Tell Me No Lies (An Ava Logan Mystery Book 1)

by Lynn Chandler Willis

  I shrugged, afraid if I opened my mouth to speak, I’d collapse under the weight of the memories.

  “So you want to tell me what happened?”

  Although certain Detective Sullivan had already told him everything I’d said to him, I repeated the story, reliving the nightmare. Seeing things again in my mind I’d probably never forget. I told him about the door being partially open, about setting Ivy down inside, about the stench. About the blood trail.

  “What were you doing with the baby again?”

  “Trish had asked me to babysit. I told her I would.”

  “When did she ask you?”

  I shrugged. “Tuesday maybe?”

  The corner of his mouth turned upward in a small grin. “Tuesday maybe or Tuesday for sure?”

  I took a moment to think about it. The kids and I had talked Tuesday morning before school about going hiking. Trish called me at the paper that same day because I remembered telling her about our hiking plans. “It was Tuesday.”

  “So it wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment thing?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “There were a few days of planning, I suppose.”

  He gently kicked at a rock then dug the toe of his climbing boot into the soft ground. “And she never told you what she was doing?”

  “She didn’t say. And I didn’t ask.”

  He nodded, seeming to understand perfectly. “You have any idea who she was seeing?”

  “No. She was a private person.”

  “What about the baby’s father? Any idea who he is?”

  I slowly shook my head. “We never talked about it.”

  He laughed a deep unpleasant laugh. “Oh, come on, Ava. You want me to believe you never asked her?”

  I let out a breath born of frustration. “It wasn’t any of my business. If she wanted me to know, she would have told me.”

  He stared at me with his Sinatra-blue eyes, doubt perhaps shadowing the corners. But the fact was, I had nothing to hide. I knew how it felt to be buried under a suffocating pile of rumors, so I gave Trish room. Grayson Ridge knew how it felt too. Maybe that’s why he finally looked away.

  “I’m going to need you to come down to the office for a formal statement. Hopefully we can get you in and out.”

  My stomach knotted. “Do I need to call Rick?”

  His nose twitched. “In what capacity? Your boyfriend or your attorney?”

  “Either.”

  He looked away then turned back to me, his gaze heated. “You probably don’t need an attorney, if that was the question.”

  I slowly nodded. Now was not the time for the games Ridge and I played with one another. “What about Ivy?”

  He watched her play with Emma for a moment. Toddling through the grass, high-stepping as much as her chubby legs would allow. “We’ll have to notify Trish’s parents anyway. I’m sure they’ll want the baby with them.”

  I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. “They’re four hours away. And they’ve only seen her once in her life.”

  He threw me a sideways glance. “She is their granddaughter.”

  I wanted so badly to smile at the way she was playing with Emma, marching around her, stomping through grass that hadn’t yet died for the season. But I couldn’t. My heart shattered for her instead. “Can we call Doretha and see if she can watch her for a little while? She doesn’t need to be waiting at the sheriff’s department until her grandparents get here.”

  Ridge rubbed the morning stubble shadowing his chin, considering the request. Given the circumstances, we had few options. He gazed up at the sky, at the storm clouds rolling in from the west. After a moment, he slowly nodded. “I’ll have a deputy call her. It’s going to be raining before long. As soon as she gets here, I’ll have a deputy take you down to the station.”

  After talking to the deputy charged with babysitting again, Ridge walked back over to me.

  An uncomfortable air settled between us, wrapping us with words unsaid. He resumed digging the toe of his boot into the ground. Finally, after several awkward moments, he took a deep breath and spit out a string of words as if they were molten lava in a volcanic mouth. “Look, Ava…I don’t think I have to tell you this is going to be a touchy one. You have every right in the world to print whatever you see fit. Obviously, you’re going to know a helluva lot more about this case than information you’re normally given. I’m asking you to please use good judgment in how you write this, for Trish’s sake…and that little baby’s sake.”

  My eyebrows raised involuntarily. “I think you need to put that guilt card back in the deck.”

  He gnawed on his lower lip and nodded. “You know how investigations work. There are certain things we don’t release to the public. But you’re right smack damn in the middle of this one.”

  I glanced down at my hands. Remnants of Trish’s blood had caked into the lines of my knuckles. I couldn’t stop the tears from welling in my eyes. “Trish was a good friend,” I said with a sniffle. “I want to see whoever did this punished for what they did to her.”

  He reached out and gently touched my arm. Despite wanting nothing more than to give into the grief and fall apart, I pulled back. “Don’t tell me what to write, Grayson,” I said in a low voice. I didn’t want anyone within earshot to know we were even having this conversation.

  He blew out a frustrated sigh. “I’m not telling you. I’m asking you. As a professional courtesy.”

  I got where he was coming from but resented his asking. “A little while ago, I found a good friend’s body. Literally—found it, Grayson. I still have her blood on my hands. And I’m not even going to go into what’s going to happen to Ivy. The last thing I’m thinking right now is what I’m going to publish.” I pushed a clump of stray hair from my face, feeling the crusted blood on my hand, dry and brittle against my forehead.

  A minute or two later, Doretha’s burgundy passenger van pulled up and parked on the side of the road. The faded white letters on the side read: All Faiths Missionary Church. Reverend Doretha Andrews slid out of the van and hurried over to where I stood. Doretha was pushing sixty, looked forty with smooth chocolate skin, and was my best friend. She had also taken me in to the church foster home when I had nowhere else to go.

  The colorful beads in her braids jangled as she walked. “What happened, Baby Doll?” She threw her arms around my neck and wrapped me in a tight embrace.

  I collapsed against her, allowing her strength to hold me up. I wanted to spill the horror, to rattle on about not knowing if Ivy saw anything, but didn’t. Though my kids were feet away now, they’d never seen me break down. Today wouldn’t be the day either. Burying my head between her neck and shoulder, I sobbed silently, holding back a well of tears. Doretha stroked my hair as she whispered a prayer.

  Ridge gave us our time, then softly cleared his throat. “Sure you don’t mind taking the baby until we can make other arrangements?” he asked Doretha.

  “Not a problem at all. Do you want me to take Cole and Emma too?” She looked at me then back at Ridge.

  Nothing would satisfy me more than for my children to bask in the comfort Doretha Andrews offered, but Ridge shook his head. “Maybe after we talk to them.”

  She nodded, sending her beads into swinging pendulums. She turned back to me. “Don’t you worry about anything, Baby Doll. Lord’s gonna give you strength.” She squeezed my hand then asked about Ivy’s schedule.

  I filled her in as best I could. The realization of how little anyone knew about this child gnawed at me. “Do you need her car seat?”

  Doretha shook her head. “Got one in the van. Don’t you worry about her. She’ll be fine.” She wrapped her arm around my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. She then walked over to Cole and Emma and spoke to each, and with the softness of a cloud, picked Ivy up and held her. Within
a minute, the toddler was giggling and batting at Doretha’s braids. A deputy followed behind her, carrying Ivy’s bag.

  Tears stung my eyes as Doretha buckled Ivy into the car seat. Partly for Ivy, and partly for myself. I wanted badly to siphon just an ounce of the comfort those strong arms offered. They’d been wrapped around me my entire life, it seemed.

  It was late afternoon when Detective Sullivan cleared me to leave the sheriff’s department. Doretha had already picked up Cole and Emma and taken them back with her to the foster home. A steady rain fell as I sprinted to the Tahoe. Just as my hand reached for the door handle, Ridge grabbed it from behind me, jerking the door open. “You sure you’re going to be okay?”

  I slid in behind the wheel to escape the rain and lied to him. “I’m okay. I’m going to hang out at Doretha’s for a while then head home. Looks like a good night to stay in.”

  The storm had set in with the promise of rain all night. Heavy drops dripped from the brim of Ridge’s Braves ball cap. “I’ll call you as soon as I hear back from Trish’s parents.”

  I nodded, not knowing what else to say, and closed the door. I barely missed tapping him with the front bumper when backing out. I glanced in the rearview while driving away. He was still standing there, in the pouring rain, watching me pull away. The truth was, I pulled away ten years ago. When the guilt became unbearable and the truth, buried so deep in the lies, threatened to ruin more than just the two of us.

  All Faiths Missionary Church was about a mile from the sheriff’s department, on a side road, hidden away from money-spending tourists and the trendy arts district. The church was a small white-washed building with stain-glass windows depicting everything from the birth of Christ to his crucifixion in glorious hues of blues and reds.

  The foster home was next door in an old multi-level house dating back to the Civil War. I grew up there, in the front bedroom on the left. Two sets of bunk beds, two dressers with enough coats of paint to increase the overall dimensions, and a student’s desk in the corner. When there was more than just me in the room, we took turns using the desk.

  A campaign sign for Ed Stinger stood proudly in the center of the yard. A black and yellow bumblebee encouraged votes for Ridge’s opponent. Doretha stopped liking Grayson Ridge the day Tommy died and would have supported a goat had it run against him. He should have been with Tommy, she’d said. He should have been there.

  I parked behind the passenger van in the driveway and hurried into the house. The smell of Doretha’s homemade spaghetti ignited hunger pains deep in my belly. A banjo and fiddle blared from the CD player Doretha kept in the kitchen, accompanying the vocalist in a foot-tapping rendition of “Ain’t No Grave.” The music competed with the cacophony wafting up from the playroom. Doretha’s “kids” were doing what kids did and apparently enjoying every minute of it. I wasn’t sure how many kids she had now. The numbers changed daily.

  “Hello?” I called.

  “Mom?” Emma poked her head around the doorjamb and smiled. “Doretha’s letting me help make supper.”

  She seemed okay, given what she’d been through. The night and its surrounding darkness would hold the truth.

  In the kitchen, Emma and Doretha danced to the music, hands clasping spoons in the air, hips knocking into one another. Doretha threw me a quick glance and grinned. “Grab a spoon and start stirring.”

  Ivy toddled over to me, arms outstretched, hopping from one foot to the other as her signal to pick her up. I gladly obliged and hugged her tight, then followed with big wet kisses planted on her chubby cheeks. She cackled and returned the gesture.

  Doretha turned the music down a notch then blew out a deep breath. “Whew! Emma’s done got me all sweaty.” She pulled a paper towel from the holder and blotted her forehead. “Dang menopause.”

  I grinned. Doretha had been going through menopause the entire time I’d known her, which was most of my life. She blamed her hormonal changes for everything from hangnails to the occasional sinus infection.

  “Emma, be a sweetheart and go tell everyone downstairs supper’ll be ready in a few minutes.” As soon as Emma disappeared down the steps, Doretha turned to me and winked. “You got a good kid there, Baby Doll.” She stirred the sauce again then put a tray of buttered bread in the oven.

  I sat down at the table and pulled Ivy onto my lap. “Did Emma seem okay this afternoon?”

  Doretha joined me at the table. “She was a little quiet at first. I put her in charge of tending to the baby so that kept her mind occupied. She’s good with the baby. Reminded me of you taking care of all the little ones always underfoot around here.”

  I stroked Ivy’s hair and let out a slow breath.

  Doretha reached out and gently touched my cheek. “Been a tough day, hasn’t it?”

  My eyes stung with unspilled tears. “We took flowers to Tommy’s grave this morning.”

  She slowly nodded. “Emma told me.”

  The happy noise that had filled the basement made its way upstairs. A swarm of kids, seven including my two, invaded the tight kitchen. Doretha patted my hand then bounded up from the chair while barking orders. “Trenton, take the silverware tray and plates into the dining room, please. Amber, you and Emma can pour drinks. Cole, help me drain this spaghetti, please.”

  The little soldiers had the dining room table set and ready for the crowd in record time. Cole carried the institution-sized pot of spaghetti into the dining room while Doretha carried the pot of her prized sauce. “Amber, can you get the bread, please?”

  Amber, a fair-skinned black child with a head of springy orange curls, danced her way into the kitchen to help with the bread.

  “Highchair’s in the corner,” Doretha said, bobbing her head to the left.

  I put Ivy in it then pulled it to the table, alongside the bench where Emma already sat. She scooted over so I could sit on the end closest to Ivy. The massive oak table sat twelve—two benches on either side and two heavy chairs on the ends. It always reminded me of that television show, The Waltons. The show was part of Doretha’s forced family fun. She always told me I was most like the character Mary Ellen, strong and independent. I told her she was most like grouchy Grandpa.

  With everyone sitting except Doretha, she doled out a large helping of the pasta then topped it with a ladle of sauce, plopped a piece of bread on the plate, then handed it to me. I handed it to Emma. “Pass it down.” After all these years, the house rules remained embedded in my memory.

  Doretha glanced at me and winked. When everyone had a plate, we joined hands while Doretha blessed the food. I cheated and glanced up, only to meet my son’s eyes looking back at me. Ashamed, I squeezed my eyes closed. Every meal in this house began with prayer. It was tradition. Why had I not carried on the tradition in my own home?

  After the collective “amen,” the only sound emitting from the dining room was lips smacking and forks clattering against plates. Even Ivy lapped it up with her little fork. The kids started telling Doretha about something funny one of the others did or a new joke they had heard. She belly laughed right along with them, believing suppertime was a natural time for good sharing. She used to encourage us to share the best parts of our day. It was her way of helping us, the kids no one else wanted, see our daily blessings.

  Right in the middle of a joke Amber was telling, a loud knock on the door brought a hush over the table. Doretha glanced over at Trenton. “Mind getting the door?”

  He shook his head then disappeared into the living room. A moment later, he came back into the dining room, with Sheriff Ridge behind him.

  Ridge smiled a gentle smile and removed his ball cap. “Doretha, Ava…I hate to bother you during supper but I need to speak with y’all for a moment, if you don’t mind.”

  My heart squeezed in my chest, threatening to shut off my air. “Sure.” I slid out of the booth, pushing the hi
ghchair to the side, then followed him into the living room. Doretha told the kids to go on with their meal then joined us.

  Ridge stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I talked to Trish’s parents a little while ago. They’re coming to claim Trish’s body on Monday.”

  “Monday? That’s two days away.” I looked at Doretha then back at Ridge. “Are they out of town or something?”

  Ridge held his hand up. “No. They’re at home. Apparently, they have plans for tomorrow.”

  My mouth dropped open. “You told them their daughter was murdered, right?”

  Doretha draped her arm around me and patted my shoulder. “Ava. No use getting all worked up about it.”

  Ridge was slowly nodding. “I told them.”

  My stomach knotted. “I knew they didn’t have a good relationship, but that’s just not right. What plans could be more important than claiming your only child’s body? What about Ivy?”

  Ridge looked at Doretha. “Can you keep her until Monday?”

  “Why can’t she stay with me?” I asked.

  He pushed his hand through his hair, cocking his head to the side. “That’s probably not a good idea. She really needs to be in foster care until her next of kin can take her.”

  I choked back a sudden flood of tears. I had been a foster kid. If it hadn’t been for Doretha taking me in when no one else wanted me, no telling where I would have ended up. “Even for just a day?” I asked, my voice breaking.

  Ridge reached out and started to touch my face but stopped, catching a strong glare from Doretha. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I really am.”

  CHAPTER 3

  I left Ivy, and my heart, at Doretha’s and drove home in a steady rain with Cole and Emma. Ivy cried when we left her, reaching for me with her chubby arms. I’d babysat the tot several times so she was comfortable at my house. Comfortable with me and the kids. To my knowledge, Trish had few friends. For whatever reason, I was the one she trusted with her baby’s life. And now I was leaving her.