Her Dark Lies

by J. T. Ellison

  Jack’s parents step into the library, alongside a younger version of Brice with a deep tan and cold sable eyes. Poor Elliot looks tired. There is a man with them that I don’t recognize. He stays unobtrusively by the door.

  “Elliot.” Jack jumps to his feet and shakes his little brother’s hand. “Good to see you.”

  “You too, you too. Hey, Claire. How goes the great painting?”

  There is always something so louche in Elliot’s tone when he speaks to me. It annoys Jack to no end; I can feel the tension running through him when Elliot drawls at me. I haven’t bothered to tell him Elliot hit on me at his wedding. He was drunk off his ass, and it was relatively harmless, but I’ve been on my guard with him since. He’s never acknowledged the event. Maybe he was so drunk he doesn’t remember. Maybe he’s not stupid enough to risk Jack’s wrath. I vote for the former.

  “Hey, yourself. It goes, on and on and on.” Appreciative laughs, the piece I’m working on is another monstrosity. “Where’s Amelia?”

  Ana Compton answers before Elliot has a chance. “She’s resting.”

  Jack looks at Elliot curiously, but simply nods and smiles. It’s how the family dynamic goes, lots of nods and smiles and inside looks that are impenetrable to outsiders.

  “We’ll see her later, I hope,” I say. I like Amelia. She’s the best part of Elliot, in my opinion.

  Elliot coughs out a little laugh that sounds like “Yeah, right.” Uh-oh. Something has happened.

  Ana though, glides over this with equanimity. She is dressed in a flowing Ted Baker silk dress and soft leather sandals, expensive gladiators in saddle and gold. Her sable hair is tied back, styled in an incongruously bouncy ponytail. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Ana without a French twist screwed into place. The ponytail looks good on her. Takes five years off. Okay, ten.

  Beside her, I feel disheveled, but Ana takes us in with nothing but delight on her beautiful, austere face.

  She draws me in, smelling of Chanel No. 5 and Camel Lights. Ana’s thick hair swings around her neck and tickles my nose.

  “Claire. My dear. Welcome to Villa la Scogliera.”

  17

  The Biometrics

  Ana’s voice is a warm contralto, with the hint of an indefinable accent from her Continental upbringing. She looks and sounds like a young Sofia Loren. “Your trip in, it was good?”

  “Very much so. The island, the Villa, they’re quite stunning. Thank you for letting us use The Hebrides, too. You’ve done too much, as always.”

  “Oh, of course. They’ll be yours, too, soon enough.” Brice shoots Ana a look, somewhere between amusement and exasperation. She runs him a merry race, that’s for sure.

  Jack is now enfolded into his mother’s arms, and Brice Compton holds out his arms for me. I step into them dutifully. It’s not that I don’t like Brice, I do. He’s just very intense. He has a new beard, the pale edges of it still stiff and tipped in palest strawberry blond, and the same strange scent he wears clings to him like a shroud.

  “Money,” Katie said, when I told her about it. “He reeks of eau de money.”

  As amusing as that quip was at the time, it’s not money Brice smells of. The scent is more earthy, as if he’s just stepped in from digging in the garden. Not entirely unpleasant, but strange. It strikes me, the earthy scent could very well be something organic in nature, though I’ve never smelled weed that reminds me of an open grave before.

  “Welcome to the Villa, Claire,” Brice says. He squeezes my shoulders. “We are delighted to have you. You’re sure the trip over was okay?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good Lord, none of that. It’s high time you start calling me Brice. Or Dad.”

  He doesn’t notice me wince. I can’t call anyone but my father Dad.

  “Brice. Thank you. The Hebrides is gorgeous. And the Villa... I have no words.”

  Elliot gives me a subtle thumbs-up. Brice appreciates understatement.

  “Speaking of, Claire saw someone up on the cliff as we came in.” Jack says this casually, but there is a note in his voice that makes my spine straighten.

  “You did?” Ana crosses her arms on her chest, her face suddenly strained. She peers at me, an eyebrow raised. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes, I saw a white scarf fluttering in the breeze. I figured it was someone from the house, looking out for us to arrive. I’d forgotten—I was distracted by the bones.”

  Ana looks at Brice, the glance so quick I almost miss it. What’s that about?

  Jack doesn’t seem to notice. He massages my shoulder. “What an introduction to the island, right? I told Claire that we do come across remains from time to time—it’s the nature of the beast with an island that’s been populated for so long, especially one under a historical restoration.”

  Ana starts to answer but Brice talks right over her. “Come, come, we can deal with that all later,” Brice says heartily. “Why don’t we finish up the legalities so we can get to the fun.”

  Brice snaps his fingers and the stranger steps forward. I’ve forgotten him entirely. His accent pegs him as Italian, but his English is perfect.

  “Signorina, for the Italian religious marriage to be legal we must do a blood test. If you wouldn’t mind showing me your arm?”

  “Ugh. We didn’t have to do this in Nashville for our marriage license.” But I roll up my sleeve compliantly, only wincing a little at the pinch. Jack rubs my shoulder compassionately.

  “Formalities, darling. Ah, it’s my turn.”

  The Italian is very fast. He takes a vial from Jack, then places them both in a padded box. “Grazie,” he says with a teensy bow, and leaves as quietly as he entered.

  Brice says, “Good. Good. The hard part’s over. Now for the rest. We’ll need a photograph, Claire, for the Villa’s facial recognition system, as well as an iris scan and fingerprints. All our homes are biometric. Once you have all of this in the system, you won’t ever need a key. Everything will be coded to you, and you alone, so you’ll be completely secure and able to access anything you need.”

  “Do you want to swab me for DNA, too?”

  Brice laughs. “Not necessary, we’ll have all that in your bloodwork.”

  Well, that’s not unnerving at all.

  Elliot has all the tech in his bag. He takes a digital photo, unsmiling, does the iris scan, and holds up a small gray screen that I press each finger to, watching the loops and whorls appear as if by magic.

  “Oh, and sign this for me, would you?” He pulls out another small reader. “We like to have the family signatures on file. In case anyone ever tries to forge a signature. This machine takes such minute measurements, the pressure you use, the angle you hold the pen, it all but guarantees no one can ever forge your name.”

  I sign my name with its usual flourish on the R at the end of Hunter and watch it load into the system. “Cool.”

  “Totally cool. But you need to sign it Claire Compton. Claire H. Compton, if you’d like.”

  “Oh. Oops.” They laugh politely, and I do it again, smooth and elegant. It’s not like I haven’t written my name with Jack’s before, like a teenager with her first crush covering her notebook in hearts and flowery cursive.

  “I’m going to get you uploaded right now,” Elliot says, opening his laptop. “Welcome to the family, sis.”

  The lawyers bundle together their papers and briefcases. They shake our hands and disappear out the door.

  Finally, we’re alone, just me and the Comptons. Once the door clicks closed, all eyes fall on me.

  Brice clears his throat. “Jack told us what happened in Nashville, Claire. I’m so glad you’re all right. Jack said you were hurt when you...fell?”

  “I’m fine, really. Just a bump on the head.” And dissolvable stitches, but that’s no biggie.

  “And Malcolm shot the intruder?�
�� Brice asks.

  I nod. “Yes, that’s right. It was all such a blur. Thank goodness he was able to respond so quickly.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Ana says. “We are so very lucky Malcolm was able to get to you both in time.”

  Jack threads his fingers through mine. “Do we know what the man was after? Has he been identified? We haven’t heard from anyone yet.”

  “They’ll be in touch soon, I’m sure,” Brice says. “Karmen has been fully briefed. She’s running point with the Nashville police. In the meantime, let’s try to enjoy ourselves this weekend. The storms are going to put a damper on the outdoor activities, but there’s plenty to keep us occupied. Shall we have some champagne? And perhaps a bite to eat? I’m sure you’re hungry.”

  Brice gestures and we follow like obedient little lemmings, through the library door, down the hall, and into the majestic dining room. The inlaid parquet floors show a sunburst pattern; the walls are the lightest robin’s egg blue plaster, with extensive millwork. The ceiling is vaulted, with frescos painted the length, and ribbed buttresses offset in dove gray. Naturally, the table has room for a good thirty or so, ready for intimate entertaining. As you do.

  I stifle a giggle at the idea of Jack and me at opposite ends of this monstrosity, calling to one another to pass the salt.

  I’m relieved to see that despite the grandeur of the room, this is an informal family dinner, rather than something more organized. The table is laden with platters, cheeses and meats and fruit and bread. Champagne cools in silver buckets, water in carafes are set on the sideboards.

  Brice pours champagne for Ana, then for me. Elliot is tapping on his phone, and a few minutes later, Amelia shows up. She’s been working out; she’s got on yoga shorts and a sleeveless top, her hair piled carelessly on top of her head, the roots dark with sweat. Always too thin for my taste, she now looks downright unhealthy. She’s all bones and sinew, dark circles under her pale eyes as if she hasn’t slept in weeks. I watch as she takes some grapes and a sliver of prosciutto and retreats to the opposite side of the table.

  “It’s good to see you,” I say as warmly as I can, biting back my concern.

  “You, too, Claire. You’re certainly blooming. The sea air agrees with you.”

  She’s going through the motions; her voice is flat, empty. Something is definitely wrong. Is she sick?

  The rest of the family ignore this exchange and start talking about the details of the weekend, and I’m amazed at how calm and collected they are.

  Jack plops down next to me, his plate full.

  “Should I call Katie? I hate that she’s missing dinner.”

  Jack shakes his head. “She’s crashed in her room. Fatima checked on her.”

  Fatima. I look up to see her watching me intently. I hadn’t even noticed her standing in the corner of the room, hovering like a benevolent spider. I smile, and she smiles back.

  “That was kind of her.”

  Jack feeds me a piece of parmesan. “This is the best cheese you will ever have. They make it north of here and we bring it in by the boatload.”

  It is amazing. I follow it with a strawberry, then some champagne. I am feeling the surreality of the moment bleed away, and realize I’m starting to enjoy myself. I am a part of this family now. With a few words and the stroke of a pen, I am one of them. I know it’s not official until we wed, but this feels...right.

  Until Elliot explodes.

  “Shit!”

  “Language,” Ana says automatically.

  But Elliot’s face has gone from white to livid red.

  “What is it? What’s up?” Jack asks.

  “Um...we have a problem. The fucking servers have been hacked.”

  “What do you mean, hacked?”

  “I mean someone’s gotten into our private servers and wiped them clean. I don’t know who, but everything’s gone.” There is something sharp and frightened in his tone.

  Brice shakes his head. “You mustn’t have logged in properly. That’s impossible.”

  Jack nods. “With as many firewalls and redundancies as we have, surely there are backups.”

  Elliot, still tapping hard on his laptop, shoves a hand through his hair. “When I say it’s all gone, I mean, it’s all gone. I’ve been searching every server. There’s nothing left, anywhere. Even the backups are gone. Jesus, we’re screwed.”

  Brice’s phone rings on his son’s final syllable, and he glances at the screen, staring as if the caller ID is in hieroglyphics.

  “It’s the SOC in New York.” The SOC, I know, is the Security Operations Center, which houses the company’s exceptionally advanced cybersecurity team. Jack told me how their company works last month.

  Brice clears his throat and puts the phone to his ear. He listens for a moment then explodes.

  “That’s impossible. How could you let this happen?”

  Ana lays a hand on his arm, but he shakes her off, starts issuing instructions rapid-fire.

  “Get Karmen, right now.”

  “Is it a DDoS attack?” Jack asks Elliot, who is white-faced.

  “I don’t know what the fuck is happening. If some little shit thinks he can try to ransom the servers...” He punches numbers into his phone and the deadly calm in his voice chills me to the bone. “Get me into the SOC call with Brice, right now.”

  I do not want to cross Elliot. He’s someone to keep on my side, for sure. When he’s angry, I sense he is no longer in control. That could make him very dangerous. Amelia is watching him as well. She gets up and sets her plate on the sideboard, leaves without a backward glance. She’s done her duty for the night.

  “Wait, I’m getting a message.” Elliot taps on the screen. “Oh, son of a bitch.”

  “What does it say?”

  Elliot turns the phone around. “It says, ‘You have twenty-four hours to tell them what you’ve done, or I will.’”

  18

  Into the Labyrinth We Go

  I’ll tell you this. Ana Compton is a seriously cool customer.

  The dining room feels like a battleground. Elliot is freaking out, pacing back and forth, Brice is speaking urgently into his phone, Jack is holding on to my hand so tightly the blood supply is cut off and the bones crunch painfully.

  But Ana simply takes a long, deep breath and smiles, sanguine and calm, and holds out a hand to me. “Claire, why don’t we take a walk.”

  I glance at Jack, who looks as shocked as I feel at this display. He releases my hand immediately and nods.

  Okay. I’ll bite.

  I set down my champagne and accept Ana’s outstretched hand. She draws me from the dining room into the hall. We walk in silence back to the main stairs, then past them to the French doors that lead to the main floor courtyard. The first of the promised breaks in the rain is upon us, so that’s a bonus, but the air is scented with brine, thick and oppressive.

  She shuts the doors behind us and falls into step beside me.

  “You’ve had quite an eventful few days. Henna told me about your dress. I am very sorry. She’s going to do what she can to make it presentable again. Still... What can I do to help? Shall we have another flown in? Your family is still in Rome, I believe. If you give me your size, perhaps Henna can coordinate a replacement.”

  This is such a kind offer I find myself fighting back tears. “I honestly don’t know what to do, Ana. I’m starting to worry...” I trail off, but she urges me on. We’re at the edge of the labyrinth now. The boxwoods rise at least eight feet—it’s impossible to discern the path through by sight. The hedges didn’t seem so high from the landing window. There are marbles statues everywhere. They must be the signposts for how to navigate the maze.

  Ana knows what she’s doing, though. She strides right into the opening, past two ancient statuary, so I follow. She chats as we take the turns.

  “Wh
at are you worried about, my dear?”

  I can’t take this level of solicitude. When I’m upset, compassion always sets me off. I choke back the sob.

  “I think someone’s trying to stop the wedding. First someone breaks into our house. Then my dress is ruined. Now the servers are hacked?”

  “It has been a difficult couple of days.”

  We turn left, right, left again. Ana walks purposefully, but slow enough that I wonder, for a moment, if we’re lingering on purpose.

  But another few turns and we’re out the other side, and on the path to the artists’ colony. We’re close to the edge of the cliff, and I don’t dare look down. I can hear the sea crashing against the rocks.

  Ana stops, and we stand together, staring out over the water. The air is sultry with the oncoming flow of another round of storms, the humidity rising again. It looks like it’s raining hard on the mainland; the horizon is opaque, and I can’t see the mountains in the distance anymore. A low-lying fog is creeping up the path, covering the ground so the cottages look like they’re floating. It makes me uneasy, and I shiver.

  Romulus and Remus appear at our sides. They’ve made a stealthy approach. Romulus sits on my foot, and I scratch him behind the ears.

  I realize Ana is staring at me.

  “That dog likes you.”

  I smile. “I know. He was all over me when we arrived. He’s a sweetheart.”

  We stand a moment, the four of us, the dogs’ tongues lolling. It is surprisingly comfortable.

  “I always wanted a daughter,” Ana says quietly. “After three boys, we stopped trying, but I so wanted a girl. I figured, my boys will marry, they’ll bring home their partners, and out of the three I’ll probably get at least one girl to bond with. When Elliot met Amelia, I had such hopes. But Amelia and I have never seen eye to eye.”

  “She doesn’t look so good.”

  “No. She’s quite unhappy. She’s asked Elliot for a divorce, which we’re granting. We’ve tried to keep it quiet. We didn’t want to ruin your weekend. They’ve put their animus aside for now—we won’t have any drama. But I thought you should know. After this weekend, Amelia will no longer be a part of the family.”