A Mother's Lie

by Jo Crow

  It was as good as saying my father was guilty. I lowered my head, gaze boring through my knees. Dirty money. Every cent of it was dirty money. I’d been told the McNair fortune was built from hard work and smart business choices.

  “Mr. Hunt was investigating tax evasion when your parents disappeared. It’s likely your father was presenting falsified information to the IRS.”

  The knot in my stomach continued to tighten.

  The man I’d called father—the one who’d tucked me in when I was small and had raised me with quiet strength and tender affection—was a criminal. A deceiver. A cheat.

  “Who were the women?” I asked, voice raw as I struggled to adjust to the pain.

  “Employees. Housekeeping, mostly.” Eric frowned. He set a hand on the folder in front of me. “We’ve prepared a duplicate of Mr. Hunt’s findings, taken from our archives. Information has been redacted, but what we removed you’d have no use for anyway.”

  “Housekeeping?” I spoke the word without realizing it, and it emerged as a shallow, desperate gasp from my lips. I imagined my mother sitting in this same chair ten years ago, tears in her eyes as they broke the news. Their relationship had always seemed so strong but, now that I knew the truth, I began to see the cracks in its foundation.

  The long hours apart. The constant pressure of living up to the McNair name. The rebellious teenage daughter whose outbursts had put strain on the love they had…

  It was no wonder the relationship had gone wrong.

  I opened the folder and leafed through the documents inside. There were photocopies of handwritten notes, likely taken directly from Gino Hunt’s observations. My mind raced too quickly to read all of it, but certain words caught my eye—names.

  Flora Tonjes. Millie Carter. Rachel Harwood?

  My eyes came to a stop on the last name as bile burned in my throat. Rachel Harwood. My father had been having an affair with Amanda’s mother? But she’d killed herself in 1997: ten years before my mother hired a private investigator to spy on my father. If what Gino’s notes suggested was accurate, my father had been cheating on my mother for almost as long as I’d been alive. Rachel Harwood had worked as our housekeeper until her suicide—almost ten years before my parents went missing.

  “If you have any other questions, we’ll be happy to answer them,” Eric announced. The tone of his voice suggested he was working toward shutting down the conversation. “There’s not much more to it, I’m afraid. The divorce proceedings came to an abrupt end after Mrs. McNair disappeared, for reasons I hope are obvious.”

  “I don’t have anything else to ask.” I closed the folder, then slid it off the table to clutch to my chest. My father must have known about Gino Hunt if he’d been recording his name in his agenda—maybe he was keeping track of when Gino was coming and going from the house. Maybe he was beginning to suspect my mother was having an affair.

  Thinking about it hurt. On wobbling legs, I stood. Eric and David stood as well.

  “Thank you for your time today,” I managed to say. The pain was outstanding, but at least I had answers. “I need to get going. I hope you understand.”

  “Of course.”

  “Again, we’re sorry for your situation.”

  Both men showed me to the door. I followed them in a daze, unable to get over the sick feeling in my stomach. My father, the man I’d looked up to, had been rotten to the core. The man I’d thought was honest and hardworking was actually crooked and deceptive. And my mother?

  Had she been going out that night, done up in lace and pearls, to serve my father papers? Had he found out after discovering Gino and decided to end it? I didn’t know what to think anymore. The facts were beginning to blur, obscured by my internal suffering.

  The ones I thought I trusted, I couldn’t trust at all. It felt like I didn’t know my parents in the slightest—as if I’d been raised by actors all these years who’d played their roles so convincingly I’d believed them every step of the way.

  The front door of the law firm appeared before I had time to collect my thoughts. One of the men opened the door for me. I didn’t even think to see who it was.

  “If there’s anything else, don’t hesitate to contact us during regular business hours.” Eric’s voice rang through the otherwise silent reception area, vibrating through me. “Take care.”

  “Thank you.” The words were numb. I stepped out onto the street.

  Jerry knew. He’d known all along; I couldn’t understand why he hadn’t told me himself. But Jerry was loyal. That was why he’d warned me against looking for answers. He hadn’t said anything for fear this would happen to me—that I’d be rattled so deeply my understanding of the world would change—that’s what he had warned me against, and foolishly, I’d ignored him. As the door closed behind me and I faced the light of day, I realized what a mercy that had been. It was likely he hoped I’d give up the search and would move on, but now I knew…

  I sucked in a deep breath and shook my head. Distraught, I made my way down the street. Some secrets weren’t meant to be revealed—Jerry was right.

  But I knew I had to keep going. Until I learned for sure why my parents had disappeared and who had exhumed their bones—who killed them, and why—I needed to keep pushing.

  I just hoped I didn’t push too far.

  13

  Downtown Charlotte was glass high-rises and tree-lined sidewalks. I moved from shadow to shadow, walking quickly enough that my momentum helped keep me cool in the sun.

  I moved among swarms of pedestrians, most heading in the opposite direction from my wanderings. The vague awareness I had of Charlotte was dimmed by the urgency of my recently discovered past; by the looks of the buildings towering overhead, I was headed into the business district. That suited me fine. As long as I was moving, I felt like I was doing something, even if that something wasn’t helpful. If I settled down, even for an instant, I knew negative thoughts could cloud my judgment and drive me to make rash decisions.

  What I needed was some time to compose myself, then the presence of mind to sit down and make a plan. I needed more information, but my present leads had brought me to a dead-end. Eric and David wouldn’t give me anymore information than they had already, and without knowing what shady people my father was associated with, I would never know how—or if—they were still involved. And why? And why now? I’d been living in California for years and never had to watch out for myself. Never felt in danger.

  People came and went. I crossed streets and made turns, reliant on instinct alone. No one here knew me, and that suited me just fine. The young woman with tears in her eyes and a distant, forlorn expression was just another face here, not a social pariah who was accused of killing her own family and covering up their deaths.

  Traffic brought me to a stop. I waited at the red light, itching to keep going. A few other people joined me, and we stood on the curb together while we waited for the light to turn. Red turned to green. As I stepped down onto the road, I was pulled back. Someone had linked their arm around mine.

  I was too startled to scream.

  “Relax, McNair, it’s me,” a familiar, masculine voice said. I glimpsed him from the corner of my eye.

  Gino Hunt.

  Dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, he looked like an average guy instead of a private detective. Sun warmed his skin, so I knew he’d been outside for a while. He kept hold of my arm loosely; while I knew I could pull away at any time, I didn’t want to. He’d been quick to discard me the other day, after all.

  “We need to keep walking. Smile. Pretend we’re old friends and I’m surprising you. I’m going to show you my phone in a second, and no matter what you see on the screen, you should laugh and pretend like I’m showing you something funny.”

  “What’s going on?”

  We crossed the street together and kept walking. Gino turned his head and grinned at me like I’d said something hilarious, then pulled his phone out of his pocket and loaded an image. On the screen was
an image of a man with broad shoulders and dirty blond hair. He wore a loose T-shirt and a simple pair of jeans, but the expression on his face was less than casual. He looked furious.

  I recognized him.

  Blake Harwood—Amanda’s father.

  I had no idea why Gino would want to show me his picture, but I laughed and bumped against his shoulder affectionately, pretending we were friends.

  “I need you to look at another one,” Gino said. He flicked to the next picture. Blake Harwood’s image had been captured from behind this time, and what I saw chilled me from head to foot.

  Blake was following me. I saw my messy hair and my cool gray tank top in the distance, close enough Blake could see where I was going, but far enough away I would never have noticed him had I turned around.

  I laughed again, hoping it didn’t sound strained. Gino smiled at me like I’d done something particularly charming. The masks we both wore frightened me just as much as being followed.

  “You know this guy?”

  “Sort of.” I swallowed. I barely knew Blake Harwood. He’d lived with Rachel in one of the houses behind the McNair estate, but he’d seldom been in the main house. He’d worked at the factory, from what I remembered Amanda telling me; after Rachel’s suicide, he’d left in the middle of the night—without Amanda. We’d never heard from him again.

  “He’s been following you since you left the office.” We crossed another street. Gino kept a hold on my arm, almost as if to make sure I kept my pace casual. “I was on my way in when you were on your way out, and I noticed him pick himself up from the wall and start to tail you.”

  The black car with the tinted windows, the uncomfortable feeling that had been following me since I’d seen my parents’ remains, the paranoia…

  I wasn’t crazy after all. There was someone after me.

  And now I knew who.

  “What am I going to do?” I asked. I’d left my car behind, and I couldn’t just turn around now I knew I was being followed. If I walked past Blake and locked eyes with him, I knew it would be over. He’d know I knew, and the covert operations he’d been staging would end.

  He would strike.

  “Here’s what you’re going to do.” Gino unlatched his arm from around mine but continued to walk casually at my side. “I’m going to hail you a taxi, and you’re going to get inside. Once you’re seated, you’re going to tell the taxi to get back to Rothford and Neuman’s as quickly as they can. Then you’re going to get in your car and drive. Go home. You’re going to want to make sure you have a plan for what to do if he follows you there. Get your things quick, and get out of the state.”

  “I can’t do that.” Coming to Charlotte was already pushing the envelope—Detective Elkins didn’t want me to go far.

  “Then you’re going to need to ditch your car, find a new vehicle, and lay low somewhere safe and unexpected for a few days—preferably with someone else around who can help you keep an eye open. You’re not going to want to be seen around town.” Gino lifted a hand and flagged down a taxi. “I thought you were making shit up when you said your life was in danger, but I’m starting to think maybe there was some truth to that statement. I didn’t get a good look, but I think whoever is following you is armed.”

  The taxi came to a stop. Gino pulled open the back door and waved me in. I sank down into the back seat, heart hammering.

  “Take care, doll,” Gino bade me. “I’ll be keeping an eye open for you. Don’t go sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

  The car door closed. I watched Gino through the window as he stepped back from the curb and dusted off his hands. Not even a block away, Blake Harwood approached. Brows knit together, shoulders tense, drawn up to his full height, I found myself panicking over Gino’s safety. He’d painted a target on his back by associating with me.

  I didn’t want him to suffer for his good deeds.

  “Where to, ma’am?” the driver asked.

  I pushed down the window button, but the window was locked in place. Gino nodded, then walked off. His fate was his own—unless I wanted to risk my life by stepping out of the taxi to follow him, there wasn’t anything I could do.

  “I need to get to Rothford and Neuman’s, and I need to get there fast. It’s on Sycamore. Do you know it?”

  Blake was close—within arm’s distance. I saw the blond hairs on his burly arms, and his corded muscles. The T-shirt he wore was stretched tight over developed pectorals. His neck was thick, and it swallowed his head in a thuggish way that didn’t let me forget his body was built for strength. The cold look in his eyes spoke of rage.

  He closed in on the cab.

  “Rothford and Neuman?” the driver asked.

  Blake reached for the door, and my eyes widened. I jammed on the lock, but the whole back door panel was frozen.

  “Go!” It was a breathless, panicked puff of breath. “Go!”

  The taxi lurched away from the curb, taking advantage of a red light behind us to integrate with the flow of traffic. As my pulse beat a desperate rhythm in my ears and my heart threatened to burst from how quickly it pumped, I watched Blake disappear through the back windshield. He’d already resumed walking as if nothing had happened.

  As if he hadn’t tried to get to me.

  I imagined what would have happened if he had.

  I’d thought the city meant safety, but I’d been wrong. The danger of Hickory Hills followed me wherever I went, and unless I fled North Carolina, I doubted I’d ever be free.

  Was Amanda’s father involved in my father’s shady dealings? Did the McNair family owe him money? Was he the man who’d killed my parents? What had motivated him to abandon his nine-year-old daughter after her mother’s death?

  There were too many questions; they were jumbled and incoherent—nothing made sense to me, and I had no answers.

  But I knew a man who did. This time, when I left Jerry Appleton’s office, I wouldn’t leave without the truth. I would make him speak, if that was what it took. It wasn’t only my life at risk, but James’s, and now Gino’s, and whoever else dared side with me.

  I could either live with the uncomfortable truth, or die in ignorance. Put like that, it wasn’t much of a choice at all.

  14

  I was still shaking when I slammed the car door and stormed into Jerry Appleton’s office an hour and a half after my close encounter in Charlotte. The soles of my shoes clacked against the tile floor, and the young receptionist Jerry employed lifted her head, startled.

  “Can I help y—”

  “If Jerry’s in a meeting, you’d better call him right now and tell him to put it on hold.” I crossed the lobby with purpose, already familiar with the layout of Jerry’s office. I wasn’t going to be made to wait. What happened in Charlotte shook me, but it was only on the drive back I’d realized how close I’d come to a terrible fate.

  Jerry owed me an explanation. I wasn’t going to wait for him to sort through my father’s files. I needed answers directly from his lips, and I needed them immediately.

  “Um! I’m sorry, miss, but—”

  I twisted the doorknob to Jerry’s office and wrenched the door open. He looked up from his desk, startled. Paperwork was spread across it. Form work for inheritance law, if I had to guess. After my parents’ disappearance, Jerry had branched out to practice several different categories of law, while remaining responsible for the assets held in trust in accordance with the McNair will. The receptionist at the front desk had been all too eager to tell me about it the last time I’d paid Jerry a visit.

  “Clara?” Jerry stood. “What’s the meaning of this?”

  “Mr. Appleton, I’m sorry!” the receptionist called. I heard her high heels click frantically as she tried to make it to the door ahead of me. “I told her she couldn’t—”

  I stepped through the doorway and closed the door behind me. It latched with a firm metallic click that I duplicated by turning the lock. Jerry’s secretary wasn’t going to drag me out.<
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  “You need to tell me everything you know about my father, and you need to do it now.” I stepped forward, letting my panic bleed into determination. I wasn’t the kind of woman who enjoyed being pushy, but if I didn’t push, I knew I wouldn’t get results. Sweet, motherly Clara McNair had no place here. The Clara from my teenage years resurfaced, and so too did the rush of adrenaline I got whenever I knew I was pushing too far. “Someone is after my life, Jerry. I don’t care if you want to spare my feelings or if you think I’m not ready to hear the truth—I’m a grown woman going on thirty with a son to care for. You will tell me what’s going on.”

  Jerry’s kind eyes slanted with discomfort. He pursed his lips and looked down at his papers, collecting them one after the other before setting them aside. When his desk was clear, he gestured at the chair I’d sat in last time I’d seen him.

  The secretary rattled on the doorknob.

  “Penny, it’s okay.” Jerry met my eye, then looked over his shoulder at the door as I settled. “Go back to work. I’m more than happy to meet with Ms. McNair.”

  “If you say so, Mr. Appleton.” Penny’s voice was muffled. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”

  I heard the click of high heels distance themselves from the door. When they’d faded away completely, Jerry cleared his throat and stared at his hands. He grasped them together on the desk, one palm wrapped around his clenched fist.

  If I was being truthful, I was anxious, too.

  Anxious, scared, and upset. Simultaneously eager and terrified. The severity of the gesture of leaving the bones on the grounds of the McNair estate had never been clearer.

  “Clara, are you okay?” The concern in Jerry’s voice shattered some of my resolve, and I found my will weakening. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

  “No.” I struggled for words. “There was a moment where I thought I was about to be hurt, but the car pulled away from the curb just in time. If it hadn’t been for someone telling me I was being followed, I wouldn’t have been so lucky.”