Lies We Tell

by Jeana E. Mann

  The detective shoved his chair back and jumped to his feet. He slammed his hands on the table between us, lowering his face until we were nose to nose. “Look, son. Your brother is dead. I need answers. You know what I think? I think you and your girlfriend had something to do with it.”

  “I’ve told you everything I know.” A headache blossomed in the back of my head. I rubbed my neck to ease the ache. “There’s no way Stella did this.”

  “Are you saying you did it?” The way he twisted my words wore down my exhausted brain.

  “No. I’m saying that you’re looking at the wrong people. You’re wasting time when you should be after the real killer.”

  The detective glared at me then opened the folder. Slowly, he placed a series of photographs in front of me. Chris’s lifeless body in the muck among cattails. Several shots of the wound to his neck, the one that had severed his artery. I covered my eyes with a hand, unable to deal with the gruesome scene. No one deserved to die that way. Not even Chris. The detective waited until I pulled myself together before showing the last photo of Stella’s knife lying beside Chris’s corpse. My empty stomach clenched into a hard knot.

  “Have you seen this knife before?” the detective asked, tapping the photo with an index finger. I didn’t answer. He gave an exasperated sigh. “Listen up. We have witnesses who say you threatened to kill your brother, that he tried to strangle Stella, and you didn’t take kindly to that. According to the people around here, you two never got along. This knife belongs to Stella. From where I stand, both of you have means, motive, and opportunity. If you know something, Owen, I suggest you speak up now. If Stella did this, then you have to tell us.”

  The sickening feeling in my gut continued to grow. I crossed my arms over my chest and turned away from the heartbreaking pictures. Could Stella have done this? I knew in my heart it wasn’t possible, but the detective’s words confused me. “I want a lawyer.”

  Thirteen

  Stella

  Present Day

  Before moving to Corbett, I thought I’d healed, that I’d put the past behind me and was ready for a new beginning. Watching Owen walk across the driveway made me question everything. A hot breeze ruffled his hair, a little too long, a little messy. He shrugged out of his T-shirt and used it to wipe the sweat from his face. At the sight of his bare, broad back, I drew my lower lip between my teeth and stifled a groan. The groove of his spine separated two perfectly defined columns of muscle. He twisted in my direction, displaying the deep cut of muscle just above his waistband and the lines of his tattoos curling over his chest and right arm. Life had hardened him into a stunning man. Attraction pulsed between my thighs. A desire I had no right to feel.

  Following the sheriff’s directive, I returned to the house and saw right away that several of my cameras were missing. Luckily, they were older, barely used models, including the Nikon Stan had given me. A sickening knot formed in the pit of my stomach. I hated the idea of strangers in my house, violating my personal space. Although the pieces held sentimental value, their loss had little impact on my work. Dad hadn’t been so fortunate.

  “They stole a toolbox from the garage, my jigsaw, some copper fittings, and the new air compressor I bought last week,” he said, scratching his head ruefully.

  “I’m so sorry.” I’d been saying that a lot lately.

  “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. That’s why I carry insurance.” After a heavy sigh, he replaced the hard hat on his head. “You should get a security alarm installed. A woman like yourself, living alone on the edge of town, can’t be too careful.”

  “I thought Corbett was a safe place to live. That’s why I decided to move here.”

  “Generally speaking, yes, but every place has its exceptions. Unemployment is up. People are struggling. Drug use is at an all-time high. It never hurts to be cautious.” At my crestfallen expression, he took my hand in his and patted the top of it. “Now, don’t you fret. I’ll have Owen replace the back door and put on a good dead bolt. And you should think about getting motion lights installed on the garage and back porch.”

  “Okay. I will. Thanks.” His concern stirred a warmth in my chest, something I hadn’t felt since Stan.

  “Maybe you should call your boyfriend and see if he can come stay with you. In case they come back.” I sucked in a horrified breath. Dad, realizing his mistake, squeezed my hand. “Not that they will. I’m sure the police scared them off.”

  “No. It’s okay. I don’t want to worry him.” After the sour ending of our last conversation, I hesitated to call Michael. Even though we’d argued, I knew he’d have me packed and moved into a hotel before I could draw my next breath. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Of course, you will.” Dad’s eyes crinkled at the corners, but worry clouded their depths.

  “Well, I guess I should get busy.” I turned in a slow circle and blew out a long sigh. “It’s going to take forever to clean this place.”

  “Let me call my wife. Cindy would be happy to give you a hand.” Before I could protest, he had his phone to his ear.

  Cindy arrived an hour later with a basket of fried chicken and an apple pie. She was blond, trim, and appeared to be in her late forties. After stopping to give Dad a kiss on the cheek, she came straight into the living room and threw an arm around my shoulders. “Look at you,” she said, taking me in with bright blue eyes. “Dad said you were a spitfire, moving into this big house all by yourself, taking the world by storm.”

  “I don’t know about that, but I like the sound of it.” If anyone else had hugged me without introduction, I might have kicked them in the balls, but I took an instant liking to her.

  “He told me about the burglars. Assholes.” She squeezed me again, her face lighting with a warm smile. “I hope you won’t let this experience color your judgment of our little town. It’s a good place to live and raise kids. Don’t let a few shitheads scare you off.”

  “I won’t. It can’t be any worse than Cleveland.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Owen said you’re from Ohio.” At the mention of his name, heat scalded my cheeks. If she noticed, she didn’t let on. “I brought lunch. Dad said you don’t have a stitch of food in this place. Of course, he’s got your kitchen torn all to hell. Well, you’ll just have to come eat with us until you get settled.” She dropped the picnic basket on the cardboard box serving as a makeshift table and did a circle around the living room. “It’s good to see this place getting the attention it deserves. I tried to get Dad to buy it and flip it, but he’s too busy. I said he should put Owen in charge. This would be a perfect project for that boy.” With her hands on her hips, she cocked her head to one side. “Listen to me, clucking like an old hen when there’s work to be done. This house isn’t going to clean itself. Where do I start?”

  “How about the bathroom? I’m not particular.” I’d been prepared to politely refuse her assistance, but her effervescent personality soothed my agitation over the intruders. Besides, it would be nice to have someone to talk to. Lanie had been my only friend growing up. As an adult, work and travel allowed little time for socializing. And I preferred to keep a distance from people, to protect myself from forming any emotional attachments.

  We went to work, stopping only once to enjoy the lunch she’d brought. She talked nonstop, taking my mind off of the break-in and Owen. Through her chatter, I learned she and Dad had four sons, two from his first marriage and two together. They lived on a farm in the next county and had met through an internet dating site.

  “We got engaged after a week,” she said, her gaze softening at the memory. “My family threw a fit. But here we are twelve years and two kids later. It’s the best decision I ever made.”

  “Do you really call him Dad?”

  “Sure. Everyone does.” Her eyes glinted with mischief. “Actually, between you and me, I call him Daddy, especially during sexy time.” She winked, sending me into a fit of laughter. It felt good to laugh, a welcome vacation from my self-i
mposed seriousness.

  I withdrew two bottles of water from the cooler in the kitchen and handed one to her. We took seats on the broken steps of the front porch. The temperature had climbed into the upper nineties, leaving a dull sheen of sweat on our skin. Locust droned, and an occasional sultry breeze rustled through the cornfield beyond my property. Owen cut across the yard in front of us on the way to his truck.

  Cindy followed the trajectory of my gaze and fanned her face with a hand. “That boy must’ve been first in line when God passed out the good looks.”

  “He’s not ugly,” I said, ducking my head to hide my expression.

  “Nope, definitely not.” She studied him for a while, leaning back and resting her elbows on the step behind her. “I suppose you know about his trouble?”

  “I’ve heard a few things.” Whenever someone mentioned Owen’s history, my insides quaked, and the old feelings of guilt and remorse reared their heads.

  “They say he killed his brother, but for the life of me, I can’t understand it. He’s the kindest, gentlest man I’ve ever met, next to Dad. What do you think?” She continued to stare after Owen.

  “I can’t believe it either.” My voice cracked on the words. I took a swig of water to clear my throat. “The Owen in high school would never hurt someone intentionally.”

  “He’s a tough nut to crack, that guy. Keeps to himself mostly. He’s got pain—deep down, you know? You can see it in his eyes. He needs someone to love him. I try to fix him up with girls from our church, but he don’t want nothing to do with them.” Because I didn’t know what to say, I kept my lips sealed. Her gaze turned to me. “What about you? Are you interested, or are you hiding a man around here somewhere?”

  “I have a friend.” I cringed, recognizing my use of the label. “Or did. But it wasn’t serious.” Why was I making excuses? Michael had been so right about me. Before coming to Corbett, I’d hoped to take our relationship to the next level. After seeing Owen, those thoughts flew out the door. And now? I didn’t know what I wanted.

  “Ah, fuck buddy.” Her blond curls bounced as she nodded. “There’s a lot to be said for those, although you can’t beat having a good man to come home to every night. After my divorce, I hit the bars every weekend. It was great for a while, but I got tired of waking up in strange places. Then I met Dad at the grocery store, and it was love at first sight.”

  “What are you gabbing about, Cindy?” Dad leaned a forearm on the porch railing, giving his wife a grin.

  “Nothing.” She smiled sweetly at him and patted his sweaty forearm. “Are you about ready to head home? I need to get dinner started.”

  “Yep. We’re finishing up now.” He removed a handkerchief from his back pocket and swiped it over his forehead. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a hot shower and a cold beer.”

  “That sounds great. Would you like to join us for dinner, Stella?”

  “Thanks, but not tonight. I’m going to keep working. Can I get a rain check?” Although a free, hot meal sounded heavenly, I wanted to get the first coat of paint on the living room walls before bed.

  “Absolutely. Anytime.” Dad held out a hand to help his wife stand. She rose to her feet with a groan. “Our door is always open to you.”

  “I really appreciate your help today. I can’t thank you enough,” I said to Cindy. Their kindness filled me with a curious warmth. Watching the mutual respect and affection between them almost made me believe in love.

  “You’re welcome, hon. I enjoyed it.” She leaned in to give me a quick hug. “I’ll come back tomorrow and we’ll tear that wallpaper out of the hallway.”

  I watched them walk to their vehicles, still holding hands. Their easy camaraderie confused and intrigued me. Having grown up without loving parents, I found their connection refreshing. Love between a man and woman had always been a fleeting, intangible mystery, something to be feared and avoided at all costs. After watching them, I had to wonder if maybe I’d been wrong.

  After brushing the dust from the seat of my jeans, I went into the house and worked until dark. At the end of the night, every bone and muscle in my body ached. With heavy footsteps, I circled the ground floor to turn out the lights. I locked the front and back doors and double checked all the windows. The flash of headlights on the street caught my attention. A vehicle parked by the curb at the end of my driveway. My palms began to sweat. Had the robbers returned, waiting for me to retire for the night? I ducked behind the curtains and stole a peek out the window. Once the clouds parted, blue moonlight bathed the hood of Owen’s truck.

  A warm rush of conflicting emotions swept through me. I knew without asking that he was there to watch over me, to protect me, because that was what he’d always done. Despite the lies and secrets, some part of him still cared. The walls of my throat thickened until I couldn’t swallow. I leaned against the wall and let my head fall back against the paneling. After a minute, I drew in a fortifying breath and marched outside. Owen sat behind the steering wheel, arms folded over his chest, with the windows down. The plaintive notes of country music drifted from the radio, and the peppery-sweet scent of the cornfields lingered in the air. He cocked an eyebrow at me.

  “Are you stalking me?” I asked, even though I knew he wouldn’t answer. His lips pressed together into a straight line. The night shadows carved out the hollows and angles of his face, giving him a sharp, fierce look. “You can’t sit out here.”

  “Last I checked it was a public street.” He stared straight ahead, avoiding my gaze. The sound of his rough baritone voice pebbled my skin.

  “It gives me the creeps.” I crossed my arms over my chest to hide the jut of my braless nipples against my shirt, mimicking his posture, and glanced up at the moon, drawing strength from its fullness. “Aren’t you afraid ‘people will talk’?” With my index fingers, I drew air quotes. “What about my reputation?”

  “They’re already talking.” With a fingertip, he brushed the dust from the trim around the dashboard. I shivered, thinking of how his touch would feel on my bare skin. “I’m more concerned that those dickheads will come back.”

  Despite the rumors and lies and secrets, some part of him still cared about me. I didn’t deserve that kind of devotion, and it spoke volumes about his character. I cleared my throat. “Well, if you’re going to be stubborn about it, you might as well come inside.” A mosquito buzzed next to my ear. I brushed it away with an impatient flap of my hand. “The bugs will eat you alive. Or do you intend to sleep out here?”

  “Nothing I haven’t done before,” he remarked dryly. The moonlight brought out the gold hairs in the stubble on his jaw and upper lip. I tried not to stare at the fullness of his mouth or the sweep of his tongue over his bottom lip.

  “Owen, I insist.” Before he could protest again, I opened his truck door and waved toward the house. “I don’t have much furniture, but I do have an extra bed. You can sleep in the spare room.”

  Hell would freeze over before I admitted it to him, but having him here made me feel safe.

  Fourteen

  Owen

  Present Day

  As I followed Stella into the house, I knew I was making a huge mistake. Loving her had brought me nothing but misery and heartache, and still, I couldn’t stop myself. I loved her and hated her and craved her like an addict, always in search of another fix. She led me up the stairs to the second floor, bringing back memories of our teenaged selves. Outside the room that had been hers, she pointed through the doorway to a box spring and mattress on the floor. The room was the same shade of blue. Faded spots dotted the walls where her photographs and posters of boy bands had hung.

  “Are you sure about this?” I asked. “I can stay in the truck. I don’t mind.”

  Even if she threw me out, I wouldn’t leave her alone. Not now. Not when she needed me. After all these years, she still had no one to look out for her. Her fancy, rich boyfriend should be here, but he wasn’t. A point I intended to bring to his attention when I got
the chance. Until then, I planned to park my ass outside her house. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to her because my pride got in the way.

  “I know it’s not much,” she said, picking at her fingernails, as she’d done when we were kids. The familiar habit tweaked my resolve to remain cool and impersonal. She wasn’t getting under my skin—not again. “I haven’t had time to shop for furniture yet.”

  “It’s fine.” To hide my emotions, I brushed past her. The room seemed smaller than I remembered, and faded, like the remnant of a much-loved photograph.

  “You’re taller than I remember,” she said. When I turned, she’d leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb, arms crossed over her chest. The posture lifted her breasts, creating cleavage. I bit my lower lip and tried not to think about how her skin might taste, how full and soft her breasts would be against my naked chest.

  “I grew an inch or two since we last saw each other, I think.” The floorboards creaked beneath my weight as I crossed the room. We stood less than a foot apart. I felt every one of her breaths in the pit of my soul. My fingers curled, resisting the urge to brush her hair away from her face. One touch would shatter my self-control, and I wasn’t through hating her. Not yet. Because if I stopped hating her, I’d be left with nothing but love. And I couldn’t afford to risk my heart for her again.

  I lingered in the hallway while she pulled bed linens from the closet. When she turned around, she almost ran into me. I sidestepped, tripping over a box of unpacked toiletries. She sprang aside and knocked over a stack of books, dropping the sheets to save herself from falling. We stared at each other over the wreckage. In a way, the mess symbolized our relationship. We were always stumbling around each other, creating chaos, and dealing with the fallout.