A Secondhand Lie

by Pamela Crane

  “How’d you pay off your lender if you had decided not to rob the place? Shouldn’t you be dead by now?”

  He laughed as if I’d told a joke, then said soberly, “Your mama. Gave me her grandma’s engagement and wedding rings. Worth enough to pay off what I owed.”

  It figured my poor mother had been the one to get him off of Death’s hook. The word coward was being generous.

  Apparently Uncle Derek noticed the shame sweeping over my expression, because he felt the need to explain. “I never meant no harm, and I wasn’t gonna ask your mama for help, but I didn’t know where else to turn. They was gonna kill me, Landon.”

  With a wave I shushed him, my irritation swelling. “I know, I know. But that doesn’t change the fact that your idea got my dad thrown in jail. You’re his brother, and you dragged him into your mess, leaving my mom to clean it up for you. Maybe one of these days you’ll man up and take responsibility for your actions.”

  “But I ain’t done nothin’ wrong!” he pleaded. “I swear.”

  I didn’t know if Uncle Derek was innocent or not, but I wasn’t going to get the truth no matter how hard I pushed. The man was a pathological liar.

  “I can’t take any more lies!” I yelled, giving vent to the storm of emotions swirling through me.

  I never heard his defense as the screen door squealed shut behind me.

  Chapter 12

  A moment arrives when you helplessly watch the world crumble around you, and all you can do is limply watch. Once upon a time I would have mustered the courage to change things—with an iron fist, if needed—but any passion left had been tapped dry.

  It wasn’t so much that my investigation was going in circles. Or that my dad was in jail. Or that my sister’s killer was still on the loose. Or that Mia was at arm’s length. It wasn’t any one of those single factors that led me down a path of desperation and despair. No, it was something inside myself that was deteriorating—my faith in humanity.

  My faith in myself.

  Once upon a time I trusted that all things happened for a reason. But that theory collapsed under the weight of pain. I’d lost so much, which was ironic because I had so little to begin with. All I could do was yield to the takers as they stole everything away from me—my sister, my father, my happiness… and I wondered if Mia would be next.

  What decency still resided in my cold heart was ready to flee.

  Heading nowhere in particular, I drove the minutes away, watching the homes and frolicking children pass by in a blur. Somehow the endless gray asphalt numbed me, leaving gaps of unaccounted-for time. When my brain eventually caught up with my location, I saw I was turning onto Ruby Parker’s street. I pulled over in front of Ruby’s house, wondering what had led me here.

  A row of trees separated the two homes—Ruby and Bob’s—and I started imagining the scene from twenty-two years ago unfolding. The eerie darkness of night. The gunshot. The robber fleeing from the house, parked where I currently sat, then peeling away. But why would he have parked here—in plain sight? Why not down the street to avoid his car being identified? Too many questions that led to illogical answers.

  I didn’t know what propelled me to get out of my car and briskly trot toward Bob’s house. My hand involuntarily knocked, while my brain reminded me that I had already asked everything there was to ask. Well, maybe not everything…

  He answered the door with a smile.

  After apologizing for bothering him again, I wanted to know if he had any idea why the robber wouldn’t have parked down the street.

  “The details you’re giving me don’t make sense, Bob,” I said, my statement proposing a challenge. “Why would the robber park out front? And how could he have driven away undetected—after firing a shot that woke the entire neighborhood—so quickly without a getaway driver?”

  He shrugged off the flood of questions with a muted “I don’t know,” then shifted uncomfortably in the narrow sliver of doorway that separated us. The confrontation had clearly made him nervous as he avoided my steady glower. With a defensive stance, Bob crossed his arms over his chest, harboring within his closed heart a secret, a secret that I sensed could free my dad.

  “You know, it was a long time ago,” Bob explained, standing firmly between me and the expansive foyer behind him. “I honestly don’t remember much about what happened, only that it was dark and I heard the gunshot and when I looked outside I saw a car speed away. Maybe the car I saw had nothing to do with the robbery—a coincidence. I feel bad that there’s nothing else I can do to help.”

  Something about his wording nagged at me, but what, exactly? The chronology of events seemed to make sense… except… except for one thing. Could that be the clue I was searching for?

  “You say you heard the gunshot and then the car sped away. About how much time took place between the gunfire and the car peeling away?”

  “Hmm, I dunno. Maybe a minute or so. Why?”

  And there it was. The red flag I’d been looking for, waving proudly.

  I knew my dad’s car, with its notoriously undependable nature, couldn’t possibly have managed such a feat. No way could that car have been Dad’s Ford Tempo without at least a ten-minute warm-up while someone pumped the accelerator.

  Unless the car had been running the whole time the robber was in the house. Still, Bob’s facts seemed riddled with holes.

  But how could I possibly get Bob to trip over his error and tell me the truth? And what exactly was the truth? Was Bob covering for someone? Himself, perhaps? And if so, his word was the only evidence I had. The car was in some junkyard by now—the only thing that could prove my dad’s innocence rusting into a pile of dust.

  I had to pry deeper.

  “Bob, are you sure about the timeline? I mean, my dad’s car took on average ten minutes to start up, and that was on a good day. Are you sure you identified the right car?”

  Scratching at the tip of his nose, Bob avoided my penetrating gaze and shifted his weight, his discomfort palpable now.

  “Like I said, it was a long time ago and I don’t remember much. I really gotta get going, though,” he said with an uncomfortable chuckle.

  Guilt. I read guilt between the lines, in the awkward stance, in the nervous energy. But clearly Bob wasn’t going to give me anything without a fight. I had no idea how to force him to reveal his hand.

  Then I considered another tactic.

  “Well, thanks for your time, Bob. I really appreciate it. I have a friend on the police force who offered to run bullet ballistics to see what gun the bullet was fired from—a revolver that used a .38 Special caliber. They’re pulling gun purchase records around the date of the robbery, so we’ll have a name soon. Would you like for me to keep you posted when they discover something?” A bold lie, sure, but it was all I had up my sleeve. I knew the bullet and casing were long gone, but it was a bluff that I hoped Bob would fall for.

  “Oh really?” he said shakily, as if wakened from a dream. “Yeah, yeah, keep me informed…” he added cagily. “I appreciate you stopping by, but I really need to go.”

  With that he swung the door shut so quickly that the pocket of air ruffled my hair.

  But I wasn’t done with Robert Dillon. I knew his next move, even if he didn’t.

  **

  An hour later I sat watching Bob pull out of his driveway in a silver Mercedes-Benz C-Class. Giving myself half a dozen car lengths between us, I followed him to the local Kroger grocery store. Curiously, he pulled around the back of the store to where several Dumpsters lined a brick wall. The hair on the back of my neck bristled.

  I watched as he got out, carrying a grocery bag, then I discreetly exited my car.

  “Don’t you get public garbage service?” I asked loudly across the vacant space.

  Bob’s body jerked in surprise at the sound of my voice.

  “Are you following me?” he voiced angrily.

  “Are you trying to discard evidence?” I retorted with sarcasm.

&nbs
p; “I don’t know what you’re after, Landon, but you need to mind your own business before you get hurt.”

  “Make me.” As the words came out I realized I sounded ten years old, and an image of Pee-wee Herman flitted through my mind.

  “If you insist.” The grocery bag caught the breeze and blew away as Bob pointed a revolver straight at me. Yet his confidence wavered with his quaking hand—a flashback to what Ruby must have witnessed.

  “Bob, you’re not a killer. You know what the right thing to do is,” I said, hoping my soothing voice was talking his adrenaline down. With my hands up in surrender, I took several faltering steps forward, until I stood a mere few feet from the barrel. At this distance, even a wobbly shot would likely be lethal.

  “You just had to dig it all back up, didn’t you? And for what? No one got hurt!” he screamed.

  A bead of sweat popped up on Bob’s forehead. Then another. The man began sweating like he’d just stepped into a sauna. With a slanted look I watched him squirm under my scrutiny.

  “No one got hurt?” I echoed angrily. “My father lost a lifetime because of that false conviction! I lost a dad for most of my life. My mom lost a husband. Dammit, man, I’d say that a lot of people got hurt. Not to mention, Ruby was shot. The only consolation out of all of this was that my sister died before having to watch her father go to jail. At least she was spared the embarrassment and pain. Someone should pay—the person who did it. You. They’re going to find you. The bullet will point to exactly who fired the shot, and if you’re not willing to come forward on your own, the punishment will be a lot worse.”

  My rant was derailing, and I couldn’t heft my thoughts back on track as the words spilled from my diarrheic lips.

  “I think this conversation is over,” he cut in, leaping forward and pushing the muzzle against my forehead.

  Despite the strong urge to crap my pants, I studied him, watching the perspiration drip down his upper lip.

  “Don’t make this worse. You kill me, you’re guilty of murder. That’s a life sentence. Now’s your chance to do the right thing, Bob. Put the gun down and turn yourself in.”

  He stood stoically, silently, but I knew panic raged beneath the surface.

  My logical appeal wouldn’t budge him. But maybe, just maybe, an empathetic soul would.

  “Please,” I begged. “You know what it’s like to lose everything that matters. Don’t let an innocent man suffer any longer for something he didn’t do.”

  I watched the consideration lighten Bob’s eyes as they rested on mine, searching me for courage, a silent plea. He wanted to do the right thing and set the truth free, but the icy fingers of fear held him back.

  A heavy sigh shook his thick chest. The hand clutching the gun trembled as his arm finally dropped.

  “I can’t lie anymore. I’ve lost all there is to lose. I’m the one who robbed Ruby. I’m the one who shot her.”

  Chapter 13

  I’m sorry it took me this long to come clean,” Robert Dillon finally mustered after his admission fell from his lips. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone, I swear.”

  It all made sense.

  The divorce had left him broke. He was about to lose his house, his kids, his wife—everything. He needed money, and Lord knows Ruby had plenty to go around. Not to mention, it was an easy target—his elderly next-door neighbor. In, out, no one any the wiser.

  Until he accidentally shot her. Which was why he so generously took care of her for all those years.

  But a question nagged at me as Bob’s apology spilled forth.

  “Why my dad—why tell the cops it was his car you saw pull away?”

  He laughed a shallow chuckle of grief and remorse.

  “Gene Sanders—you know, your uncle’s friend, the one everyone calls Grizzle—well, he worked as a security guard at the software development company I used to work at. Eventually he left, but we kept in touch… mostly for poker games. Originally I went to Gene with the idea of robbing Ruby ’cause of my financial woes. So he proposed the plan to your uncle, which was perfect since your uncle apparently was in some kind of financial trouble and all too eager to do it. Your dad was just a casualty. So, the plan was that your uncle and dad would rob Ruby, Gene and I would be the fence for the stolen goods, and we’d split whatever money we made. I figured it’d be enough to pay for the divorce attorney and catch up with my debt. But when your dad put a stop to the whole thing, I knew I was ruined.”

  He paused, rubbed his temple, then palmed the back of his neck, his fingers massaging the knotted muscles. “You have no idea the stress I was under.”

  With a roll of his neck I heard the faint crack of bones. “Stress, guilt, whatever it is has been plaguing me ever since. Anyways, I figured I’d just do it on my own. Bought a gun—not to shoot her, but just so that I looked like a legit robber. Playing the part, you know? Didn’t even realize I had left bullets in it from when I bought it.”

  I nodded understanding, still baffled by the extreme measures one would go through just to keep up appearances.

  “So I winged it. Didn’t expect Ruby to catch me in the middle of it. Shooting her was an accident—I freaked. When I fled, I knew the cops would ask questions and I wanted them off my scent, so I said it was your dad’s car that was there. Gene had already told me what he drove so I knew what to say if they ever showed up at my door.”

  “Did you also call in the anonymous tip?”

  “I don’t know anything about that.”

  “So you figured you’d pin it on an innocent man—and you still sleep at night?”

  “To be honest, I was pissed at your dad for ruining the plans in the first place. It was too easy, and I figured he probably deserved jail anyways since Gene painted him as the criminal type. I never knew the guy, or anything about your sister’s murder, I swear. I guess he was just in a bad place like I was. I feel rotten about everything now.”

  It took a minute or two to let the explanation sink in. Despite the sorrow lingering between the lines of his words and his strained brow, the confession soured any sense of compassion I had for him an hour ago. In my opinion, he deserved to lose everything.

  “So you lied to the police about it—gave false testimony to cover your own butt?” I clarified, already knowing the answer.

  His head bobbed affirmation, his eyes shamefully cast downward. “I looked at it as a little white lie, you know? Just stretching the truth. Now I realize it was a lot more than that.”

  One little lie destroyed an entire family.

  But the most important question hadn’t been asked, hadn’t been answered.

  “Will you step forward and tell the cops what you’ve told me?”

  It was a long interlude before he replied. So long I wasn’t sure if he’d ever answer. Eventually he did… cautiously.

  “Yes, I’ll come clean. Your dad will go free.”

  For the first time in my thirty-eight years I felt a surge of hope. A surge of freedom from the lies that held my family hostage—the mysteries that we could never solve, the ache that we could never soothe, the secrets that imprisoned us. My father would finally be free. One step toward healing my broken family. One step toward giving Alexis what she had always yearned for as a kid: wholeness.

  If unqualified me could figure out who took away my father’s freedom, maybe I could find Alexis’s killer after all.

  Chapter 14

  I left feeling like the straightjacket that had bound my emotions for decades was at last unfastened. Justice tasted sweet today. My dad would be exonerated, adding one more step toward closure to all the loose ends that encumbered my life.

  Yet there was one tiny detail that nagged at me:

  Who had left the anonymous tip that it was my dad at the crime scene?

  Who entombed his fate?

  I’d probably never find out, but it irked me that some mystery person was out to get my dad… but why?

  I headed home to tell my mom the good news, shrugging off the l
ooming questions. Did it really matter? Perhaps some answers were best unknown and left in the past, as long as that’s where they stayed.

  When I walked into my living room, I found my mom sitting on the sofa sipping tea and reading a book. A floral scent wafted up from her mug, an inviting and calming aroma. She looked up and smiled.

  “Hey there,” she greeted me.

  “Got some great news, Mom,” I said, cutting to the chase. The news was too good to play around with pretext.

  “What’s that, honey?” she said, inviting me to sit as she patted the cushion next to her and placed the book on the coffee table.

  “Dad’s gonna be a free man.” I waited a beat for her brain to catch up.

  “What? What are you talking about?” Her face scrunched up with perplexity.

  “I found out who committed the robbery that put Dad behind bars, and he’s agreed to step forward. Apparently it was the next-door neighbor.”

  Uncertainty engulfed her as the weight of my news sank in, then finally understanding slipped past her confusion. Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened. “Really? Are you serious?”

  “As a heart attack.”

  “So… your dad’s going to be released from jail?” Her wrinkled hands clutched mine with a grip I didn’t know she had in her.

  I nodded, noting the wide grin spreading across her face, lifting her cheeks that were now flushing with excitement. Apparently it was better news than I thought.

  A moment later her arms flung around me, pulling me into a hug as a squeal escaped her lips. “Oh, honey, thank you. Thank you!”

  As she babbled her thanks between joyous sobs, she pulled back and held me at arm’s length, staring at me with admiration.

  “Wow, Mom, I wasn’t expecting quite this level of... excitement. I didn’t realize you missed him this much.”

  “It’s more than that, honey. So much more…” She swiped at a cascade of tears along her cheekbone, then blinked back another rush of them.