thought had abandoned her.

  Instead, she was chasing a ghost. Sharon had been dead all this time. She never left. The realization cut deep.

  Michael put his arms around his daughter as she cried. He did the same when she was five. Back then, she called for her mother, not understanding why she was gone. Ava screamed and cried for months, demanding to see Sharon. It almost killed him to see his daughter so distraught back then. Today, the pain was just as raw.

  It's been almost twenty-five years. His heart broke for his little girl all over again. Sharon wasn't perfect and had her flaws, but Michael didn't know if he ever believed that she abandoned her child. Maybe it was easier to think that she did rather than to think the worse. But the worst did happen, and now they had to deal with it.

  Time seemed to slow down. It could have been minutes or hours since her world shattered. When she felt like no more tears were left, Ava let her father guide her back to the chair. She sunk into the thick cushions, feeling like she was in a daze. Joan forced a glass of whiskey into her hand and told her to drink it.

  Ava sat silently, flanked by her father on one side and Joan on the other. She downed the whiskey and tried not to puke as the liquid burned her throat. Thankfully Joan also made tea which she poured for all of them.

  "What happened?" Ava asked her father. "Does Grandpa know?"

  "Yes," Michael smiled through his own tears, thinking of his father-in-law. "Stan's the one that called and, "he held up his hand when she tried to get up, "I told him you'll call him back."

  "Are they sure it's her?"

  "Yes, the DNA test has confirmed it. I'm sorry, Ava."

  "Do they know what happened?" She knew they likely didn't, at least not right away.

  "No, I don't think so. I assume that there will be an investigation."

  "I have to go back to Toronto," Ava said. "I want to call Grandpa, and then I need to book my flight."

  Michael and Joan watched her leave the room. Joan reached over to her husband and squeezed his hand.

  "She's going to be okay, Michael. She's strong, and she has us and Stan to help her get through this."

  He looked at his wife, her soft green eyes watching him carefully. "I really hoped this would end differently."

  ***

  Across the pond, Nick Laskaris wished he was anywhere but in Toronto. It was another hot day in the city, with everyone trying to escape the muggy heat of the summer. It was patio season, and everyone was desperate for a table.

  The patio at The Acropolis, th
e Laskaris family restaurant, was also packed. The evening crowds came out to gossip and celebrate over a cold drink. He fondly remembered serving tables here as a teenager when his parents still actively run the restaurant. These days, the restaurant was mainly in his uncle Kostas and aunt Maria's hands while his parents spent the summers in Greece with his brother George and his family.

  Nick still loved coming to the restaurant. It was a place where his family and friends gathered regularly. However, on busy days like today, he was glad his passion took him elsewhere.

  As a kid, he fell in love with an old camera one of his cousins passed down to him. Nick had discovered that he had a knack for the creative. He loved seeing the world through a lens and marvelled at the many ways it can be manipulated. He took pictures, and later video, of everything around him, annoying the shit out of everyone in his family.

  He's come a long way since those days. He had several cameras, tripods, a case filled with lenses and enough accessories to fill a shop. He tried getting a "real" job that his parents would approve of, but after years of working a desk job for others, Nick finally decided to do his own thing. Luckily for him, he had no shortage of clients demanding his services. He was his own boss and loved every minute of it.

  Nick still frequented the restaurant and helped out when he could. That often meant running the food or clearing tables. Especially on evenings like today, when it was busier than usual. Just like everyone else, he didn't feel like making dinner, so he came here instead. If clearing a few tables meant that he would be fed, it was a win-win solution for everyone.

  Toronto's vibrant Greektown neighbourhood was always a popular destination for tourists and hungry locals. The Acropolis sat on the north side of Danforth Avenue as it has for over a decade. While many restaurants and storefronts expanded to include different flavours and ethnicities, most were still full of Greek influences.

  As the restaurant got busier, Nick fell into a familiar routine. He made small talk with the regulars, flirted with the occasional friendly customer and chatted it up with friends who dropped by. What he really wanted was a smoke. Nick gave up smoking years ago, but every now and then, the itch would come back. Today was one of those days.