The Liar (33 page)

“You’d better.”

“But I don’t think I tell you often enough what a wonderful woman you are. Even beyond Mama, Mama-in-law and Gamma.”

“Now, that’s just put the sprinkles on the icing of the chocolate cupcake of my day.” She gave Shelby a squeeze.

“Let me put things away. I wasn’t just paying bills, and I’m doing all right with that, so don’t worry. I was trying to figure things out, I guess, looking at pictures of my time with Richard. Trying to remember all the places we went, and when and why.”

“You sure did travel, so that’s something you have that can’t be taken away. I loved getting postcards or letters or e-mails from you when you were in those foreign places.”

“I don’t suppose you saved any of them.”

“For heaven’s sake, of course I did. I have them all in a box.”

“Mama, you are wonderful. Can I have them? I’ll give them back to you once I’ve looked through.”

“There on the shelf in my sitting room closet. Blue box with white tulips on it. It’s labeled.”

“Thank you, Mama.” She added another squeeze. “Thank you.”

•   •   •

S
HE DID BUY A DRESS
, just a simple summer dress the color of the mint her mother added to tea. And Ada Mae was right. It gave her incredible satisfaction to know she bought the dress with money she’d earned.

It only took a couple of questions to find out where Griff was working that day, and she found both him and Matt, sweaty and stripped to the waist (oh my!), building a deck on a house just outside the town proper.

“Hey.” Griff swiped at his face with an already damp bandanna. “Don’t touch me, I’m past disgusting. In fact, you ought to stay downwind.”

“I have brothers,” she said simply, and bent to greet the happy Snickers. “Congratulations, Matt. Consider yourself hugged.”

“Thanks. Emma Kate said you guys met in the park this morning, and you’re maid of honor. Meet the best man.”

“Well, Best Man, you and I have a lot of consulting to do. Meanwhile, I have a favor to ask.”

“Name it.” Griff grabbed a jug, gulped down straight from it whatever was inside.

“Mama’s got plans for the children, and I have some . . . research I want to do. I was wondering if I could do it at your place. I’d fix you dinner as payment for the quiet spot to work.”

“Sure. I get the best of that deal. I’ve been locking up since . . . so . . .” He dug in his pocket for his keys, pulled one off the ring. “This’ll get you in.”

“I really appreciate this. Matt, the four of us are going to need to get together soon. Weddings require considerable strategy. I know Miz Bitsy’s leading the charge on the engagement party—”

“Don’t scare me when I’m working with power tools.”

“We’ll handle Miz Bitsy,” Shelby assured him. “Emma Kate and I have been planning our weddings since we were ten. Of course, what she wants now may not include a silver princess carriage pulled by six white horses.”

“Really scaring me.”

“But, I have the basics, and I can help work Miz Bitsy around.”

“Will you put that in writing?” he asked, and took the jug from Griff. “Maybe in blood. I don’t care whose blood.”

“It’s a solemn promise. But I need to hear what you want, too. I’m awful good at coordinating things.”

“Emma Kate said the same. I’m counting on you.”

“You can, so we’ll get together soon, all right?”

“How about my place, Saturday night?” Griff asked. “We’ll throw something on the grill and strategize. If you don’t want to ask your parents to watch Little Red, bring her along,” he added, anticipating. “We can always hang her in a closet, stick her in a drawer.”

“Let me work on that. I’d better get going, and let you get back to work. Pretend I gave you another hug, Matt. You’ve made my very best friend happier than I’ve ever seen her. So I’m inclined to love you a lot.”

“I’m getting married,” Matt said when Shelby left.

“That’s right, pal. Hold on a minute.” He set down the nail gun he’d just picked up, jogged after Shelby. “Hey. I didn’t get a pretend hug.”

“No, you didn’t, but that’s because I’m going to give you a lot more than that later. No pretending.”

“Oh yeah?”

“On the instructions of my mama.”

“I really like your mama.”

“So do I. Bye now.”

“We’ll probably knock off around four, four-thirty,” he called out.

“I’ll be there.”

“Nice to know,” Griff said quietly, then grinned down at Snickers, who’d followed him and his boot laces. “Really nice to know.”

•   •   •

S
HE WENT BY THE MARKET FIRST
, as she’d decided on what she’d fix for dinner when she’d seen Griff at his job site.

She settled down in his kitchen, angling herself so she could see out those wonderful glass doors to the view whenever she looked up.

But once she opened her mother’s keepsake box and began reading, she didn’t look up often.

She broke to work on dinner, get it in the oven. And think.

It was odd and fascinating to see herself, to review her own perspective through the prism of time. Only a handful of years, really, but a lifetime altogether.

She could see it now, the naiveté, the nearly blank slate she’d been. Richard had seen that, too, and used it very well.

Callie had changed her—she could read that, too, in photographs and letters. What she’d written, how she’d written it, had shifted after Callie was born.

Had her mother been fooled by the bright tone of the letters, the e-mails, the quickly dashed postcards once the daughter had become a mother herself? Shelby doubted it. Even now she could hear the tinny tone under the brightness.

She’d been so unhappy so quickly, all the fierce self-confidence gradually, carefully, she saw now, wiped away. The only true happiness broke through when she wrote of Callie.

No, her mother wouldn’t have been fooled. Her mother would have seen, very well, how she’d written less and less of Richard.

But in the first year or so, there had been plenty, and minute details of where they’d traveled, the people she met, the things she saw.

She could follow herself easily from her own words, and begin to see.

She’d think a great deal more, she promised herself. She might never have the answers, but she’d found a bank box from a key in the pocket of a jacket.

So she’d think a great deal more.

She had the counter set for dinner, the wine she’d bought—she’d have to hope for good tips on Friday night—ready when she heard Griff’s truck.

She got out a beer, opened it and walked out to meet him.

He looked hot, sweaty and all but edible when he smiled over at her, leaned on his truck, tipped his sunglasses down to look at her over them while the dog ran in circles over the front lawn.

“Now, that’s what’s been missing from the front porch. A beautiful redhead with a cold beer.”

“I figured you’d be ready for one.” She walked down the steps. “I have brothers.”

“I’m more than ready for one. I’m still not touching you. May turned to August today.”

“It often does.”

“You should brace yourself for after I get a shower. How’s Callie doing?”

“About to have hot dogs on the grill for supper with her cousin and her best friend, and that’s after they were all stripped down so they could run around in the sprinkler.”

“Sprinkler sounds pretty good. Hot dogs don’t sound bad.”

“Those’ll have to wait for next time.”

“When I have a beautiful redhead with a cold beer fixing dinner, I’m not picky.”

He walked in the house with her, with the pup rushing to keep up. Griff sniffed the air. “What’s cooking? It smells great.”

“Meat loaf with baby potatoes and carrots.”

“Meat loaf?” He sniffed again. “Seriously?”

“It’s a warm day for it, but a manly meal. You looked like meat loaf for supper when I saw you today.”

“I haven’t had homemade meat loaf since the last time I was in Baltimore and sweet-talked my mother into it. Why don’t most women appreciate the loaf of meat?”

“You just answered your own question. I’m just going to go check on it.”

“I’ll grab that shower. Then brace yourself, Red.”

Amused, stirred, she went back to the stove, judged she’d timed it well. Then reconsidered.

Self-confidence, she thought. She remembered what it was like to be confident and bold.

She turned the oven down and went up the back stairs.

Griff chugged the cold beer while cool water rained blissfully down on his head. It felt like pounds of sweat and grime sliding away. It was going to be a nice deck, he thought, but he hadn’t been ready for the change in the weather.

Spring had come in so soft and benign, he’d forgotten what a hot, wet hammer summer could pound with in the Smokies.

And today had been just a quick preview of coming attractions.

Once it hit full, he and Matt would start earlier in the day, knock off earlier in the afternoon. And that would give him time to work inside on his own projects. Then there were the plans for the bar and grill once the permits came through.

Then, of course, there was Shelby. He wanted as much time as he could steal with her.

Even as he thought of her, the glass door opened.

She stood, her hair curling wildly over her shoulders, wearing nothing but a knowing smile. With her eyes on his, she took the beer out of his hand, set it on the counter behind her.

“You’re going to need both hands,” she told him.

“It’s a day of miracles,” he said, and reached for her.

“It’s cool.” Tipping her head back, she traced her fingertips up his back. “The water’s cool.”

“Too cool?”

“No, it’s nice. And this is even better.” She rose up to her toes, fixed her mouth on his. And there was nothing cool in the kiss.

He thought it a wonder the water didn’t go to steam the way she heated his blood. Instant and fierce. Every sweaty hour he’d put in that day, every restless hour of the night he’d spent wanting her, worried for her, spilled away.

Soft skin, eager mouth, greedy hands—in that moment, she gave him everything he needed.

“I’ve been wanting you since I had you.” He couldn’t take fast enough. “Going crazy just to touch you again.”

“I go crazy when you touch me. Don’t stop touching me.”

Heat and need and pleasure mixed to hammer in her heart, to shimmer under her skin. The more he gave her, the more she wanted, and reveled in her own appetite.

For him, just him, the hard hands, the tough, workingman’s body. His mouth, patient and demanding at once, made her head spin.

He hiked her up by the hips, bringing her off the shower floor. That surprising strength, the hard grip with rough-palmed hands, combined to make her feel vulnerable, desirable, powerful.

Eyes on his, she wrapped her legs around his waist, dug her fingers into his shoulders for purchase.

Then she was crying out as he plunged into her. Shocked and thrilled and quivering for the next mad thrust.

Water striking, seeming to sizzle and spark against tile. Wet flesh slipping, sliding under her hands. And her own breathless gasps.

She felt weightless, wondrous, clinging to him as he whipped them both higher. Clung still as they tumbled into the blissful dark.

“Hold on,” he managed, and groped to turn off the water. “Just hold on.”

“Mmmm. I feel like I might slide right down the drain.”

She sensed movement, stayed wrapped around him even when he dropped them both on the bed.

“I need a minute,” he told her.

“Take your time.”

“I meant to. But you were all wet and naked. I’ll get towels in a minute.”

“I bought a new dress.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah, and I was going to put it on for dinner, then let you take it off me after. I didn’t take my time, either.”

The image brought on a small but definite surge of fresh energy. “Do you still have the dress?”

“Hanging in your laundry room.”

He trailed a finger down her side. “You could go with your plan, and we’ll both take our time.”

“I like that idea. What I didn’t think to bring was a hair dryer. I don’t suppose you have one.”

“Nope, sorry.”

“Well, between the shower and the humidity and no hair tools, my hair’s going to be as big as the moon. I must have bands and clips in my purse.”

“I like your hair.”

She curled into him. “I like yours. I like how the sun’s starting to streak it. You’d pay good money for highlights like that at my granny’s.”

“Men who eat meat loaf don’t have highlights.”

She kissed his shoulder. “You do, and I’m getting those towels, and turning dinner back up.”

“You turned it down?”

She gave him the slow, flirtatious, under-the-lashes smile Callie often did. “I wanted you in the shower, so dinner’s going to take just a little longer than I’d planned.”

“I like that you turned it down. I’ll get the towels.”

He rose, walked back into the bathroom. “What were you researching—or was that a ploy to get me wet and naked?”

“It wasn’t a ploy, just a bonus.” She smiled, took the towel he offered. “Griffin, my hair’s like another person, and that other person also needs a towel.”

“Right.” He went in for another, and the beer she’d taken and set on the counter.

“So what were you researching?”

“Oh.” She’d wrapped the first towel around her body, and now bent from the waist to gather her hair in the second. “You don’t want to talk about that. It’s all the other things. The Richard things.”

“You don’t want to talk about it?”

“I do.” She straightened, somehow tucking parts of the towel into the whole in a way that fascinated him. “I want to talk to somebody about it who’d have some perspective on it. I thought I’d run all of it by Forrest, maybe tomorrow, even though he’s probably thought of half of what I just thought of already, but . . .”

“Put on the new dress, and we’ll talk about it while the loaf of meat is cooking.”

S
he turned up the oven, put on the dress, banded back her hair so it wouldn’t explode as it dried.

She joined him on the back porch, with wine, and just sat a moment, looking out at the mountains with their soft peaks and ridges rolling up into the sky.

“I was paying bills today when the kids were napping, and I thought about how Jimmy Harlow—it has to be him—would be looking at all my business. The lawyer stuff, the creditors, the accounts I’ve kept of what I was able to sell. I thought how embarrassing that is, a stranger poking around in all that, and told myself it was worth the embarrassment if it made him realize I don’t have anything he wants.”

“That’s good thinking. Smart, positive.”

“Then I was thinking more. He’d see all the photos I have on the laptop. I keep them all in files on there—I transferred them from my old one once I got it back from the authorities. I never got around to going through them all, deleting any from . . . from the time I was with Richard because there was just so much else to do. It occurred to me he’d—Harlow—he’d seen, especially from that first year or so, all the places we went. He could follow right along, like a map.”

Griff nodded. “And so could you.”

“Yes! That’s what I realized. So could I. Griff, I think Richard took me all those places for a reason—I understand now he never did anything without an angle to play. I was like his disguise. I—and then when Callie came along, we—made him a family man. What if he stashed the jewelry or the stamps, or both, in one of those places, or sold some of it off as we went? And I started thinking more, once I started looking through the pictures, he was probably doing his work, too. On his honeymoon—or so I thought—then with his pregnant wife. Such a handy disguise, the pregnant wife.”

“I’m going to agree with you, even though I know it has to burn some.”

“I’m past the burning. Looking through the pictures, the letters I sent home, I started remembering what he’d always say to me—at least for the first months or year. Whenever we were going to meet somebody, he’d say, ‘Just be yourself, Shelby.’ How that would charm them. Not to worry, I didn’t know anything about art or wine or fashion, that sort of thing. I was never nervous about meeting new people, but I started to be.”

“He made you feel awkward, and . . . less.”

“He did, and as the ‘be yourself’ started changing to how I shouldn’t try to impress whoever it was because they’d just see through that. I guess I didn’t have a lot to say, and that made a good disguise for him.”

She sipped the wine, set that part aside for now.

“I thought maybe I could look at articles online, matching them with the time we were in a certain place. Was there a robbery? A fraud? Even worse? And I had more to use because Mama saved all my letters and postcards. Every one. So I could read through, remind myself what we did, where we went in Paris or Madrid, who we met. I was full of details at first, so swept up in it all.”

“Does anything stick out now, when you look at it from what you know now?”

“A couple of things. Why was he in Memphis? I don’t believe he just stuck a pin in a map. But there he was, and only four days from when he robbed that woman—Lydia Redd Montville—and shot her son.”

“Four days after, according to the brunette, he double-crossed her and Harlow, ran off with the take.”

“That’s right. I think he must have had that take with him, or he’d stashed it. A bank box, maybe. He had his new identity, and he had a fat roll of cash. Or it seemed like it to me. And there I was, just primed to be dazzled and swept up.”

“Do you want my angle on that?”

She drew in a breath. “I guess I do.”

“The cops were looking for Jake Brimley, a man on his own. He had to know his partners would rat him out. He didn’t go into it without a plan in place. The new ID, the seed money, a change in looks. But he needed one more thing. He needed to be a couple.”

“I think that’s true.”

“He wouldn’t want someone like the brunette, someone who could play his game. He’d want innocence, youth, someone malleable and trusting. And ready to be dazzled.”

On that she could only nod, let out a long breath. “I sure fit the bill, right down to the ground.”

“He was a professional manipulator, Shelby. You didn’t stand a chance once he zeroed in on you. He ends up with a young, striking redhead, so he’s not only not traveling alone, he has someone people notice. Notice first, remember last. Where did he take you first?”

“He spent four days in Memphis. I’d never met anyone so charming, and exciting, too, the way he talked about all his travels. Our gig was over, and I planned to come home for a week or so before the next one. But when he said he had to go to New York, for business, and asked me to go with him, I went.”

She let out a half-laugh. “Just like that. It was just going to be a few days—an adventure, I thought. And it was thrilling.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Griff countered.

“We flew on a private plane. I’d never known anyone who’d been on a private plane.”

“No security, no luggage check. You can take anything you want on private, right?”

“I hadn’t thought of that. He almost always flew private. At the time it was just one more thrill. I’d never been anywhere like New York, and he was so sweet and charming and . . . well, he seemed dazzled by me. It wasn’t the money, Griff, though I can’t say I didn’t love that he’d buy me nice clothes and take me to restaurants. It was the sparkle of it, all of it. It was blinding.”

“He made sure of it.”

“Even now it’s hard to believe he didn’t mean the things he said back then. How I was what had been missing from his life. I wanted to be that—I wanted to be what had been missing from his life. So when he asked me not to go back, but to go with him to Dallas—more business—I went. I threw everything away and went with him.”

“Another major city.”

Closing her eyes, she nodded. “Yes. You see that pattern already? We always went to a big city, always stayed for only a few days. Sometimes he’d give me a wad of cash, tell me to go out shopping because he had meetings. Then he’d come back with flowers—white roses. He said how he lived on the road or in the air right then, but how he was ready—now that he had me—to settle down somewhere.”

“Exactly what you’d want to hear. It was his business to read people, to be what they wanted or expected.”

She sat silent for a moment, appreciating the softening light, the whisper of air in the trees, the bubble of the stream.

“If I’d built a man I’d fall for, at that point in my life, it would have been Richard. The thing is, Griff, in those first few weeks, we crisscrossed the country.”

“Covering his tracks.”

“I think so, and I wonder, did he have places along the way where he left part of the take from that Florida robbery? If he had a bank box in Philadelphia, maybe he had others. Melinda Warren indicated that. He never seemed to run out of cash, so I think maybe he had those boxes to pull from, or he was stealing along the way.”

“Probably both.”

She shifted toward him, angling so they were face-to-face. “I think it was both. Looking through the pictures and letters, I remembered when we were in St. Louis, and I woke up to find him gone. He’d go out for walks—that’s what he said. Thinking time. He didn’t get back until nearly dawn, and he was excited. Just quivering with it. We left that morning. He rented a car and we drove to Kansas City. Just a quick stop, he said. He had a business associate to meet up with. And he pulled this Cartier watch out of his pocket, said he’d picked up a little something for me. A couple years later, I went to put it on, and it was gone. He got angry, said I’d been careless and lost it, but I hadn’t been careless. Anyway, I went on the Internet and I looked back, matching up the dates, and found there’d been a burglary that night in St. Louis. Jewelry again, about a quarter of a million in jewelry. And watches.”

“Steals them in St. Louis, fences them in Kansas City.”

“I guess he figured the watch was my cut—for a while. There were other times. I’m going to see if I can match them up like St. Louis.”

He reached over, gave her arm a rub. “What’ll that tell you?”

“I know I can’t change any of it.” She dropped her gaze to her hands, thought of her notes, her stacks of photos and postcards. “But maybe he did steal in those places, and at least I can give what I know, or think I might know, to the police. It feels like I’d be doing something.”

“You are doing something.”

“Right now I should be putting dinner on the table.” She rose. “I appreciate you listening.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He walked in with her. “I’ve got a list of my own started.”

“What kind of list?”

“I don’t have the information you do.” He glanced at the memory box, the laptop. “I wouldn’t mind having a look at it. Mine’s pretty much a list of names, events, times. Warren, Harlow and Brimley—as he was known then. Miami robbery, the shooting, the double-cross. You come next. I didn’t realize it was only days after Miami, but had to figure it wasn’t long.”

“It’s like I was as tailor-made for him as I thought he was for me.” She put the meat loaf on a trivet, got out his only platter. Transferring the meat and vegetables, she glanced around as he’d gone quiet.

“What is it?”

“I don’t want to upset you more than all this already does, but I don’t think he just walked into the club where you were playing that night and decided, okay, she’s my cover.”

“What do you think?”

“I think he spent a couple days checking you out. You’re a looker, Red, and I bet you were a looker at nineteen, on stage. Your name’s right there, so he could look you up, ask a few questions. You’re single, unattached.”

Thoughtfully, she garnished the platter with curly parsley and rings of red and green peppers. “A bumpkin from a little mountain town in Tennessee.”

“You’ve never been a bumpkin. But there you are—young, fresh, inexperienced, but game. It takes game to get on stage. He checks you out, then he moves in, feels you out. By then he’s got a good sense what you’re like, what you like. And he makes himself exactly what you like.”

“What if I’d said no, no, I can’t just run off to New York City with you?”

“He’d have moved on, found somebody who would. I’m sorry.”

“No need to be. It’s a relief in its way to feel like it was never really about me. It was never really personal. It makes it more of a puzzle to solve.”

“Okay. Wow, that looks great.”

Pleased, she set the completed platter on the eating counter. “My mama would tell you presentation counts. So even if it doesn’t taste good, at least it looks good. Let’s hope we have both. Sit down. I’ll serve it up, and you can tell me what’s next on your list.”

“Houston, right?”

“It was Houston for about six months.”

“Then Atlanta, Philadelphia, then Hilton Head. You said Richard never did anything without a reason. Why did he want you and Callie to go with him to Hilton Head?”

“You think he might have had some sort of deal going there, and we’d have been cover again.” She plated a hefty slice of meat loaf with generous portions of potatoes and carrots. “Oh God, Griff, what if it wasn’t an accident? What if the deal went bad, and he was killed? Dumped in the ocean?”

“You’re probably never going to know the answer to that one. He put out an SOS, didn’t he?”

“Somebody did, but . . . Griff, Forrest said Harlow escaped around Christmas. Richard—that was just a couple days after Christmas.”

“Killing Richard wouldn’t be a smart way to get to the millions.”

“No, you’re right. But there could’ve been a fight, an accident, and you’re still right. I’m probably never going to know, at least unless they catch Harlow.”

She put a smaller portion on her plate, sat. “It probably happened just the way the police think. He liked taking risks. Driving fast, skiing the fastest slopes, scuba diving, rock climbing, skydiving. He wouldn’t have let a squall stop him. But it did. What else?”

“The PI. Maybe he’s just what he claimed, but—” After the first bite of meat loaf, Griff stopped. “Wow.” Sampled another bite. “Okay, that seals it. I’m keeping you. This meat loaf’s better than my mom’s—and if you tell her I said that, I’ll swear you’re a liar.”

“I’d never insult another woman’s meat loaf. You really like it?”

“Ask me again after I’ve licked the plate.”

“Must be the beer. In the meat loaf.”

“There’s beer in the meat loaf?”

“An old family recipe.”

“Definitely keeping you.” He stopped eating long enough to cup a hand at the back of her neck, pull her over for a kiss.

“I haven’t made meat loaf in years, so I’m glad it turned out.”

“Prizewinning.”

“Tell me what you think about that detective.”

“Right. I fell into an altered state due to beer-laced meat loaf. So the PI, he tracks you to Philly, follows you down here. He’s either dedicated or he has an agenda. He’s licensed and all that, and he swears the brunette wasn’t his client. Forrest says he won’t name the client.”

“I didn’t get that much out of Forrest.”

Griff shrugged. “We were talking. He’s alibied for the night of the murder, so there’s no legit cause to hassle him. Yet.”