The Ugly Truth

by Jill Orr

  “Then who was the person who stole the rosary from Campbell & Sons?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe someone Dale is working with? I showed Ash a picture of Rosalee, and he said it definitely wasn’t her.”

  Holman was quiet as he thought. “If what you’re supposing is true, then maybe Dale was the one who killed Balzichek for the key!” Holman came to life. “Yes. This makes sense. What if he knew Balzichek had the key and killed him for it using a tainted croissant because he knew that would implicate Rosalee?” Holman started pacing back in forth in front of me. “Dale kills Justin and then can’t find the key because it was hidden in the rosary. So he invents a reason to come down to Tuttle Corner so he can steal the key before it gets cremated along with Balzichek’s body.” He was talking faster and faster. “If the key is to a safe that contains cash or something just as good as cash, like gold, he could get it and be on a plane to Singapore before he’s even charged with anything!”

  “Well, yeah,” I said, a little uncomfortable with all the leaps Holman was making. He wasn’t usually a leap-to-conclusion kind of guy. He was usually a stickler for data collection, followed by analysis. In fact, he’d treated me to several lectures on the subject during my training. “But there are lots of ‘ifs’ there, one of them being, if it was Dale’s key, why would Balzichek have it?”

  It was like Holman couldn’t hear me. I could practically see the little gears inside his head churning. “Yes, this makes sense. I’ll bet it was Dale who killed Justin Balzichek!”

  “Holman,” I said, standing up to get his attention. “I think we need to slow down a little. I was just thinking out loud, trying out some theories…we don’t even know for sure that the rosary contains a key.”

  But I’d already lost Holman to his fantasy world in which he saved Rosalee from certain doom. “It must have some value if someone went to the trouble of stealing it.”

  As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Holman and I looked at each other, both of us remembering the same thing at the exact same moment. I said it first. “Rosalee had a key made at Sanford Farm & Home on the day she bought the sledgehammer.”

  “Maybe that’s just a coincidence?” Holman said, his voice shrinking back from the excitement of a second ago.

  “I don’t believe in coincidences.” I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “And neither do you.”

  CHAPTER 39

  As it turned out, our argument would have to wait because it was time for the press conference to begin. Holman and I made our way through the growing crowd toward the front/side of the courthouse steps where I’d stood for the first press conference. There were even more reporters than had been here then, and there were even a few TV crews. News of a prominent lobbyist coming forward to help with the investigation into his wife’s murder even though it meant admitting to financial wrong-doing and exposing himself to federal prosecution was apparently more newsworthy than the murder itself. I guess everyone loves a martyr.

  Toby stood front and center, guarding the steps like a bouncer. Unlike a bouncer, he was barely taller than your average sixth grader and tragically out of shape. But he was trying to look the part, so he had on dark sunglasses (even though it was cloudy), and I could have sworn that I saw the shadow of a wire coming out from behind one of his ears. Lord only knows what it was connected to.

  Carl came out flanked by Butter and Wilmore, just like the last time, and thanked his department again. He sounded nervous, but maybe it was just because I knew he was. He gave a recap of the two open investigations and then delivered the new information. The crowd of reporters was silent as he spoke. He detailed the facts about Balzichek’s poisoning, the theft of his personal belongings, the shoe print, etc. It wasn’t until he got to the information about Dale Mountbatten that reporters began murmuring and stirring. Holman and I already had all the information, so when Carl finished his prepared remarks and began taking questions, Holman left to go back to the office to start writing. I stayed to make sure we didn’t miss anything.

  We didn’t. After fifteen solid minutes of far more questions than answers (Carl was on-point with “I’m not at liberty to discuss/elaborate on/divulge that, as the investigation is still very much ongoing”), Carl ended the press conference and the crowd began to dissipate. I was on the far side of the park, closest to the Tavern. Since Ridley was serving only breakfast and lunch, they were long since closed, but I wondered if I might be able to catch her there cleaning up and ask her if I could take a peek into the cellar. Melvin said Butter had been down there, but I still wanted to have a look myself. No offense to Butter or anything, but unless there was a snack bar down there, I didn’t necessarily trust him to be all that thorough.

  I walked over to the Tavern, but all the lights were off, doors locked. I remembered that Rosalee/Ridley’s office was in the back of the restaurant, so I walked around to the back. No luck. And the back door was locked too.

  It was just starting to get dark outside. I should probably have gone back to the newsroom to help Holman write up the article about the press conference, but the truth was he didn’t really need my help with it. Besides, knowing him, it was probably already done and logged.

  I sat down on a bench facing the parking lot behind the town square. It was a cloudy night and the air was heavy with the sort of humidity that signaled an impending storm. Nights like these always made me think of my granddaddy and how whenever he was babysitting me and it would storm, I’d cry and insist I couldn’t possibly sleep. He always had the same response. “Let’s just go see about that storm,” he’d say and bring me out on the front porch of the house. He’d wrap me in a blanket and we’d sit on the porch swing and he’d point out what was happening in the sky. He talked to me about how lightning was really just a giant spark of electricity, like the shock I got when I wore fuzzy slippers on the carpet and then touched the doorknob. He explained how thunder is the sound of the lightning and then how speed and light traveled at different rates. He’d tell me all about nimbus clouds and cirrus clouds and cumulus clouds, and on and on and on until eventually I got tired and begged to go back to bed. I don’t know if it was his intention to bore me to sleep, but whatever it was, it worked.

  When I got older and was no longer afraid, I asked him about why he did that instead of just telling me a storm was God bowling like all my friends’ parents did. I remember he turned to me with that special look he reserved only for me, a perfect balance of adoration and amusement, and said, “I didn’t ever want you to be afraid of something because you didn’t understand it. You were scared of storms, so I explained them to you. The more you understand something, the less afraid of it you’re going to be. That goes for thunderstorms, flying in airplanes, traveling to new places, hearing new ideas, and especially meeting new people.” Granddad was full of that kind of wisdom. I would give anything to have him back, to get to share one more storm with him.

  Thinking about Granddaddy of course made me think about Flick, and I decided I was finished waiting for him to get in touch with me. I was worried about him, and the longer he went without calling, the more worried I got. I took out my phone and dialed his number. Straight to voicemail. “Flick here. Leave a message.” I told his voicemail that I was worried and begged him to call me back. Then I texted him, and for good measure, sent an email as well.

  It was almost 6 p.m. and I was about to head back to the newsroom when I saw Ridley’s car pull into the spot reserved for Rosalee’s. “Hey there,” I called out as she got out of her car. She was alone, no Lizzie this time.

  “Riley!” She sounded happy to see me, as she always did. “I just came up here to finish up some paperwork. What’re you doing here?”

  I got up from the bench and walked over to meet her. “I was looking for you, actually.”

  “Well, you found me.” She smiled, showing off her line of perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth.

  “I was wondering if you’d mind if I poked around in the basement f
or a minute?”

  “Sure.” She put the key into the lock and turned it. “What’re you looking for?”

  “I have no idea, actually,” I said, following her inside. “But I think I’ll know it when I see it.”

  CHAPTER 40

  Ridley helped me move the long narrow stainless steel prep table over to the side of the tiny kitchen. It took both of us to move it the few feet we needed to in order to reveal the trapdoor in the wood floor. The door was a rectangle, about three feet by five feet and had a small round handle set flush.

  I looked at Ridley, still breathing heavy from the effort of moving the table. “You ready?”

  She nodded. I lifted the handle, turned, and pulled. It was heavy, but not as heavy as the table had been, and I was surprised that I was able to lift the door all the way up to a ninety-degree angle. I was also surprised to see someone had installed one of those hydraulic thingies that kept it open.

  I went down first. The staircase was basically a glorified ladder, and I had to climb down into the basement backward like I was climbing into a swimming pool. When I reached the bottom, I looked around, my eyes adjusting slowly to the dark. Tom Bell had been right. It was a wide-open space, dirt floor, large fireplace, low ceiling. In the corner I saw something that I thought could be a shedded snakeskin. At least that’s what I hoped it was.

  At six feet tall, Ridley could just barely stand up straight down here. It was one time I was glad for my height, or lack thereof. “What are we looking for?” she whispered.

  “You don’t have to whisper,” I said in my full voice. “We’re not doing anything wrong.”

  “Right,” she said, still in a whisper.

  I shot her a look.

  “Sorry.”

  “Okay.” I looked around. The truth is I wasn’t exactly sure what we were doing here. Trying to find evidence that Rosalee had been planning a remodel that would involve a sledgehammer? Maybe the sledgehammer itself, although I had a sneaking suspicion the sledgehammer in question was the same one sitting inside the evidence locker at the Tuttle County Sheriff’s Department, despite Rosalee’s denials. “I guess, let’s just look around for anything that looks strange or out of place.”

  “Like an electrical panel?”

  I laughed. It was the kind of literal thing Holman might say. “Yes, Ridley, exactly like that.”

  “No, I’m serious,” she said. “Look.”

  I followed her outstretched finger, and sure enough there was an electrical panel built right into the stone wall. Why on earth would a cellar with no lights, no outlets, and no electricity need an electrical panel?

  Ridley walked over to it and was about to open it when I yelled, “Don’t!”

  “What?”

  “That could be evidence,” I said. “I’m guessing that’s not a real electrical panel.”

  “Well, you’re not as stupid as I thought you were,” a voice that did not belong to Ridley curled out into the dark basement.

  My throat went dry. I saw the dark outline of a woman a second before Hadley Lawrence stepped out from behind the edge of the fireplace wielding a large kitchen knife and what I was sure was meant to be a menacing look had the botulinum toxins not deadened her facial nerves.

  “Who are you?” Ridley demanded. Then bless her sweet perfect heart, she took a step forward, putting herself between me and that long, sharp blade.

  “Do you want to tell her or should I?” Hadley asked, looking around Ridley.

  I moved out from behind her. “This is Hadley Lawrence, Greer Mountbatten’s sister. Hadley, I’d like you to meet my friend Ridley Nilsson.”

  “Pleasure,” Hadley said, proving you couldn’t take the Southern out of a psycho.

  “Ridley has nothing to do with any of this. She doesn’t know anything. Why don’t we just let her go on and get out of here. She won’t tell anyone anything, will you?”

  “Nice try,” Hadley said, raising the knife slightly and nudging it at us. “You—Wonder Woman, get over there against the wall with your little friend.”

  Your little friend? I didn’t love that, but given that Hadley was definitely a few sandwiches short of a picnic, I did what I was told and walked over toward the far wall.

  “Sit,” Hadley ordered.

  We sat.

  “You killed your own sister? What kind of a monster does that?” Ridley said, her voice full of the kind of courageous defiance that was as admirable as it was likely to get us chopped into tiny bits.

  “She didn’t kill anyone,” I said quietly.

  “Of course I didn’t kill my sister!”

  Ridley flinched at her shrill tone.

  “My brother-in-law and his little whore did that. And I am going to make sure they go to prison for the rest of their lives!”

  “Oh,” Ridley said. “Wait—then why are you threatening us? We’re trying to do the same thing.”

  Hadley looked at me to see if I knew the answer. I hadn’t been sure until I saw her down here, but now I knew I’d been right about the safe. “She’s here for the money.”

  “And why shouldn’t I be?” she barked. “They murdered my sister—my own flesh and blood—they owe me. And besides, it isn’t like they’re going to be able to spend it when they’re rotting in their jail cells.”

  “What money?” Ridley asked, confused.

  Hadley looked at me and raised her eyebrows. “She really doesn’t know?”

  “Not a thing,” I said. “Just let her go…she can’t tell the sheriff something she doesn’t even know.”

  Hadley actually looked like she was considering it until Ridley lifted her chin and said, “I would never leave you here with this sinnessjuk!”

  Dear, sweet, naive Ridley. She was so brave, so stupid.

  “That settles that I guess,” Hadley said sharply. You didn’t have to speak Swedish to know sinnessjuk was no compliment.

  “You don’t want to do this, Hadley,” I said.

  Hadley again hoisted the knife in our direction, but her eyes began darting around the cellar. She looked shaken, unsure.

  “You’re not a killer. You’re not like them,” I continued.

  Her hand began to shake. Hadley Lawrence was not a stable woman. While it was true I didn’t think she was a cold-blooded killer either, I wasn’t sure what she might do under duress.

  “The money will help me take care of the kids when Dale goes to prison,” she said loudly, as if the louder she said it, the more legitimate it became. “I need it, I deserve it!” I could see the light from the open trapdoor bouncing off the blade of the knife as her hand trembled.

  “I thought you had family money…” I said, thinking back to what Holman had told me.

  She made a guttural sound, a rough eruption of sarcasm. “That’s what everyone thinks. Our father has made millions, but he’s spent ’em too. Plus, he’s been married and divorced four times. I’ll get what’s left, if anything, when he dies, but who knows how long that’ll be. And I’ll need money to care for Lewis and Charlie. They…they expect a certain lifestyle…”

  “You know, I might go insane too if someone killed my sister,” Ridley said out of nowhere. We all turned to her in surprise.

  “I don’t think we want to call her insane, Ridley,” I whispered.

  “No, she’s right,” Hadley said after a beat. “I mean, look at me.” She raised her arms. “I’m in a basement holding two women at knifepoint. If that isn’t insane, I don’t know what is!”

  “See?” Ridley smiled. “Exactly.”

  I was not at all sure what was going on, but it seemed like Ridley and Hadley had come to some sort of understanding.

  “I just want them to pay for what they did,” Hadley said.

  “Of course you do. We all do.”

  Hadley looked over at me, then at Ridley. She let out a humorless laugh. “The craziest part is I can’t even open the safe,” she said. “The damn thing takes two keys, like a nuclear bomb or something.”

  I l
ooked over at the electrical panel.

  Hadley followed my gaze. “Pretty obvious, isn’t it? Why would there be an electrical panel in an eighteenth-century cellar?” She walked over to it, unclipped the hidden latches on the side, and the whole front panel swung open, revealing a wall safe with two silver locks and an electronic keypad. “But the damn thing is like Fort Knox.”

  I studied the safe for a minute. Two keys. It all made sense now. “And you only have the one from Justin Balzichek—the one he was hiding in his rosary. You pretended to be his aunt and got it from the funeral home.”

  She looked at me with what appeared to be newfound respect. “Right. Except it was Greer’s key—he took it from her when he killed her.”

  “I thought you said Dale and Rosalee killed her?” Ridley asked, confused again. It wasn’t her fault. I’d kept her in the dark on a lot of these details to keep her out of danger. It hadn’t exactly worked out as I’d planned.

  “They hired Balzichek to do it for them,” Hadley said, the bitter edge back in her voice now. “Greer knew what was going on and was going to expose them.”

  “So why didn’t she?”

  “Love,” Hadley said simply. “She loved that stupid man and thought they could get past this like they’d done before. She thought she could make him stay. She always was a fool when it came to Dale.”

  “Love can make a fool out of the best of us,” Ridley said quietly. I immediately thought of Ryan and had to squash the impulse to yell out, “Preach!” This was definitely not the time.

  “When Greer found out that Dale had been hoarding money with Rosalee, she was angry. So she came down here and found that disgusting Balzichek and hired him to attack their restaurant. She thought that would scare Dale, make him believe his money wasn’t safe here. I told her not to do it, that it wasn’t going to work, but she wouldn’t listen to me.”

  I could see Hadley getting agitated again as she told the story. “Dale or Rosalee—I’m not sure who—must have found out Greer was behind the incident. My guess is they tracked down Balzichek and hired him to kill her, thinking it would look like their shady deal with the vandalism had gone wrong. Greer told me Balzichek called her after the incident and wanted to meet. Said he was going to tell the police that she hired him unless she paid up. The problem was, she didn’t have any money, not really. She knew Dale had a safe somewhere down here, and she’d found the key he kept hidden in his rosary.”