Never Tell a Lie

by Hallie Ephron

  Ivy hoped that she hadn’t left behind evidence of her presence. She’d had her hands covered when she was in Melinda’s bedroom. But had she remembered to do that in the bathroom? Had she touched the side of the tub? Too late now to do anything about it.

  She shuddered, remembering those painted toenails. How long after the yard sale had Melinda been killed? Where did it happen, and when had her body been moved to the tub? Those same questions would at long last propel the police investigation in new directions.

  Ivy turned on her side and watched the fetal monitor. Her contractions had flatlined, but the baby’s heartbeat pulsed along. Blip. Blip. Blip. Blip…. She let her eyes close.

  Ivy lurched awake. She’d just caught sight of a nurse wearing purple scrubs leaving her room. Her ponytail swung as she disappeared into the corridor. Reminded Ivy of Cindy Goodwin, David’s new assistant manager and Jody’s Cheerleader Barbie. The chair where Jody had been sleeping was empty and the light in the room turned off.

  The top line on the fetal monitor—the baby’s line—still pulsed, regular and reassuring. It cast a pale green reflection on the walls and ceiling.

  Ivy closed her eyes and pictured herself stepping through the pen-and-ink illustrations of Madeline as she mentally recited the rhyming verses.

  She had no idea how much later it was when she felt a hand on her abdomen. A shadowy figure loomed at the end of the bed. “We know you were there.” She recognized Detective Blanchard’s raspy voice.

  What was he doing here in the hospital in the middle of the night? Why couldn’t she see his face? How could he reach her from where he was standing? And yet she felt his hand. She tried to move, to dislodge it, but she was paralyzed.

  This isn’t real, she told herself.

  She forced herself awake, gasping as if she’d just come to the surface after being knocked over and pummeled by an ocean wave. A woman in pink scrubs stood by the bed. She had a surgical mask over her face. Her hand rested on Ivy’s belly as she stared at the fetal monitor. Not Detective Blanchard.

  Ivy’s head fell back on the pillow. Just a nurse. The ID badge that swung from the breast pocket of her scrubs flashed green reflections of the light from the fetal monitor.

  “Everything is fine. Perfectly fine. Relax,” the nurse said. “I’m just checking on the baby.”

  Then, without another word, she left. The only trace of her presence was the lingering smell of latex rubber and a faint whiff of Opium perfume.

  27

  Unable to get the smells out of her head, Ivy slept fitfully through what was left of the night. Seemed like just about every half hour a different nurse came in and checked on her. By seven-thirty the next morning, Dr. Shapiro had been in, disconnected her from the fetal monitor, and proclaimed her fit for discharge.

  “Don’t go far,” she’d warned Ivy.

  No worries there. When Ivy got home, she planned to go straight up to bed.

  Jody called. Theo would drive over with her at ten. Ivy checked the morning news programs. None were reporting a body in a suburban Brush Hills home.

  Ivy took a scalding-hot shower, letting the water beat against her sore back. She changed into yesterday’s clothes again. The photos and papers she’d taken from Melinda’s bedroom were gone. Ivy hoped Jody had incinerated them.

  She checked the TV news again. Still nothing.

  Restless, Ivy picked up the hospital phone. “Corinne Bindel. B-I-ND-E-L.” She spelled the name to the operator.

  Yes, Mrs. Bindel was a patient at the hospital. Her condition had been upgraded from serious to fair. That was all the operator could tell her.

  Ivy hung up and nibbled at the last of a piece of toast on her breakfast tray, resisting the urge to check the TV again.

  Her hair still damp, she left the room. A floor plan and directory hung on the wall alongside the elevators. Ivy didn’t know where Mrs. Bindel was, but the hospital wasn’t that big—not like those downtown medical complexes that were small cities unto themselves.

  Ivy scanned down the list of departments. Admissions and Administration were on the first floor. Intensive Care was on 3 East. Maternity, 2 West. That was where she was now. Medical/Surgical, 2 East—that seemed a likely possibility.

  Ivy followed a sign for 2 East that pointed past the elevators. She continued down a corridor, through double doors, and left through another set of double doors. She came to a large nurses’ station. A doctor was there, talking on the phone. Ivy hurried past, trying to look as if she had a clear destination.

  Each of the patient rooms in the unit had a card by the door with names lettered in bold black marker. Ivy made her way down one side of the long corridor and was halfway up the other side before she found the room she was looking for.

  Through the open door, Ivy could see Mrs. Bindel lying in the nearest bed. Ivy entered the room. The woman in the neighboring bed glanced over at Ivy and then rolled over to face the window.

  Mrs. Bindel lay on her back, her head swathed in bandages, her eyes closed. Her lips were dry and cracked. Ivy pulled a chair close to the bed and sat. She picked up Mrs. Bindel’s hand. An IV needle was taped to her arm, and the tube snaked off the bed. Her chest rose and lowered. Fair condition. What did that mean anyway?

  As Ivy sat there, she remembered her last visit to Grandma Fay. It had been a few months after she and David were married. That afternoon she’d arrived and found her grandmother slumped in her easy chair, the newspaper still in her lap. Without her vivid personality to animate her, her grandmother seemed so diminished by death, nothing more than a bag of skin and birdlike bones.

  Ivy had been her grandmother’s official health-care proxy, but, as usual, Grandma Fay had made her own decision about how and when to go. One day she was walking to the supermarket with her wheelie cart, bossing everyone around. Then a twinge of indigestion, some chest pain, and a few hours later she was gone. It was a perfect death for someone who always said she “didn’t want to be a bother.”

  “If only people had an ‘off’ button,” Grandma Fay had once said to Ivy. “Or in my case we should label it ‘enough already.’”

  Ivy was startled back into the present when Mrs. Bindel’s hand moved. Her eyelids fluttered open, and her gaze wandered about the room, finally fastening on Ivy. Her look of recognition turned to confusion. She put her hand to her bandaged head.

  “Yes,” Ivy said, “you hurt your head. Do you remember?”

  “I…” Mrs. Bindel’s eyes turned bright and anxious. “You…?”

  “Yes, I found you. I called the ambulance.”

  “Phoebe?”

  “Oh, she’s fine.” Ivy felt a pang of guilt. The minute she got home, she’d take Phoebe inside and feed the poor dog. At least she’d left water. “Mrs. Bindel, do you remember what happened?”

  “Garden,” Mrs. Bindel said, her eyes unfocused. “Daylilies.”

  “Your daylilies were beautiful this year,” Ivy said. “Were you dividing them in the garden?”

  Mrs. Bindel stared at Ivy.

  “That’s where I found you, outside, lying in the grass near your back steps. Did you see someone out there?” Ivy asked. “Did someone hurt you?”

  Mrs. Bindel’s gaze shifted over Ivy’s shoulder. Her eyes widened, and with surprising strength she pulled her hand from Ivy’s grasp.

  “Did—” Ivy’s question was cut off by a sharp rap at the door.

  She turned to face Detective Blanchard.

  “Mrs. Rose—what are you doing here?” He entered the room.

  Ivy swallowed the urge to retort, None of your damned business. “I was admitted to the hospital last night. In labor.”

  His gaze dropped to her belly.

  “It stopped,” Ivy added.

  “You’ve been here overnight?”

  “I’m being released this morning.”

  “So you don’t know?”

  Ivy’s heart lurched into high gear. “Don’t know what?”

  He indicated for her t
o follow him out into the corridor. “There’s been a development in the case.” As he talked, Ivy could feel him watching her closely.

  She tried to look surprised. She savored the vindication she’d be able to finally show when Blanchard revealed that all this time Melinda’s body had been in the house where she grew up.

  “We found the body of Gereda White. Melinda White’s mother,” Blanchard said.

  Melinda’s mother? Ivy was too stunned to speak.

  “In a house that she once owned. Looks as if Mrs. White has been dead for quite some time.”

  “I…I don’t know what to say. How…?”

  “We won’t know cause of death until the body is autopsied.”

  “But…?” Ivy started. How to phrase her question without giving herself away? “I thought Mrs. White was living in Florida with Melinda’s sister, Ruth.”

  Blanchard looked appropriately chagrined. “So did we. But apparently all of us were wrong. The Naples police went to Ruth White’s apartment and found no one living there. Neighbors haven’t seen anyone coming or going for weeks.” He looked down at his shoes. “We’re analyzing records from Ruth White’s cell phone to pinpoint her location, the times when she called us. It’s a Florida number, but she could have been calling from anywhere.”

  “Does Melinda even have a sister named Ruth?” Ivy asked.

  “Of course. That we did check.” Detective Blanchard’s scowl deepened. “We’re still investigating. The rest of the facts remain unaltered.”

  “But—”

  He held up his hand. “I’ve told you more than I should have. Trust me, the investigation is progressing.”

  “Trust you?” Ivy said, incredulous. “So when are you going to release my husband?”

  28

  I hate to admit it, but the guy’s got a point,” Theo said as he drove Ivy home from the hospital. The interior of his Lexus smelled of leather and cigar smoke. “Discovering Mrs. White’s body doesn’t alter the fact that a woman who disappeared was last seen going into your house. She and David argued. The cops found blood evidence and a knife that David admits he tried to hide. And there’s still that one-way ticket to the Cayman Islands. At a bare minimum, they’ve still got the goods to hold David on evidence tampering.”

  Theo’s words blared at Ivy as if from dense fog. Condensation had misted the windshield, and the overcast sky made it feel more like late afternoon than midmorning.

  “So how are you?” Theo asked, his eyes avoiding Ivy’s belly.

  “Physically?” Ivy fastened the seat belt below the bulge. “Fine.”

  Theo started the wipers and drove slowly out the hospital access road. In the distance Ivy spotted Jody walking through the hospital parking lot, searching for Ivy’s car.

  “It’s so infuriating.” Theo looked both ways before turning onto a divided roadway. “They won’t tell us anything about how they found Mrs. White or the circumstances of her death.”

  The wipers thunked back and forth.

  “The detective told me that Mrs. White had been dead for quite some time,” Ivy said.

  “Quite some time?” Theo shot her a sideways glance.

  “I know. What does that mean? And where’s the woman who’s supposed to be living in that house? Didn’t Mrs. White sell it to someone?”

  “The house was sold,” Theo said. “About eight months ago. We found the sale in the town records. The new owner is a woman, Elaine Gallagher. I’ve got a detective trying to find out who and where she is. I wonder how they knew to search that house. Must have gotten a tip from someone.”

  “Must have,” Ivy said. She stared out the window. She was not about to tell Theo she’d been in the Belcher Street house, that she’d found the bathtub filled with Ice Melt. That Jody had been the anonymous tipster. And she certainly wasn’t going to tell him about the photographs of David that she’d found in what had once been Melinda’s bedroom. She was just glad they’d been taken care of.

  Theo hit the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. “So where the hell is this woman Ruth White who is supposed to be taking care of the demented but actually dead Mrs. White?”

  “Obviously, David had nothing to do with murdering their mother,” Ivy said.

  “Obviously. And we don’t know that she was killed. Besides, David isn’t under arrest for murder.” Ivy heard the unsaid not yet. “Right now we need to keep our heads down and focus on Monday’s bail hearing.” Theo’s silver cross swung back and forth, back and forth from the rearview mirror. “We’ve still got to come up with an explanation for that ticket to the Cayman Islands. David didn’t book it, so someone else did.”

  “What if it turns out that the ticket was booked from our computer?” Ivy asked.

  Theo’s foot came off the accelerator. “Was it?”

  “I don’t know. But if it was?”

  The car cruised a stretch of winding road and then came to a stop at a light. “If it was, then someone had to have had access to your house to do it,” Theo said. “Who? And how could we prove that it wasn’t you or David? It’s not like there are surveillance cameras inside the house.”

  “Maybe there’s a witness who saw someone trying to get into the house.”

  “Who hasn’t come forward?”

  “Who hasn’t been able to come forward. My neighbor. Maybe Mrs. Bindel saw someone trying to use the old key after I’d changed the locks. Maybe that’s why she was knocked unconscious. Right now she doesn’t remember. But maybe she will.”

  Ivy recalled Mrs. Bindel’s expression when she’d woken up in the hospital and seen Ivy at her bedside. Initial confusion had turned to something else. Fear? Ivy hadn’t been able to ask, because that was when Detective Blanchard arrived.

  “The police were in our house searching,” she said. “Maybe they copied the key. Maybe one of them came back later when no one was home. One of the people I saw rummaging through the wicker trunk was a man.” Ivy tried to remember, but all she could conjure was a silhouette. Tall. Thin.

  “A police conspiracy? That’ll give the judge a laugh. And hope it’s not the case, because that’s next to impossible to prove.”

  The light turned green. The tires spun before they got traction. Theo drove through the square, past the Three Brothers Hardware store and Kezey’s Good Time Lanes. The bowling score sheet she’d found in Melinda’s bedroom had been from there.

  “Remember the old bowling alley?” Ivy said.

  “Sure.” Theo glanced over. “Wonder if they’ll ever take down that sign.”

  “You guys used to hang out there. After football practice. You and David?”

  Theo nodded as he turned off the main street.

  “And Eddie and Jake?”

  Theo shot her a surprised look. “Yeah. The whole team did.” He turned onto Laurel Street.

  “Melinda White worked there after school,” Ivy said.

  The car rolled to a halt in front of the house. There was a long beat before Theo spoke. “Maybe. I don’t really remember.”

  “Like you said, the team used to play there.”

  Theo’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “Ivy, did you mention this to the police?”

  “This what?”

  He turned to face her. “Kezey’s. Bowling.”

  “Why would I?”

  His eyes searched hers. “Good question. Why would you?”

  Ivy didn’t answer.

  “Well, don’t mention it to anyone. Please don’t.”

  Dread burrowed into the pit of Ivy’s stomach. “What happened?”

  “It’s ancient history.”

  Not ancient enough if he didn’t want her so much as mentioning the bowling alley to anyone.

  Theo pulled the hand brake. “I’m telling you, nothing”—he swiveled in his seat to face her—“happened.”

  Ivy held his gaze. “Theo. Obviously, something did.”

  “Ivy—”

  “What happened?”

  Theo groaned. “This is so
irrelevant.”

  “Theo!”

  “Okay, okay. She…Melinda…thought David…” He paused for a moment, as if picking his words. “We were there after practice one day, and she thought David came on to her.”

  Ivy stared at the silver cross as it swung from the rearview mirror. Came on to her. What was that supposed to mean?

  “I’m sure she believed he did,” Theo went on. “That he had a thing for her. But of course he didn’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  “How do I—Because I was there.”

  The cooling engine ticked. “That’s not what I meant. How do you know what Melinda thought happened?” Ivy said.

  “I…shit.” Theo looked away. His jaw twitched. “David told me. That’s why he took Melinda into the house during the yard sale. She started rehashing what had happened at the bowling alley. Years and years ago. Her version. He thought it was better to talk about it…in private.”

  Theo pulled the key from the ignition. “But I’m telling you, she was delusional.”

  “How bad is the ‘what she thought happened’ version?” Ivy asked.

  “He…she…” Theo licked his lips. “Crap, do you really need to know this? I mean, it was no big deal.”

  Ivy reached out to stop the silver cross from swinging and waited.

  “It was after practice, fall of our senior year,” Theo said. “We went down there. To bowl. The place was empty. Mr. Kezey was out, so someone got a case of beer, and we started to drink and bowl and…you know, fool around.”

  “Fool around?”

  “We got sloshed. All of us. Pretty much trashed the place.” He smirked. “I admit, things got a little out of control.”

  “A little?”

  “A lot, I guess.”

  “And Melinda?”

  “She was drinking, too. Having a grand old time. Then…” Theo ran his tongue over his lips again.

  “Then what?” Ivy said.