The Rules for Lying

by L. A. Kelley

  “Yeah,” I added, “you look real nice, Esther. I never saw you so done up.”

  Esther jumped off the divan and gave a twirl. “Isn’t the material bee-yoo-ti-ful? It’s the softest thing I ever wore. Amelie wanted to put a bow on Mrs. Hart, too, but Mrs. Hart said pink wasn’t her color.”

  With a twinkle in her eye, Amelie whispered to me. “Today is the first time I’ve ever received fashion advice from a dog.”

  Esther tweaked my sleeve. “The jacket feels nice, too. Mrs. Hart says you are every inch the gentleman.” She cocked her head. The action conveyed to me she shared the little dog’s eyes. “She’s right.”

  I tugged again at my collar. “Thanks. Wearing a tie is strange, though. I’m not used to having anything around my neck. Now I understand how Mrs. Hart felt about the dog collar.”

  Amelie examined me with a critical eye. “Nevertheless, your appearance is much improved. Very respectable.”

  Her green eyes lit with approval and my cheeks warmed. I cleared my throat. “What’s the plan?”

  “Once Delphine and her guests are in the dining room, Renny will slip into the study. The address book used to be on the desk, but Delphine moved everything around after Father died.” She gasped. “I hope she didn’t throw it away.” Mrs. Hart and I exchanged worried glances.

  “She wouldn’t,” Renny asserted. “Father knew many important people. Delphine would want to keep the names and addresses. You know what a social climber she is.”

  Mrs. Hart, who had been intently focused on the discussion, now hopped off the divan and scampered to the door. She scratched at the panel.

  My face reddened. “Um…does she have to…you know…go?”

  Esther giggled. “No. She already used the bathroom.” I quickly wiped the mental picture of Honey Bun squatting on the toilet from my head. “Mrs. Hart says she’ll listen at the foot of the stairs and let us know when they move to the dining room.” Renny opened the door wide enough for the dog to slip outside.

  “Now we wait.” Amelie flounced with a pout onto the divan. “I hate waiting.”

  “I don’t mind,” Esther chirped. “You hear the best things when you’re waiting. People think if you’re blind, you’re also stupid, so they stick you in a corner and forget you’re there. I overheard lots at the Grimaldi’s.” She drew herself up proudly. “That’s where I found out Mrs. Hart killed her husband.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Flight to Terrebonne Parish

  I gaped at Esther. “She did what?”

  Renny sat on the divan next to her. “Do tell.”

  Amelie shook a finger at us both. “You should not encourage the child to repeat gossip.”

  “Nonsense,” Renny insisted. “This is biography—completely different. Go on, cher.”

  Esther cleared her throat. “Mrs. Hart married real young, but her husband was a bad’un. He came home drunk and mean. He threw things at Mrs. Hart and called her awful names and such.”

  “Wait a minute,” I blurted out. “I can’t picture her stomaching such behavior.” The woman I knew was a stern self-sufficient taskmaster who stood against any ruffian foolish enough to utter one profane word in her presence. “If he was so bad, why didn’t she leave?”

  “You know so little of a woman’s lot,” Amelie chided. “How would she have supported herself? Few positions are available for females with little education. One who leaves her husband, even someone as despicable as Mr. Hart, is not treated kindly. No one would hire her. A divorce is very expensive and she would first have to prove abandonment or cruelty. He didn’t abandon her and what is cruelty to a powerless young woman is not to an unsympathetic judge.”

  “Get back to the story,” Renny urged.

  “Mrs. Hart was going to have a baby.”

  My jaw dropped. “Now I know the story isn’t on the square. She never had kids of her own. She didn’t want them.”

  “Yes, she did,” Esther insisted. “She’s always liked kids, but didn’t show her feelings on account of what happened. When she found out she was going to have a baby, she left her husband. He tried to force her to return, but she wouldn’t go. They fought and she fell down a staircase and lost the baby.”

  “How awful,” gasped Amelie. I felt sick myself.

  “What a monster,” muttered Renny with cold ferocity. “I wish I had the opportunity to meet Mr. Hart myself.”

  “She left the hospital,” continued Esther. “No one knows exactly what happened. They didn’t find a body. That’s how come Mrs. Hart was never arrested.”

  “How do they know she killed him?” I demanded.

  “Everyone thought so. No one saw him ever again. Mrs. Hart never hid after that, like she wasn’t afraid anymore. She cleaned out his bank account and started Little Angels Home for Orphan Boys.”

  “Such a sad story,” Amelie murmured. “And to have lost a child, too.”

  “It’s very sad,” Esther agreed. “Mrs. Hart didn’t want to think about the past, so she decided to help other couples find children.”

  “That’s not why,” I exclaimed. “She started the orphanage for the money.”

  “Nope. Mrs. Hart wanted to make happy families. She told stories about each orphan so couples would think their baby was a gift from God delivered special for them. She figured then the children would always be loved. They were, too. Some of the families used to come into the Grimaldi’s store.” She sighed deeply. “I was always jealous of the way they treated their kids.”

  My eyebrows went up. “The Grimaldi’s didn’t spill that.”

  “No, they figured like you. The orphanage was a way for her to make a living.” Esther took my hand. “Mrs. Hart talked to me a long time in the park in Atlanta. She cares about you Peter.”

  “She never said—”

  “Mrs. Hart never put you for adoption because she wanted you to be all hers, but she didn’t get close on account of her baby. The plan was for you to leave New Brunswick and make something of yourself. If she hid how much she cared, the pain wouldn’t be so bad when you left. She felt awful when the adoptions stopped and she had to spend the five hundred dollars she saved.”

  The truth landed with an agonizing bang. New Jersey never had a program to give orphans five hundred dollars the day they turned eighteen. The money belonged to Mrs. Hart, but when the economy collapsed, she had to use her savings for us to live on. Pike offered her a way to get the money again.

  She was in the carriage house because of me. She got turned into a dog because of me. Everything that happened to her was my fault.

  “Mrs. Hart doesn’t feel bad inside Honey Bun,” Esther continued, “because getting turned into a dog is her punishment for not being nicer to you. She’s sorry she never let you have a real family.”

  “S-She was plenty nice,” I stammered, all torn up. “I-I mean, not lovey-dovey and all, but neither one of us is like that. Life was swell. I had three squares a day and a roof over my head. She kept me on the straight and narrow.” My throat tightened in a rush of guilt.

  “Mrs. Hart knew about the cellar all along, Peter,” Esther confided. “She never told you because all kids should have a safe place to call their own.”

  I couldn’t have felt more awful if wild horses tore me apart. Mrs. Hart had given me a safe place and the freedom to explore and find my own way. Maybe we weren’t a typical family, but life could have been a lot worse. I could have lived on the streets and become the heartless gangster I played at, or turned into spoiled, coddled, no-account Chauncey—as useless a human being as ever lived. How did I repay her? As soon as Pike arrived I made plans to cut and run without a goodbye.

  I swallowed hard. “I have to help Mrs. Hart.”

  Renny clapped me on the shoulder. Both his expression and Amelie’s held notes of stony resolve. “Don’t worry, mon ami. We will.”

  Dog nails scratched on the door. “Pipe down,” I cautioned, leaping off the divan to let in Mrs. Hart. “She wouldn’t like us talking about her.
”

  The little terrier trotted over to Esther. “She says they’ve gone to the dining room.”

  Renny patted the pocket with the lock picks. “I’ll return shortly.”

  Minute after minute ticked by. I jumped at a sudden crack of thunder as a storm broke. Heavy rain pelted the roof.

  Amelie tapped her foot in irritation. “What’s keeping Renny? He’s been gone over an hour.”

  “Maybe the lock gave him trouble,” I said.

  “Hah, not my brother. By the time Renny was fourteen he had a nice side business with the coeds at Newcomb College. After curfew, the housemother secured the dorm. Any girl coming in late had to wake her to enter. She would then be fined and restricted to the building at night for two weeks. Instead, they paid Renny. There’s not a lock in New Orleans he can’t pick.”

  “Mrs. Hart is worried,” piped up Esther. “She says she should help.”

  Amelie rose to her feet. “I’ll go, too.”

  “Me, too. Me, too,” insisted Esther.

  “We’ll all go.” I waved off Amelie’s protest. “Esther won’t quit bugging us and the more searchers, the quicker we’ll find the address book.” With Mrs. Hart’s keen eyesight and hearing in the lead, we descended the main staircase.

  The party in the dining room was in full swing. Even with the door closed, the sound of raucous laughter drifted out to the hall. Amelie shot a furious glare at the door as we snuck by. Her animosity toward her stepmother was obvious. Can’t say as I blamed her. Delphine didn’t appear to be consumed with grief.

  The study was full of bookcases and file cabinets. A large sideboard stood against one wall. Fancy crystal decanters full of brownish liquid rested on top. Renny was nowhere to be seen.

  “Where is he?” Amelie whispered.

  One of the long velvet curtains fluttered and Renny stepped out. “You gave me a start, cher. What are you doing here?”

  “You’re taking too long.”

  “It’s not my fault,” he protested. “I opened every locked drawer in the room. Wouldn’t you know, the book was in the last one. Be that as it may, I found Odile’s address. Her mail goes in care of Purdy’s General Store, Cypress Road, Houma.”

  “Do you know where that is?” I asked.

  “Houma is in Terrebonne Parish. I’ve never been to Cypress Road, but will find it.”

  Amelie motioned to the door. “Let’s go before we’re discovered.”

  “Not yet. Look what I found.” Half-hidden by the curtain was a small decorative end table with a narrow drawer on top and a bigger one on the bottom.

  Amelie frowned. “That didn’t belong to Father.”

  Renny reached behind the piece and touched something. To my surprise, both drawers swung open from a hidden side hinge. The false panel hid a safe. “I found Delphine’s new addition. Aren’t you dying to know what she’s protecting?”

  Amelie sucked in her breath. “Can you break in?”

  Renny ran his fingers lightly over the dial. “If I could hear the tumblers, but I need special equipment.”

  “Mrs. Hart said she can help,” Esther said. “Her ears are real sharp.”

  The little dog trotted over and sat waiting patiently for instructions. If Renny was taken aback by having an enchanted terrier as a partner in crime, he recovered quickly. I was beginning to suspect nothing much fazed the Marchand siblings for long. Renny quickly cobbled together a system by which Mrs. Hart would concentrate on the sound of the tumblers. When they fell into place, she’d rest a paw on Renny’s knee.

  They worked with agonizing slowness. Mrs. Hart’s head cocked to one side with her paw raised. Renny’s sensitive fingers slowly twisted the dial.

  Tick…tick…tick…tap

  Mrs. Hart patted Renny’s knee. The first tumbler had fallen in place. I didn’t realize I held my breath until I blew out the air with a rush and heard Amelie do the same. Renny continued to dial. The last number triggered the satisfying metallic clink of locking pins engaging. Renny grabbed the handle and yanked open the door.

  We crowded around. The safe had two shelves. On the bottom rested boxes filled with glass vials. On the top was a small journal bound in faded leather. As Renny reached in, Mrs. Hart yipped a warning.

  “Someone’s coming,” hissed Esther.

  Renny rammed the book in his pocket. He shut the safe, twirled the knob, and closed the secret compartment. With no place to hide, we all froze in the center of the room as the door opened. A laughing young woman entered leading a group of well-dressed partygoers. She halted in mid-stride. “What’s going on here?”

  Amelie stepped forward. “My brother is home, Delphine. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  Delphine? I had another vision in mind for the evil stepmother—someone with a hooked nose and beady eyes, smelling like Mrs. Hart’s compost heap. Instead, I looked upon the most beautiful young woman I’d ever seen, no older than Renny. Glistening golden blond hair piled high on her head, the better to set off the silky perfection of her skin. How could someone so beautiful be bad? Amelie and Renny must be mistaken. Delphine gave out such an aura of warmth and friendliness.

  Her face lit with pleasure. “Renny,” she purred in a deep melodic voice. “I’m so happy to see you again.”

  The lie slapped me in the face, shattering the illusion. Delphine Marchand was neither warm nor friendly, and the last person she wanted to see was her stepson. Her voice dripped venom like the fangs of a cobra. I had the same feeling with Pike and wanted to shout a warning to her guests. Run! There’s a monster hidden under all those ruffles and lace.

  Delphine’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing in the study? I could have sworn I locked the door.”

  Renny presented a charming smile, not a flicker of unease crossed his face. “Apparently not. The door was open. I had no wish to intrude and decided to wait until dinner ended to announce my arrival.”

  Her glistening blue eyes took us all in. “Who are your friends, Amelie? I did not hear them arrive.”

  Amelie hesitated. She didn’t have a lie ready, but fortunately I always did. “Mr. Marchand commissioned us as entertainment for the party.”

  “Entertainment? How delightful.” Her tone held an undercurrent of skepticism. A woman who told lies wouldn’t be easy to convince.

  Renny jumped in. Once a lie started, he needed no instruction on how to keep the ball rolling. “When I told Amelie I would arrive tonight, she mentioned your party. Coming empty-handed would be impolite.”

  “You were always so thoughtful, Renny. To think, I came in here for a bottle of brandy, but now we also have entertainment to go with our drinks.” She chose a decanter off the sideboard, the very picture of an attentive hostess. “Shall we all move to the parlor? I can’t wait to see what you’ve brought for us.”

  “Nor can I,” whispered Amelie in my ear.

  I led Esther from the study, striving to settle my nerves. If Delphine didn’t buy our act, she’d demand to know who we were and our business here. We entered the parlor and positioned ourselves in front of the fireplace waiting for everyone to get settled. Mrs. Hart sat attentively in an out of the way corner. I couldn’t help but notice the butler standing beside the door ready to do Delphine’s bidding. He was tall and stocky, more prizefighter than manservant. He also had a suspicious bulge under one arm in the exact position of a shoulder holster. The mug was definitely packing heat. His eyes narrowed and he scrutinized my face long enough for me to squirm.

  “What sort of act do you do?” purred Delphine.

  “An amazing act,” I announced with a flourish. “An astounding feat of mental command never before witnessed in the Western world.”

  Smiles appeared on the faces of the guests. The lie clicked in and they believed, everyone except Delphine. She stood coolly unimpressed.

  “I am Martin the Magnificent. I will send my thoughts through the air allowing my blind sister to read through my eyes. Ready, Agnes?” Esther wrinkled her nose. I jumped in before sh
e protested she didn’t like the name Agnes and could she please be known as something prettier like Princess Starlight Pixie Dust.

  “Does anyone have reading material on them?”

  Enthusiastic hands shot up. I traveled the room and Esther did her act. Everyone was awed. Everyone, I should add, except Delphine. Oh, she said the right words, and acted the right way, but I could tell she didn’t trust Renny’s gesture. Her inability to determine our actual intentions drove her nuts.

  After Esther and I finished, we got an enthusiastic round of applause. If not for the dirty looks Delphine’s servant shot me, I would have enjoyed myself. I even received an offer from a gray-haired matron to perform at her grandson’s upcoming birthday party. I took her name and politely said my booking agent would be in touch.

  Renny, in the most respectful tone, begged to borrow the car to drive us home. The storm continued unabated and he wanted to save poor Agnes a long wait in the rain for the streetcar. With all eyes upon her, Delphine agreed to the splendid idea. She ordered the servant lurking in the corner to summon the chauffer.

  The tenseness I carried lifted off my shoulders. We had an escape tonight. The sooner I put distance between me and this house, the better I’d feel.

  Delphine excused herself from her guests to escort us to the porch. The Packard parked in front. The chauffeur exited to open the passenger door for Esther, Mrs. Hart, and me.

  “A driver isn’t necessary,” Renny protested. “I can take them.”

  “Nonsense. What is the point of having servants if they’re not put to use?” She tugged at his arm. “Come inside to the party. I want to hear everything you’ve done.”

  The suggestion didn’t bode well for Renny. Fortunately, he hopped inside the Packard with us, slammed the door shut, and then rolled down the window. “Won’t be but a moment,” he called with a jaunty wave. “I’ll see them safely home.”

  Delphine pursed her lips in irritation. “Very well. The guard will let you out.”