It Began With a Lie: A gripping psychological thriller (Secrets of Redemption Book 1)

by Michele PW (Pariza Wacek)

  “It’s kind of hot for tea,” Daphne said as I put a fresh mug in front of her.

  “A little heat never stopped Aunt Charlie.”

  Daphne’s lips curled up into a tiny, sad smile. “That’s true.” She picked up her mug to blow on it. “Any news?”

  I shook my head. “Stefan still refuses to sign the divorce papers.”

  “Bastard.”

  I definitely seconded that.

  “What about Chrissy? Has she talked to him yet?”

  I bobbed my tea bag a few times before removing it from the mug. “I’m not sure, but if I had to guess, I would say no.”

  Chrissy, Stefan’s sixteen-year-old daughter, and my stepdaughter, had been the unwilling pawn in her father’s scheme to bilk me of an inheritance I didn’t even know I had. Aunt Charlie had left it to me, along with the house. It wasn’t enough to live on for the rest of my life, no–but it would definitely keep the bills paid and food on the table while I figured out what I wanted to do.

  At least … it would once it had been restored. Before being arrested, Stefan had managed to drain a chunk of it, and the authorities were still sorting out where he had stashed all the money he stole. I kept telling myself it was all going to be okay—the house was paid for and the small amount of money I did have access to could pay the bills for the next couple of months, which should be more than enough time to get my trust fund sorted out.

  As hurtful as Stefan had been to me, it was still nothing compared to what he had done to his daughter. Needless to say, the fact that Chrissy had turned on him in the end didn’t help their father-daughter relationship at all. Even though my case against him was weak and he was actually being held in New York on much more serious charges, Stefan wasn’t someone who would ‘forgive and forget.’

  “Are you seeing her?” Daphne asked.

  I nodded. “Tomorrow. She’s coming over to spend the night.”

  Daphne opened her mouth before closing it firmly and sipping her tea instead.

  I appreciated her silence. We had had this argument around Chrissy many times before.

  In the couple of weeks since the night Stefan had been arrested, Daphne had been my biggest supporter and cheerleader. She brought me food, held me as I cried, and helped me remove every reminder of Stefan from the house. She and Mia, my other best friend, had even arranged to have a shaman energetically cleanse the house. She was my rock.

  But, when it came to Chrissy, we sat squarely on opposite sides. While she could understand why I didn’t necessarily want to have the book thrown at Chrissy, it made no sense to Daphne why I was willing to re-establish a relationship with my stepdaughter.

  Mia, another of my close friends from fifteen years ago, had been the one to help me with Chrissy. Just like my friendship with Daphne, Mia and I started right back up where we had left off. Unlike Daphne, though, Mia understood why I wanted to rebuild my relationship with Chrissy. She had helped navigate the legal system to find a family willing to let Chrissy stay with them until she graduated from high school. They also didn’t mind accommodating my request to work on things with my stepdaughter.

  Honestly, I couldn’t really explain why I wanted to continue being Chrissy’s stepmother. Nor did I understand the part of me that wouldn’t have minded Chrissy moving back into the house.

  Daphne was right. In the beginning, she had conspired with her father to steal my inheritance. She had hurt me, physically, emotionally, and mentally. And, it was true—I had no guarantees she wouldn’t try it again.

  But she was also the one who saved me, and I had no intention of giving up on her.

  That didn’t mean she wasn’t giving up on herself. The last time I had seen her, she was like a shadow of the girl she once was. She looked like she hadn’t slept in weeks. Her clothes were wrinkled and stained and hung on her now too-thin body awkwardly. But, worst of all, she refused to look at me. She mostly just stared down at the ground, or off into the distance.

  Margot, her foster mother, told me Chrissy was like that all the time, now. Barely eating, barely talking unless answering a direct question. They had started taking her to a therapist.

  Chrissy’s lack of family made me think of mine. Growing up, I had Aunt Charlie. She loved me and believed in me. I had my parents, of course, and two brothers who were quite a bit older. But that hadn’t stopped my parents from trying one last time for a little girl. They must have been so joyful when I was born, their dreams having come true.

  But somehow, as much as I had longed to be close to my mother, I always had this vague sense that I wasn’t the daughter she had longed for—that I was a disappointment. I could never shake the feeling that my mother would have preferred a different little girl.

  With Aunt Charlie, however, I never felt that way. I always felt loved and accepted and supported when I was with her.

  Chrissy didn’t have an Aunt Charlie. Chrissy didn’t have anyone. And I would be damned if I didn’t do what I could to be the one person in her corner.

  Daphne was talking but I had missed what she said. I asked her if she could repeat it.

  “I asked what you’re doing Saturday night. A group of us are getting together.”

  “Um. I’m not sure,” I said. “Who’s going?” As much as I was ready for some fun—hell, I was long overdue for some fun!—I also had no desire to run into Daniel and his fiancé.

  I had only seen Daniel once in the past three weeks and that was in passing at the courthouse. He was clearly on duty so a hasty wave in my direction was our only interaction. I had done my best to steer clear of any social situations where I might run into him. I didn’t think I could bear seeing him with his fiancé.

  Daphne seemed to read my thoughts. “For dinner, it’s just us girls—Mia, Celia, maybe Janey. After dinner, well, who knows? But you can always leave after we eat, if you want.”

  I groaned. “Celia? I’m the last person she wants to spend the evening with, I’m sure.”

  I had only met Celia once, at a bar a couple of months ago. She was married to Barry, Daniel’s childhood friend. She hadn’t been shy in letting me know what she thought of me.

  Daphne waved her hand. “That’s just Celia. She’s like that with everyone. She’ll warm up. Eventually.”

  I snorted. “Yeah, right.”

  “So, can I count you in?”

  I paused, taking a moment to gaze out the window. The marigolds were a fiery golden wave in the late afternoon sun. As painful as it would be to see Daniel and Gwyn together, I was ready to start getting my life back. “Okay,” I said.

  “Yes!” Daphne did a little fist pump. “About time we get you out of this house.”

  “Oh God, yes,” I said. “I’m ready for some fun. But enough about me. How is your mother doing? Any improvement?”

  Daphne’s mother was a recluse. She suffered from numerous confusing aliments, which meant that no doctor yet had been able to come to an accurate diagnosis. I listened to Daphne share the latest challenges—most notably, her mother now had unexplainable knee pain, which not only kept her from sleeping through the night, but also limited her mobility. And that, of course, meant more work for Daphne.

  Daphne glanced at the kitchen clock. “Oh, I didn’t realize it was getting so late. I didn’t mean to go on and on.”

  “Anytime,” I said. “Not like you haven’t listened to me do the same. Do you want something to take home for dinner? I made a couple of casseroles yesterday with all the zucchini I dug out of the garden. It’s been growing like weeds out there. Do you want one? Then you don’t have to worry about dinner tonight.”

  “No, no, I couldn’t.”

  “Nonsense.” I headed for the fridge over Daphne’s protests. I wasn’t much of a cook, but there was something healing about spending time in the kitchen making food. It was the same in the garden. And besides, Daphne had done a
lot for me over the past few weeks. I was happy to do this small thing for her.

  “Well, if you’re sure,” she said. I could see the relief in her eyes as she accepted the casserole. “Thank you, Becca.” I felt for her. I knew she was under a tremendous amount of stress with her mother, even though she rarely complained.

  “Of course I’m sure,” I said. “Although I make no promises about how good it is.”

  She laughed. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

  I walked her to the door, waving as she cut across the yard that led to her home. She waved back before hurrying along the path.

  I watched her path long after she disappeared around the corner before softly closing the door. The house was so quiet. The only sound was the ticking of the grandfather clock.

  Just like that, I was alone. Rattling around in a cavernous, creaky house with only the ghosts of my past to keep me company.

  All by myself. Again.

  Chapter 2 - Jessica

  I wandered back into the kitchen to clean up the tea things and start thinking about dinner. I considered popping the leftover casserole in the oven, but I wasn’t all that hungry. Instead, I poured a glass of wine and went to sit on the back porch.

  It was easier being alone during the day. With the sun out, the birds happily chirping and the squirrels and rabbits playing, I didn’t really feel all that alone. I could happily lose hours of time puttering around outside, or cleaning and reorganizing the house, eliminating every trace of Stefan.

  But as the day waned into late afternoon, things became more and more difficult.

  Dinnertime was the worst.

  I definitely hadn’t quite gotten the hang of dinnertime.

  Even during the brief time that I was single back in New York, between marriages, I’d rarely had dinner by myself. If I wasn’t working through it, I’d be with friends at happy hour drinking my dinner and, if I was lucky, nibbling on snacks.

  I didn’t even know how to cook for just one person. I’d either make too much and have leftovers for days or keep it simple with sandwiches and salads.

  I sipped my wine and gazed around the garden. It had taken hours, and I wasn’t done yet, but it was so much better. It was a riot of color and fragrance—roses, sunflowers, black-eyed susans, petunias, daisies, geraniums, marigolds and more, along with a huge variety of herbs (Aunt Charlie even had a special spot reserved for dandelions and other ’weeds’ that were good for teas) and a few vegetables. If I stayed, I was planning on expanding the vegetable section of the garden the following year. There’s nothing better than making meals with fresh vegetables.

  As the sun sank lower I found myself searching the yard for Oscar, the black cat who had appeared a few weeks ago and promptly adopted me. I had no idea where he came from or who he belonged to and although he didn’t appear to be feral, he also wasn’t exactly a pet either.

  There had been more than a few nights when the loneliness became almost unbearable. The little cat would silently appear, usually sitting in front of the window, tail curled around himself, dark green eyes watching me.

  At first, I would sit at the window next to the cat to eat. Eventually, I started opening the back door. Oscar would saunter in, sniff at the food I would leave for him, eat a few bites and then leap up to sit at the table with me. After dinner, he would saunter back outside.

  As the cat became my dinner companion, I decided he needed a better name than ‘cat.’ ‘Oscar’ popped into my head, and he seemed to approve.

  If dinner was bad, the nights were even worse. Although I no longer dreamed of Mad Martha and Nellie (my resident ghosts) or of Aunt Charlie making me tar-like tea, I still had trouble sleeping. And when I would finally fall into a restless doze, I’d dream of Stefan chasing me around the house, usually with a knife. No matter how many doors I opened, I never could find my way out. Sometimes, I dreamed of Chrissy, too … standing like a statue in the family room with her cold, empty eyes.

  Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to have Chrissy spend the night with me tomorrow after all. She would have to sleep in her old bedroom—which also happened to be the center of the hauntings from back in the early 1900’s when Mad Martha killed Nellie and then herself in that same room.

  I knew Chrissy liked that room though, and I wanted her to feel welcomed and wanted, so I cleaned it—physically and energetically–with the shaman. He had assured me that the room was no longer haunted, and was fine for Chrissy (or anyone) to be in.

  But, still. Maybe I needed to rethink this plan.

  I took another sip of wine and looked around the yard. No sign of the cat. It was beginning to get dark, and I needed to start dinner, yet I didn’t move. I just sat there, hoping against hope that I’d see Oscar silently appear from the shadows. Instead the disappointment rose in my chest.

  I didn’t want to go into that dark, empty house alone.

  But, as the late afternoon sun slowly turned into twilight and Oscar still didn’t appear, I finally decided I couldn’t wait any longer. I picked up my empty wine glass and headed for the door.

  The noise was soft—grass rustling, a snapped twig. I quickly looked around, hope blooming inside me. “Oscar?”

  No sign of the cat. I bit my lip as I gazed around. Did I imagine it? Or was it some other animal?

  I heard the noise again. This time it sounded more like a footstep, and I froze. An image popped into my head—a footprint. I had been out in the garden early one more morning a few weeks ago and there it was, pressed into the mud. I never did figure out where it had come from. Chrissy? One of Chrissy’s friends? A couple of neighborhood kids playing a prank?

  Or maybe something more sinister.

  I was suddenly aware of how alone I really was; no close neighbors, not even a dog. No one would hear a thing, should something happen.

  Even if I screamed.

  A cold lump of fear rose in my throat practically choking me.

  What should I do? Make a run for it? Try and hide? Maybe find a weapon? My eyes swept the backyard again but I saw nothing. Crap. To make matters even worse, I had left my cell phone in the house.

  Crunch. Another footstep. Definitely human. Oh God. Fighting the panic rising inside, I quietly took a few steps toward the large rose bush planted near the house. Maybe I could hide behind it until I saw who was there.

  A shadow appeared off to the side. I sucked in my breath. The bush was too far away to get behind in time. I was just going to have to brazen it out.

  The shadow came into focus, and I felt my body sag with relief. “CB! You nearly scared me to death! What are you doing here?”

  CB grinned at me. “Hey cos. Nice to see you, too.”

  “I didn’t mean ... I’m so glad to see you!” I ran over to give him a hug. I was happy to see him. Not only because I liked hanging out with him, but also because I wasn’t alone anymore.

  CB was my only cousin on my mom’s side, but we had basically been raised together. Born just five days apart, we looked like brother and sister. We both had reddish-blondish-brown hair although mine was heavier on the red. His hazel eyes had more green in them whereas my eyes would often change from green to brown to gold. We both were on the slender side, but with CB that slightness simply made him look more feminine. He had always had more than his share of admirers from both sexes although he himself was open to whoever ended up in his bed, especially if that person was very attractive or very rich … even better if both.

  “You’ve lost weight,” he said accusingly. “You were never this thin in New York.”

  “I also thought I had a happy marriage when I was in New York.”

  He clucked his tongue. “Maybe it’s time to come back. Show off the new you? Thin is always in.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  I laughed. “You can never be too rich or too thin.”

  “Exactly! See, you remember. You hav
en’t been corrupted living in this backwards country. At least, not yet. We’ll need to act fast though. When are you coming back to New York?”

  “You know, it’s past five o’clock and you don’t have any wine.”

  He widened his eyes. “You’re right. Travesty!”

  “We better get that rectified immediately.”

  He gestured with his arm in a broad flourish. “Lead the way.”

  I moved to open the side door and gestured at him to go inside. “How long are you staying?”

  “Hmmm. A week. Give or take.”

  That sounded like CB. He was the essence of a social butterfly, flitting in and out of people’s lives, often without much fanfare. He didn’t have a job, or at least not a traditional one. It was always a mystery how he paid for his lifestyle as he never seemed to be hurting for money. Privately, I thought it was a combination of his wealthy male and female ‘friends,’ and his mother.

  He wandered through the downstairs as I poured him his wine and refilled my own. “You haven’t changed much, have you?”

  I shook my head as I handed him his glass. “It still feels like Aunt Charlie’s house to me.”

  He took a sip. “Ugh,” he said. “We’re definitely going to have to work on your wine palate. That’s certainly gone downhill.”

  “You’ll be amazed at how much better it tastes after you’ve had a glass or two.”

  He laughed. “Touché.” He took another sip, narrowing his eyes at me from over the rim. “As good of a distraction as this is, you didn’t answer my question about when you’re leaving this place. And I’m wondering what that means.”

  I sighed and took a drink myself. “It means I don’t know, CB.”

  “Ah.” He nodded as he leaned against the counter. “But there’s nothing here for you. Why would you stay?”

  “There’s nothing in New York for me either,” I said, “except a higher cost of living. How would I support myself?”

  “What are you talking about? You have money.” He gestured around the kitchen. “Just sell this and you’ll be set.”