Lie in Plain Sight

by Maggie Barbieri

  “And don’t lie, Maeve. I can spot a liar a mile away.”

  “Interesting. Your boyfriend lied to you about being at Laurel Lake, yet you chose to believe him.” Maeve held the chief’s gaze. “Or you weren’t here. One or the other.”

  Carstairs chose to ignore Maeve’s taunt. “Start at the beginning.”

  “You know everything that I know. There’s another missing girl, and she’s a dead ringer for Taylor Dvorak. She played soccer.”

  “Oh, so we’re back to that? Soccer?” Carstairs shook her head. “So we have a girl who has long brown hair and played soccer, so David Barnham killed them both?”

  “Is Taylor dead?” Maeve asked. “Is that other girl dead? Do you know?”

  Carstairs grimaced, realizing her mistake. “We don’t know. I misspoke.”

  “He appeared out of nowhere, your boyfriend, and he has close relationships with some of the girls.”

  “He’s a coach, Maeve. That’s his job. And he’s been here for several years. You know that.”

  “So why is he here? To have parties? To invite girls over to his house?”

  Suzanne put the gun in her lap. “You’ve been spending way too much time in front of your oven, bakery girl. David Barnham is a soccer coach, plain and simple. And what makes him a good soccer coach is that he has rapport with his athletes.”

  “He’s a good soccer coach?” Maeve asked. “Really?”

  Suzanne smiled. “Well, you’ve got a point there.” She pushed a crumb from the edge of the table onto the floor. “And let me tell you, none of those girls are complaining about having attention from their hot coach.”

  “That’s how you think of him? As a hot coach?”

  “If the cleats fit…” She trailed off, laughing at her own joke. “Really, Maeve. Do you think I’d be dating a guy who was acting inappropriately toward high school girls? Do I look like I need to go that low?” she asked, sweeping a hand over her body. “Trust me. If he were up to no good, I’d kill him.”

  If Maeve’s hands hadn’t been cuffed, she would have tucked in the shirt that had ridden up over the waistband of her jeans, exposing a swath of flabby midsection. Instead, she looked at a spot over the chief’s head rather than take in her toned and enviable physique. She remembered the chief patting her midsection, suggesting she didn’t exercise. Nothing could be further from the truth unless she lived on a steady diet of coffee and cigarettes, which was entirely possible.

  Maeve leaned in close, and the chief’s hand closed around her gun again. “Tell me the truth. Was he here that morning?”

  Suzanne used the gun to point at Maeve’s hands. “What is it about this situation that gives you the idea that you can ask the questions?”

  Maeve looked down. “Sorry.”

  “Now why don’t you tell me a few things? First, what’s going on with your daughter and Jesse Connors? And where did she go the other night?”

  “Nothing is going on with my daughter and Jesse Connors. As for the other night, I wish I could tell you that, but I can’t.”

  “Or won’t?”

  “Can’t.”

  Carstairs eyed her, carefully crossing one leg over the other. Maeve was right: She was naked beneath the robe. “Okay. So let’s try this. Why are you here again?”

  Maeve was resolute, something she hoped was written on her face, despite the fact that her insides felt like overcooked spaghetti noodles. “I think your boyfriend knows something about Taylor’s disappearance.”

  “Because of the kayaking,” Carstairs said, sighing. She was tiring of the conversation, and Maeve wasn’t sure she could convince her that something was amiss.

  “Because of the kayaking. And the girls. The parties. He has a fondness for Taylor that I’m not sure is entirely pure. But mainly the kayaking.”

  “Oh, we’re back to that.”

  “I know what I saw.”

  “And I know what I saw.” The chief stood up. “This is exhausting. You,” she said, pointing the gun lazily at Maeve, “are exhausting.”

  On the counter, a cell phone rang, and the chief picked it up. “Hi … Not sure,” she said to the person on the other end. “What do you want me to do?” She listened intently. “Got it.” She put the phone down and started for the hallway. “So, I’m going to get dressed, and then you and I are going to go down to the station.”

  “Why?” Maeve asked.

  The chief looked at her, a bemused smile on her lips. “Because that was, as you refer to him, my boyfriend, and he wants to press charges.” She let the smile grow wide. “Ever been to jail, Maeve?”

  CHAPTER 40

  They were in the car when Jo let out the feeling she had been holding in since arriving at the Farringville police station an hour earlier. “Maeve Conlon! You are out on bail!” She banged the steering wheel, scaring the baby in the backseat, the kid setting up a howl. Jo reached back and patted his knee until he calmed down. “Seriously. I thought I’d be the first one in jail. Not you.”

  Maeve learned that the wheels of justice turned quickly in Farringville. She leaned her head against the headrest and closed her eyes. Chris hadn’t been in the station when she was brought in in handcuffs, nor had he arrived when she had been booked. So either he was working a case or he had been warned: Your girlfriend is here. The one who is making you fat. Don’t come in.

  Jo had been the first person she thought to call. She could only imagine the histrionics, the knight riding in on his white horse, if Cal had been the one to come get her. She would never live it down. She had already lost emotional and almost physical custody of Heather; a rap sheet would seal the deal permanently.

  “Just take me home,” Maeve said when she had the energy to get the words out.

  Jo maneuvered the car out of the parking lot. If Maeve hadn’t been in such a terrible state of mind, she would have enjoyed the spectacular river view that greeted them as they headed away from the station and toward her house. “Breaking and entering, huh?” Jo asked as they rounded the corner toward the main drag. “What exactly were you doing?”

  “I guess I let myself into the guy’s house, and that was not a very good decision on my part.”

  Jo raised an eyebrow. “What the hell?”

  “I wish I could tell you, Jo, but it just sounds ridiculous. The whole thing.”

  “Something tells me your boyfriend isn’t going to be pleased when he finds out he’s dating a felon.”

  “Well, I hope it’s not a felony. That won’t be good.”

  “Maybe the guy whose house you broke into will decide not to press charges.”

  “The door was unlocked.”

  “Don’t matter, girlfriend.” Jo waited at a red light, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. “This is about Taylor, right?”

  “Right.”

  Jo looked over at Maeve, her lips pursed. “You going a little crazy, friend?”

  “Crazy?”

  “Yeah. Crazy. As in, you don’t sleep enough and you work too hard and you’re starting to see things where they don’t exist?”

  Maeve turned toward the window and looked out at the street outside. The world was normal and lovely, with people walking and talking, the coffee shop abuzz with the after-school crowd, the local restaurants gearing up for the dinner rush. She was going a little crazy, but she would never admit it. She felt as if she couldn’t walk among these people because of the baggage she carried with her, and in that moment, that realization made her sad.

  “I’ve seen you like this before,” Jo said.

  Maeve didn’t respond. You have? she wanted to ask but couldn’t, knowing where this was going. And what was that like? she wanted to know but didn’t ask.

  “You get crazy. You get obsessed. And it’s good for no one,” Jo said, driving through the light, hanging a right at the traffic circle. “Especially you.”

  “Can we talk about this later?” Maeve asked, exhaustion covering her like a warm blanket. She knew she’d be home in a few
minutes, but she wanted to stay in this car for a long time so she could fall asleep to the hum of the engine, the sound of the baby sucking his thumb contentedly in the backseat.

  The house was empty when they arrived, as Maeve knew it would be. “Want me to come in?” Jo asked, looking up at the old Colonial, the emptiness of it telegraphing out to the street.

  “No,” Maeve said, wondering if she had the strength to make it from the car to the front door. She was embarrassed—humiliated, really—and didn’t know if she’d recover from this one. The entire Farringville Police Department would know that Chris Larsson’s girlfriend, the Cupcake Lady to many in town, had let herself into someone’s house, gone through his personal things, and been arrested by his girlfriend, a woman who just happened to be the village’s police chief. It was going to be in the local paper’s police blotter for sure, and she would never live this down, no matter how many perfectly constructed, Thulian-crossed-with-salmon-frosted cupcakes she made, no matter how many Comfort Zone quiches were sold that bailed out a husband who was supposed to make dinner on a certain night for a certain overworked wife. She looked at Jo.

  Jo reached across the space between the two seats. “Come here,” she said, gathering her best friend into her arms and waiting for the inevitable onslaught of sobs that should have accompanied a trip to jail. A normal person would cry.

  But there were no tears, because Maeve knew she wasn’t normal. Maeve laid her head on Jo’s shoulder and stayed there for a few seconds before breaking away. “Thank you. I’ll give you the money tomorrow. Is that okay?”

  Jo pulled back. “Sure. Tomorrow is fine.”

  Jo’s face gave away what she felt inside: Maeve was losing it, and she was bearing witness to that. Maeve rearranged her features into an expression that approximated something normal, something with which Jo would be familiar, and smiled. “I’m fine, Jo. Don’t worry. I’m done with this.”

  “With Taylor? With what has happened?”

  “With everything,” Maeve said. “It’s not my fault.”

  “It was never your fault,” Jo said. “There’s no reason on God’s green earth why you should feel responsible. Now that witch Judy Wilkerson? That’s another story.”

  Maeve hadn’t thought about her in a while. “Yes. She has a lot of explaining to do.”

  “Her little punk-ass grandson can build as many schools in Mississippi as he wants, but he’ll still be the kid who rear-ended Doug’s car and then denied the whole thing.”

  “What?” Maeve said, sitting up. “Her grandson?”

  “Yes. Tommy or Todd or Timmy Morehead.”

  “Tim Morehead.”

  “Whatever. Kid looked Doug straight in the face and said he hadn’t backed into him in the grocery store parking lot when Doug saw the whole thing.” Jo looked back at the baby. “Not that the big dent doesn’t give the Taurus a little street cred, but what kind of kid lies to a cop’s face?”

  “I don’t know,” Maeve said, thinking of Judy Wilkerson and her ability to lie without blinking. Must be a family trait.

  “Had a friend with him who lied, too.”

  “Preppy?”

  Jo looked at her. “Yeah. The Connors Kid.”

  Jo slumped in her seat, changing the subject back to what was rapidly becoming Maeve’s least favorite: her own state of mind. “I hate seeing you like this. You’re not responsible for everyone, Maeve.”

  Maeve was defiant. “I know that.”

  “I don’t think you do.”

  Behind her, the baby gurgled in agreement with his mother, and something about hearing his little voice in the backseat softened her, making her think back to the time when she was in the driver’s seat and one of her babies was in the back. “Thanks, Jo. I’ll pay you back tomorrow,” Maeve said again before getting out of the car. “And thanks for everything.” She got out and stood on the sidewalk, the car door still open. “I love you, you know. I just wanted to tell you that. In case I didn’t get the chance again.”

  “Why wouldn’t you get the chance?” Jo asked.

  Before Jo could ask any more questions, Maeve slammed the car door and went inside, closing the door to her house and herself off to the world outside.

  She had barely reached the second floor when she heard a knock. She started talking to Jo before she reached the door. “I really just want to be alone,” she said, flinging it open to find Charles Connors standing on the other side, his expression telling her that this wasn’t a social call.

  CHAPTER 41

  She didn’t let him in, letting him stew on the other side of the door, the screen between them. “What do you want?” she asked, her antipathy toward him greater now that she knew Trish’s side of the story.

  “It was bad enough that Taylor’s disappearance announced to the world that I was her father, and a negligent one at that, but now the police are spending a bit more time with me and my family than I would like,” he said, a man used to getting his own way, making things happen on his terms.

  “Maybe they are asking you questions so that they can find your child, Mr. Connors.”

  “A child that you were too busy to help,” he said.

  Knowing what she knew now, Maeve was less inclined to absorb that emotional blow. Of all of the people at fault, she was way down on the list. The man in front of her held a spot at least five or six rungs above her on that ladder. “Why are you here, Mr. Connors?” she asked.

  “You and your daughter are causing trouble for my family, and I won’t tolerate it,” he said.

  Maeve smiled. He had underestimated her and would regret it if this went any further. “Or what, Mr. Connors?” she asked. “You’ll bring the full force of your team of minions upon me?” She opened the door to the porch and stepped outside. “Here’s one thing you should know about me and my daughter: Unlike you or your son or your nephew or whoever he is to you, we tell the truth. No matter what the cost.” And while that wasn’t necessarily true, it had the intended effect of knocking the wind out of his sails a bit, his furious blinking a sign of that.

  “He’s my son. I don’t know why you can’t understand that.”

  “Adopted.”

  “Yes, adopted.”

  “While you had a daughter in the same town whose paternity you would never acknowledge. I’ve always said that this town has a lot of secrets, but that one takes the cake,” Maeve said. “No pun intended.”

  “Whatever it is you think you know about my family, Ms. Conlon, is likely far off base,” he said. “Jesse is the child my wife and I could never have together.”

  “And Taylor?”

  “She was not.” He turned, attempting to leave, his mission of intimidation, of getting Maeve to back off, not having been at all effective. “Please leave my family alone, Ms. Conlon. That’s all I ask.”

  Maeve followed him down the porch steps. “I just don’t understand it,” she said. “How you could leave that girl.”

  He turned back to face her again. “I have a wife I love. I made a mistake. It’s as simple as that. I set the girl up for life. And Trish ruined that.”

  “The surgeries. Taylor’s illness. That’s why Trish doesn’t have any money.”

  He let out a laugh, more of a bark, really. “Is that what she told you? That the baby was sick?”

  Maeve felt a little queasy, not sure who she was supposed to believe, who she could trust. “Yes.”

  “She blew through the money I gave her and then more money that I gave her later. She has a problem. Gambling,” he said. “As insidious as drugs, as bad as alcohol, although there’s some of that, too.”

  “Why should I believe you?” Maeve asked. On the sidewalk, she stepped aside to let a neighbor and her dog pass, the neighbor giving Charles Connors the side eye. Maeve didn’t have many visitors, and certainly none as handsome and imposing as the man standing next to her.

  He didn’t respond directly. “Taylor will get a trust at age twenty-one, when she is an adult and on her own.�
� He looked up at the sky. “God willing.”

  “But you wouldn’t pay for her to go to college.”

  “Yes, I would,” Connors said. “I would, and I told Trish that. The extortion was her idea. There was no way I wasn’t going to get that girl out of this town and away from her mother.”

  “You could have sued for custody.”

  He smiled, patronizing her. “You think you have all of the answers, don’t you?” He put his hands in the pockets of his checkered golf pants and looked up at the sky, dotted with cumulus clouds. “What is that you said? People are telling lies about you?” He put a hand on her shoulder. “We have that in common.” He started for his car, idling at the curb.

  “Nothing you’ve done makes sense,” Maeve said.

  “I’m sure there are a few things you’ve done, Ms. Conlon, that no one but yourself would understand.”

  He waited for her to respond, but she didn’t, couldn’t. He was right, but there was no way she would let him know that.

  “I think you know something. You or your son,” she said. “Your wife.”

  His response came quickly. “My wife knows nothing.”

  “I think you all do.”

  “Think what you want. The truth is usually farther from your grasp than you think.” He opened the car door. “Just leave us alone.”

  CHAPTER 42

  The next morning, Maeve opened the store and set about getting ready for Founders Day, which was coming up sooner than she would have liked, making more batches of cupcakes than she had ever made in one day. Jo handled the front of the store with ease, checking on Maeve periodically but understanding that her role that day was strictly retail. Maeve could hear her bantering with customers and upselling them on items they hadn’t known they wanted when they walked into the store. Maybe she was getting the hang of this bakery thing after all.

  Jo brought a piece of quiche in at lunchtime and put it in the microwave, placing it in front of Maeve when it was hot. “Eat,” she said.