Never Tell a Lie

by Hallie Ephron

  “Hey, Ivy.” His look was sober. “Jody told me about what’s been happening. What a nightmare. You know you’re welcome to stay here. You and David both. Whenever, and for however long you need.”

  Riker held out his chubby arms to Zach.

  “C’mere, stinky,” Zach said, and scooped Riker off Jody’s lap. He held him up overhead, just managing to dodge a gob of drool as Riker giggled. “Bedtime for you, buddy.”

  Tucking Riker under his arm like a squirmy football, he left the room.

  “Know what I was remembering?” Jody said, picking an errant rock shrimp from the lo mein noodles and popping it into her mouth. “How Melinda had a thing about you. You and David both.”

  “A thing?”

  “An obsession.”

  “She didn’t.”

  “She so did.”

  “The police found a photograph of David in her apartment on her refrigerator. Apparently she’s been showing it to friends for more than a year, telling them David’s her boyfriend.”

  “Right. And I’m goin’ out with Brad Pitt.” Jody wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Hang on a sec.”

  Jody left the room and returned a few moments later with her copy of the high-school yearbook from their senior year. She flipped through the pages. “Damn, where is it?” Flipped through some more. “There!”

  She dropped the yearbook open onto the table and stabbed her finger at a photo of kids at a pep rally. Some football players were grinning in their jerseys and holding their helmets under their arms. There was David, with the number 7 across his chest—that was the same number worn by Doug Flutie, David’s hero and the main reason he’d gone to Boston College.

  “That’s you, isn’t it?” Jody pointed to a girl, her back to the camera, waving at the team. “I remember that silly jacket you used to wear all the time.”

  Sure enough, there she was in David’s football jacket, the body made of thick red wool, the arms white leather, not yet turned a dusky yellow with age.

  “It’s true, I loved that jacket,” Ivy said.

  “You were in love, and your brain was addled. And look who’s here.” Jody pointed to a girl standing alone to the side, set apart from the crowd. Her hair frizzed around her head, and she had on glasses. “See how she’s watching you?”

  Ivy looked more closely. It was Melinda. She had on a baggy sweater over a dress over loose-fitting pants—or maybe they were leg warmers. And she did seem to be staring at Ivy.

  “Jesus, where did she find those outfits?” Jody asked. “She looked like Afghan refugees were sending her their clothes.”

  “Play nice,” Ivy told her. “We’re grown-ups now.”

  “Remember her house? It was on one of those little streets off the square. Wait a minute—”

  Jody slid her chair over to her makeshift desk—a piece of Formica countertop resting on a pair of sawhorses. She typed at the computer, and Ivy watched over her shoulder as Jody pulled up an online directory and typed in “White” and “Brush Hills, MA.”

  “Melinda. On Gannett Street,” Jody said. “That’s way over, the other side of town.”

  “That’s probably her apartment, where she’s living now,” Ivy said.

  Jody scrolled through the list.

  “You’re not going to find it,” Ivy said. “Melinda told me her mother sold the house and moved to Florida.”

  Jody continued scrolling. “You’re right. I hate it when that happens.” She closed the browser and sat back for a moment. “Maybe…” She jumped up and opened a low kitchen cabinet. Inside was a stack of phone books. “Here!” She pulled one out. It was dated 2004. “Zach never throws anything away, and every once in a while—” She flipped to the W’s in the back. “White, White, White…Belcher Street. That sounds right. Gereda White. Could be her mother.” Jody tore out the page and handed it to Ivy.

  There it was, Gereda White, 6 Belcher Street. It was just the other side of the square.

  “Hey, maybe Melinda parked at your house and walked over to the house where she grew up,” Jody said.

  “Then what?”

  “I don’t know. Got hit by a bus? Fell in a hole and broke both legs? Spontaneously combusted?” Jody gave Ivy a speculative look. “We could go over there and—”

  “Down, girl,” Ivy said. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “Hey, where’s your sense of adventure?”

  “Jody, David is in jail. This isn’t some kind of game.”

  Eagerness faded from Jody’s face. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Besides, this could be totally bogus. Are you sure they lived on Belcher Street? Knowing you, that’s probably the wrong house. Remember that time…?”

  Jody flushed. In high school they’d toilet-papered a house Jody was sure belonged to Coach Reiner. Turned out it belonged to a Korean family, recently moved to Brush Hills. The police thought it was a racial slur until the girls came forward and confessed.

  “Definitely not bogus this time,” Jody said, her eyes narrowing. “Belcher Street. I think I was there once. Melinda’s birthday party in maybe fourth grade. Odd, the things you remember. There were these dark green shades in the living room, and one of them was torn. The place smelled funky, like they never opened any windows. And Melinda had this tiny bedroom in kind of a winterized sunporch. I remember that the walls were pink. Emphatically pink. And she had a lamp with a ceramic base that looked like Kate Winslet in a Cinderella dress. You’d have loved it.”

  “Now I’d love it. Then I’d have hated it.”

  “The hedges out front were big and scary.”

  Belcher Street? Big scary hedges? “You know, I think I went trick-or-treating at a house like that. Sixth grade. We were a little too old to still be doing it. Jan Zylstra dared us to ring the bell. And then Randy—remember him?”

  “Sure. ‘Do Anything on a Dare’ Disterman?”

  “Randy crept up and rang the bell. Then beat it. It must have been Melinda’s mother who came to the door holding a bowl of candy. Randy pelted the house with eggs. Mrs. White dropped the bowl and screamed at us.” Ivy closed her eyes and shuddered at the memory of egg yolk dripping down the poor woman’s face. “What were we thinking?”

  “Kids are monsters,” Jody said. “It’s amazing any of us survives adolescence without being permanently bent.”

  18

  Ivy kept her cell phone close by the bed as she slept in Jody’s guest room—or tried to sleep. She tossed and turned, reporters’ voices ringing in her head. Were you friends with Melinda White? What’s your reaction to your husband’s being arrested for murder?

  David hadn’t been arrested for murder, damn it. And what the hell did they think her reaction was?

  Ivy pressed her face into the pillow. It had been so stupid for David to tell the police that he’d seen Melinda leave the house when he hadn’t. Why lie? On top of that, he’d called Melinda and left a voice message. It sounded innocent when he explained, but the police didn’t seem to be listening. He’d compounded it by trying to get rid of the knife and the canvas bag that he’d found in his truck.

  She could see the photograph of the knife and the bloodstained canvas bag, and in the back of her throat she tasted blood. She could hear Detective Blanchard’s smug voice: We have an overwhelming amount of evidence. First the police had twisted the facts to implicate her, then they’d twisted them to implicate David. All of it could easily have been planted.

  Ivy felt a single vibration in her belly. She wanted desperately to set the clock back to Before. There was another vibration, sharp and quick. She put her hand there, and a minute later she felt another twitch. Could babies hiccup in the womb? The thought made her smile.

  In an old house… She ran the opening lines from Madeline like a satin ribbon through her mind, trying to calm her inner turmoil with the rhyming verses. One day she’d hold her daughter in her lap and share with her the story of the girl in the funny hat and pinafore, brave little Madeline who was not afraid
of anything.

  Ivy was still awake when Riker started fussing at three in the morning. She heard Zach muttering to himself as he shuffled down the hall. Then she must have finally fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew, the front door slammed and she smelled coffee and breakfast sausages. It was seven, and her pillow was damp.

  She remembered where she was. And why. An ache in her butt and lower back as she leaned off the bed to scoop up her cell phone reminded her how she’d landed on her tailbone.

  No messages.

  Feeling jet-lagged and shaky, she got up and dressed. She wanted to be able to leave, straightaway, as soon as Theo called to tell her when and where they were holding the bail hearing.

  She went into the kitchen. Jody was reading the newspaper at the table. She glanced up, folded over the paper, and put her coffee cup on top of it.

  “Hey! Good morning. Sleep okay?” Her smile seemed a little too bright. “What can I get you? Coffee? Eggs? Sausages? English muffin? How about all of the above?” She got up and went to the counter.

  Ivy moved Jody’s cup. Before she could open the newspaper, Jody swooped past and took it from her. “I was just reading an article about why pregnant women don’t tip over,” Jody said. “The researcher was a woman, of course. Turns out it’s something about the curvature of a woman’s spine, a lower center of gravity….”

  Ivy peeled Jody’s fingers from the newspaper and spread it open on the table. There, in the middle of the page, was a photograph of Ivy and David looking young and very happy. It was the snapshot they’d sent to the newspaper years ago with their engagement announcement. Ivy remembered how giddy they’d been that day as they set the camera on a tripod with a time delay, raced to the couch, and posed grinning with their arms around each other’s shoulders. David had on the dress shirt and tie his mother had coerced him into wearing for the photo—what you couldn’t see were the torn blue jeans he had on, too.

  Ivy read the headline:

  Missing Brush Hills Woman

  Believed Murdered

  The lead read: “Brush Hills landscaper David Rose is being held in the disappearance of Melinda White.”

  Ivy dropped into a chair. She scanned the rest of the article. “According to a police source, Rose is considered a person of interest in what may soon turn into a murder investigation.”

  “Stop,” Jody said, gently prying away the newspaper. “Trust me. You don’t want to read what they’re saying. It’s total garbage.”

  Ivy’s cell phone rang. She snatched it from her pocket.

  “Get any sleep?” Theo asked.

  “Some,” Ivy said. “When’s the hearing?”

  “Can you bring David a change of clothes?” Theo said.

  “Sure, but…you said there’d be a bail hearing today.”

  There was a pause on Theo’s end. “There’s been a delay.”

  Ivy’s stomach clenched. “A delay?” She could feel Jody watching her.

  “Nothing to worry about. It’ll give us the weekend to—”

  “The weekend?” Ivy cupped a hand over the receiver. “But today’s only Thursday.”

  Jody crossed the kitchen to the sink, turned on the faucet, and started washing dishes.

  “We just need to get some issues straightened out,” Theo said.

  “What issues?”

  “Yeah, well, that’s the thing.” There was a longer silence.

  Ivy moved into the living room. “Theo, what in the hell is going on?”

  “Nothing’s going on. I just don’t know if I should—”

  “For God’s sake, would you just tell me? I’m pregnant, not an invalid.”

  “See, the whole thing about bail is whether the judge thinks someone is a flight risk.”

  “How can they think David’s a flight risk? We’re going to have a baby any day now. Where the hell’s he going to go?”

  “It’s a little complicated. You’re sure…?”

  “Yes, damn it! Tell me.” But even as she said it, she knew she didn’t want to hear his explanation.

  “The D.A. has been monitoring activity on your credit cards. A single one-way ticket to the Cayman Islands in David’s name was booked Tuesday.”

  Single? One-way? Never in a million years would David disappear on her. Abandon her and the baby? That was insane.

  “The ticket was for a flight leaving last night,” Theo continued. “Obviously, David wasn’t on it.”

  “You’re telling me that the day before yesterday David booked himself a ticket to the Cayman Islands?”

  “No. I’m not. He’s as surprised as anyone.”

  “Then who…?”

  “I don’t know. All I know is it was done over the Internet, and whoever booked it used your MasterCard.”

  19

  Sure you’re okay?” Jody asked as she pulled her car up in front of Ivy’s house. No reporters in sight.

  Ivy was so sick and tired of being asked that same stupid question, and she was so not okay.

  “All right, all right. I’ll shut up,” Jody said. “But you know I could stay with you for a while. Zach’s home with Riker.”

  A leathery oak leaf splatted against the windshield.

  “I don’t know why you’re so hell-bent on going home right away,” Jody continued. “You could at least have let me make you something more than toast for breakfast. In fact, I wish you’d just stay with us until this is over.”

  Ivy had told Jody about the delayed bail hearing, that she had to take some clean clothes to David in jail, but she couldn’t bring herself to talk about David’s one-way ticket to the Cayman Islands. She couldn’t face the pity in her friend’s face when she heard this latest revelation.

  Ivy forced a smile. “You’re the best friend I could ever hope for, and you know I love you. And it’s great to know that you’re here for me when I need you to be. But right now I need some space. I just want to be home. But I’ll take a rain check.”

  “Rain check.” Jody made a face, like the idea had a bad taste. “But you listen to me. It’s no imposition. Not in the slightest. You change your mind, just holler.”

  “I will.” Ivy got her bag and climbed out of the car. “Promise.” She shut the car door and started for the house. A dog was barking.

  Jody rolled down the passenger-side window. “And if you start having contractions…” she called to Ivy.

  Ivy smiled and turned back. “I’m not having any contractions! I’m not due for weeks.”

  “I do not want you going through labor alone,” Jody said. “Do you understand me? When it’s showtime…”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. When it’s showtime, you’ll be the first to know. But this baby’s on strict instructions to stay where she is until—”

  “Right, and we all know how obedient little children do exactly what their parents tell them,” Jody shot back. “All the same, I’ll wait until you’re inside, just in case your water breaks.”

  At the front door, Ivy groped about in her purse for her key ring. She jammed the key into the lock, but it would go only partway in. She cursed and tried to force it before she realized—she was using the key to the old lock. Beside it on the ring was the shiny new one. Old life, new.

  The key slipped in easily. Ivy stepped inside, over the pile of mail that had come in through the slot. She waved to Jody and closed the door. She dropped the paper bag and her purse on the hall table and started up the stairs, determined to find out if a ticket to the Cayman Islands had been booked from their computer.

  A scuffling sound and a muffled thump halted her halfway up. She spun around, expecting to find someone standing at the foot of the stairs or in the doorway to the living room. No one was there.

  Ivy leaned her shoulder against the wall and rested her hands on her pregnant belly. She closed her eyes, willing her breathing to slow, her heart to stop banging against her rib cage.

  Get a grip. She’d changed the locks. She was the only one with copies of the new key. If she’d
be going it alone, she’d better toughen up. Judges might be able to delay bail hearings, but no one could delay this baby’s birth. When her little one finally came roaring down the birth canal, she was going to need a mother who wasn’t cowering in some corner, afraid of her own shadow.

  Ivy opened her eyes. Bessie, the bronze statue at the foot of the stairs, was turned backward, facing her.

  Then Ivy registered the smell. Sandalwood and spicy clove. Opium perfume. Ivy gagged as the smell morphed into a disgusting stench of cotton candy and patchouli, and a blind panic welled up inside her.

  She tore down the stairs and across the hall, feeling as if an invisible hand were thrusting her forward from behind. She threw open the front door.

  Jody’s VW was still there, idling at the curb. Thank God! A second later Jody was out of her car and running up the walk.

  “What happened?” she demanded. “You’re white as a sheet. I knew it wasn’t a good idea to leave you alone.”

  “Nothing happened,” Ivy said, panting. “I just…I just got spooked. I thought I heard something. And there was this smell.”

  “What smell?”

  “Like perfume. And the statue at the base of the stairs is turned cockeyed.”

  “You’re coming home with me.” Jody grabbed Ivy’s arm.

  “No!”

  “Okay, then I’m coming in with you.” Jody marched past Ivy and up the porch steps. She stood in front of the doorway, her arms folded, tapping her toe. “Come on in.” When Ivy hesitated, Jody added, “I’m not leaving, and you can’t make me.”

  Jody came halfway down the steps toward Ivy. “Please? Come on, Ivy, humor me. We’ll check the place, top to bottom. Then maybe I’ll let you talk me into going home.”

  As she and Jody entered, the house seemed to loom over them, the arched window like a single hooded eye peering down from inside the roof peak.

  “Do you smell that?” Ivy asked.

  Jody raised her head and sniffed. “No.” She sniffed again. “Maybe. I’m not sure.”