Liar Liar

by Nancy Boyarsky

  The taller of the two, who introduced himself as Officer Brad Garlich, said, “First we need some basic information. Let’s take a seat in here.” He gestured toward the empty lobby, with its clusters of couches and easy chairs. Nicole followed the two men in, and they all sat down. Only now did Nicole realize that she was actually shaking.

  Just then, Sue walked into the lobby, spotted Nicole with the police, and joined them. She introduced herself and took a seat next to Nicole.

  Garlich asked for Mary Ellen’s full name, age, and occupation. Sue explained about the trial, the girl’s pivotal role as plaintiff, and her extreme distress after a difficult day testifying. She turned to Nicole and said, “Tell them what happened with the pills.”

  “She tried to get me to give her a bottle of prescription sleeping pills,” Nicole explained. “I wouldn’t do it because I was afraid she’d overdose. She was that upset.”

  “Okay,” Garlich said. “Let’s back up. How did she disappear? Is it possible she was kidnapped?”

  “No. I saw her leave the suite,” Nicole said. “I followed her to the beach, but I lost her. I don’t know which way she was headed.”

  “Okay, so let me understand this. You’re telling us she’s—” he consulted his notes “—nineteen and left the hotel of her own free will.”

  “You don’t understand!” Nicole glanced at her watch. Ten minutes had elapsed since the police arrived, ten minutes they could have spent looking for Mary Ellen. “She wasn’t in her right mind. She was having an emotional breakdown. She told me she might as well be dead. Those were her exact words. I’m afraid she might hurt herself. Besides, a lot of dangerous people hang around the beach at night.”

  “Mary Ellen Barnes,” Sue said. “Surely you’ve heard of her. She’s the principal in a civil trial underway in Superior Court in Santa Monica. It’s all over the news.”

  The cops looked at each other. “Yeah,” Garlich said. “The girl who was raped by the quarterback.” He stood up and turned to his partner, who got up as well. “We’d better get out there and take a look.” He turned back to the women. “Does either of you have a photo?”

  Nicole produced her phone, searched the web, and pulled up a photo of Mary Ellen from XHN. “Here she is. I’ll have the desk clerk print out copies for you.”

  It took another ten minutes for the desk clerk to figure out how to print copies of the photo. Finally, the policemen left the hotel. Nicole was profoundly frustrated by the long delay before they started searching for the girl. But she and Sue had done everything they could. All that was left was to go back to the suite and wait.

  Once more, Nicole asked if they should call Geneva. “No sense creating a crisis at this hour,” Sue said, pointing to her watch. It was almost 2:00 a.m. “I’ll call her in the morning and ask her to meet us in court at 8:30. Then we’ll break the news. The best thing to do now is get some rest and hope Mary Ellen returns.”

  Nicole turned her bedroom over to Sue. Nicole, herself, was too wired to sleep. She went to the closet where bedding for the sleeper-couch was stored, grabbed a comforter, and went out to the balcony. She wrapped the comforter around her and spread out on a chaise lounge. The beach was completely dark, except for the pier. All she could see were the shapes of a few palm trees and some glowing patches where the water caught the reflection of a skinny, crescent moon. She waited, hoping for Mary Ellen’s knock at the door.

  When she opened her eyes, it was daylight, and she was freezing. She stumbled inside and closed the door to the balcony. The clock on the end table said 6:45 a.m.

  Nicole knocked on Sue’s door. “I’m up,” Sue said, opening the door. She was already dressed, her hair done, her makeup flawless.

  Outside, the day was brightening as the sun began to burn off the morning fog. Nicole called Mary Ellen’s phone again; there was still no answer, not even a voicemail response. After hanging up, she thought of Josh and stopped to send him a text. It was her fifth attempt to reach him since he’d gone silent: “Something terrible has happened,” she typed, “Please answer.”

  His reply was almost instant. “Call me.”

  “Can’t. Phone might be hacked.”

  “What happened?”

  “Can’t text. Same reason.”

  “Are you at the hotel? I’ll come.”

  “No.” She texted back. “Leaving for court soon. Glad you answered. I love you.”

  “Love you, too. Sorry about yesterday. I was upset. Let me know if you want me to come.”

  Nicole went into the bathroom to take a quick shower and get dressed. When she was ready, she made coffee in the one-cup machine that sat on a small table outside the bathroom, serving Sue first, then brewing a second cup for herself. At 8:15, she called for the driver to pick them up. As they drove to the courthouse, Nicole felt sick with worry.

  The media was even more aggressive than on the previous day. “Hey, where’s Mary Ellen?” “Are you two setting up a diversion so she can sneak in another way?” and, finally, “Did something happen to her?” Nicole could see they were hoping for bad news.

  The women ignored the questions, walking as fast as they could into the courthouse. The place was jammed, and a crowd was waiting for the elevator. Nicole followed Sue up the stairs. The staircase was packed; they had to push their way up. A guard was stationed by the unmarked door Nicole and Mary Ellen had used the day before. The women had to show their IDs. Except for a court reporter and the bailiff, the courtroom was empty.

  They went into the private waiting room and found that Geneva hadn’t yet arrived. The two of them took seats. Sue seemed calm, but Nicole was trembling with nervous energy.

  After a very long ten minutes, Geneva walked in, and Sue told her what had happened.

  Geneva’s face turned red. She looked at Nicole and fairly shouted, “You were supposed to be watching her. That was the one thing you were hired to do! And I don’t believe for a minute she was serious about recanting. We vetted that girl and her story thoroughly. She’s just upset about going back to court.”

  Geneva stopped and checked her watch. “We have to be there now. You wait here. I want to hear the whole story when we get back.”

  As Sue and Geneva left, Sue turned around to give a sympathetic smile. She mouthed what Nicole herself was thinking. “What a bitch!”

  Nicole sat down to wait but couldn’t sit for long. She got up and paced. Then sat again, head in hands.

  It wasn’t long before Geneva and Sue returned. Sue took a seat next to Nicole, while Geneva paced. “Tell me exactly what Mary Ellen said to you,” Geneva said. Her voice was low and accusatory.

  Nicole repeated their conversation.

  “Any idea who this alleged blackmailer might be?” Geneva said. “Or his motive?”

  Nicole shook her head. “I asked, but she wouldn’t say. I feel terrible about this.”

  “Look, you gave it your best,” Sue said. “I don’t think Geneva or I would have had the courage to follow her onto the beach in the dark.” She glanced at Geneva, who’d taken a seat at the table and was tapping her foot impatiently.

  “You can’t blame yourself if Mary Ellen chose to leave,” Sue went on. “Sometimes witnesses flake out. Sometimes they fail to show up. And if Mary Ellen was determined to bolt, you had no authority to stop her. Geneva and I are going to my office. We’ll make some calls and try to track her down. We’d like you to go back and wait in the hotel suite in case she returns. If she does, give us a call. Otherwise, wait there until you hear from us.”

  After the attorneys had gone, Nicole pulled out her phone and asked the limo driver to come back. Before long, she got a message that he was waiting outside.

  Leaving the courthouse, she had to face the media again. Once more, cameras were trained on her as she walked to the limo. She did her best to look calm and unrattled. Questions were hurled at her, mostly about Mary Ellen’s whereabouts. Apparently, word had already leaked from the courtroom that she was missing. Nicole di
dn’t respond.

  She climbed into the limo and closed the door. They started up, followed by a small fleet of paparazzi. The limo driver headed north, away from their destination, zipping into the parking entrance of a large office building. He circled up one floor and then down and out an exit that led to a back alley. The ease with which he did this indicated he’d used the route before, perhaps many times. It occurred to Nicole that this particular skill would be handy for anyone who made a living driving celebrities. The maneuver lost their pursuers and, before long, Nicole was back at the Windward.

  As soon as she reached the suite, she texted Josh. “I’m at the hotel. Room 1018. Come ASAP.”

  Within minutes, she got a message that he was on his way. She turned to her iPad to check the tabloids. The story of the girl’s disappearance was already there, along with a video of Nicole walking from the courthouse to the car. Despite the effort she’d made to appear calm, she looked pale and stricken. The accompanying stories had some fairly wild speculation about what had become of Mary Ellen Barnes. On XHN, there was a sidebar about Nicole herself with a recap of the murder and inheritance that had landed her in the tabloids the previous year. To her annoyance, it also revealed that she was now working at Colbert and Smith Investigations.

  It was more than an hour before the doorbell rang. After checking through the peephole, she opened the door.

  Josh put his arms around her, and they held each other before she pulled him into the suite. Once they were seated on the couch, she told him about Mary Ellen’s flight. “I’m afraid of what she might do to herself. But she’d taken a sleeping pill, and I really thought it had knocked her out.”

  “Well,” he said, resting his face against her hair. “Consider this. Maybe she only pretended to take the pill. Maybe she had a plan, like catching the next plane home or hiding out with a friend.”

  Just then, the phone rang. It was Sue, wondering if Mary Ellen had turned up. “We’ve made some calls, but nothing panned out,” Sue said. “She hasn’t contacted her mother. We also got in touch with Mary Ellen’s roommate, but she hasn’t heard from her either. I gather they weren’t close. The police are making the search a priority since she’s a trial witness.

  “And, Nicole, do not blame yourself. If she wanted to leave, that was her decision. You have no authority over her, nor do we.”

  “Right,” said Nicole, but somehow this failed to make her feel better.

  “Why don’t you stay put while we contact the police?” Sue said. “I’m sure they’ll want to call you and arrange to take a look at the suite. I’ll talk to you later.”

  After they hung up, Nicole told Josh what Sue had said.

  “She’s right. If that kid wanted to run off, there was nothing more you could do,” he said. “I’m sure Mary Ellen will turn up. But I worry—” He broke off.

  “Yes?”

  He swallowed and took a long look at her. “Don’t take this the wrong way. I love you no matter what. But I’m afraid you’re some kind of excitement junky and on some level—conscious or subconscious—can’t resist getting sucked into these crazy, fucked-up situations. And here’s the thing. I’m afraid for you. I’m afraid of losing you. You have to stop doing this.”

  “I know,” she murmured. “You’re right.” But looking back at the events of the last couple of days, she wondered what she could have done differently, other than turn down the assignment in the first place. If she’d done that, none of this would have happened, at least on her watch. The rest—offering support the girl needed in the courtroom, following her onto the beach—she’d do again.

  Josh kissed her, and they relaxed back onto the couch, listening for a call from the police, then forgetting to listen. They both jumped when it finally rang.

  “This is Detective Martinez of the Santa Monica Police Department.” It was a woman’s voice. “I’ve got your room number. It’s the Windward, right?” Then, after Nicole confirmed it, the detective said she’d be right there.

  About ten minutes later, there was a knock at the door. The detective was in her forties, substantially built but not unattractive. She wore her dark hair pulled back in a bun. “I’m Detective Anna Martinez,” she said. “You must be Nicole Graves.”

  Nicole invited her in, introduced Martinez to Josh, and went to sit next to him. The detective took a chair facing them and looked around, “Nice place,” she said. Then she pulled out her phone and placed it on the coffee table. “Do you mind if I record this? It’s easier than taking notes.”

  She asked for Nicole’s address and phone number, then moved on to questions about Mary Ellen.

  Nicole repeated what had happened, starting with the girl’s determination to recant her testimony and ending with her disappearance. The detective asked for a timeline: What time had the girl confessed? When did she go to bed? When did she leave the hotel? She asked if Mary Ellen had revealed the name of the blackmailer or what he had on her. Finally, she said. “Do you have any idea whatsoever—even a hunch—about where she might have gone, what might have happened to her?”

  “Not a clue. I’m just worried she might try to kill herself. She was that distraught,” Nicole said.

  Martinez stood up. “Thank you. If I have any more questions, I’ll give you a call.”

  After the detective left, Nicole looked around to find Josh staring out the window. He turned to her. “Beautiful day,” he said.

  “Is it? I’ve been dying to get out of here, and now I’m actually free to go. I know! Let’s have lunch at The Lobster and go for a walk on the beach.”

  “That would be great. But here’s the thing,” he said, turning back to the window. “There’s a bunch of paparazzi and a couple of TV vans in front of the hotel. I’m just trying to figure out how to get you home without being followed.”

  Six

  As soon as they walked into the house, Nicole felt less shaky. It was well past 1:00 p.m. She’d had nothing to eat since lunch the day before. Without a word, the two of them headed for the kitchen.

  “Why don’t you have a seat while I put lunch together?” Josh gestured toward the small breakfast table in a sunny corner of the kitchen. No sooner had Nicole sat down when her phone began to ring. She pulled it from her purse and checked caller ID, half hoping, half dreading it was Sue with news of Mary Ellen. She didn’t recognize the name or number, so she put the phone down without answering. It stopped ringing only to start up again. Caller ID displayed another unfamiliar name. After the third call, she turned the ringer off but left the phone on vibrate, glancing over each time it buzzed to see who was calling.

  Josh pulled some dishes out of the fridge and turned to look at her. “What’s up with those calls you’re not answering?”

  “People I don’t know,” she said. “Probably the tabloids. They would have found me by now.”

  Josh said “Huh” in a tone that Nicole interpreted as “I told you so,” but he wisely withheld comment. He busied himself constructing tuna melts. He’d buttered the outsides and put them in a pan when their home phone began to ring. Nicole got up to answer, but once again the caller ID displayed a stranger’s name. She turned off the ringtone and set the phone on the table next to her cell.

  When the sandwiches were ready, Josh brought them to the table along with glasses of iced tea. He went into the living room and immediately returned. “They’ve found you all right. I counted eight out front.”

  “Let’s pretend they’re not there, okay?” she said. “I’m not central to this story, and I’m certainly not going out there. Eventually, they’ll give up and go away.” This might have been a bit optimistic, but Nicole understood how the paparazzi worked. The instant a more forthcoming source or (better yet) a bigger story materialized, they’d be gone.

  Josh raised his eyebrows, as if about to say something. Then he seemed to change his mind. They chatted while they ate, avoiding any mention of Mary Ellen or the cameras outside. Josh was his old, amiable self again. Nicole checked he
r phone each time it vibrated to be sure it wasn’t Sue. By the time they were done eating, it was a little after 2:00 p.m.

  Josh got up and cleared their plates. “I have to get back to the office,” he said.

  The thought of spending the afternoon alone made Nicole want to cry. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

  “I’ll be back by 5:30, 6:00 at the latest. We can go out for din—” He stopped, gave a rueful smile, and said, “Oh, yeah, I forgot. We’ll have dinner delivered.”

  Nicole followed him to the front door. She put everything she had into their goodbye kiss, hoping to change his mind about leaving. But he pulled away, gave a crooked smile, and kissed her on the forehead. “Later,” he said. “Lock up after me.”

  She watched through the small window in the front door as he walked down the front path. There was a spring to his step, and he completely ignored the paparazzi. When he reached the sidewalk and turned in the direction of his office, they didn’t follow.

  She returned to the kitchen, did the dishes, and wiped off the table and counters. Once this was accomplished, she put her cell phone in her pocket and paced around, not knowing what to do with herself. She walked through the house, looking out the windows at their small, neat garden. Josh owned four houses in the valley. He’d bought them as fixer-uppers and refurbished them, doing some of the work himself and subcontracting the rest.

  The other three houses were rented out. This one had been redone in California-craftsman style with a large, modern kitchen. But the house itself was small, two bedrooms and a single bath, a tight fit for two people, each used to having a study. After their wedding, they planned to buy a larger place, one that would someday accommodate a family.

  She was in the living room, staring out the window, when her cell buzzed again. A familiar name popped up: Greg Albee. This time she answered.

  “Hey, Nicole,” Greg said. “I’m hoping you’ve got something for me.”

  “Would you mind calling back on our home phone?” she said. “I have to keep this line open.” She gave him the number, and the phone rang a few seconds later.