The Ugly Truth

by Jill Orr

  “I can’t give you the name of my source. I’m sure you understand.”

  Dale nodded, keeping his eyes on mine the whole time. It was almost as if I could see the wheels turning in his quick mind, trying to figure out what exactly I knew, how much to tell me, how easily I could be put off the trail. “You’re a reporter, Miss Ellison?”

  “Riley, and yes.”

  “Who do you work for?”

  “The Tuttle Times.”

  “Ah,” he said. “Tuttle Corner, home of the Johnnycake Festival and the Sterns Copper.”

  I raised my eyebrows in surprise. The Johnnycake Festival was well known, but not many people besides locals knew about Sterns Copper.

  Reading my surprise, he offered, “I’m a bit of a history nerd. I love driving around to all the little towns in this area to learn about how they came to be. In fact, it was something Greer and I used to do all the time when the kids were little. We’d pile them in the car and just take off, stopping in little towns for ice cream or sightseeing…” He got a faraway look in his eyes, but this time I wasn’t buying what he was selling. My gut told me he was covering up for letting his knowledge of Tuttle slip out.

  “I was born and raised in Tuttle,” I said.

  His nostalgia was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “You’re a friend of Rosalee’s?”

  “Just a reporter doing my job.”

  He smiled that false smile again, the one that I was sure had gotten him out of many a tight spot. “I’ll tell you what I’ve told the police. Rosalee and I had a relationship a long time ago when she worked for us as an au pair. My wife, God rest her soul, found out and I ended it. Betraying Greer is one of the biggest regrets of my life, and we worked hard to repair our marriage over the past ten years.”

  “Did Greer know you moved Rosalee down to Tuttle Corner and bought her a business?”

  He stared at me for a fraction of a second too long. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Rosalee’s Tavern. You bought it under the name…” I made a show of checking my notes. “Colonel Mustard Enterprises.”

  I watched the surprise flare in his eyes. He covered it almost instantly with a breezy chuckle. “Colonel Mustard?”

  “I’ll admit, it’s sort of clever,” I said.

  “I’m sorry, but I have no—”

  “Rosalee is from Dijon, France.”

  I could have knocked poor Dale Mountbatten over with a feather. His face paled and he was quiet for a long moment. “She was, wasn’t she?”

  His use of the past tense made me uncomfortable. “Is,” I corrected.

  “I’m sorry, Riley,” he said, standing up abruptly. “I’m suddenly not feeling very well. Must be the stress of the past couple of weeks. I think I need to go lie down.”

  I was taken aback by his unexpected change in demeanor. “Of course,” I said, and stood to leave. “If you can think of anything else, here’s my number.” I handed him my business card, the one Holman insisted I have printed. It had my name, title, cell number, and work email address.

  Dale took the card. “Obituary writer?”

  “I work the obit desk as well as the crime desk,” I answered, gathering my things. “Small paper. We all pitch in.”

  Dale led me out the way I’d come in. He shook my hand but said nothing other than “Pleasure to meet you.” I found that an odd statement, in light of our conversation. Then again, his whole demeanor had been odd ever since I mentioned Colonel Mustard Enterprises.

  I got into my car, confident that I had done what I’d come here to do: let Mountbatten know that if he decided to go after Rosalee, there were people out there who knew her story. I was still new to investigative reporting, but it felt good to be actually doing something, even if it had been a teensy bit dangerous. No one got hurt, I told myself. I didn’t break any rules. If I was going to make a good reporter, I’d have to get comfortable following my instincts. And now that I’d done that, I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of Dodge.

  I got out my phone to call Holman on my drive home, but as I turned the key in the ignition, a funny thing happened: nothing. I turned it over again—two, three, four times, but all it did was rev and wheeze as it tried unsuccessfully to catch. Damnit Oscar! What was I supposed to do now? Ring the doorbell and say, “Hi! Me again! I know I just barged into your house and accused you of being a criminal and maybe a murderer, but can I hang out here while I wait for AAA?”

  I was about to call my dad, which is what I always did in situations in which I had no clue what else to do, and saw I had missed a text from Holman. It read: R is gone.

  I immediately dialed his number. “Hey, what’s going on?” I asked, trying again, unsuccessfully, to start my car.

  “Rosalee’s gone. I went home to get her to take her over to the sheriff’s office like we planned. She wasn’t there.”

  This was not good. “Do you think she’s okay? I mean, did she leave on her own? Or do you think…” I didn’t finish my sentence, remembering Dale’s reference to Rosalee in the past tense.

  “There was no sign of forced entry, but there also was no note. I just can’t believe she’d leave without telling me.”

  Holman sounded hurt. I pushed that aside. We were dealing with something way bigger than an unrequited crush. “Do you think she got cold feet about talking to Carl?”

  “I don’t know. The whole thing was her idea in the first place. If she didn’t want to do it, I wasn’t going to force her. I don’t know why she’d feel like she had to run away,” he said. “By the way, where are you?”

  I quickly debated whether or not to tell him the truth. He’d be mad at me, for sure, but he probably had a right to know. I braced myself and said, “I’m sitting in Dale Mountbatten’s driveway.”

  “What?” Holman said, his voice as close to panicked as I’d ever heard it. “Why? You need to get out of there right now, Riley!”

  “Believe me, I’d like to,” I said, and then I told him about my stupid car.

  His cold silence told me he was angry, and worse than that, worried. “Holman?” I asked after several seconds had passed.

  “I’m thinking.” His voice was clipped, serious. I let him think. After a minute, he said, “Stay in your car. If Dale comes out, tell him you’ve called for help and that it’s on the way.”

  “But I haven’t called anyone yet.”

  “You called me,” he said and hung up without another word.

  About five minutes later Greer’s sister opened the front door and came out to my car. “Can I help you with something?” She asked this not in a can-I-actually-help-you sort of way but in more of a what-are-you-still-doing-here sort of way.

  I explained the situation and she sighed loudly. “Come on back inside then.”

  “Oh no, that’s okay—”

  “You’re not going to sit out here in the driveway like a vagrant,” she hissed.

  I flinched. “I don’t think anyone would think I was a…”

  “Don’t make me beg, for heaven’s sake!” she yelled, and waited for me to get out of my car.

  This woman was a study in contradictions. She was insistent on doing the polite thing, but could not have been less polite while doing it. She was clearly annoyed by my presence, but insisted I come inside. Maybe this was a result of her grief? Or maybe she was always this unpleasant. Either way, Carl Haight had been right. There was something very strange about Hadley Lawrence.

  I followed her into the massive kitchen. She opened the fridge, poured me a glass of iced tea (which I hadn’t asked for), and then pretty much shoved it into my hands. I noticed she moved about the house like it was her own—there was no hesitation about where the glasses were or what might be in the fridge. She seemed very much at home in her sister’s house.

  “I’m Hadley, by the way. Greer’s sister,” she said, folding her arms across her chest.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said.

  She nodded in acknow
ledgment. “Did you know her?”

  “I can’t say I had the pleasure.”

  Between the Botox and the perma-frown, it was hard to tell, but I thought I saw disappointment flicker across her face. “I came in from Charleston to help with things,” she said, offering an explanation I hadn’t asked for. “There’s so much to be done when someone unexpectedly…” she broke off, letting the unspeakable go unspoken.

  “That’s very kind of you. I’m sure it’s a big help.”

  Hadley shrugged as if being helpful was an unintended side effect. “It makes me feel better to be near them now—the boys, I mean. They’re living, breathing pieces of her. All that’s left, really. Lewis will be home from Stanford for another week, and Charlie’s still a senior in high school. I figure I can be here to do the things their mother used to do for at least a little while.”

  I thought of the Mountbatten boys and how sad and scary all this must be for them. Not only were they dealing with the pain and shock of losing their mother in such a violent way, but all the media attention as well. I felt a whiff of guilt for being a part of that system, but tried to squash it. I reminded myself it was my job to expose the truth, not manage its consequences.

  “How are they doing?” I asked.

  She gave me a look that could have cut glass. “How do you think?”

  I looked down. I suppose it was a stupid question.

  Hadley took a deep breath. “They’ll be okay eventually, but it will take time.”

  I noticed a sense of possessiveness in her voice when she talked about the boys, like they were hers now that her sister was gone. I couldn’t decide if it was protective instinct or something less altruistic…perhaps more single-white-femaleish.

  I checked the time on my phone. It had been seventeen minutes. I didn’t know who was picking me up, but Holman had a lot of connections in the DC area. Hopefully whoever it was would be here soon.

  “So you’re a reporter?” Her voice went up like this was a question, but the distasteful look on her face told me she already knew the answer.

  “I am.”

  “And you drove all the way up here just to talk to my brother-in-law about butter?”

  I stilled. I hadn’t told Hadley I’d driven in from anywhere. She’d either been listening in on my conversation with Dale, or she’d done some research on me. She fixed an expectant gaze on me as I tried to think of how to respond.

  I was suddenly very aware that I was an unwelcome guest in a house with two people I did not know and did not trust. Thankfully, before the silence stretched out too long, the doorbell rang. I almost passed out from relief. “That’ll be my ride!” I set the glass down on the marble island and took off toward the front door. “Thanks for the tea!”

  I grabbed the massive door handle, not wanting to spend another second in that house. I didn’t know who was picking me up, but I knew whoever it was I’d be better off with them than with Dale Mountbatten and his peculiar sister-in-law.

  I swung open the door and almost passed out again—not from relief this time, but from shock. It was Jaidev Burman, DEA special agent and my ex-boyfriend, standing there looking equal parts worried, angry, and jaw-droppingly gorgeous.

  CHAPTER 21

  The lecture that began with “This is not how I envisioned seeing you again, Riley” lasted almost the entire drive to Jay’s apartment. I was quiet for the most part, mostly because I was too stunned to speak. Jay and I hadn’t spoken since the day he left Tuttle Corner a few weeks earlier. We’d decided to break up, not because we weren’t into each other, but because neither of us wanted to do the long-distance-relationship thing. For starters, we’d been together for only three months, albeit an intense three months, but still. I wasn’t likely to move away from Tuttle Corner, and he wasn’t likely to move back. But just because we had no future didn’t mean we had no chemistry. Seeing Jay again raised all kinds of thoughts and feelings…not all of which were PG-13.

  “You had no idea what you were walking into.” Jay’s voice brought me back to the present. “You could have been killed, or worse.”

  “Worse?”

  “Believe me,” Jay said darkly. “There are things that are worse than death.”

  His work in the DEA had been one of the sticking points during our brief romance. He had seen some really messed-up things, and as a result got pretty freaked out a while back when I’d taken some chances chasing a story. Granted, he’d been right. I’d angered a killer who ended up attacking me. The spot on my leg where I’d been shot ached with the memory.

  “Okay, I get it,” I said after a beat. “I just knew that if I waited, I’d lose the element of surprise.”

  Jay blew out a hard sigh and then in a much softer tone said, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “I’m glad you came to get me,” I said, a nervous current zipping through my core.

  He pulled into a garage connected to a large high-rise building. “Home sweet apartment building.”

  We got out of the car and I followed him to an elevator, which led to the lobby of his building. It was decorated with low-profile, midcentury modern furniture and large drum lights hanging overhead. The doorman waved hello to Jay as we passed by, and he waved back. We got onto the elevator and Jay pressed twelve. The doors closed and we were alone again.

  “By the way, I’m having your car towed to a garage a few blocks from here. I know a guy who works there, and he said he’d take a look at it first thing in the morning.”

  First thing in the morning? Was I expected to stay the night here? With Jay? “Um,” I said, my stomach swooping again.

  “It’s a studio, but I have a Murphy bed and a pullout couch. You can take the bed and I’ll sleep on the couch.” If he felt as weird as I did about this arrangement, there was nothing in his voice to indicate it. He sounded as relaxed as ever, like this was a totally normal, non-awkward situation.

  The elevator opened and he led me inside his apartment. It was already dark outside, but I could tell that in the daytime this place would have killer natural light. He had a gray flannel sofa, a glass table in the breakfast nook, and along the wall was a large panel behind which I guessed was the pull-down bed. I couldn’t help but think that once it was set up and the couch pulled out, the entire apartment would basically be one giant bed. My stomach swooshed again.

  “This is a great place,” I said, walking over to the large windows at the back of the apartment.

  Jay walked up behind me, so close I could smell his cologne. He reached around me to open the sliding door onto the balcony. “It’s not a million-dollar view, but at least I have some outdoor space.”

  We stood on his small balcony overlooking the activity on the street below, the buildings in varying earth tones, and the treetops bare from the impending winter. The streets were filled with cars and people and the sounds of city life. I never pictured myself living in a place like this, but I could see the appeal. As I was looking out at the scene below, I felt Jay’s eyes on me. The burning sensation of self-consciousness prickled under my cheeks and I was sure they were candy apple red. I turned to face him. Without warning, Jay pulled me into a hug, a deep, tight, warm, all-consuming hug that felt far better than it should have. He kissed the top of my head just before releasing me. “It’s good to see your face again. I’ve missed you.”

  If there had been a realtor on that balcony with us, I swear I would have signed a thirty-year lease on the spot. In that moment, there was nowhere else I wanted to be. A flurry of thoughts populated my mind. Maybe we could make this work? Maybe it had been a mistake to break up? Neither of us had found anyone, perhaps that meant we were supposed to be together. Making the rash decision to come to DC and my car breaking down could all be the universe’s complicated way of saying that Jay and I belonged together….

  I lowered my eyes so he couldn’t see how much I meant it when I said, “I’ve missed you too.”

  And then a sound caught my ear, both of our ears, actually, a
nd we turned toward the front door to the apartment. A key went into the lock, turned, and then a woman walked into the apartment holding two, what looked like heavy, brown grocery sacks. Jay looked at me with an expression I couldn’t read for a split second before his face broke into a wide smile as he left me to go help with the bags.

  I watched as Jay kissed the woman and took the two bags from her arms. He was briefly out of sight as he set them down in the small kitchen, and in those couple of seconds the woman stared at me. She didn’t look surprised—or happy—to see me there.

  Jay came back out holding a bottle of wine. “Chloe, this is my friend I was telling you about, Riley Ellison. Riley, meet Chloe Marks.”

  I stood rooted to the spot on the balcony, a stunned kind of paralysis keeping me from moving. Chloe Marks plastered a smile on her face, clearly for Jay, as she walked confidently toward me, her right hand outstretched. I shook it, still shell-shocked from the turn the moment had taken.

  “I’ve heard so much about you!” Chloe’s voice was light, the look in her eyes was anything but. She squeezed my hand. Hard.

  Jay had his phone out. “Holman just texted. He’s on his way.”

  “Holman’s coming?” I asked, surprised.

  “He was worried sick about you.”

  “Is that your boyfriend?” Chloe asked, taking the bottle from Jay’s hand.

  “No,” I said, “my co-worker.”

  “You never know,” Chloe said in a singsongy tone. “That could be how it starts…it’s been known to happen.” She giggled and winked at Jay.

  “You’ll love Will, C. He is truly one of a kind,” Jay said.

  “C” opened a drawer to get the corkscrew. Jay took out three glasses from the rolling bar cart and set them on the peninsula, and then Chloe opened the wine. I sat there like an idiot, looking between the two of them, trying to take it all in. The whole thing was like a well-choreographed dance to the tune of domestic bliss. I began to feel a little nauseated.