by Debra Lynch
Every muscle in my body quivers, and all I want to do is beat the hell out of somebody.
I grip the photo in shaking hands and scream so loud the whole cell block’s gotta hear. “Fuuuck!” My vision goes blood red. My fingers rip, tear, decimate the messed up snapshot. I angrily slash it into a thousand pieces.
My cellmate jerks to standing.
My head snaps up.
Jesus, the thug’s a giant. Big ass gorilla who looks like he’s been pumping iron ‘til his muscles bled. “Shut the fuck up, you skinny punk.”
The shredded remnants of the picture flutter to the dirty floor. “Mind your goddamn business!” I scream. “Wanna end up with a broken arm?”
He laughs so hard, and so loud, I think the maniac must’ve come straight out of the Ding Wing.
His right arm pulls back.
My eye flicks to block letters tattooed on his knuckles. Go to, is scrawled across each digit, and I’ll bet Rachel’s life that the fingers of the left hand say Hell.
“I told you to shut the fuck up! Or do I have to make ya?”
His meaty fist connects with my bad eye and, good gawd, it hurts like a motherfucker. Worse than having that deadly letter opener slice through me. The goon knocks the glass eye straight out of my head.
El soco! His fist hammers my face like he’s a goddamn Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robot. I hear a terrible crunching sound as my jaw shatters, blood spurts, and I taste copper.
I crumple to the ground. My head smacks against the disgustingly dirty floor, and my vision snaps face to face with what’s left of the photo. No! She couldn’t. She didn’t. The giant’s meaty foot feels like a sock full of combo locks when it connects over and over with my ribs.
I curl tighter as the butcher beats the shit out of me and good lord does it hurt. The goon must’ve ruptured something. Whatever it is, it feels like a balloon popped as acid burns through me. “No!”
The room funnels down to black.
Before I pass out, I fantasize—Rachel and the good times—as the lowlife gangster Molly Whops me so hard, I wish I died.
Forty-Four
Two weeks earlier
Rachel
Levi and I hike up the steepest hill on the trails overlooking Laguna Beach. Multimillion-dollar homes are spread out in the distance, the ocean whitewater slamming against the dramatic cliffs that grace the coastline. We reach the summit, and I spread my arms wide, inhaling a deep breath of sea air. “It’s beautiful!”
Levi stands behind me and circles me in his arms. His voice is thick. “Almost as beautiful as you.” He kisses my cheek. “Happy Birthday.”
“Why thank you, kind sir,” I murmur. I sink into his warmth, and it feels like home. I whirl around and remove my backpack, smiling at my best friend. “This looks like a great place to call Madeline.”
I dig out my phone, queue up her number, and hit FaceTime. Two rings and Madeline’s cheery face smiles out from the smartphone. I nearly cry with happiness when I see her sunny face. Mads is the person who helped me con Dennis, and I’ll love her forever.
“Happy Birthday, sweetheart.” She can’t help herself from reverting to her Bronx talk. “What’s good?”
I throw my head back and laugh. “What’s good is the view. Take a look.” I turn the phone in a circle so she can see the city spread out in front of us, ending at a sparkling blue ocean in the distance.
Levi’s handsome face breaks into a grin. He reaches into his pack, digs out a plastic container holding a chocolate cupcake. He lifts it up to the camera and tells Madeline, “Brought a candle and everything.” He plunks the slender votive into the treat, flicks a lighter, and says, “Make a wish.”
My hand touches my cheek, and I laugh. “Thank God you can only fit one instead of thirty. Can’t be starting a fire.”
I blow out the flame and smile at Levi and Madeline. Then I give Levi a warm kiss on the cheek. I’ve made several changes in my life since the incident with Dennis. I gave up drinking the hard stuff. I even threw away my bong. My therapist is crazy impressed with the strides I’ve made and I’m down to quarterly visits that I’m sure I’ll eventually eliminate. The only high I need these days is the work that Levi and I do together. And the occasional glass of fine red wine.
“How you celebrating?” Madeline says.
I hoist the luscious dessert over my head. “Cupcakes and a hike with this handsome man.” Levi grins, and I wonder what the future will hold for us. One of the other changes I’ve made is allowing the opening of my heart. I suppose you could say that happened on its own, and with Levi by my side, I know the future holds nothing but more sweet treats with this awesome man.
When I got home from the hospital, I gave Levi the biggest kiss any woman has probably ever given him. A romantic kiss. We totally love each other, and I can’t believe how lucky I am to have this sexy, passionate man in my life. Levi loves and accepts me exactly the way I am. But for now, we’re in no hurry to share our budding love affair with our viewers. Anticipation is what keeps them tuning in.
Madeline kisses her fingers. “Sweeter than the sweetest con. You got another job for me?” She lets out a wistful sigh. “This old bird needs some action.”
At the same time, Levi and I both shout, “No!”
I take a bite out of the decadent cupcake and offer the next one to Levi, the ocean breeze tickling my skin. “Mmm. Compliments to the cook.”
Levi’s sea-green eyes come alive with merriment as he lifts the dessert to his mouth. “Lady Bonet’s. Best bakery in Laguna.”
Madeline waves. “Okay, gang. I’ll catch up with ya next week. Happy Birthday!” She pauses and wags her finger at the screen. “But if you need help again with any—”
“Much as I love you … no.” I graze my fingers to my lips and blow my friend a kiss. We sign off and finish the delicacy.
I brush my hands together and readjust my pack. “Let’s head down here.” I point to a narrow trail, and Levi follows.
After thirty minutes of rocky single-track trail, sharp brush tearing at our hiking tights, Levi says, “You know where you’re going?”
I consult my coordinates app while searching for my favorite Billy-Goat-Gruff-style bridge that ends right where the humongous oak tree resides. “Almost there.” A few moments later, it comes into view. We cross the rickety bridge, and I scamper over to the tree, planting a kiss on the bark.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to hug that thing.”
I laugh and remove my backpack. “Rest?”
“Thought you’d never ask.”
I dig around in my bag and remove my collapsible shovel. “Down for a treasure hunt?” I say.
Levi raises his eyebrows. “What are you up to now?”
I don’t answer; I simply walk eight paces west, toe the earth with my hiking shoe. At first, I wonder if I miscalculated, but after enough kicking, my foot hits the solid metal.
And there it is.
From all the years I’ve visited here, the lucky silver cross I’d shoplifted from an antique store when I was eleven still remains rooted to the ground. One of my older foster care brothers who loved metal shop class had welded a spike onto the back of the cross. He didn’t ask why, and I didn’t explain.
With much effort, I remove the cross, start to dig, and feel Levi’s breath at my back. “What the—”
I wipe sweat from my brow and look over my shoulder. “You gonna ask questions or are you going to help?”
He takes the shovel from my hands and digs. “You better tell me when I find it. Whatever it is.” Levi’s learned that while my methods might be unconventional, they get the job done.
I stand over his shoulder and watch as the dirt flies around us. Finally, the tip of the shovel hits a weathered black trash bag. “There it is!” I fall to my knees and begin to paw at the ground with bare hands. Levi kneels next to me and helps.
And that’s when the emotions hit. I’m here with my bestie, my life partner, digging for treasure. Tears
stream down my eyes as I remember all the years of hiking out here on my own, making sure that nothing had disturbed my silver cross and the hiding place.
Levi turns to me. “You okay?”
I wipe the tears. “Fine. Let’s keep at it.”
We work feverishly for the next few minutes and damn, I really did bury this thing but good. We loosen the soil, and Levi pulls the booty out with a grunt. He stares at the grime-covered sack. “This better not be one of your dead boyfriends.”
“Only you could make that kind of joke and get away with it.” I tear open the plastic bag. A little worse for wear, but it’s intact.
“A gym bag?” Levi says.
“Not just any gym bag.” The duffle bag bears an Adidas logo, a relic from the 90s. I unzip it.
Cash pushes at the zipper and the seams. Twenties, fifties, hundreds. I even spy a few five-hundred-dollar bills.
Levi’s eyes grow wide. “What the… What is this?”
I grab two carefully bound wads of cash and thrust my hands overhead. “Money! Fifty thousand, to be exact.”
Levi’s expression looks comically shocked. “Dollars?”
“Yes, dollars.”
“You better start explaining.”
I cock my head. “Or what?”
Levi breaks into laughter. “You’re crazy!”
I smack him on the shoulder with a wad of hundreds. “Remember when Dennis asked about the money?”
“Yeah? And?”
“I had it the whole time.” I press my lips together and then speak. “After Daddy died the folks at social services let me pack up my few things.” I motion to the bag. “This stayed with me ’til I was eleven and man, did I have to guard it with my life. Figured I’d better come up with a safe hiding place. One of my foster families liked to hike out here, and that’s when I came up with the idea.” I grin so wide I think my face will cramp. “I buried it. Deep.”
“You sure did.”
My voice grows excited. “I’m giving all this money to the Joyful Om Love Foundation. They’re a nonprofit that helps victims of rape, domestic violence, and child abuse.” I wipe a tear. “They even use yoga in their work.” I shake the wad of money. “Every penny goes to them.”
I don’t even want to contemplate the fight I would’ve had on my hands had Freakshow known that not only did I have the cash but that I’d hidden it all these years. What’s the cliché those of us in yoga circles like to haul out? Patience is a virtue. The excavation of the money is something I’ve looked forward to—a symbol of my victory over Dennis. The moment is all the sweeter because not only is Dennis suffering in prison, I’m here with the love of my life.
I fling my arms around Levi and plant a big kiss on his mouth. His warm hands run up and down my body. I allow myself to fully relax into his embrace and savor Levi’s love. The love of a good man. I’m breathless when Levi breaks the kiss and whispers into my ear, “I love you.”
Happiness zings through me. I’m standing on the hiking trail, the ocean breeze caressing me, kissing my best friend, and I’ve finally exorcised the demons in my soul.
I say the words that dance on the tip of my tongue every day. “I love you too.” I grin. “Come on, bestie. Let’s take a selfie. With the money.”
We clutch the gym bag in front of us, our arms around one another, huge grins on our faces.
I can’t resist. A few days later I mail the photo to Dennis, care of the beautiful state of California, with the caption: This photo captured by the world’s finest surveillance camera.
A note from Debra
Dear reader,
Thank you so much for reading The Perfect Liar. I had a total blast writing it, and I hope the story transported you for a few hours.
In planning the book, I wanted to take on the challenge of writing a narrative with a minimal cast. In this case, four, starring two primary roles. I love the claustrophobic feel of two psychos going after each other.
It should be said that writing an unreliable narrator posed a more difficult challenge than anticipated. But I gotta tell you; I fell into the fun of getting into the head of Rachel. I must be a grifter at heart because I sympathized with her compulsions of stealing and lying. I hope I pulled off the lying Rachel without pissing off too many with her dishonesty. Writing is a solitary endeavor, and I depend on beta readers, reviewers, and you, my dear lovelies, to steer me in the right direction. Hope it worked!
For those of you who enjoy learning about process, I would love to say it goes like this. I wake up with a song in my heart, throw the curtains open to a sunny day, drink a cup of Italian espresso handed to me on a silver platter by a handsome cook, ascend a spiral staircase to the loft of my eco-house overlooking the ocean. There, I crack my knuckles and sit at the keyboard as the creative muse greets me with stories that flow like honey.
The reality: I write at my dining room table, a bench under my butt with my little black kitty at my side, growling at my husband every time he drifts into the room for a lively conversation. (I love you honey!) Oh, and I also throw wadded up papers across the room. In between I take too many breaks into the kitchen where I eat pints of blueberries over the sink.
But I wouldn’t trade storytelling for anything, even that dazzling job at Taco Bell my headhunter has begged me to accept. Because writing stories is hands down the world’s greatest gift. Stories are powerful, y’all.
My dear fans, even though I write for a living, it’s sometimes difficult to put into words how much you mean to me. It’s a rush to hear from readers all over the world who’ve enjoyed my stories. I have only two words, and they seem inadequate. Thank you!
Would you like to find out about my new releases? Then please sign up to my mailing list. I’ll only shoot you a note when I have a new book and with the glacial speed with which I write—I promise I’m trying to get faster! —you’ll get only the occasional email and no spam. Promise!
Finally, if you enjoyed The Perfect Liar, I would love you forever if you left a short review. It helps like crazy to assist others in discovering books like mine.
Okay, gang, back to that oft dreamed of ocean view writer’s loft. In my vivid imagination …
Yours,
Debra
Mailing list: https://bit.ly/dlynchsignup
Acknowledgments
I am incredibly blessed to have some fantastic people in my life who help me write my books. They all help, anywhere from loaning me their names to talking me off a ledge when the writing gets tough. I want to say a huge thanks!
My editor, Traci Finlay, deserves an entire page of acknowledgments all to herself. Traci is the most upbeat, fun, positive person who also knows all the best Cuban restaurants in Miami. Her edits were excellent, and she saved my butt on more than one occasion. She made the editorial process a joy as we laughed over arroz con pollo or cried over our laptops at midnight.
To my lovely friend, Natalie Barelli, whose friendship is a rare and exotic gift. I’m lucky to count her among my close circle of writer besties. I never thought I’d be lucky enough to communicate with a bestselling author, and she’s been generously helpful with her time, including helping me with the cover and blurb for The Perfect Liar.
Jennille Smith, one of my early readers, has been with me from the start, and I love her more with every word I write. She’s always willing to drop everything and read and reread draft after draft. She also has the sickest ideas, and I love her for that.
Michael Potuck, thanks for the info on Youtube—specifically how many views and subscribers it takes to earn enough money to live in an eco-house on the beach and drive a Tesla. You’re a lifesaver.
Robert Hossack and I had a hilarious conversation about Bronx slang. Turns out the phrase “You good” covers just about everything. Thanks, Robert!
And oh my goodness, props to the real Rachel Goodman, one of my ultra-talented writing buddies. Her name is just too good to pass up. Couldn’t resist, and I want to say thank you!
A sexy, loving, heartfelt thank you to my husband. He did laundry, brought me takeout from Wahoo’s, made grocery store runs, and brewed endless cups of coffee so I could write. What would I do without you?
And finally, most importantly, to you, dear reader. Thank you for reading this book. When they say, “I can’t do it without you,” they’re right. I bow down to your greatness.
Editor’s note
Shout out to Laguna Beach, the most excellent place to live in the entire universe. I couldn’t resist writing Rachel and Dennis’s story in this glossy background, a magical location. But as writers are wont to do, I took some liberties with the setting. The Adam and Eve Kombucha Bar and Lady Bonet’s bakery are both made up. The Treasure Trove in El Toro is also a fiction of my fancy.
About the Author
Debra Lynch can usually be found walking the beach, thinking up ways to kill people. When not creating vivid stories in her head, Debra loves hiking, dollhouse making, hot yoga, and considers movie theaters her church. She lives in Laguna Beach, California, with her husband, one chihuahua, and one savage black cat.
Credits
Editing by Traci Finlay
Cover Design by Dominika Whistler Inspired Cover Designs
Copyright © 2020 by Debra Lynch
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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