Life of Lies

by Sharon Sala

  “Then we’ll get your stuff downstairs by the front door and go see if we can rustle up some coffee and maybe a sweet roll,” Sahara said.

  Lucy was beaming. “This is awesome. I really appreciate it,” she said, and pointed to two bags. “Both of those go with me.”

  Brendan picked them up as if they weighed nothing. “After you, ladies,” he said.

  They headed downstairs, talking as they went. He set the bags by the door, released the security alarm and then went to the kitchen with them. Since they were up, he could do with a cup of coffee.

  To their surprise, Billie was already at the stove.

  “Just in time,” she said. “I made French toast. Not good to travel on an empty stomach.” She gave Lucy a quick hug. “I’m going to miss having you around. You were so sweet to help through all of this.”

  A little uncomfortable with all of the attention, Lucy shrugged it off. “I was happy to do it, and it helped pass the time.”

  Billie gave Lucy the first plate and pushed her toward the table.

  “Eat up.”

  She reached for the syrup to pour on her toast without waiting for the others to join her. This morning it was all about her and her need for haste.

  Time passed too soon. The driver was at the gates buzzing the gate to be let in, and then Sahara was hugging Lucy goodbye in the foyer before moving back to hide in the shadows as the driver rang the doorbell.

  Brendan opened the door, gave Lucy a pat on the back as the driver took her bags to the car, and then they were gone.

  He turned. Sahara was in the shadows, watching his every move. And just like that, the fear was back.

  *

  It was still dark outside when Bubba’s alarm went off. After a quick shower and shave, he dressed and went to the kitchen to make breakfast.

  He had no thoughts one way or the other about what he’d done last night, focusing only on what had to be done today. It was his habit to eat while watching the early-morning news, and so the television was on for company as well as information.

  He was pouring cereal into a bowl when the news anchor began talking about Sahara Travis. He poured milk onto his cereal and carried it to the table to eat, curious as to what she’d said about the rumor.

  His eyes narrowed when she appeared on screen. He appreciated beauty and she had it, but she was in his way. He spooned up a bite of cereal and began to chew as he listened to her statement, and then got up to pour himself a cup of coffee.

  “Okay, fine. You proved your point, bitch,” he muttered, then carried his coffee back to the table and sat down, thinking that the clip was over.

  Then she stood up. The camera pulled back to get a full view, and when he saw her eyes narrow and her hands curl into fists, the hair crawled on the back of his neck. He’d seen Leopold do the same damn thing when he got mad.

  The first words out of her mouth were to him, and for a moment he half expected the cops to come breaking into his room and arrest him, then realized she hadn’t called him by name because she had no idea who he was.

  He listened, shaking with growing rage.

  She called him a coward!

  She said it to the world!

  She dared him to come into her world, and he knew what that meant. If he wanted her dead, he would have to get into that house to do it. So be it. Maybe she was right. It was time for all this bullshit to end and he didn’t intend to fail, even though it was going to take some planning to make this happen without getting caught.

  He turned off the television, then took a deep breath and set all of this aside to finish his cereal. He set his cereal bowl in the sink, grabbed his keys and sunglasses, and headed out the door. It was time to get to work.

  Seventeen

  Beloit Blooms was unusually busy for a weekday, although Marcus was not going to complain. He’d been on the phone almost nonstop for an hour taking orders. The one he was taking now was for a delivery of two dozen roses to be delivered to a woman who worked in the courthouse.

  “It’s our twenty-fourth wedding anniversary,” the caller said. “A rose for every year.”

  “Congratulations,” Marcus said, and meant it.

  Making people happy was part of why he was in this business. Even when it involved floral arrangements for funerals, he still felt the need to make them visually perfect. It was his way of showing his sympathy for the family’s loss.

  “And you can deliver this before three this afternoon?” the man asked.

  “Absolutely,” Marcus said. “In fact, I’ll get this out with the first morning delivery. She should have it by noon. What do you want me to put on the card?”

  “To the next twenty-four. Love, George.”

  “Okay, George, and how do you want to pay?”

  The man gave Marcus a credit card number, and then the transaction was finished. He printed out the order and took it back to the workroom to his three floral designers.

  “Shawna, get this one out with the morning delivery,” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” she said, and laid it on top of her work orders to do next.

  The welcome bell rang over his door as it opened. He looked up as he returned to the front of the shop and then smiled at the silver-haired lady who walked in.

  “Welcome to Beloit’s.”

  She smiled, then began to explain what she needed for a dinner party tomorrow night and when she wanted it delivered.

  It wasn’t until there was a lull in calls that he focused in on the discussion going on in the workroom about Sahara Travis. He walked back to join in.

  “Hey, Marcus. You know her, right?” Shawna asked.

  “I sure do. We went to school together. She is a doll, and I am just sick about what happened to her parents and what continues to happen to her.”

  “So, she’s really nice?”

  “She is, as they say, the real deal. Not one bit stuck up on herself and doesn’t forget her friends.”

  Shawna sighed. “That is so cool that you grew up with someone famous.”

  Marcus laughed. “But she wasn’t famous then. We were just kids in the same class, you know?”

  They laughed but continued to be properly impressed about his close connection with such fame.

  He got busy again, and it wasn’t until he took off for lunch that he thought about calling her. He should have called after the news broke about finding her father’s body, but he’d had no idea what to say. He still didn’t, but good Southern manners won out. He was still in the parking lot when he turned up the air-conditioner before making the call.

  Billie answered. “Hello.”

  “Hello, Miss Billie. This is Marcus Beloit. I am already terribly late in calling Sahara about her father, but my conscience wouldn’t let me slide. Is she available to take a call?”

  “She is,” Billie said. “Just a moment, please.”

  Sahara looked up from the paper she was reading and frowned. “Who is it, Mama?” she whispered.

  Billie covered the phone. “It’s Marcus.”

  Sahara sighed. Ever since Lucy’s early-morning exit she’d been feeling a little down. She didn’t feel like talking, but that would have been rude. She took the phone and then upped the tone of her voice.

  “Marcus, how are you?”

  “I’m the one who should be asking you,” he said. “I should have called sooner, but you know me. I’ll tell you the truth whether you want to hear it or not. I just didn’t know what the hell to say. First your mother and now your father. It’s heartbreaking, and I am so sorry that this is happening.”

  “Thank you. I still can’t wrap my head around someone wanting all of us dead, and for what?”

  “I know, dear. It is a ridiculous and devastating scenario. Listen, part of the reason I called was to ask if there’s anything I can do for you. I know you’re housebound, so is there anything that would take a burden from you? It would be my honor.”

  “Thank you, Marcus, but I don’t know what that would
be.”

  “I understand, but if something comes up, please call. I am at your service, and hopefully next time we talk, the subject will be much happier.”

  “For sure,” Sahara said. “Thanks again, and goodbye.”

  “Goodbye,” he echoed, disconnected, then took himself to lunch.

  Sahara hung up the phone and then sank into a chair at the table.

  “I don’t feel very good, Mama. After all the trouble you’ve gone to making those shrimp po’boy sandwiches, I’m going to pass on lunch.”

  Brendan was worried. Her eyes were glazed, almost as if she had a fever. He put a hand on her forehead. The skin was cool, almost clammy to the touch.

  “Do you hurt anywhere, baby?”

  She drew a deep, shaky breath and then pounded her chest with her fist. “Here. I hurt here. I don’t know how to feel. I’ve sent Lucy away so she wouldn’t be caught in the crossfire, and now I have to face the possibility that I might not live through this. I don’t know whether I need to pray to a God I don’t trust, or prepare for the role of dying.”

  Before Brendan could respond, Billie slapped her hand on the table, rattling the dishes.

  “Hush, child! I won’t hear such talk! You aren’t going to die. You’re scared, and so am I. You’re exhausted, and so am I.”

  She got up and went to the pantry, dug around a few moments, then came out with several items in her arms.

  “What are you doing, Mama?” Sahara asked.

  “I’m making a potion for you. Mr. McQueen, finish your meal. Sahara, this is not a movie, so stop acting like you’re on your deathbed. Do you hear me?”

  Sahara took a deep breath. “I hear you, Mama.”

  “No more talk about dying?”

  Tears rolled down Sahara’s face. “No more talk about dying.”

  Brendan watched the mother schooling the child and couldn’t help but wonder how many times Sahara had needed a mother’s love and guidance, but never got it because there were two women playing that role. She must have been so confused. Too many secrets. Too many lies. No wonder she was such a good actress. She’d been acting a part all her life.

  But he couldn’t stand to see Sahara like this and do nothing. He shoved his plate aside, tugged at her hand until she got up and scooted into his lap. Satisfied, Brendan wrapped his arms around her.

  The microwave dinged.

  Billie removed the cup that she’d filled with milk, sugar and chocolate, dropped a handful of miniature marshmallows on top of the hot liquid and carried it to the table.

  “If you remember, this potion cures sad days, bad grades on tests and tummy aches.”

  Sahara watched her mother set a steaming mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows in front of her and sighed.

  “I remember. Thank you, Mama. I will drink it. I promise.”

  Billie smiled, pleased with the familiarity between them. At least one good thing had come from all this. They belonged together.

  “I’m going to get the mail. I’ll be back shortly.”

  Brendan pulled the cup closer as Billie left the kitchen.

  “Do you want some now?”

  “After it cools a little,” Sahara said. “Mama’s potion. I hadn’t thought of this in years. No matter the weather, this was the cure-all for things she couldn’t fix.”

  “She loves you very much,” Brendan said.

  “I know. I love her, too, and am sick at all the years we lost. I thought she left me behind. I shouldn’t have believed Katarina and Leopold. I don’t know why I did. All I saw was an empty room, and then shock set in. But the irony of all this chaos is that if the killer had not set out on this path, I might never have known she was still here.”

  Brendan picked up the cup and began blowing on it to cool the surface, then dipped a spoonful into his mouth to test.

  “Here you go, honey. It won’t burn you now.”

  She took it and the spoon in her hands, stirring until the last of the marshmallows had melted into a floating froth. She lifted it to her mouth, thinking there wasn’t a taste better in this world than warm, sweet chocolate.

  “Taste good?” Brendan asked.

  “You be the judge,” she said, and kissed him.

  He could taste the chocolate on her lips.

  “Spectacular,” he said.

  “You need to eat your sandwich,” she said, and slid out of his lap as Billie returned, laying the mail on the sideboard, then handed Sahara a large padded envelope with The Magnolia letterhead on it.

  “Oh, I think it’s my phone and purse,” Sahara said, as she tore into the envelope. Her phone and her Yves Saint Laurent Classic handbag slipped out onto the table, along with a new cord to charge the phone. “I sure hope this still works.”

  She attached the phone charger and then plugged it into an outlet before going back to her hot chocolate. She drank the potion until the cup was empty while Billie and Brendan ate shrimp po’boys slathered with spicy rémoulade sauce and crunchy coleslaw.

  “Feel any better?” Billie asked.

  “Yes, Mama. I do.”

  “Good. No more talk about being defeated,” Billie said.

  “I promise,” Sahara said.

  Brendan heard the lilt in her voice and saw the smile on her face, but he still wasn’t convinced she was okay.

  Billie left later to run some errands, and as soon as she was out of the house, Sahara took her things and the charging cord upstairs with her, plugged the phone back in there, set her purse aside and then wound up falling asleep. It left Brendan free to pass on the latest information he’d found regarding the possibility of other heirs to both police stations.

  He sent another email with an attachment regarding everything he’d found about Sutton Davidson and his mother, Barbara Lovett, who later married a man named Davidson. It included info about Leopold lending Sutton a large sum of money some years back to start a business, which Sutton had already paid back with interest. There was nothing to point to him being a killer except that he and Sahara Travis were very likely half brother and half sister, and if anything happened to her, he would be blood heir to everything.

  As soon as he hit Send, he shut down the computer, locked the bedroom door, then took off his boots and crawled into bed behind her.

  Her hair was silk against his cheek as she spooned against him, her breasts soft against the back of his arm. The steady rise and fall of her breathing became the touchstone to his own heartbeat as he drifted off to sleep.

  Sometime later, Sahara roused.

  The wall of McQueen’s body behind her was her bulwark to safety. She lay without moving, wanting to remember what it felt like to be loved like this.

  Brendan had only been dozing and felt the change in her breathing when she woke. He wanted to love her the rest of the way awake, but there was something she needed to know.

  He kissed the back of her neck.

  “Sweetheart…?”

  “I’m awake.”

  “I need to tell you something,” he said.

  She stilled. “What’s wrong?”

  “Short of a DNA test to positively prove it, I think I found another heir. You have a half brother. The payoff money from Leopold to a woman named Barbara Lovett coincides just right with a baby boy born five months later. And she was living in the house where Leopold died when the baby was born. She lived there until he was six.”

  Sahara rolled over to face him.

  “Oh my God! Barbara, that’s Sutton’s mother! Are you saying Sutton—our gardener Sutton—is my brother?”

  He sat up, but when he went to reach for her, she pulled away. “No, don’t. Just say it.”

  “Yes.”

  Her face lost all expression. “Do you think… Is he behind all of this?”

  “I honestly can’t say. His entire background check was clean. He’s a model citizen and is making a good living.”

  “I don’t understand. If Leopold paid them off to get rid of them, then why did he hire Barbara
six years later and let Sutton come into the house with her? We went to school together in the morning, came home together after school and played until she got off work at six o’clock.”

  “I don’t know, but consider this. If Katarina didn’t know who the other women were, then she would have had no problem with Barbara and her child being in the house after school, because she’s just another servant. And maybe Leopold was vain enough to not want to lose contact with a son.”

  “That sounds plausible,” Sahara said.

  “Maybe she hit hard times, and Leopold offered her a job with the caveat that Katarina could know nothing about their prior relationship,” Brendan said. “However, she married a man named Davidson right after she quit working here, and he adopted the child. That’s why Sutton goes by Davidson instead of his mother’s maiden name.”

  She got out of bed, took a few steps and then stopped in the middle of the floor.

  He went after her.

  “This is the break we’ve been waiting for. We have a potential suspect.”

  Her voice was shaking when she replied, “Does he know we’re related?”

  “Obviously, there’s no way for me to know that. If I had to guess, though, I’d say yes. I would imagine he was told after he grew up, if not before.”

  She threw up her hands in disbelief and then started pacing.

  “Why didn’t he tell me? We played together. We were friends! I would have liked knowing I had a brother.”

  “Maybe he didn’t know it back then. I can’t say anything for certain except that he is now probably the police’s number one suspect. The LAPD will compare his photo to the security footage they got of the man who sabotaged the elevator in The Magnolia. Even if he was in disguise, between physical build and facial recognition, they could nail him. But even if he’s not a match, it still doesn’t clear him. This killer we’re after hired Harley Fish, so it’s easy to assume he has hired out some of the other attempts, as well.”

  She shuddered. “The other day when they were here cleaning up after the storm, Sutton stood in the doorway and smiled at me.”

  Brendan slid a hand beneath her hair and pulled her to him.

  “This information gives us an edge. He has no idea that Leopold kept that journal or that we’ve been looking for heirs.”