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

by Lynn Chandler Willis

  Rain splattered against the windshield then, like magic, disappeared with the hypnotizing swipe of the wipers. I wished life was that simple. Whenever you felt the sting of a broken heart, the crush of a disappointment, or the torment of a bad decision, you could just flip a lever and a giant mechanical arm would wipe it all away. It was a nice thought but, like the rain, there would always be more to come.

  “I still don’t understand why we had to leave her.” Emma’s voice was soft, like a whisper.

  “I guess there’s a lot of legal things involved.” At least that’s what Ridge had said.

  “Are we suspects?” Cole asked. I could feel his gaze on me from the passenger seat.

  My concern about the direction his thoughts were going grew. “Of course not. Why would you think that?”

  He stared at me for a moment then huffed and turned back to the road. “I don’t know. All the questions they asked. It was like we were guilty of something.”

  “Honey, they had to ask those questions. We were the ones who found her body.” The words tasted nasty in my throat.

  Cole’s cell phone chirped, indicating he had a new text message. The screen of the phone glowed blue in the darkness of the Tahoe. “Brady wants to know if he can spend the night.” He threw me a glance, probably anticipating my answer.

  “I don’t know, Cole. Tonight’s not a good night.”

  Brady O’Reilly was a year older than Cole and came with his driver’s license and an arrogant attitude. His father, Brent, was the Athletic Director and head football coach at Jackson Creek High School where Brady played and Cole sat the bench.

  Cole’s phone buzzed again. He read the latest message. “Him and his dad are fighting again.”

  I looked at my son, knowing how everything involving teenagers initiated drama. “I really don’t want to get in the middle of their family stuff.”

  “You’d want me to have somewhere to go if we couldn’t stand to be in the same room, wouldn’t you?”

  My experience with family units was limited to Doretha and the rotating kids at the foster home. But I understood where he was coming from. “Okay. But we’re going to have a quiet night.”

  Cole’s thumbs blazed across the keypad as I turned into the driveway. Our drive was a quarter mile long, canopied by yellow birch trees. In a few weeks the leaves would fall and smother the gravel beneath. My private yellow-leafed road ended at the side porch of the old two-story farmhouse Tommy and I purchased when Cole was a newborn. We renovated much of it ourselves, adding a sunroom across the back overlooking the river, complete with a rock fireplace and furniture softer than cotton. It was my sanctuary. I couldn’t wait for it to welcome me home.

  The kids helped me unload our backpacks and the cooler from the car. Seemed like forever ago we were on our way to Porter’s Peak. Finn, our border collie, greeted us in the kitchen with a tail-thumping welcome.

  “How about some hot chocolate?” I asked.

  Emma perked up as she patted Finn’s head, safe in the familiarity of home. “With marshmallows?”

  I grinned. “Let him out and I’ll get the cocoa started. With marshmallows.”

  She and Finn both disappeared onto the porch. Cole passed my cell phone to me as he unpacked our bags. “Wonder if word’s got around town yet?”

  I hesitated to check the messages, knowing full well with Cheryl Stafford manning the 911 operations center, word about a murder in Jackson Creek had already spread like a gas-fueled fire. It was a rare day I didn’t have my phone at my hip, but today was supposed to have been our day. Whatever newsworthy event that would happen could wait until Monday morning. Still, maybe someone had information about the murder?

  I keyed in my password and peeked at what was waiting. Nineteen missed calls, fourteen new voicemails, three emails, and twenty-two texts. Four of the missed calls were from Rick, my on-call attorney and sometime boyfriend, as Ridge had pointed out at Trish’s.

  There were so many, I thought about clearing them all, even the ones from Rick. It was a fleeting thought, but the messages could wait until the kids were in bed. They needed me tonight.

  Outside, the motion lights flickered on. Finn barked as Brady O’Reilly pulled up and parked his fresh-from-the-showroom Silverado beside my four-year-old Tahoe. Emma called Finn back and tugged him inside, oblivious to the muddy paw prints spotting my hardwood floor.

  A moment later, Brady was in my kitchen shaking the rain off his jacket like Finn after a bath. Finn continued barking, ensuring himself alpha dog position.

  Brady laughed and patted Finn’s wet head. “Hey Finn—we’re both wet as a dog, aren’t we?”

  Cole playfully punched him in the shoulder. “At least Finn don’t smell as bad.”

  I shook my head, grinning, wondering if any teenage boy smelled good. “I was just getting ready to fix some hot chocolate. Want some?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why don’t you get out of those wet clothes first. I’m sure Cole has a shirt you could wear.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  While Cole took Brady upstairs to change, I started the cocoa. Emma wiped up Finn’s mud spots then sprayed him down with doggy perfume. I turned my nose up at the mixture of wet dog and Doggy Fresh.

  “How long do you think she’ll have to stay with Doretha?” Emma asked in a quiet voice.

  “I don’t know. Could be just for a day or two, or…it could be longer.” Although I had the same questions, I didn’t want Emma to know my concerns. “If I had to hand pick someone for her to stay with, I’d pick Doretha anyway. You know that.” I mussed up her golden red hair then lifted her chin with my finger, forcing her to look at me. I smiled and kissed her forehead. Her perfect lips turned upward in a slight grin.

  Emma Rose Logan was my strength. Smarter than most her age, she had a way of keeping me in line. Her body was beginning to show signs of the change that was coming, but the splash of freckles across her nose froze her in time as my little girl.

  “Grab a mug and help me carry these in the sunroom.”

  “Can we play Life?”

  A board game was the last way I wanted to spend this evening at home, but if it took her mind off the day, I’d muster through it. We sat the mugs on the coffee table then Emma sat out four floor pillows. She dug the game out from the armoire and set it up in the center of the table.

  “Cole and Brady may not want to play.” I assumed playing a board game with a kid sister and mother probably wasn’t high on two teenage boys’ Saturday night plans.

  “They’ll play. That is if they want their hot chocolate.” My kid.

  I turned the gas logs on in the fireplace then settled into my spot at the table. Finn stared out the window into the darkness, watching only something he could see. On quiet nights you could hear the sounds of the river. However, tonight wasn’t one of those nights. The rain pelted the tin roof and splattered against the glass walls. But I loved this room. It was where we celebrated Christmas and birthdays and shared stories of our joys and our pains.

  Cole rolled his eyes when he and Brady joined us. “Life? Really, Emma?” His annoyance didn’t stop him from sitting down on a floor pillow. He shifted his butt around until he was comfortable then took a long sip of his hot chocolate.

  Brady took the last pillow and did the same. Stuffed into a long sleeve t-shirt, his bulging biceps stretched the fabric. I understood more why my son sat the bench on Friday nights and this kid protected the end zone. A thin mustache even shadowed his upper lip. He was a good-looking kid, with soft eyes and blond hair that fell in waves along his collar. He was sweet and polite too. A little spoiled, but as an only child, it was almost expected. I wouldn’t mind if his politeness rubbed off on my own son.

  Scratch marks along his jawline made me wonder how bad the argument with his father had been. W
hen he lifted his mug to drink, a noticeable bruise glowed across his knuckles.

  The mother in me couldn’t ignore it. I reached out and lightly touched his hand. Embarrassed, he quickly jerked away. I let it go, not wanting to embarrass him further.

  I didn’t know the issues between Brady and his dad, and truthfully, didn’t want to. But if he needed a place to stay for the night to cool down, I was okay with providing the sanctuary. I often wondered if Tommy were still living if he and Cole would be fighting the same battles.

  For the next hour, we escaped the day’s tragedy. It was never far from my mind though. I couldn’t stop the stray thoughts of Trish and sweet little Ivy from finding their way into my head. Trish had been a friend, yet I knew so little about her. All I knew was she was a talented artist who sold her work at a gallery in downtown Jackson Creek. Occasionally, we ate lunch together at The Patty Melt. She liked Reuben sandwiches and craft beer. And mustard on her fries. Go figure.

  The outside motion lights flickered on as headlights came up the driveway. Finn barked a bone-jarring alert. I pulled myself up and headed to the front family room with the kids behind me.

  “Who is it?” Emma asked, close enough behind me I could feel her presence. I heard the fear in my daughter’s voice. And it pissed me off. Whoever had killed Trish had robbed my daughter of her sense of security.

  With the blinds still open, the headlights from Ridge’s Expedition swung across the living room.

  “It’s Grayson.” Emma’s voice reflected the comfort we both felt.

  I jerked open the front door as Ridge bounded up the steps, a squirming quilt-covered bundle in one arm, a bag in the other.

  “Figured you might be missing her.”

  “Ivy!” Emma squealed.

  He unwrapped Ivy from the soaking wet quilt and handed her to me. She was warm and dry and cranky. I squeezed her tight then planted kisses all over her chubby cheeks. She reached for Emma, and Emma was more than happy to take her. They disappeared through the archway heading toward the sunroom while Cole and Brady headed upstairs, apparently eager to end our game of Life.

  I opened the door wider as an invitation for Ridge to come in. He handed me Ivy’s diaper bag then shed a plastic poncho with the sheriff’s department logo on the chest. He tossed it and his ball cap on one of the porch rocking chairs.

  “Do you want a cup of coffee or something? It’s miserable out there.”

  “I’m fine, but thanks anyway.”

  “How were you able to—”

  Ridge raised his hand to hush me. “Look, I know you and the kids had nothing to do with what happened to Trish. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  How many times had we said that to one another? I chewed on my bottom lip, suddenly uncomfortable. “Yeah. I have a knack for that, don’t I?”

  He reached out to touch my cheek, but I turned away.

  “So how long am I going to get to keep her?”

  Ridge cleared his throat then sighed heavily. “At least until the grandparents get here.”

  I nodded quickly, like I was okay with it. Or at least understood it was just a visit. “Are you going to do a press release?”

  “You’re the only press within a hundred-mile radius. Do I need to do one?”

  I tried my hardest not to smile but in the end just couldn’t hold it back. “It would be nice to have an official statement from the Sheriff. Might even score a couple votes.”

  He let out a laugh. I’d forgotten how nice the sound was. Deep, from the belly. Truthful. And he was so damn good-looking. Perpetually messed-up hair so black it shimmered blue, light blue eyes…I forced my thoughts back to the reasons I hated him, then took a deep breath. “If you’re going to make a statement, I’ll need it by Tuesday. I go to print Wednesday.”

  “You’ll have it Monday.”

  CHAPTER 4

  On Monday, I dropped Cole and Emma at school and headed to the office with Ivy and a pack-n-play. Since Cole had football practice and wouldn’t be heading home right after school, Emma would ride the bus to Doretha’s house. Last week and the week before and every day since school started this year, Emma stayed by herself the hour before I got home. Now, she was scared to, and I was scared to let her.

  I could have left Ivy with Doretha, but the poor kid had gone through a tragic change in a short amount of time. I didn’t want to upset her more than necessary. Not sure how having a toddler underfoot while putting together a newspaper was going to work, but we were going to find out. Her diaper bag was packed with butter cookies, apple slices, and several packs of gummy snacks. Another bag held her lunch, a sippy cup, half gallon of apple juice, and enough toys to keep her occupied for at least half an hour.

  The Jackson Creek Chronicle was housed in the old Milton’s Mercantile building. An aluminum ice cream box still occupied one corner, unplugged, its sides dinged here and there. The airtight seal made a perfect container for archived copies of the Chronicle. A wood-burning stove we named Betsy protruded from the back wall like an unsightly growth, but it kept us warm on chilly days. The back storage room had been transformed into a break room mini-kitchen while a smaller room made a good private office, although I spent most of the time out front with Nola, the office manager, and the rest of the staff.

  I split the investigative reporting and human interest features with Quinn Carter, although, truthfully, he carried more of the responsibility than I did. The little paper had grown through the years from a one-person staff—me—to a full staff, office, and impressive circulation and profit numbers.

  In the parking lot, I unlatched Ivy from the car seat, slung her bags over my shoulder, closed the door with my hip, then headed inside.

  “Oh my goodness,” Nola said, hopping up from her seat to help. She relieved me of the bags but Ivy wasn’t having anything to do with letting go. She lay her head on my shoulder, her thumb stuck in her mouth. “Is this…the Givens baby?”

  “This is Ivy.” I wondered if she’d be forever known around Jackson Creek as the Givens baby. Whispered behind her back like it was something she should be ashamed of.

  “Bless her little heart.” Pansy got up from her desk chair just to ruffle Ivy’s hair. The grandmother of six, she couldn’t resist a toddler. “She’s precious.”

  Nola made a tsk-tsk sound while shaking her head. She carried the bags over to my desk. “She’s beautiful. Just like Trish was. Sad. Just plain sad. The phone’s been ringing off the hook.”

  “I can imagine.” I tried to put Ivy down, but she clung tighter, partly leery of Pansy still stroking her hair. “Okay, we can wait for the pack-n-play.” I toted her over to my desk where I rummaged through her diaper bag for the stuff that needed to go in the fridge. She pulled her thumb out of her mouth long enough to say “juish.”

  Quinn gave her a look like a lot of twenty-something single guys—like he wasn’t sure what she was.

  Nola hurried over to her desk to catch an incoming call. “Sheriff Ridge faxed over a press release this morning. I put it on your desk. Jackson Creek Chronicle, how may I help you?”

  It always amazed me how she could switch voices from mountain twang to perfect office professional in the next sentence.

  “No, Ava’s not in yet. May I take a message?” She grabbed her message pad and pen, flipped to a clean page armed and ready. “Oh. Hold on a minute.”

  She turned to me and rolled her eyes. “Mayor. He just drove by and saw your car.”

  I sat down at my desk, put Ivy in my lap, and stared at the phone. I refused to be at the mayor’s beck and call. “Tell him I just got in and promise to call him back in a few minutes.”

  “Justin—Ava just walked in. She said she’d call you back in just a minute. She promises. Okay, I’ll hold her to it.” She rolled her eyes again before hanging up. Nola was
the queen of eye-rollers. At fifty-six, she worked because she knew no better. It was what people around here did. She didn’t need the money. Her husband died in a mill accident years ago and left her well taken care of. She was all of five feet tall with baby-making hips and frosted hair that made her look taller.

  Ivy took an interest in her toys so I sat her on the plank floor beside my desk. While she played, I read Ridge’s fax. Two paragraphs. He assured the public of their safety. Victim appeared to be a white female, early to mid-thirties, cause of death pending.

  Pending?

  I grabbed the phone and called his office. His secretary, Annie Thompson, transferred me straight in.

  “Cause of death pending?” I asked as soon as he answered. “Did you see her face?”

  He cleared his throat. “Good morning, Ava. And yes.”

  “Or maybe I should say what was left of her face?” I immediately regretted saying it and glanced down at Ivy, playing with her stacking toy. Nola had become interested in the conversation, which meant I would have to remind her about the paper’s confidentiality clause. Not that we even had one, but now was a good time to implement it.

  He cleared his throat and hem-hawed. “Um…I don’t want to release that just yet.”

  “But that’s an important detail.”

  “Ah, yeah. And that’s why I don’t want it released. Didn’t we have this conversation at the crime scene?”

  Crime scene. It was still hard to wrap my brain around it. I twirled my finger around a stray lock of hair, contemplating how I was going to write this article.

  Ridge interpreted my silence. Damn him. “I need you to think like a witness, Ava. Not a publisher. Please?”

  “I don’t know how to not think like a publisher, Grayson. Any more than you can’t not think like a cop.”

  Ivy toddled over and handed me a cloth book, grunted something in baby talk, then attempted to climb my leg. I picked her up one-handed and plopped her in my lap. She jerked around and shoved the book in my face with something that sounded very much like a demand to read. “In a minute, baby,” I said softly.