The Liar (30 page)

“That would be the nicest thing,” Ada Mae said. “Shelby couldn’t be here when Jackson was born. It would sure mean a lot to us, Griff.”

“Done.”

“Yay! Yay!”

Shelby looked at her daughter’s shining face. “But it could be hours.”

“Not if Clay’s any judge. Clayton, you come on now!” Ada Mae shouted. “I’m not going to miss my grandbaby’s birth because you’re dawdling. Griff, thank you so much. Callie, you be good for Griff now, or I’ll know the reason why. Clayton Zachariah Pomeroy!” Ada Mae marched back toward the house.

“Are you sure? Because—”

“We’re sure, right, Callie?”

“Right! Let’s go, Griff.” Thrilled, she rubbed both her hands over his cheeks. “Let’s go to your house now.”

“Let me just . . .” Think what to do, Shelby mused. “I’ll just run in, get some things for her to play with.”

“I’ve got scissors and sticks for her to run with, and all those matches.”

“Aren’t you the funny one? Give me two minutes. And, well, you’d best just take my van in case you have to go somewhere with her. If I can borrow this truck.”

“It’s a rental. What do I care?”

“All right, then, all right. Two minutes. No, it’ll take me five. Five minutes.”

She raced toward the house as her mother came out dragging her father.

“Ada Mae, I’m a doctor, and I’m telling you, there’s plenty of time.”

“Oh, don’t doctor me. You tell me about plenty of time when you’ve given birth. We’re going, Shelby!”

“I’ll be behind you in five minutes. I know how to get there.”

Griff leaned back against the van beside Callie’s window. “We’re going to have some fun, Little Red.”

T
hey did have fun.

Griff fashioned a monster face out of cardboard and, donning it, chased a thrilled Callie around the front yard. She brought him down with the magic wand he cobbled together from some tubing and more cardboard.

As the restored prince, he answered the first text from Shelby.

At the hospital now—everything’s going well. Okay there?

He considered for a moment.

We’re great. We’re heading out now to find some traffic to play in.

He took Callie in for a Coke, and judged by her wide, shiny eyes Coke wasn’t something on her usual beverage menu. It took a solid half hour to run off her Coke high. Breathless and wiser, he loaded the kid back in the van and took her for a quick drive for a pack of juice boxes.

That had to be a better option.

He spotted the sign
Pups For Sale
, decided a stop there would entertain her for a while, and pulled up in front of the compact rancher next to the little market.

Following the arrow on the sign, he took the gravel path around the back.

In a kennel, clean and dry, three cream-colored pups and one brown pup came instantly to life, yipping, racing toward the fencing, wagging chubby bodies.

Callie didn’t squeal and rush toward them as he’d expected.

She gasped, then pressed both hands to her mouth.

Then she turned her head, tipped her face up to Griff’s. And her eyes were full of wonder and love and immeasurable joy.

He thought, Oh shit, what have I done?

Then she threw her arms around his legs, squeezed. “Puppies! I
love
you, Griff. Thank you, thank you.”

“Well, ah, listen . . . I thought we’d just—”

While he fumbled, she tipped her face up again, all but blinded him with her shining joy before she broke off to, at last, rush the fence.

A woman, a baby on her hip, a red kerchief tied around her hair, stepped out of the back door of the rancher.

“Afternoon,” she said while the baby eyed him suspiciously.

“Hey. We were just at the market, and I thought she’d get a kick out of seeing the pups.”

“Why, sure. You want to go in, honey? They’re as friendly as they can be. Three months old now,” she continued as she opened the gate for Callie. “Had a litter of eight. Mama’s our Lab-retriever mix Georgie, and the daddy’s my cousin’s chocolate Lab.”

Callie ran in, dropped, and was immediately buried in puppies.

“That’s a happy sound, isn’t it?” the woman said as Callie’s giggles mixed with the yips and fake growls.

“Yeah . . . but—”

“They’re a good mix with kids, Daddy,” she said with a smile as she juggled the baby. “Gentle and loyal and playful.”

“Oh, I’m not her father. Her mother’s sister-in-law’s having a baby, pretty much now, so I’m watching Callie for a while.”

“Griff! Griff, come see. Come see the puppies.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“You go on, take your time. She’s got a good way with them. Lot of kids her age want to pull tails and ears or cart a pup around in a choke hold, but it looks like she knows how to be gentle and playful. They’re going to go fast now,” she added, as the baby decided Griff passed muster and offered a wide, drooling grin. “I just put the sign up this morning. The first four were already spoken for. I don’t sell them till they’re full weaned, had their shots and the vet clears them.”

“I’m not really . . . I mean, I thought about getting a dog. Later. Once I’ve got my place more under control.”

The woman narrowed her eyes. “You’re the one bought the old Tripplehorn place. The one who works with Emma Kate’s boyfriend. Emma Kate and Doc Pomeroy delivered Lucas here right in the exam room at the clinic. I went in for my checkup, and he got in a powerful hurry then and there. Wasn’t time to head to the hospital. Is that Shelby Pomeroy’s little girl?”

“Yeah.”

“I should’ve figured from the hair. You decide you want one of the pups, I’ll do half price, seeing as the little girl’s granddaddy and your partner’s lady helped bring my boy into the world.”

“Oh, well . . . that’s—”

“Griff, come play with the puppies!”

“You go on. I’ll be around.”

He took the brown dog.

He drew the line at Callie’s helpful name suggestions. He would not name his dog Fifi in honor of her best stuffed friend. Or Donkey in honor of Shrek’s best pal.

He hit on Snickers because of the chocolate, then had to go back to the market and buy one so Callie got the connection. He had to buy puppy food, a dish, a leash, a collar, dog treats.

By the time they loaded up again, with the puppy exploring the inside of the van, Griff’s ears were ringing.

Shelby’s next text came through as he lifted Callie out of the van, and she and the pup took off running.

Gilly’s doing great. She’ll be pushing soon. Nearly there. Let me know how it’s going if you’re done playing in traffic.

He started to text about the puppy, even though it all felt a little bit like a dream, then opted against.

Playing in traffic made us hungry. We want a snack so we’re going to hunt up strangers with candy. Go Gilly.

Babies come in their own time, and Beau Sawyer Pomeroy came into the world at seven-eleven—a lucky hour, according to his daddy—at a healthy seven pounds and twelve ounces. Shelby took time to admire him—the spitting image of her brother—dig out more tissues for her mother, and hug the proud parents.

She sent another quick text:
It’s a boy! Beau Sawyer’s beautiful, Mama and Daddy happy and well. On my way back soon.

By the time she managed to say all her goodbyes and navigate traffic out of Gatlinburg, the sun sat low. She considered stopping to text again, see if Griff wanted her to pick up any food, but decided surely they’d eaten something by now.

She pulled up beside her van, thought, What a day.

When no one answered her knock, she had a moment of concern, ordered it away. Easing the door open, she called out, then cocked her ear at the familiar sounds.

Shrek.

Shaking her head, she started back toward the great room.

Shrek and Donkey argued on the big screen. On the sofa, her little girl lay sprawled over Griff. Both of them were sound asleep.

She nearly screamed when something wet and cold hit her ankle. Looking down, she saw a fat brown puppy who immediately attached its teeth and interest to the laces of her hiking boots.

“Oh, no you don’t.” She picked up the pup, gave it a long look. “Just where did you come from?”

“Right down the road,” Griff said, opening sleepy eyes.

“Whose dog is it?”

“I guess it’s my dog. It just sort of happened. Snickers.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“His name. Snickers. Chocolate Lab–golden retriever mix.”

“He couldn’t be cuter.” Amused, charmed, she cuddled the pup in while he lapped lovingly at her chin. “Did you look at the size of his feet?”

“No. Not especially.”

“You’re going to have one big dog here.” She smiled as Snickers switched to her cheek, wiggled happily in her arms. “Which one wore you out? Callie or the dog?”

“I think we wore each other out. Baby world okay?”

“It’s perfect. Beau Sawyer, if you didn’t get my last text. Healthy, beautiful, and the family’s all beaming. I can’t thank you enough, Griff, for keeping Callie so I could be there. It meant the world to me.”

“We had fun. What time is it?”

“It’s about eight-thirty.”

“Okay, we probably crashed about twenty minutes ago.”

“Did you get something to eat? I should’ve—”

“There was chicken left from the picnic,” he interrupted. “And I did some mac and cheese because you can’t go wrong. Had some frozen peas I mostly use as an ice bag, but they worked.”

He stroked Callie’s back as he spoke, as he shifted. She rolled over like a bundle of rags.

“She’s out.”

“It’s been a happy day for her. Me, too.” She set the dog down, and he bounced to Griff, went for the laces. Griff scooped the pup up in one arm, looked around and found the chew rope he’d made out of old cord. “Try this,” he suggested, and set the dog down with it.

“Did she talk you into that dog?”

“She didn’t have to say a word.” He glanced back where Callie slept, butt hiked in the air, one arm wrapped around Fifi. “It’s all in the eyes. I planned to get one, more like in the fall. Get a little more done around here first. So I just shifted up the timeline. Plus, he was on sale. Do you want some food? There’s still some mac and cheese. The chicken’s just a fond memory.”

“No, thanks. We ate here and there at the hospital. I need to get her home and in bed.”

“Maybe you could stay.”

Tempting, so tempting when his arms slid around her.

“I’d like that, and suspect Callie would, too. But not yet, Griff. Not quite yet.”

She could prolong the moment, her mouth on his. Then her head on his shoulder. “It’s been a good day.”

“Red letter.”

He picked Callie up. She lay boneless over his shoulder while Shelby gathered the hamper, the bag. The dog raced out the door ahead of them, ran circles around the yard while Griff fixed Callie in her seat.

He watched them drive off with the western sky taking on the color of her hair. Then there was quiet.

He liked the quiet, he reminded himself, or he’d never have bought a place so far out of town. But it felt
seriously
quiet after hours of a little girl’s chatter.

He looked down to where Snickers was busy attacking his laces.

“Cut that out.” He had only to shake his foot. “Let’s make the rounds.”

They made the rounds again twice more before midnight. He’d worked too hard on the floors he’d refinished to have them ruined by a puppy.

Considering sleeping arrangements, he fashioned a temporary dog bed out of a box, some old towels, and tied another towel into a puppy-like shape. Snickers wasn’t immediately sold, but the excitement of the day did its work. With the pup as conked as Callie had been, Griff considered it a job well done, and dropped into bed himself.

He didn’t know what woke him. The clock read two-twelve, and when he checked by the flashlight app of his phone, Snickers remained curled in a ball in his box.

Though he opted to let sleeping dogs lie, something felt off. Off enough for him to walk quietly out of the bedroom. Listen.

Old houses groaned and creaked, he thought—he knew it well. And still he eased open a door, picked up a pipe wrench. Flipping on lights as he went, he started downstairs.

And there, just that . . . a faint click. A door closing.

He moved quickly now, straight toward the back and the glass doors.

He hit the lights, hit the outside floods.

He’d be spotlighted, but if anyone was out there, so would they.

He saw nothing, no movement.

Had he locked the back doors? He didn’t think so, as he rarely thought to. And with taking the pup in and out, he likely hadn’t.

He stepped out on the back porch, filtering out the night sounds, the breeze, the mournful call of an owl, the faint echo of a dog barking somewhere across the ridge.

He heard an engine turn over, the crunch of tires on gravel.

He stood for a while, looking out into the dark.

Someone had been in his house, he was damn sure of it.

He went in, locked the door—though it occurred to him since it was all glass, it wouldn’t take much if someone wanted in.

He scanned the area, looking for anything out of place.

His gaze passed over the laptop he’d left on the kitchen island, tracked back.

He’d left the top up—almost always did. But it was down now.

And when he walked over, put a hand on it, it felt slightly warm.

He lifted the lid, began to poke around. He was no computer geek, but he knew enough to get by.

It didn’t take long to discover someone had hacked in, downloaded his files. Bank, bills, e-mails, the works.

“What the fuck?”

He spent the next twenty minutes cursing and changing all his passwords, all his codes and user names. Anything he could think of.

What he couldn’t think of was what someone would want with his data.

He spent more time sending out an e-mail blast—friends, family, business contacts, anyone on his list—telling them his data had been compromised and not to respond to anything from his old e-mail address.

After checking every door and window, he took the laptop with him upstairs.

Better security, he thought, on his data, on his house, had just bumped up to top priority.

An hour after he’d woken, he tried to settle down again, listening to every creak, every rattle of wind. Just as he started to drift off, the dog woke and began to whimper.

“Yeah, it figures.” He shoved up, pulled on pants again. “Might as well make the rounds, Snickers.”

When he did, the beam of his flashlight picked up a clear footprint in the soft ground beside the gravel of his drive.

•   •   •

“Y
OUR BLACK EYE’S
just fading, and you had a break-in?”

Matt dealt with touching up the paint while Griff installed the last of the trim in Ada Mae’s new master bath.