Daniel paused. “We’re not sure about that, although everyone is assuming that was the case. He had access to the stories about Mad Martha and Nellie, and he was definitely coaching Chrissy to gaslight you. It makes sense that the whole thing was a setup. What other explanation could there be? After all, ghosts don’t exist, right?” He smiled as he said it, but it seemed forced.
Could it all have been an act? I thought of Chrissy’s empty eyes when she was sleepwalking, and the horror on her face when she woke up and I told her she had been sleepwalking. Was she really that good of an actor? I thought of the locket, the journal. Could all of that have been a massive setup designed to play into my fears, just so Stefan could get what he wanted?
Or was there something else going on? Something … more sinister?
I drank the tea.
“I feel like a complete idiot.” I said. “Our entire relationship was one giant lie and I had no idea. How did I fall for someone who only wanted me because he thought he could get my grandparents’ Trust? He must have thought he won the lottery when he got notice about Aunt Charlie passing. He probably thought that was a much easier inheritance to get his hands on.”
Daniel squeezed my hand. “He fooled a lot of people, Becca. Including his own daughter.”
His hand was warm, and I could feel electric tingles where he touched me. I stared into his eyes, wishing with all my heart that things had been different. Maybe if Jessica had never disappeared that night, maybe if I hadn’t drunk so much I ended up with alcohol poisoning … but there was no sense going there. What’s done was done. And for all I knew, he was never all that interested in me in the first place. He was still engaged, after all. Plus, I was batting oh-for-two—actually, I was possibly in the negatives, at that point. Starting another relationship was the last thing I needed.
He seemed to sense my discouragement, and removed his hand from mine. After the warmth of his fingers, my skin felt so cold, I shivered.
“I can’t even imagine how Chrissy felt,” I said, rubbing the place where his hand was, and trying not to think about how alone I was. “Her own father had one, ONE, one-way ticket to Ecuador. She’s only sixteen. Where on earth did he think she was going to live, while he hid in Ecuador?”
Daniel slid back in his chair, distancing himself from me. “It looks like he had reached out to his ex-wife, to have her take custody. It also looks like he was planning to leave her money—we found a safety deposit box in her name full of cash. While Wisconsin doesn’t have any clear emancipation laws for minors, she’s sixteen. If one of her parents had given consent, she may have been able to simply stay here in this house.”
I stared at him. “Really?”
He shrugged. “Legally, it’s possible. If he had managed to have you involuntarily committed, and had taken ownership of the house, and if his ex had refused to take custody, he could have drawn up the necessary paperwork for her to stay here. You wouldn’t have been able to contest anything. But, when he actually became a fugitive, I don’t know what would have happened.”
“Wow,” I said. “I … just wow. I mean, I’ve had a lot of time to think about how ruthless he was, but that seems harsh even for him.”
“Yeah, he’s a real peach. Abandoning his own daughter, involuntarily committing his wife, framing his lover. Keep in mind there was no ticket for Sabrina either. Imagine her shock when she realized he not only wasn’t planning to take her, but that he had set up a paper trail that led straight to her.”
“Karma is a bitch,” I said.
He inclined his head. “That it is.”
A blue jay landed on the bird feeder, cawing loudly and scattering the other birds who angrily chirped back. “Where is Chrissy now?”
“With social services.” He saw the expression on my face and lifted his hands in supplication. “Everyone knows that’s not a good place for her, but we don’t have any other options. Her mother isn’t responding to us and her father is in jail. Stefan is beyond furious that Chrissy turned on him, and wants nothing to do with her, so he won’t talk. And we’ve been trying to track down other family members, but it hasn’t been easy. Chrissy seems to be too depressed to do much of anything except the bare minimum to stay alive.”
I could feel my heart breaking. Stefan had told me that he was an only child and both his parents were dead. I had no idea if that was true. I thought Stefan’s ex had a brother and a mother somewhere, but I had never met or even talked to them. I had no idea where they lived, or even their names. And, of course, that could have all been a lie, too. In fact, it would be smart if I just assumed everything Stefan had told me from the beginning was a lie.
Although, to be fair, Stefan wasn’t the only one who had lied in this relationship. I had lied as well. Right from the beginning, I had lied about who I was, and then I spent our entire short marriage trying to convince both him and myself that I was something I wasn’t.
All because I wanted him to take care of me.
I lied because I believed the lie I was told my whole life: that I couldn’t take care of myself.
I still wasn’t sure if I could. But at least now, I’m willing to try.
I thought about Chrissy and what it had cost her to betray her own father—the only parent who had been willing to take care of her. I thought I was alone. What she felt must have been ten times—no hundreds of times—worse.
“What if I take her?” I found myself saying. Daniel looked at me in surprise.
“You? Uh, no. That’s not a good idea.”
“Why? I’m her stepmother.”
“Did you forget the part where she colluded with her father to involuntary commit you?”
I dropped my gaze to the glass table, seeing the rings our lemonade classes had left. “It’s not like she tried to kill me,” I said.
“No, but she DID try and drug you. Remember those cookies she baked? She admitted to drugging them, with the same thing Stefan had been putting in your coffee. He wasn’t sure you’d still react the way you did fifteen years ago to the allergy meds, and thought a little extra kick wouldn’t hurt.”
“She threw those cookies away,” I said, thinking back. “That was when I was so sick. And clearly, she was feeling guilty about it. You brought her home drunk after she baked those cookies.”
“Yeah, well. Not a good idea to have her in your house.”
I sighed. “She’s not going to hurt me, Daniel. All she had to do is keep her mouth shut at the end, and she couldn’t. She’s not like her father.”
“Yeah, well. I don’t think the courts are going to agree with you.”
“Maybe not.” But, maybe there was something I could do to help her.
Daniel drained his lemonade glass and placed it on the table. “I better get back to work.”
I nodded and stood up as well. “Thanks for stopping by,” I said. It sounded so final, but I knew I was being silly. We both lived there, in Redemption … of course I would see him again.
Except he was still engaged.
“Of course. You’re planning on staying, right?”
I looked around the yard. The garden was still a bit wild, but I was starting to tame it. It was a blaze of colors, everything blooming. “Aunt Charlie wanted me here. And, I’m starting to feel like she was right.” Not to mention the fact that I wasn’t even sure if my parents would want me back in New York, after all the drama I’d caused. Appearances were important to them, and I had pretty much failed in that category.
He studied me for a long moment. I felt something pass between us, something that had no name. I found myself thinking about what he said in the hospital—should I bring up what happened between us fifteen years ago again? Or did it even matter? Maybe all of it was in my head—he certainly didn’t seem to be interested in me. Before I could figure out what to do, he was turning to go.
He had almost disappeared
around the corner of the house when I called him back. “I never properly thanked you. For what you did. If it wasn’t for you …”
“It was my pleasure,” he interrupted. “Don’t even think about it. I’m just glad it worked out the way it did.”
I half-smiled. “Too bad I wasn’t able to really help you.”
He cocked his head. “What do you mean?”
“Well, this all started because you wanted to pick my brain over Jessica. But, my memory of that night never returned.”
“Oh that,” he smiled slightly as he turned to leave. “Probably just as well. I’m sure she just ran away.”
Ran away. Something about the way he said it didn’t sound right. And the way the trees and the branches rustled as he walked away, it almost sounded like laughter.
I shook my head to go back to my gardening. Of course she ran away. I was letting my thoughts get the better of me. What else could have happened to her?
Hi there!
I hope you enjoyed reading It Began With a Lie as much as I enjoyed writing it! (If you did, I’d love it if you’d leave me a review on Amazon.)
If you’d like to keep hanging out with Becca, Daniel, and the gang, keep reading for a sneak peek at Book 2: This Happened to Jessica.
I also want to invite you to check out my blog at MPWNovels.com. There, you’ll discover lots of fun things, like:
• A free novella, The Secret Diary of Helen Blackstone. (Who is Helen Blackstone? Why, she’s Mad Martha’s daughter. Need I say more?)
• Book club discussion questions.
• Stories about my journey as an author.
• Book reviews.
• Other short pieces of fiction and fun posts.
AND, you’ll meet Riley, my fictional alter ego who is also a ghost hunter (think Bridget Jones turned real-life ghost hunter). You can even listen to a Riley podcast (“The Adventures of Riley Longhill: Ghost Hunter!”).
Remember, it’s all happening at MPWNovels.com.
Happy reading!
Michele
P.S. Don’t forget to turn the page for a taste of This Happened to Jessica …
Michele
Chapter 1 - Jessica
“Haven’t you been moping around long enough?”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
The older woman standing on my front porch straightened herself to her full height, which was none too high. The best way to describe her was round—round face, round glasses, round bosom, round belly. Her silver-grey hair was cut short, and it ‘poofed’ around her face like a dandelion gone to seed. She looked like a stereotypical grandmother, except for her sharp eyes, which peered out at me from behind black-rimmed frames. She smelled like a combination of mothballs and chamomile. “I said, haven’t you been moping around long enough?”
“Uh,” I wasn’t sure how to answer her. It was true I hadn’t been doing much other than recovering from what Stefan, my now-estranged husband, had done to me, but I had no idea how in the world she would know this. “Do I know you?”
She snorted in exasperation. “Of course you do. You’re Becca, Charlie’s niece. Where on earth are your manners? Are you going to invite me in or what?”
“Well, yeah, but ... who are you?”
“Pat.”
She continued staring at me with those sharp little bird eyes, clearly waiting for the invitation. I still had no idea who Pat was but found myself relenting under her gaze. She did seem harmless enough. I backed away from the door so she could come in. She snorted again, plainly miffed at how long it had taken, and bustled her way straight to the kitchen. I hurried after her.
“Why don’t you have water simmering?” she exclaimed as she entered the kitchen. “Did you forget everything Charlie taught you?”
Before I could properly frame an answer, she began banging away in the kitchen, filling the tea kettle with water and bringing out the teapot and cups.
I moved into the kitchen to help her. “So, you knew my aunt?”
She slammed a drawer shut. “Of course I knew your aunt. Who in this town didn’t know her? She treated me for years—thyroid and insomnia. You probably saw all of that in her files.”
Oh. So that’s what this was about. Since the whole blowup with Stefan, I’ve had various folks reach out to me, assuming I would be taking over Aunt Charlie’s business. But, quite honestly, I was still figuring out what I wanted to do.
Her birdlike eyes studied me for a moment. “You don’t remember me, do you? I watched you grow up, you know. Saw you every summer you were here.”
“I think I remember you,” I said, even though it was a lie. Great. Yet another memory lost to me. “It was just a long time ago.”
She let out a rusty chuckle. “Not that long ago. But I guess for someone your age, it seems that way.” She went back to digging in my drawers for tea. “Is this all you have?” she snapped, holding up one of my store-bought boxes.
I swallowed. “For now.”
“Hmph.” Muttering something about how she could have stayed home for store-bought tea, she prepared a couple of mugs for us and took them to the butcher-block table.
I found myself trailing after her, feeling like things had somehow gotten flipped around, reversing our roles. She was the host and I was the guest. But as I sat down in front of her, I felt the sadness that was never very far from my consciousness rise up inside me, nearly swamping me in its intensity.
She reminded me of Aunt Charlie. This is precisely how Aunt Charlie would have acted.
I so wished she was the one making tea for us.
Pat pushed the mug over to me, spilling a little in the process. I took it and held it, focusing on its warmth in my hands to keep the tears from spilling over.
God, I was still such an emotional mess. I was starting to wonder if I would ever feel like myself again or if what happened had permanently destroyed some essential piece of me.
Pat blew noisily over the tea to cool it. “You haven’t answered me yet.”
I blinked at her. “Sorry. What haven’t I answered?”
She rolled her eyes. “Are you finished moping?”
I picked up my tea and held it near my lips, but I didn’t drink. Instead, I breathed in the scent of oranges and cinnamon. “I didn’t realize I was moping.”
“Well, what else would you call it? There’s no tea in here and no one’s heard from you. We’re all waiting for you to get up and running.”
I took a deep breath. “I don’t know if I’m going to be starting Aunt Charlie’s business up again.”
She looked aghast. “Of course you are! What else are you going to do?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
She put her tea down with a bang, sloshing more of it on the table. “What are you talking about? You have the gift! Charlie always said you’d take over.”
I closed my eyes. Thanks, Aunt Charlie. It would have been nice if you had mentioned that to me. “She and I never talked about it. I’m still trying to figure out what I want to do.”
Pat waved her hand at me. “Pshaw. You don’t need to figure anything out. You’re an artist and a healer. You’ve just got to stop moping and get back to work.”
Am I? Pat sounded so confident. I wished I could soak it up.
“I haven’t been the same since I ran out of the tea Charlie made for me. You can start by making me another batch. I haven’t slept right in months.” She began to gather her things and rose to her feet. “You young people, always trying to ‘find yourself’ or some such nonsense. I tell you, in my day, we never had the luxury of all that fooling around. We did what we had to do, and we were happy about it.”
She started toward the door, still berating my generation’s lack of work ethic. I followed, wondering if I should try and interrupt her to let her know I didn’t have a clue how
to prepare tea for her (or anyone, really).
As she opened the door, she called over her shoulder, “I’ll be back in a week. That should give you plenty of time to get that tea together.”
“Uh,” I tried to interrupt, but she wasn’t paying any attention. “A week is more than enough time. More than enough. If Charlie was here, she’d have it back in a couple of days. Maybe less. Young people. What are they doing with their time?”
“I don’t know ...” I tried to interrupt as she headed out the door, but she waved a finger at me.
“A week is plenty of time. Bring it to my house when you have it.”
“But I don’t know where you live,” I said, my voice trailing off as I watched her march toward her car.
Good thing I kept Aunt Charlie’s files. I guess it wouldn’t kill me to poke around to see what I could come up with. Creating a tea or two didn’t have to mean I was starting up Aunt Charlie’s business.
I was about to close the door when I saw Daphne walking up the street. I waved and waited for her.
“I suppose you want tea, too,” I said, as I let Daphne in.
“You’re finally making Charlie’s teas?” she asked.
I sighed again as I led her to the kitchen. “You sound like Pat.”
She sat down at the kitchen table. “Oh, is that what she wanted?”
It was amazing how quickly Daphne and I had resumed our close friendship. We first became friends fifteen years ago when I used to spend the summers here with Aunt Charlie, and since I’d returned six weeks ago, we’ve picked right up where we’d left off—almost like there hadn’t been a gap at all. I don’t know what I would have done without her these past few weeks. She’d been my lifeline.
I went to make a fresh cup for Daphne as she fingered the tea bags. “Store-bought tea? Oh, Becca. Tsk, tsk. Pat surely thought Aunt Charlie was rolling in her grave.”
“Something like that.”
Daphne removed her sunglasses and adjusted her reddish-brown ponytail. She had a long, almost horsy face with plain, strong features, a thin mouth and that pale white skin and freckles that are so common in redheads.
It Began With a Lie: A gripping psychological thriller (Secrets of Redemption Book 1) Page 34
