Between the Lies (Book One - The Northern Lights Series) (24 page)

A moment later Harper received a call from Deacon. Alex was at the cemetery holding the caretaker hostage at gun-point. Chaos erupted in the room.

Harper said to Newman, “You’re going with me.” She said to Michelle, “You and your assistant can start organizing Mickey’s notes.” She turned to me and said, “You, sit there. Do not move unless you have to go to the bathroom, and then you will ask one of the female officers to escort you. Do you understand? You are not safe. I want someone’s eyes on you all the time.”

I nodded.

The profile of Michelle’s assistant caught my eye. She looked familiar.

I sat down where Harper had pointed and got out my small sketch pad. Soon the chaos around me was muffled as I drew my friend, Deacon.

A female officer brought me a cup of coffee. “Is it as bad as the TV cops say it is?” I asked before taking a sip.

“No. I sent one of the guys on a Starbucks run. It’s good. Black okay?”

“Perfect. Any news on the hostage? He’s a friend of mine.”

“I can’t say,” she said, turning back into the noise.

I drank my coffee and cried. Deacon was not just a friend of mine. He was my best friend and the guardian of my only child. If he died where would we be?

The female officer returned and gave me a report. “I don’t know all the details, but Harper said to tell you they can prove your innocence, and they found the murder weapon. It was in the boat house. Turns out it was a Lyons family knife, but instead of from the kitchen in the apartment, it was from Michelle and Alan Lyons’s set. As Harper suspected, the first knife was a decoy.”

A few minutes later, a male officer came over to me and told me Harper and Newman were on their way in. He didn’t give me a chance to ask questions, but it wouldn’t have mattered. The cops were all pretty tight-lipped around me.

Harper walked in, tilted her head at me and then toward her office. Newman went to the door Michelle and her protégé were in and said something to them I couldn’t hear.

When we were gathered around her desk, Harper said, “I have a lot of information to release to you, but for now, I’ll just hit the high points. Olivia, some of this is going to be a shock for you. I’m sorry, but there’s no easy way to say this. Alex is dead. He was holding Deacon James hostage, but when we stormed in, he put the gun in his own mouth and pulled the trigger.”

She paused a moment to give me a chance to absorb her words. Instead, I slipped into my safe place again. I would take in the facts, but I would not feel their impact. Not now, anyway.

Harper continued, “Deacon is giving his statement and will be waiting to see you a little later. In Alex’s pocket was his birth certificate that listed his father as Mr. Lyons and Agatha Bailey. The investigators at the house and both buildings found evidence that Alex had been living in the tunnels for a long time. He had placed tiny spy glasses with the lense caps painted to match the walls in strategic locations so he could watch you almost twenty-four-seven, Olivia. They were also located in your bedroom and bathroom. I’m sorry to inform you of this, but I thought it would be better coming from me than anyone else.

She took a breath and watched me. “Olivia, are you okay?” she asked.

“No. I’m not, but please continue. I need to know,” I answered.

She nodded and went on, “We also found that Alex kept souvenirs from his victims. Your bracelet is among them. It has to stay in lock-up for now, but it will be released to you in time. Before he killed himself, he proudly confessed to the murders of Mickey, Alan’s mother, the guy from the care center, and the attempt on Aggie’s life. He also said there were many others. The journals found in the tunnels hold names, burial locations, and detailed notes on his ‘kills.’ It appears he was very proud of every crime he committed. We will complete the search of the evidence found in Mickey’s home. It will likely match what we heard today. Newman and I will continue that now. If you’d like to stay, Michelle, you and your assistant are welcome. Olivia, an officer will be taking you and Deacon home. I think first, he will take both of you to get something to eat. Deacon mentioned breakfast at Perkins would be nice. I hope you agree.”

Relief bordering on euphoria washed over me. My new best friend was alive and my worst enemy was dead. I was suddenly hungry. I knew the emotional high wouldn’t last and I’d crash, but for now, I’d ride the wave. “It would be great to spend some time with Deacon. Your officer can drop us off at the Perkins on 494.”

“How are you going to get home?” Michelle asked.

“I’ll call a cab,” I answered feeling safer than I had in years.

When Deacon and I walked into Perkins, I saw my students were gathered around a group of tables in our favorite corner. “Hey! Ms. Morgan! You got my message,” Patrick said gesturing for us to join them.

“No, I didn’t. I was busy and didn’t hear my phone.”

I introduced Deacon to the kids, and they invited us to join them. Deacon said that would be just fine.

“I don’t suppose you brought any art?” Patina asked.

“I did some sketches today,” I said.

I showed the drawings of Deacon to them and they were impressed.

Deacon said, “Missy, you sure know how to make an old man look good.”

My students showed him their art and were thrilled that he cared for the cemetery and about the remains buried there. They listened intently to his stories and accepted his invitation to a tour of the cemetery with a full history lesson of the folks buried there long ago.

My friend had steak and eggs. I had the Farmer’s Omelet. By the time I was delivered back to The Saint Paul and Sarah’s watchful eyes, my stomach was full and so was my heart.

As I sunk into the downy mattress and pillows, I felt relief pour over me like sunshine on the first warm day of spring.

The next morning, Sarah told me I was out like a light and snored like her grandpa.

After a cup of coffee and glass of orange juice, Sarah took me to the police station where Harper, Newman, Michelle, and her assistant were gathered.

Harper said, “Newman has something to tell you, Olivia.”

“First, I owe you an apology,” he began. “I am certain you are completely innocent in all the deaths that have been under investigation. The Fire Marshall’s reports are clear and prove the fire in the house that night started when Gus dropped a cigarette on the carpet where the alcohol that had been spilled in that area over the years acted as an accelerant. Your father’s body was burned beyond recognition. Your mother told the authorities that he’d taken several prescription-strength sleeping pills before chasing them down with the new six-pack she’d purchased that day. She said he’d done this before and had been okay. This time it looks like he lost count of the pills and took more than his body could handle.

“Your mother tried to wake him up, and when she couldn’t, she also tried to put out the fire that engulfed him and the room. Mickey rescued her and went back in for Gus. He had to be sure there was no hope. There wasn’t, but in the process, the fire attempted to make him its next victim. It injured him, but failed to kill him. Your mother’s hands and legs were slightly burned from trying to pat out the fire on her slacks. She says there were letters she wrote and sent to you telling you everything. No one seems to know where those letters are, but I believe if found they will only confirm what we already know from your mother’s eye-witness account of the events and Mickey’s journals and notes.”

“What about Pete?”

“Who’s Pete?” Newman asked.

“My little sister. She was living with a friend, but she could have stopped by the house,” I said.

“Who names a girl Pete?” Newman asked.

“It was my nickname for her. I thought if I called her a boy’s name and if she dressed like a boy, Gus would never touch her the way he did me. Her real name is Patsy. Ma always called her Patti-cake.”

“You were trying to protect her using what could be called child’s psychology,” Harper said.

“I was always trying to come up with ways to hide her or change his perception of her,” I admitted. Then I did what I never thought I’d do. “Am I really innocent?” I asked.

“Yeah. Why?” Harper asked.

“Because I wanted him dead and planned to kill him. I spiked his beers with this poison a boy at school said would do the job, but wouldn’t be able to be tasted.”

“Why would you do that?” Newman asked.

“He raped me almost daily for six years. When he was afraid I’d get pregnant, he stopped that and beat me, leaving bruises no one could see.” My voice rose to a near yell. Then I heard myself whisper, “I did that for my sister . . . for Pete’s sake.”

The young assistant stepped forward. “Your mother told us she found the beer bottles and knew they’d been tampered with because she’d seen you do it. She asked Mickey to get rid of them, and had Mrs. Dawson take her to get him a fresh six-pack. The pills Billy gave you were sugar pills.”

“How do you
know
that?” I asked.

She smiled. “Mickey was always hanging out at the police station, running errands, asking questions, and the cops all loved him. Even the coroner, who did Mickey a favor and sent one of the bottles to a private lab after taking up a collection from the cops all the way up to the Chief. The results confirmed it was three-two beer with extra sugar. Your mother’s letters will tell you the same thing.”

“How do you know about the letters?” I asked.

“Because you wanted him dead for me.”

My fingertips and lips tingled. I watched her turn to the others
,
and I heard her say, “My full name is Patsy Morgan Smith. Better known in Oak River as Pete.”

It took me a few minutes to catch my breath and for the dizziness to pass.

Pete showed me the old scar on her knee from where Gus had thrown her down the front steps. She’d needed stitches, but a butterfly bandage applied by Mrs. Dawson was all she got. I remembered the day and the injury well. I’d cried harder than she had.

“Is this your sister, Olivia?” Harper asked.

“It is,” I said as I stood. Pete and I hugged the way people do when they are afraid to ever let go again.

My phone rang and my contractor informed me my house was move-in ready. Another call followed from Marissa. My furniture was in.

“If it’s okay with everyone here, I can move into Mickey’s place tomorrow,” I said.

From the clapping and hoots, I concluded it was more than okay.

I was given a new room at The St Paul—one with two queen-sized beds. My sister had brought her overnight bag to town, intending to stay until I was cleared. We opened the box of letters, and spent most of the night reading Ma’s letters and cards. Included were my sister’s school pictures so I got to see a little of the years I’d missed. Many of them proved what the police already knew, but Pete said she’d make copies and give them to Harper later. I watched my little sister fall asleep and smiled. Her curls were a tangle of beauty on her pillow, and one foot was outside of the covers. Just like always.

The next day, my moving team arrived at the house bright and early. Harper, Newman, Lloyd, and Michelle who looked marvelous in an old t-shirt, well-worn tennis shoes, and jeans, put furniture where I directed and hung pictures where I placed the nails. Around noon, a big old boat of a car pulled up in front of the house, and two old ladies got out.

We were going to order pizza when Mrs. Dawson called out, “We need some help getting this food in the house.”

Everyone but me headed for the car. I could only see my ma. Thin and small, she simply said, “Hello, Olivia.”

“Hi, Ma.”

“Can I come in?” she asked, looking as scared as I felt.

“Please, do.”

I held the door open for her.

The others followed closely behind. A few minutes later I was handed a paper plate, and the crew waited for me to enjoy my first meal in my home. I took a ham sandwich, and then added potato salad and what Ma called Turtle Soup onto my plate along with green olives, dill pickles, and bread and butter pickles. There were other things, but these were truly my favorites.

I was finishing up when Ma brought me a cup of coffee and a piece of cherry pie. “I know rhubarb is your favorite, but this was all I had on the shelf. I hope it’s okay.”

“It’s great, Ma. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, tears flowing down her face. “I knew,” she said. “I knew.”

“I know,” I said. “I want to forgive you, but it’s going to take some time. Okay?”

“Yes,” she whispered, tears spilling onto her cheeks. Then she rubbed her chest, and Mrs. D. got out a bottle of pills from Ma’s purse.

“Here you go, take your nitro, Angela.”

Newman urged her to take his chair, and she melted into it.

Ma carefully placed the tiny pill under her tongue.

When she started to breathe normally again, I asked, “Ma, what’s wrong?”

“Just a little angina now and then. Probably a little blockage. I take some kind of medication for my cholesterol. This doesn’t happen often.”

I touched her scarred hand. “Ma, I didn’t know. I’m so sad you got hurt.”

She patted my cheek. “It’s okay; the skin is a little tight, but it still works pretty good.”

After lunch I continued directing where I wanted furniture and boxes, but I kept my eye on Ma and caught her more than once keeping her eye on me.

I asked Pete to stay.

“I have to get home,” she told me.

“Where is that?” I asked.

“With Ma. I bought a little house for us a few blocks over on Maple Street.”

“How did you manage that?”

“I’ve been an attorney for a couple of years now. I work with E.M. Jacobson. Remember him?”

“He’s still alive?”

“Yep. He’s eighty-nine and still comes to work every day. E.M. and I read about Mickey and all the stuff with the Lyons. Finally, he cooked up this mentor idea.”

“So you live with Ma?”

“She doesn’t really need me anymore, but for a while we really needed each other.”

“Rough times?”

“Yeah. I’ll tell you about them sometime.”

“Okay.”

“I do have a question for you,” Pete said. “Is Newman married?”

“No. Why?”

“He seems like a good man. I’d like to know him better. He’s also pretty easy on the eyes. Is he taken in any way?”

“No.”

“How do you know?”

“Someone I know asked him when I was there,” I said. “You asked because you wanted to know or because you wanted to
know
?” I asked doing my best Groucho Marx eyebrow imitation.

“I asked because I’m still insatiably curious. We’re already like obnoxious siblings when we’re together. You might as well try and make it official.”

Ma entered the kitchen. “I’ll wash, Pete can dry, and you can put your brand new dishes in your cupboards.”

While I said goodbye to the others, Ma ran hot water in the sink, Mrs. D. took a seat at the kitchen table, and Pete found the towels.

The ladies told me about my neighbors, when the best time to buy groceries was, and about the small gas station on the edge of town where the attendant still pumped your gas for you and washed your windshield and head-lights.

“And there’s the art gallery,” Pete said.

“Oh, and the county coroner, Dr. McKenna,” Mrs. D. said, “just bought a house down the road from Harold and Denise’s—the couple who own the gallery. She said he’s tall, dark, and handsome in a dreamy way, like some kind of Disney prince or something.”

“What’s he doing here?” I asked.

“He still works in St. Paul, but on his days off, he comes here to relax and to be near family.”

“Denise said all the women who see him sort of lose themselves and get all flirty.”

All I could think was,
No way
.

Then I looked at Ma washing my dishes. “Ma, we’ve come a long way between here and there and here again.”

She smiled and nodded. Pete did what she always did. She snapped me with her soggy towel.

I snapped back, missing the way I always did.

Ma started to cry. I watched tears get hung up in wrinkles and felt a new kind of fear. I wondered how long we’d have. I knew I wanted more than I’d had—a lot more. Would she live long enough for me to forgive her?

“Hey! Who wants to go with me to see Jillian tomorrow?” I asked. They looked at me like I’d lost my mind.

“I know she’s not there, but I go to talk to her anyway. It helps. And I want you to meet my friend Deacon.”

Everyone agreed to let me pick them up after lunch the next day.

Before she left, Ma turned to me and said, “I’m glad you changed your last name to Morgan. It’s a good name. Your grandfather would be so proud. I know I am.”

“By the way, Gus wasn’t your real father. There was someone before him,” Ma said. “I lied.”

I cannot explain the terrible relief I felt.

As they walked down my sidewalk toward the car, Ma turned and said, “Honey, somewhere between the lies is the truth. I hope we can find it together.”

“Me too, Ma.”

I shut the door, leaned against it, and there it was. That feeling I’d been yearning for.

I was finally home.