Tell Me Lies (7 page)

“Drive careful when you go back to town tonight,” Henry said.

“Yes, sir,” C.L. said.

Mel popped her eyes open in approval. “You asked? Cool.”

Em nodded. “I forgot to ask my dad, but my mom said yes.” She remembered her mother’s face as they’d left and felt her breath clutch a little. “Before the accident,” she added, and her voice sounded funny, even to her.

“She’s going to be all right,” Mel said. “Your dad said so. Think about the dog.”

“We’ll go to the pound,” Em said, thinking
puppy puppy puppy
to keep the bad thoughts away. “We’ll save a puppy that way. It’ll be better.”

Mel nodded. “That’s a good idea. Can I come?”

Em nodded. “Sure.” They could all go, she and Mel and Aunt Treva and her mom. She thought of her mother and the dazed look in her eyes and the way she’d stood so close to her dad, shaking, and the way they’d looked at each other, like they hated each other.
Puppy puppy puppy.
She swallowed. “When my mom’s better, we’ll go.” Her mom was going to be better. Everybody said so. “She’ll be okay. Her pills make her dopey, but she’ll be okay.”

“This could be
really
good,” Mel said, moving into her cheery mode. Mel’s cheery mode could be pretty exhausting, but Em was grateful for the effort. “Because, like, now that she’s
hurt,
your dad will remember how much he
loves
her and he’ll take
care
of her, and it’ll be all right.”

“He’s going bowling,” Em said, and ate a pretzel rather than look at Mel.

“Oh,” Mel said.

Puppy puppy puppy puppy puppy . . .

“Maddie, it’s Mama. Are you all right?”

“Yes, Mom.”
Don’t shout like that.

“Anna Henley called to see if you were all right, and that’s how I found out about the accident.” Her mother’s tone said that she wasn’t amused about that. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, Mom.” Her head was coming off, and her neck didn’t move.

“She said you hit your head. She said it wasn’t your fault, it was that Webster boy’s, but then you know how those Websters are anyway, all of them. Thank goodness it wasn’t your fault. I can’t believe you didn’t call me. Are you all right? Do you want me to come over?”

Maddie winced under the onslaught. “No. I’m fine. Don’t worry. I’m fine.”

“Are you going to be all right to go visit Gran on Sunday? You know how she is. I understand if you can’t go.”

“I can go,” Maddie said. Assuming she was off the phone by then.

“You don’t sound good. I can come over right now—”

“No. Although I may need to borrow your car later this week.”

“Any time. You want me to drop it off now? It’s not dark yet. I can just run it over—”

“No.” Maddie pressed her hand to her forehead. If her mother came over, she’d have to kill her. Time for a diversion. “What’s all this about Gloria Meyer getting divorced?”

“It’s true.” Her mother’s voice sank down on “true,” so Maddie knew the story was going to be a good one. Of course, Maddie’s story would be a beauty, too, when it got out.
Maybe Brent’s not cheating,
she told herself.
Maybe he’s telling the truth and it’s all just a bad joke.

“Her husband says she won’t sleep with him,” Maddie’s mother went on. “Can you imagine?”

Maddie thought about Barry Meyer. Treva had once called him a weedy little warthog. “Yes, I can. Easily. Plus he never mows the lawn.”

“Well, that’s what she said. He never does anything around the house. I guess he’s just worthless. But”—her mother’s voice sank lower—“I’ve also heard he thinks she’s seeing someone else.”

“Gloria?” Maddie tried to picture Gloria and Brent together. Gloria in crotchless panties? “Must have been the ChemLawn man.”

“I don’t know who, but I was
very
surprised.”

“Me, too,” Maddie said. “I can well believe Gloria doesn’t have sex with her husband because I can’t believe Gloria has sex with anybody.” She sat down on the stool by the telephone, watching the second hand on the clock. If she listened for another two minutes, it would be obvious that she was fine and then she could hang up without worrying her mother. She could do another two minutes before her head fell off.

“People are surprising,” her mother said. “Just when you think you really know somebody, they’ll up and do something like this.”

“Like what? Divorce?”
I’m going to be sick.

“No, like Gloria having an affair.”

“Well, get off this phone and go find out who it is,” Maddie said, praying it wouldn’t be Brent. “I can’t believe you’re wasting time with me.”

“Maddie, how on earth would I find that out?”

“How did you find out she wasn’t sleeping with Barry?”

“He told his brother who told his wife who told Esther’s daughter.”

Maddie closed her eyes. “Right. How is Esther?”

“She’s fine. Are you sure your head’s all right?”

So much for distracting her mother. “Let’s talk about Gloria instead, please.

“There isn’t anything left to say about Gloria, although if you ask me, she was like this all along. Remember back in high school when she got hysterical when they didn’t induct her into National Honor Society as a junior? Hyperventilated right there in gym.”

“I missed that.” Maddie tried to remember Gloria back in high school. She’d been even paler then, walking down the halls close to the lockers. The only time Maddie had ever seen any color in Gloria’s face was when Brent went by, the big football player, the high school hero. She should have let Gloria have him then. “She was three years younger. I was in college when she was a junior.”

“Well, she was a spectacle, let me tell you. Just held her breath and turned blue, not that you could tell since she’s always been kind of blue anyway. That woman doesn’t eat right. But she’s the kind who always gets what she wants. Those pale little wispy things that look like they’d blow away like dandelions, those are the ones to watch for.”

“Right,” Maddie said, storing this away for future use.

“Just look at Candace at the bank.”

Maddie thought about Candace at the bank, a healthy, intelligent, sensible, down-to-earth, gym-toned blonde who could probably arm wrestle half her clientele to the ground. “I never thought of Candace as wispy.”

“Well, no, there’s all that German blood in her, but you know she just smiles and smiles and yet there she is, bank manager.”

“Okay,” Maddie said, not understanding at all. “I don’t get it.”

“Well, where did she come from? Not money.” Maddie’s mother sniffed. “She was a Lowery, for heaven’s sake. And yet there she is, just about in charge of the whole bank because you know Harold Whitehead is useless. They just bring him and prop him up in that chair for looks.
She
runs the place.”

Maddie thought of Candace back in high school, wearing clothes that weren’t quite right, studying her butt off for a scholarship, moving quietly through the confusion. Candace hadn’t let the town define her or defeat her. Maybe she should use Candace as a role model. “Mama, Candace has worked like crazy to get where she is.”

“I know that. But you’d never know it to look at her, would you? Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.”

“I thought you liked Candace.”

“I
do
like Candace,” her mother said. “She’s a lovely person. I’m just amazed a Lowery is running the bank.”

“This is too confusing,” Maddie said. “I’ve got to go. Call me back when you have some good stuff on Gloria.”

“She’s got Wilbur Carter to handle the divorce,” her mother said. “If you can believe it. That woman must be dumb as dirt. Any fool knows you go to Lima if you want a decent divorce attorney.”

Maddie made a mental note to get a Lima phone directory. It was going to be bad enough that she was getting a divorce, she was not going to be dumb as dirt, too. Her mother had a reputation to defend.

“I’m going to go back to bed now, Mom,” Maddie said. “Take care of yourself and don’t worry.”

“Well, I’ll worry anyway,” her mother said. “I’m going to stay right by this phone, so if you need anything, you call.”

“Thank you, Mama,” Maddie said. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Maddie. Get some rest.”

I should be nicer to that woman,
Maddie thought as she hung up. She went back to the kitchen and filled a glass with water and swallowed two more pain pills. Then she went out to the porch and sank into one of the big wicker chairs to inhale the summer air, but all she could smell was tar from the driveway. The porch needed honeysuckle. Lots of honeysuckle. In her mind she decorated the porch rails with pale yellow-bell flowered vines while she tried to remember the scent. And tried to forget about her mother and Em and Brent, the only man she’d been with since high school.

High school. Glory days. Like the day Howie took the rap for flooding the rest rooms so Brent could pitch the first Big Game. Where he dropped the ball, and kissed Margaret Erlenmeyer afterward. She should have taken that as a clue back then. But she’d gone for revenge instead and ended up in the back of C.L.‘s Chevy at the Point, looking for a payback and finding . . . what? Well, not great sex, but not a bad time. What she remembered most was laughing with him. Good old C.L. Maybe Treva was right. She could sleep with C.L. and pay Brent back again.

She conjured up C.L.‘s face, the real C.L. she’d seen that afternoon, not the fuzzy high school memory. He looked centered and sure of himself and . . . solid. C. L. Sturgis as a solid citizen. That was a good one. Well, no matter how solid he was, she was not going to sleep with him again. C.L. probably wasn’t as desperate these days as he’d been at seventeen, and then there was the fact that adultery was not her style. Her style was being good. Nice. Adultery was a bad idea. She hoped C.L. left town soon; she had enough problems.

The painkiller had kicked in, making her numb, but numbness was a nice change from the earlier part of her day. Maybe now she could look on the bright side. Where the hell was the bright side?

Well, at least Brent carried his own weight at the construction company. He was a good salesman. And he was a good father. He was also very possibly a cheating son of a bitch, but how could she leave him? How could she send Em’s father away, except for one night a week and every other weekend? Especially since he bowled so much. She had a sudden vision of Em in very small bowling shoes, searching for her father in a crowd of potbellied men with advertising on their shirts. Not good.

Except maybe he wasn’t bowling so much. Maybe Treva was right and he wasn’t bowling tonight at all. After some scattered, sliding thought, she went in the house and called Treva to borrow her car since she didn’t want to deal with her mother again so soon. She got Three instead.

“I’m baby-sitting the munchkins,” he told her. “Mom went out.”

“Never mind, it’s not important,” she said, and dialed her mother after all. “I need to borrow your car for a little while,” she told her. “I won’t be long.” She stonewalled until her mother gave up asking questions, and then she left, waving to Mrs. Crosby as she turned down the walk.

Ten minutes later, Maddie parked her mother’s gray Accord at the edge of the bowling alley and walked through the parking lot. She made the round trip twice because she was a little rocky from the painkillers, but Brent’s Caddy was not there. Treva’s little yellow Sunbird was out in front, which threw Maddie a little, and Howie’s gold Saturn was tucked in a corner around in back close to a shiny red convertible that looked a lot like the one C.L. had been driving, but Brent’s car was nowhere to be seen. Fine. So he’d lied. Well,
there
was a surprise.

“Maddie?”

She swung around and peered through the dusky lot. Mr. Scott, the owner of the bowling alley, stood outside the front door to the alley. “I saw your mother’s car,” he told her. “Do you need anything? Are you all right? I heard about the accident. Can I help you?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Scott,” she lied. “Thank you for asking, but I’m fine.” She got back into the Accord before he or anyone else could ask what she was doing. Going undercover in Frog Point was not a possibility. There was no cover, and the night had a thousand eyes.

“I’m real unhappy about this,” Vince said into his beer. “Howie’s a good guy.”

“Score another one for Brent Faraday,” C.L. said, and Vince nodded and said, “Jackass.”

After a day of methodically trying every place Brent should have been, C.L. had found him through pure dumb luck, bowling on the alley next to Vince’s with his father, Norman Faraday, the former honorable mayor of Frog Point. Brent had looked startled to see him. C.L. had waved and settled down to watch Vince try to pick up a succession of spares since there was no point in trying to ask Brent questions with Norman around to butt in, and the bastard wasn’t going anywhere until his game was over anyway. Three different women C.L. had known in high school offered to buy him a beer to welcome him home, and after the third one went away, Vince said, “You’re startin‘ to make me feel envious, boy.”

“Not my type,” C.L. said, keeping Brent in view from the corner of his eye.

“We all know your type,” Vince said. “She’s married.”

C.L. ignored him to watch Brent and his dad. For the next half hour, Norman called people over and talked loudly about what a treat his son would be as Frog Point’s next mayor. Brent shook hands, but he also shook his head at every suggestion. “No,” C.L. heard him say more than once, “no, I’m not interested in running, thanks anyway.” Impervious, Norman waved him off and called over another guy to discuss his son, the next mayor. If C.L. hadn’t disliked Brent so much, he’d have felt sorry for him.

When Brent and his father retreated to the bar at the end of the game, C.L. grabbed Vince and followed. Over beers, they watched the discussion the Faradays had, Brent growing more heated as he shook his head, and Norman growing more oblivious as all Brent’s denials rolled off him.

“Just what we need, another Faraday for mayor,” Vince said. “Jackasses, father and son.”

“Brent doesn’t seem to think he wants it,” C.L. said.

“Norman thinks he should have it,” Vince said. “And you can bet Helena thinks so, too. If they both want it, Brent gets it. He’ll be mayor. The jackass.”

Then Norman moved away and C.L. got up to make his move, only to sit down to watch again when Howie Basset got up from a seat in the corner and sat next to Brent.

“This might be good,” Vince said. “I’ve heard rumors.”

“You and everybody else in this town. This place lives on rumors.” C.L. tried to take the high road, but curiosity got the better of him. After all, he was supposed to be investigating this stuff. Investigating was not gossiping. “What rumors?”

“Problems at the construction company,” Vince said. “Something’s funny with the money. Or so I’ve heard. And if it’s true, it’s not Howie that’s up to something.”

“No, it wouldn’t be.” C.L. had played baseball with Howie without ever getting to know him well, but Howie had played hard and fair. And he was mad as hell now, grilling Brent. C.L. watched the emotions chase themselves across Brent’s face as he tried to bluster, then reason with, then withdraw from Howie. Howie kept his voice low, but his intensity was enough to draw a few looks.

Then Howie’s wife came into the bar and poked Brent in the back and said with some venom, “I’ve been
looking
for you,” and more heads turned to watch her go sheet white when Brent moved and she saw her husband sitting behind him.

“Well, now that you’ve found me, you can talk to your husband instead,” Brent had said, and tossed a few bills on the bar before he left. “Have fun.”

Treva sagged into the closest seat, leaving an empty space between her and Howie.

“Oh, crap,” Vince said, and C.L. had watched them in horrified sympathy for a few seconds before he deserted them to find Brent.

He didn’t. The parking lot surrounded the alley on all four sides, and though C.L. made a circuit around the building, he’d evidently started in the wrong direction. Brent must have hightailed it out of the lot, and with Norman and Howie and Treva on his butt, C.L. could understand why.

What C.L. couldn’t understand was how he could have searched for Brent for an entire day in Frog Point and not found him. It was as if Brent knew C.L. was looking for him and was ducking confrontation. Which didn’t bode well for the future of Sheila’s fiancé's investment.

C.L. went back inside and sat down next to Vince again.

“D’you find him?” Vince asked, and C.L. said, “Who?”

“Brent,” Vince said with heavy patience. “The guy you’ve been chasing all over town. Did you find him?”

“No,” C.L. said. “Tell me what’s going on at the construction company.”

“Henry knows you’re asking this stuff, right?” Vince’s freckled face looked wary. “This isn’t something you’re doing just to annoy that jackass, is it? Because if it is, I’ll help, but I’ll have to lay low on it because Henry wouldn’t like it.”

“Henry knows.” C.L. watched Treva lean toward Howie, pleading with him. Her face was enough to break any man’s heart, unless she was screwing Howie over with Brent Faraday, in which case she could fry for all he cared. “What’s Brent up to?” he asked Vince.

“Dottie Wylie says the company ripped her off on the house they built for her last year.”

C.L. transferred his full attention to Vince. “What? The house wasn’t good?”

“Nah.” Vince frowned. “Howie builds good houses. He built mine. Dottie says she paid too much. And the money part of the company is Brent. He estimates ‘em, sells ’em, does the paperwork. Howie’s a builder, but Brent—” Vince’s eyes narrowed as he searched for the right word. “Brent’s a dealer. Wouldn’t want to buy a used car from him. A house Howie built, sure, but a used car, no.”

C.L. tried to make the information fit with Sheila’s problem. The company wasn’t crooked because Howie was there, and the product was good because Howie built it. But anything to do with money was Brent’s, and Sheila’s Stan was about to hand over two hundred and eighty grand to somebody Vince didn’t trust. If Vince didn’t trust him, there was something wrong. Considering Henry and Anna’s comments at dinner, C.L. knew he’d found out enough. All he had to do now was call Sheila and tell her to stop Stan.

But not yet. It would only be fair to talk to Howie first. Sheila had been against that, telling him the deal was between Stan and Brent, but Howie deserved to know what was going on since it was his company, too. Howie was a reasonable man, he’d look into things, and Brent would be stopped, maybe even shown up for the bastard he was.

Except at the moment, Howie didn’t look reasonable. He looked like a maddened mule.

“I need to talk to Howie Basset,” C.L. said, and Vince said, “I think I’d try that tomorrow.”

Across from them, Treva leaned toward Howie, her face drawn, and C.L. felt a surge of sympathy for them. When Treva gave up and walked out, C.L. felt worse. They were such nice people. They shouldn’t be looking the way they did. That was something else Brent Faraday would have to pay for. Something else besides whatever it was he had done to make Maddie so grim.

But mostly, C.L. thought, he was going to pay for Maddie.