Never Tell a Lie

by Hallie Ephron

  Never Tell a Lie

  Hallie Ephron

  To my family,

  Jerry, Molly, and Naomi

  Contents

  1

  Rain or shine, that’s what Ivy Rose had put in…

  2

  By late that afternoon, all that was left of the…

  3

  The Sunday paper isn’t even here yet,” David grumbled the…

  4

  I get the pipes and empty paint cans—you can never…

  5

  Stop chasing your tail and think. That was what Grandma…

  6

  Ivy lay on the examining table in Dr. Shapiro’s office…

  7

  The ground felt as if it were tilting sideways, and…

  8

  Lawyered up, have they?” The man who’d arrived in the…

  9

  Anxiety scraped the inside of Ivy’s rib cage as she…

  10

  By daybreak Ivy was exhausted. Cocooned in warm quilts as…

  11

  So their real estate agent had gotten it wrong, Ivy…

  12

  More cake, champagne, anyone?” Cindy asked. Her voice sounded artificially…

  13

  Sunglasses! Mrs. Bindel had seen the same woman Ivy had…

  14

  The next morning, after David left for work, Ivy called…

  15

  Ivy followed Detective Blanchard up a flight of stairs, down…

  16

  Ivy watched in stunned silence as Theo jumped to his…

  17

  Ivy walked up the block to her house in the…

  18

  Ivy kept her cell phone close by the bed as…

  19

  Sure you’re okay?” Jody asked as she pulled her car…

  20

  Ivy came down the stairs in a daze.

  21

  A police cruiser and an ambulance arrived within minutes of…

  22

  After Detective Blanchard left, Ivy was furious with herself for…

  23

  Mrs. Rose,” Detective Blanchard said later as he escorted her…

  24

  Ivy steeled herself and pushed open the door. A sour…

  25

  Ivy screamed and screamed and screamed. Then she just stood…

  26

  Ivy was in a bed with both ends cranked up.

  27

  Unable to get the smells out of her head, Ivy…

  28

  I hate to admit it, but the guy’s got a…

  29

  Ivy called Theo with the good news. When he didn’t…

  30

  Did you kill your sister, Ruth, too?” Ivy asked as…

  31

  The door slammed shut behind Melinda. Moments later Ivy flew…

  32

  Melinda grabbed the empty glass from the floor and slammed…

  33

  Ivy got to her feet and raced for the stairs.

  34

  Ivy sat at the base of the stairs waiting for…

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Books by Hallie Ephron

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Tuesday, Nov 4

  Pregnant Woman Missing from Brush Hills

  BRUSH HILLS, MA Police continue to search for clues in the disappearance of Melinda White, 33, who was last seen on Saturday. Authorities yesterday issued a bulletin describing the pregnant woman as “at risk” and a possible victim of foul play.

  Ms. White, an administrative assistant with SoBo Realty, attended a yard sale in Brush Hills on Saturday morning and has not been seen since, police said. Her sister, Ruth White, of Naples, Florida, reported her missing on Monday.

  “She calls me every day, and when I didn’t hear from her, I knew that something was wrong,” said Ruth White. She added that the close family was bearing the strain “as well as could be expected.”

  Brush Hills Police Detective Sergeant Albert Blanchard said authorities have no suspects in custody.

  “We’re trying to interview everyone that she knew and anyone who saw her on Saturday, but as far as leads to show us what happened—no,” Blanchard said.

  Anyone with information is asked to call the Brush Hills Police detective division.

  1

  Saturday, November 1

  Rain or shine, that’s what Ivy Rose had put in the yard-sale ad. What they’d gotten was a metallic gray sky and gusty winds. But the typical, contrary New England fall weather hadn’t discouraged this crowd.

  David moved aside the sawhorse that blocked the driveway, and buyers surged in. It seemed to Ivy that their Victorian ark tolerated the invasion the way a great white whale might float to the surface and permit birds to pick parasites off its back.

  For three years Ivy had been oblivious to the dusty piles of junk left behind by elderly Paul Vlaskovic, the previous owner, a cadaverous fellow whom David referred to as Vlad. The clutter that filled their attic and basement might as well have existed in a parallel universe. Then, as sudden as a spring thunderstorm, the urge to expel what wasn’t theirs had risen up in her until she could no longer stand it. Out! David had had the good grace, or maybe it was his instinct for self-preservation, not to blame it on hormones. Ivy felt the baby’s firm kick—no more moth-wing flutter. Hello there, Sprout. She rested her palms on her belly, for the moment solid as a rock. With just three weeks to go until she either gave birth or exploded, Ivy was supposed to be having contractions. Braxton Hicks. False labor. The revving of an engine, not quite juiced up enough to turn over.

  She and David had reached the obsessing-about-a-name stage, and she wondered how many other soon-to-be parents had tossed around the name Braxton.

  Viable, viable, viable. The word whispered itself over and over in her head. She’d married at twenty-four, and then it had taken five years to conceive. Three times she’d miscarried—the last time at twenty weeks, just when she’d thought it was safe to stop holding her breath.

  David came up alongside her and put his arm around where she’d once had a waist. A fully pregnant belly was pretty astonishing, right up there with a prizewinning Hubbard squash.

  “Hey, Stretch”—the nickname had taken on an entirely new connotation in these final months—“looks like we have ignition. Quite a crowd,” he said. She shivered with pleasure as he pushed her hair to one side and nuzzled her neck.

  Ivy loved the way David gave off the aroma of rich, loamy soil, the way his thatch of auburn hair seemed to go in twelve directions at once, and most of all the way his smile took over his face and crinkled his eyes. The broken nose he’d gotten playing college football, after surviving unscathed for two years as quarterback in high school, gave his sweet face character.

  She was more what people called “interesting-looking”—dark soulful eyes, too long in the nose, and a mouth that was a bit too generous to be considered pretty. Most days she paid little attention to her looks. She rolled out of bed, brushed her teeth, ran a comb through long, thick, chestnut-colored hair, and got on with it.

  “They think that because we have this great old house, we have great old stuff,” Ivy said.

  David twiddled an invisible cigar and Groucho Marxed his eyebrows at a pair of black telephones with rotary dials. “Little do they know…”

  Ivy waved at a fellow yard-sale junkie, Ralph of the battered black Ford pickup, who was crouched over a box of electrical fixtures. Beside him, amid the tumult, stood Corinne Bindel, their elderly next-door neighbor, her bouffant too platinum and puffy to be real. Her arms were folded across the front of her brown tweed coat. The pained expression on her fa
ce said she couldn’t imagine why anyone would pay a nickel for any of this junk.

  “What do you say?” David asked. “After the dust settles, we set up some of the baby things?”

  “Not yet,” Ivy said. She rubbed the cobalt blue stone set in the hand-shaped silver good-luck charm that hung from a chain around her neck. The talisman had once been her grandmother’s. She knew that it was silly superstition, but she wanted all of the baby things tucked away in the spare room until the baby arrived and had had each of her fingers and toes counted and kissed.

  “Excuse me?” said a woman who peered at Ivy from under the brim of a Red Sox cap. She held a lime green Depression glass swan-shaped dish that had been in a box of wax fruit that mice had gotten to.

  “You can have that for fifteen,” Ivy said. “Not a chip or crack on it.”

  “Ivy?” The woman with cinnamon curls, streaked silvery blond, had a mildly startled look. “Don’t remember me, do you?”

  “I…” Ivy hesitated. There was something familiar about this woman who wore a cotton maternity top, patterned in blue cornflowers and yellow black-eyed Susans. Her hand, the nails polished pink and perfectly sculpted, rested on her own belly. Like Ivy, she was voluminously pregnant.

  “Mindy White,” the woman said. “Melinda back then.”

  Melinda White—the name conjured the memory of a chubby girl from elementary school. Frizzy brown hair, glasses, and a pasty complexion. It was hard to believe that this was the same person.

  “Of course I remember you. Wow, don’t you look great! And congratulations. Your first?” Ivy asked.

  Melinda nodded and took a step closer. She smiled. Her once-crooked teeth were now straight and perfect. “Isn’t this your first, too?”

  Ivy avoided her probing look.

  “I’m due Thanksgiving,” Melinda said. “How ’bout you?”

  “December,” Ivy said. In fact, she was expecting a Thanksgiving baby, too. But Ivy had told everyone, even her best friend, Jody, that her due date was two weeks later. As the end approached, it would be enough to deal with just her and David agonizing over when she was going to go into labor and whether something would go wrong this time.

  Melinda tilted her head and considered Ivy. “Happy marriage. Baby due any minute. You guys are so lucky. I mean, what more could you ask for?”

  Kinehora was what Grandma Fay would have said to that, then spit to distract the evil eye. Ivy rubbed the amulet hanging around her neck.

  Melinda’s gaze shifted to the house. “And of course this fabulous Victorian. Let me know if you ever want to sell it. I work for a real estate agent.”

  “You collect Depression glass?” Ivy asked, indicating the swan.

  “No, but my mother collects swans—or at least she used to. Would have snapped up this piece in a flash…but that was before”—Melinda tapped a half-empty Evian bottle to the side of her head—“Alzheimer’s. She sold her house here in Brush Hills. Moved to Florida to live with my sister, Ruth. Remember Ruthie? Collects swans, too.” The words came out in bursts, and Ivy felt as if a chugging locomotive were bearing down on her as Melinda stepped forward again, narrowing the gap between them to barely a forearm’s length.

  “This would be so perfect for her.” Melinda admired the swan. “For Christmas. Or maybe her birthday. When my mother”—Melinda shifted a bulky white canvas tote bag higher on her shoulder and took a breath—“finally croaks, Ruthie will probably want the whole collection. You don’t have a sister, or brother either, do you?”

  She didn’t wait for Ivy to answer. “Honestly, I didn’t recognize this place. Used to come here all the time. We lived practically around the corner, and my mother, she worked for Mr. Vlaskovic. Sometimes. I remember playing jacks on the attic floor and eating red cherry Jell-O powder straight from the package.” She pulled a face. “Refined sugar. Might as well be mainlining pure poison. What were we thinking? Have to be so careful now. Eating for two. You going to nurse?”

  “I…uh…” The intimacy of the question startled Ivy. She checked her watch, hoping Melinda would take the hint.

  “It’s so much better for the baby,” Melinda went on, oblivious. “Oh, God, do I sound like an ad for those crazy La Leche ladies or what?”

  Over Melinda’s shoulder, Ivy saw David talking with a woman who held a pair of brass sconces while four other people were crowded around him, arms loaded and waiting their turn. A young man with spiky black hair was examining the greatcoats hanging from a clothesline they’d strung under the porte cochere. The coats, which had been abandoned in a trunk in the basement, flapped in the stiff breeze like monstrous bat wings.

  “Did you know that?” Melinda asked.

  “Pardon?”

  “They put corn syrup in baby formula,” Melinda said. Her eyes Ivy recognized, small and intense.

  “That doesn’t sound good,” Ivy said. Now Spiky Hair was trying on one of the greatcoats. “Hang on. I see someone over there looking at some coats. I don’t want him to get away.”

  Ivy hurried off.

  “Very dashing,” she told the man. The black wool coat fit him perfectly. The mothball smell would disappear after a good dry cleaning. “Fifty dollars gets you all four of them.”

  The man examined the other coats. She expected him to haggle, but instead he drew his wallet from his pocket, peeled two twenties and a ten from a wad of bills, and handed them to her. He folded the coats over his arm and headed off.

  Yes! Ivy pumped a fist in triumph. Then she stuffed the money into her apron pocket.

  “Think he’s a dealer?” It was Melinda. She’d come up behind Ivy.

  Deep breath. With the baby’s feet pressing up and into her diaphragm, Ivy was finding it harder to catch her breath.

  “I always adored this house,” Melinda said. “All those fireplaces. Great for playing hide-and-seek, so many hidden nooks and crannies.” Melinda waited. Her inquisitive look felt like probing fingers.

  Ivy remembered that Melinda’s face had once been pudgy and soft, like if you poked her doughy cheek, it would leave an indentation.

  “And those wonderful paint colors you picked,” Melinda said. “You always had a great eye. I remember you were the first person at school to get a pair of Doc Martens.”

  Ivy’s smile muscles were starting to wear. Doc Martens? She’d bought hers at the Garment District on the Dollar-A-Pound floor. She still had them, somewhere in the back of her closet. Should’ve thrown them into the yard sale along with the greatcoats.

  Melinda’s gaze drifted, her eyes dreamy. “Stirrup pants.”

  “Oh, God,” Ivy said. “Can you believe we wore those?”

  But Melinda hadn’t worn stirrup pants. Her daily uniform had consisted of shapeless skirts and oversize sweaters. She’d eaten lunch alone in a corner of the high-school cafeteria and been herded to and from school by her mother. How utterly transformed Melinda seemed, with her manicured nails and stylish haircut. Slim. Outgoing and confident.

  David swooped over. “Guess what,” he said. “Someone wants to buy those red drapes.” His look said, Told you so! “How about you go negotiate?”

  “Hi, David. Long time no see,” Melinda said. She jiggled her water bottle in the air and gazed up at him from beneath the bill of her cap.

  “Hey there. How ya doin’?” David said, returning the greeting without a flicker of recognition.

  Ivy excused herself. A balding man with a barrel chest and intense eyes caught in a tangle of gray eyebrows intercepted her. “You take ten bucks for this?” The black metal fan he held out to her could have done double duty as a bologna slicer. She’d marked it thirty, knowing that electric fans like it were going for fifty on the Internet.

  “Twenty-five,” she said.

  He shrugged and handed her the money.

  It had started to drizzle. Ivy glanced over at David. Melinda was saying something to him. He took a step back, looking completely poleaxed. Guess he remembered her after all.

  Ivy l
ooked down at her hand. She was holding a twenty and a five. That had been for the fan. She tucked the bills into her pocket.

  Now, where had she been headed? Her mind had gone blank. Again.

  Somewhere she’d read that women carrying girl babies suffered more short-term memory loss during pregnancy. Something about progesterone levels. If that was the case, then this was definitely a girl. Lately she’d been e-mailing herself reminders to read her to-do list. A week ago she’d even managed to lose her toothbrush.

  The greatcoats were gone. Their neighbor, Mrs. Bindel, was reading their copy of the Boston Globe. Which wasn’t for sale. David was still talking to Melinda and looking just as trapped as Ivy had felt earlier. A woman was shaking out one of the thick red silk brocade panels that had hung—

  That was it! Now she remembered where she’d been headed. And she’d scoffed when David had insisted that someone would be willing to buy six sets of fringed drapes that had made the downstairs feel like a bordello or an Italian restaurant.

  She went over to the woman, who had on a rock the size of an apricot pit. “We were hoping to get seventy-five for those.” What the heck?

  “I don’t know.” The woman pursed her lips. She rubbed the red silk brocade back and forth between thumb and forefinger, then lifted one of the tasseled edges to her nose and sniffed.

  Ivy balled her fists and pressed them into the ache in the small of her back. “Actually, we’d take forty. One of them’s a bit faded.”

  The drapery lady said nothing, just pouted at the fabric some more.

  Another tap on her shoulder. “Ivy?” Melinda’s fingers were wrapped around the glass swan’s slender neck.