Depth of Lies

by E. C. Diskin

  Georgia didn’t respond.

  “Let’s keep walking,” Shea said. The women moved forward without words.

  After a block of silence, Shea continued. “What are you thinking?”

  “I don’t like it,” Georgia said.

  “Come on. We’ll go for the weekend. We don’t even have to tell anyone where we’re going.”

  Georgia stopped walking and looked at Shea. “Hey, I don’t know about you, but I’m not used to lying to my husband.”

  Shea didn’t know what to say.

  “I’m so mad at you right now, I can hardly see straight.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am. I’m sorry for my behavior that night, for leaving the bar with him, for putting you in this position.” She paused to wipe her eyes. “I wish I could go back. I would do anything—”

  “I gotta go,” Georgia said, cutting her off and turning back toward her house.

  Shea began to follow her. “Will you think about it? Going to the memorial?”

  Georgia stopped and turned back. “Don’t follow me,” she yelled.

  Shea stood on the sidewalk watching her friend walk away.

  Shea gave Georgia another day to think about it. She was sure that going to Put-in-Bay was the best way to find the answers and put this all behind them. She finally called her on Friday night. “What do you think?” Shea asked.

  “I think it’s a terrible idea and there’s no way I’m going to show my face at a service for that man. What if people are looking for us? They don’t know our names or where we live, and you just want to show up. What if the police have been looking for the women who were drinking with Blake and his friends in the bar that night?”

  “That’s crazy,” Shea said. “We were just a group of women who shared some drinks with them. They probably didn’t even notice that I left with Blake for a while. Everyone was in their own world. I really don’t think we have anything to worry about.”

  “Well, that’s easy for you to say, since you didn’t actually do anything. Please,” Georgia begged, “just drop it. It’s bad enough I have to live with this. Don’t make it worse.” She hung up.

  Georgia was wrong. There was no way she was responsible. Shea would prove it. She couldn’t let Georgia spend the rest of her life feeling like she’d essentially killed a man.

  Shea walked around the house, turning off the lights and locking the doors, bracing for the conversation she needed to have with Ryan. She had to go. It was the only way to resolve this and put Georgia’s mind at ease. She didn’t want to lose her friendship over this.

  When she got to the bedroom, Ryan was already asleep. He was probably exhausted from hauling all the junk out of the storage room all day. She sat in the chair in the corner, watching his chest rise and fall, listening to the whistle that escaped with each exhale. She began to play out the conversation in her mind. She’d tell him about that night with Blake, about what happened, and Georgia, and Blake’s death.

  But if Ryan thought it was a bad idea, too, it would drive a new wedge between them if she insisted on going. And it would probably ruin her plans. And it was a good plan.

  She was going to surprise Ryan with a visit to Put-in-Bay in two weeks for an entirely different reason. They were heading to Detroit to visit his father in a couple of weeks, and they were going to visit each of the kids while on the road. They were considering a move that would bring them closer to them. Both kids were investigating job opportunities in their adoptive home states. Shea had stared at a map one day, thinking of them, and she’d homed in on Lake Erie, sprawled almost between Leigh at Michigan State in Lansing and Stephen at Ohio State in Columbus.

  Ryan had said he wanted adventure. What would be more adventurous than living on an island? The kids would want to visit, and yet in winter, it would become sleepy and quiet.

  Her mind had begun sorting through the possibilities—their new home would be a place the grandkids would want to visit; they could become boaters; maybe they could run a sandwich shop. Tori and Herman would visit. She could sell real estate on the side. It was impossible not to get excited by such a change. She began looking at real estate online. Several little houses on the market were less than a quarter of the price of their current home.

  But now she needed to go to Put-in-Bay to be sure she hadn’t been involved in a stranger’s death, to be sure she hadn’t put Georgia’s future at risk. This whole mess would taint the hope and excitement of a fresh start just as, finally, things were getting better. Ryan rolled over, and the faint whistling stopped.

  She looked at him. He was peacefully oblivious to the mess she’d made.

  She couldn’t give him a new reason to pull away from her. She’d be back in forty-eight hours, and hopefully she’d have learned that there was nothing to worry about and they could move forward. She grabbed a bag from the closet and began quietly packing.

  Sorting through toiletries in the bathroom, she thought about the drive. It would be tough. Five hours alone. Maybe one of the girls would come with her. If only Kat were here. She pulled her phone from her back pocket, shut the door, and called Kat. When it went to voice mail, she hung up and sent a text. Hey neighbor. Whatcha up to? Have time for a catch-up? She waited, staring at the phone.

  She wanted to tell Kat everything—the good and the bad. She couldn’t tell anyone else. Kat had joked for years that Shea belonged on an island. She meant a Caribbean island, but still, maybe Kat would think Shea’s fantasy was a good one. Maybe she’d assure her that everything would be okay.

  She sat on the bed, looking at the phone, scrolling through all the photos of her friends, wondering what it was like to start somewhere new at this age. She’d wondered many times how it had it been for Kat so far, but she’d been afraid of the answer. She hit the message app again. No response. Kat was probably in another time zone, traveling for work. Shea sent her one more text: IMMF. She finished packing.

  CHAPTER 27

  April 13

  IT WAS ONLY ABOUT THIRTY minutes after Tori left when the doorbell rang. Kat jumped up to get it. She checked the peephole and saw Georgia, staring at the front door with a wide smile, like some Mary Kay solicitor, ready to pounce on whoever opened the door.

  “Hi, Georgia, what’s up?” Kat said.

  Georgia’s face seemed to drop when she saw Kat, but she regrouped quickly, widening her smile. “Hi, Kat! I thought you’d left town by now.”

  “Still here,” Kat said. “Come on in. I see you’ve come bearing gifts.”

  Kat stepped aside to let Georgia in. Georgia had a foil-covered bread pan in one hand and a brown bag tied shut with a pink ribbon in the other. She barely resembled the woman Kat had visited Monday. Instead, Georgia’s hair was perfectly in place, her makeup flawless, her lipstick freshly applied.

  “I’ve got one more meeting in the morning and then I’ll be heading home,” Kat said. “Did you bake?”

  “Oh no,” Georgia said, looking down at the pan. “Meat loaf. It was my night to bring a dinner, but the time got away from me. I know it’s late, but I’ve got another crazy day tomorrow, and I wanted to be sure I got this to Lina.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m sure she’ll love having this tomorrow.”

  “My family loves it. You wouldn’t believe it, but there’s cereal in the recipe. Gives it just a li’l somethin’ extra.”

  “Ah,” Kat said with a fake smile.

  “Anyway, I just wanted to check on Lina and see how she’s doing. And I brought her some bulbs, too,” she said, raising her paper bag.

  “Bulbs?”

  “For the garden.”

  “Oh, bulbs. Here I was thinking about lightbulbs,” Kat said with a grin.

  “I guess you’re not much of a gardener.” Georgia chuckled.

  “You’re right about that. Anyway, come, sit,” Kat said, guiding Georgia into the kitchen. “Lina is asleep. But she seems pretty good, actually. We’re planning to have lunch tomorrow w
ith Tori after my final meeting, if you’d like to join us?”

  “Oh, thanks, but I’m helping at Tessa’s school tomorrow.”

  “You want a glass of wine? Or some tea?” Kat asked.

  Georgia hesitated, looking toward the door.

  “If you need to go . . .”

  Georgia dropped the bag and sat in the kitchen chair. “No, let’s sit for a minute. Tea would be nice.”

  Kat put the kettle on and joined her at the table.

  “So, how has it been being back for a whole week?” Georgia asked. “Do you miss it here, or are you dying to get home?”

  “Both, I guess. I do need to get back at this point, but I just wanted to catch up with Evelyn tomorrow before I go.”

  “Evelyn, huh? Are you two good friends?” Georgia asked.

  “Not really. We drove back from Catawba together on Monday morning, so I probably know her a little better now, but I think with our jobs being as they are, we’ve never gotten to know each other well. Are you two good friends?”

  “Kind of. I mean, I’m like her personal gardener. Does that count?”

  “Really?”

  “Well, she lives in that spectacular building in the center of town.”

  “The one with the window boxes?”

  “Exactly. The tenants are expected to maintain the boxes, and Evelyn’s always traveling.”

  Kat had often wondered whether the tenants were contractually obligated to tend to the boxes or whether building assessments paid for the flowers. But she knew the building well. It was only about ten stories high, one of the oldest buildings in downtown Maple Park. It had a green tile roof, copper gutters and flashing, and soft, weathered red brick. Most extraordinary, every window of the building featured limestone sills, and beneath every window on the east and south sides of the building were ornate limestone corbels supporting permanently affixed copper flower boxes. Every summer cascading vines and bright-colored flowers filled the boxes; every fall the mums came out; and in winter each box was filled with evergreen accents, often weighed down with snow. One winter, soon after a blizzard, Kat and her son had been passing the building when he looked up at what appeared to be boxes full of snow beneath every window and said how cool it would be to live there, forty feet off the ground, with a snowball supply out your window. Ever since then, Kat had never passed the building without noticing the changing greenery in those boxes. The symmetry, repetition, and sheer volume of green and bright colors exploding beneath each window was magnificent.

  Actually, Kat used to assume that when the kids were grown and she and Mack grew tired of maintaining their yard and house, they’d move into a building like it, staying in the town they loved, living within another form of century-old architecture, growing old with friends. She’d even once entertained the fantasy that Peter would return to Maple Park with his own young family someday, perhaps moving into their house—his childhood home—everyone staying close by, generations of family forever connected. She’d babysit the grandkids, maybe walk them to elementary school, along the same route she’d walked her own son decades before. Kat knew of other local families with such histories. Maple Park inspired multigenerational devotion.

  “So you take care of the window boxes, then?”

  “Yep. Last summer, she asked me who my gardener was, can you imagine? Like I’d have a gardener. But she said she needed to hire one to deal with those boxes, and I said I could do it. I pass that building every morning when I walk. Besides,” she added, “I kind of loved the excuse to get inside.”

  “It is beautiful.”

  “Turns out,” Georgia said, leaning forward and lowering her voice, “Evelyn is loaded. I’m guessing it’s family money. The first time I let myself in to water the plants, I was a little taken aback. I mean, when you walk into that apartment, you’d think she was a Vanderbilt or something. We’re talking Downton Abbey–style antiques. So yeah, I’ve got keys to the palace,” she joked with a bad English accent. “That’s about as close as I’ll ever come to being a millionaire. I think I’m the gardener of one!”

  “Well, it’s nice of you to take care of the plants.”

  “Why do you want to see Evelyn, anyway?”

  “Oh, just something she said about Shea that I’ve been thinking about.” The kettle began a slight whistle, and Kat went back to the kitchen. “I still find it so difficult to let this go. I know I need to. Nothing anyone tells me will bring Shea back, but there’s this voice in my head that continues to want more information. Anything to help make sense of why it happened.”

  “You need to let it go, Kat.”

  “I know. I just miss her.” She wasn’t about to share all her theories and gossip with Georgia. It wouldn’t be right.

  Georgia looked relieved. “It was just a tragic accident.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right,” Kat said. She brought two mugs of tea to the table. “At least I understand why Shea might have been panicked and felt like she had to go back. I can’t imagine wondering if I’d caused someone’s death.” The words had already escaped her mouth when she realized what she’d said.

  Georgia winced. “Are you trying to cause trouble, Kat?”

  “No.”

  “Let it go. Our friend is gone. Don’t sully her name.”

  “I didn’t intend to.”

  Georgia stood from the table. “You know, I’m a little tired. I’ll skip that tea.”

  “I’m sorry, Georgia. Did I say something to offend you?”

  “No,” she said before painting a fake smile on her face. “I’m glad we got to catch up. I doubt I’ll see you again before you leave, so have a safe flight.”

  Kat offered a hug good-bye, but Georgia pulled back from the embrace quickly, restless to leave. The truth was, they were never really close friends.

  Kat lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. Her cell rang, and she looked at Mack’s sleeping face on the screen. “Hi,” she said. “I miss you.”

  “I miss you,” he said. “When is your flight tomorrow?”

  “Actually, I’m not sure. I haven’t booked it yet. I’ve got to see how busy tomorrow is.”

  “I thought the meeting was in the morning?”

  “It is. I just need to do a few things after and I’m not sure how long it will take. I need to say good-bye to Ryan, and Tori and I were going to see Evelyn really quick. I don’t know when I’ll see any of these people again, so there are just some final good-byes to be had.” She didn’t even tell him about all the theories and fears and gossip and clues. “And then I promise, I’ll be on the first plane.”

  “So, you’re done with work tomorrow morning, you’ve been gone all week, you were out of town the week before you suddenly dropped everything and went to Shea’s funeral, and now you want to stay longer?”

  “It’s not like I want to,” Kat said. “I need to do this.”

  “All I asked is that you go to the funeral and come home. You could have returned to Chicago on Thursday for your meetings and spent the days in between at home . . .”

  “I spend far too much time on airplanes, Mack. If I was coming to town and I had to be here a few days later, I was not going to go back and forth.”

  “Even though I’m here. And we never see each other.”

  “I asked you to come!”

  The line was quiet for a few beats. She heard a deep inhale before Mack spoke. “Why do you have to speak to Evelyn, anyway?”

  “She might be able to help us figure out if . . .” Her voice trailed off. Mack wasn’t going to understand. She wasn’t even sure she understood.

  “Please don’t tell me you’re still trying to figure out if someone hurt Shea.”

  “I know we haven’t talked about this much. Things have been tense, and I thought you’d be annoyed. But I feel like there’s a good chance someone could have done something to Shea. I know it sounds crazy, but, apparently, Charlie was obsessed with her. And there was a guy who Shea might have accidentally killed last
November. Georgia may have been involved and—”

  “What are you talking about?”

  There was so much she hadn’t told him. And now, as she sorted through where to begin, it all seemed kind of . . .

  “Kat, you’re not an investigator. No one thinks this was more than an accident, right?”

  “Right, but—”

  “Ryan thinks it was an accident?”

  “Yes. But I’m not sure he is—” Telling the truth. She couldn’t say it. It was crazy. Twenty years of friendship. Even if he’d been unfaithful, it didn’t make him a murderer. And . . .

  “Kat, it’s none of your business. Your friend died. I loved her, too. It’s a tragedy. But you’ve got to let this go.”

  “But it’s my fault!” she yelled into the phone.

  “What?” Mack yelled back. “What are you talking about?”

  She shook her head, tears now streaming down her cheeks, at the idea of letting it go, of moving on with all these still-looming questions. “I wasn’t there for her.”

  Mack’s voice softened. “Don’t you see—” he began.

  “Stop! You don’t understand. There is some weird stuff that was going on here. There are people who may have wanted to hurt her. And yes, I know these were our friends, and yes, I’m not going to share this with police and try to ruin anyone’s life, but I need to know, okay? Someone needs to be asking these questions. Because Shea is dead, and if someone did something, I’m not going to let them get away with it!” Her voice rose to a near scream, and as soon as she stopped speaking, she knew it sounded like she was losing perspective.

  “Maybe you’re just trying to delay returning. Maybe you’re determined to hold on to your life there—”

  “Me? What about you? Have you unpacked anything?”