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

by Lynn Chandler Willis

  “Mom?”

  I wiped my face and spun around, forcing myself to smile. Emma was at the door with Ivy wrapped in a towel. “I forgot her pajamas.”

  “Oh. Uh—yeah. I think she has one clean pair left.” I opened her bag and dug out a tiny pair of pajamas covered with purple and green fairies.

  Emma looked at me suspiciously. “You okay?”

  My heart swelled with a multitude of emotions. Love, fear, anger…way too much to burden a twelve-year-old with. “I’m fine, sweetie.” I took Ivy from her and laid the toddler on the bed for a fresh diaper.

  Emma climbed up on the bed and sat beside Ivy, her feet barely touching the floor. “Does she have to sleep in the pack-n-play?”

  I knew where this was headed. Although I didn’t want to make it a habit, tonight I didn’t mind. “Go get your pillow.”

  She hopped off the bed, ran down the hallway, and returned a moment later with her pillow and a Dr. Seuss book. While she and Ivy snuggled down in my bed, I went back downstairs and locked up. Finn followed me from room to room. I stood in the sunroom a moment, imagining the fluid movement of the river stroking the darkness. A darkness I now questioned. The woods on the other side of the glass were black and filled with threats I’d never considered before. Anger gnawed my insides like a cancer each time I felt the fear of knowing a murderer was so close by. Homes were supposed to bring comfort and security, not fear every time you heard a branch snap.

  For the first time in ages, I lowered the roman blinds covering the windows, closing us off to the world outside. Finn and I headed back upstairs to turn in for the night, shrouded in a certain sadness like a too-big coat.

  At Cole’s room, I opened the door and popped my head in to say goodnight. The dirty laundry I’d told him to take downstairs was now piled in his floor. I was too tired to work myself up over a bunch of smelly clothes so I let it go. I learned a long time ago when it came to kids to choose my battles wisely. I didn’t care how much dirty laundry was on his floor as long as the clean stuff was put away in a drawer or closet. The rest of his room was passably neat in the grand scheme of things. Schoolbooks spilled from his open backpack thrown on his desk. Two empty glasses with tea crust in their bottoms were on his nightstand. A couple of old sports posters promoting shoes or energy drinks hung crooked on the walls along with a poster of Johnny Cash, dressed in black of course. His dresser was covered with dust, trophies from little league days, and spare change dumped from a pocket.

  He was sitting up in the double bed with his back against the headboard, laptop balanced on his knees, with headphones covering his ears. I waved in an exaggerated motion to catch his attention. He looked up and pulled one side of the headphones aside.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m turning in. Don’t be up much longer.”

  He nodded then put the headphones back on. I blew him a kiss and nearly fainted when he returned the gesture. His act of affection was probably out of reflex, but whatever it was, I’d accept it.

  Before heading back to my bedroom, I went into the kids’ bathroom at the end of the hallway and dug around in the vanity drawers for the night light. The last time I used a night light, Emma was a baby. But with Trish’s murderer still out there, I felt safer with even just a hint of light peeping from a room at the end of the hall.

  I plugged it in, hoping it still worked. The tiny light bulb glowed soft yellow so I turned off the hall light and went to my room. Finn stretched out on the hardwood floor at my bedroom door, more interested in a good night’s sleep than guarding his castle.

  Ivy was fast asleep in the middle of my bed, both arms and legs splayed in different directions. I supposed one more night of clinging to the edge of my queen-sized bed wasn’t going to kill me. Emma was still awake, on her back, staring at the ceiling. Her hands were behind her head, propping it on the pillow. Lying there beside Ivy, Emma looked older than she was. More mature than her twelve years. Yet she was in my bed, afraid to sleep in her own room.

  I turned on the bedside lamp then changed into my favorite t-shirt and flannel pants. Emma watched me in the dim light and heavy silence.

  “You okay?” I glanced at her over my shoulder.

  She hesitated before answering but then dropped her bomb. “Why’d you have to live with Doretha when you were a kid?”

  My breath hitched in my chest. I had known before they were born the day would come when my children would want to know about their grandparents. It was like watching someone die of cancer when the end was near—you knew it was inevitable, but it didn’t lessen the pain.

  I finished dressing and sat on the end of the bed, legs crossed Indian style, facing her. She sat up and scooted up against the headboard. My daughter was ready for this conversation whether I was or not. She stared at me with such a trusting face, waiting on the words I was still searching for.

  “I know Grandpa Logan died before I was born. But what about your mom and dad? Where are they?”

  My brain grew weary of trying to find the right words. I didn’t know if I was trying to protect myself from the truth or my daughter. After a long moment, I figured it was best to just put it out there, ugly warts and all.

  I took a deep breath and began the whole sordid story, or at least what she had a right to know. “My father wasn’t a nice man. He drank a lot and when he was drunk, he was mean. He wasn’t someone a little girl would be proud of.”

  “Like I was of my daddy?”

  I knew she meant no harm in her statement, but it didn’t stop the sting. At least I knew now she was too young to remember all the times Tommy raised his hand to me. “Yeah…like you were with your daddy.” I forced a deep breath and continued. “My dad was a bully and he liked to hit my mother.”

  “Why? Why would he do something like that?” Her soft eyes clouded with questions there was no real answer to. We could guess until we got lucky, but the answer changed with every punch, every bottle.

  “Some people are just born to be mean, Emma.” I turned my head down, staring at my hands like they carried their own shame.

  Ivy stirred. Emma reached over and gently rubbed her back. So loving and caring. Although my father’s blood flowed through her veins, there wasn’t anything mean about this child. Once Ivy had settled back down, Emma turned her attention back to me. “So what happened to him?”

  I cleared my throat. “One day when I was eight, he beat me with a belt.”

  She flinched and I hesitated telling her more, wondering if she could handle the truth.

  Emma gnawed on her bottom lip, contemplating this revelation. “Was it like a spanking?” Her voice was quiet and unsure. The mere word “spanking” was foreign to her, something she’d heard about but had never experienced herself. A good firm “no” had always been the only discipline this child had ever needed.

  I pushed my hand through my hair, moving it away from my eyes. “It wasn’t a spanking. I accidentally dropped a plate and it broke.”

  “But if it was an accident…” Although her jaw was set firm, uncertainty filled her face.

  “He was just a mean man.”

  After a moment, acceptance replaced the uncertainty on her face. “What happened after that?”

  “That was the one and only time he hit me with a belt. Later that night, my mother took his gun and shot him.”

  My mother wouldn’t tolerate him beating me the way he had beat her.

  Emma’s expression never wavered. No surprise. No shock. Just trust I’d tell her the truth. “She killed him?”

  “Yes.” Although it was a long time ago, the pain bubbled up like oil rising to the surface.

  “So he wasn’t just mean. He was abusive.”

  There was part of me that wanted to smile at how clever this daughter of mine was. But I wouldn’t allow myself even a small amount of joy
that she was familiar with such a word. For a brief moment I wondered if she remembered my own bruises. She couldn’t. She wasn’t even two when Tommy died. And to this day, she was proud of him.

  I forced myself to remember we were talking about my father, not hers. I hung my head, like it was still my shame to carry. “Yes. He was abusive.”

  “What happened to Grandma?”

  Although most everyone in Jackson Creek knew the story, I had verbalized it to few. “She’s in prison.”

  “Will she ever get out?”

  I shrugged. “She’s eligible for parole in a few years so she might.”

  “Do you ever visit her?”

  Maybe it was the fact my twelve-year-old daughter knew about these things, or the line of questions she was asking, but my comfort level with the subject had evaporated. “I haven’t been in a while.”

  That was all she needed to know. Doretha used to take me about once a month when I was a kid, but as it often does, the once a month became twice a year and on holidays.

  “Does she know about me and Cole?”

  I shook my head slowly. I stopped visiting when I got married. Truth was, Tommy stopped me from visiting. We barely had enough money for gas to get around town; running two hundred miles down the road was a waste of resources.

  Emma twisted her lips and furrowed her brow, putting the pieces of my life together in her adolescent mind. “And after she went to prison, Doretha became your family then?”

  Whether my birth mother was incarcerated or walking free wasn’t going to change the fact I considered Doretha my surrogate mother. She’d saved me from myself just as my birth mother saved me from my father. “My mother’s still my mother. I just don’t have much contact with her. But it doesn’t change anything. You, and Cole, and yes, Doretha—you’re the family my life revolves around.”

  “And Ivy.” She smiled.

  I leaned across the bed and wrapped my arms around her, kissing her all over. “Yes, and Ivy.”

  CHAPTER 9

  The next morning, I dropped the kids at school and Ivy by Doretha’s then headed for the office. Nola already had the office toasty with a fire going in the stove. The rich aroma of brewed coffee wafted to the front office from the break room.

  Nola handed me my messages before I dropped my bags on my desk. “Justin’s looking for you. He’s already called twice.”

  I laughed as I headed to the break room for coffee. There, I pulled a yard sale mug from the cabinet, added cream and sugar, then went back to my desk. “So what did the mayor want this morning?”

  Nola stopped typing up the classifieds for print and turned her chair to face me. She had a sour expression on her face. “Some of the folks in town are causing a stink over Trish’s murder. Justin’s going to have a heart attack worrying himself to death the tourists will find out.”

  I shook my head. “They’re not here long enough to find out anything. They drive through, stop and shop and grab something to eat, then they’re gone. He’s working himself all up for nothing.”

  Ever the social butterfly with a manicured nail on the pulse of the town, Nola frowned. “But it’s not just Justin. There’re rumblings in town. People are scared.”

  The paper’s ads manager dropped the revision report on my desk. “Hardware store wants to make sure we get their ad revised to show they have deadbolts on sale. And Security Plus wants to offer a coupon to new clients.”

  I looked over the report, understanding their fear. I had closed the world out last night from my own sunroom for the same reason.

  Quinn plopped down in my guest chair. He was a good-looking kid with cheekbones that could cut glass. With his looks and deep baritone voice, he would fit nicely in the broadcast news realm, but he preferred print.

  He continued to sit there, clearly mulling over something. Just as I was about to ask if there was something he needed, he breached the silence. “I’ve been thinking about the murder. Considering your involvement, do you think it might be better if I covered that one?”

  I took a drink of coffee while giving honest thought to his suggestion. “Any other time, Quinn, I’d agree with you. Sheriff Ridge and I’ve discussed how the paper’s going to approach this story.” I stared into my coffee, questioning my own judgment on the matter. “The paper won’t be doing any kind of investigation on its own. I need to be a witness in this, not a publisher.”

  “Then why not let me take it over? You wouldn’t have to be involved at all.”

  The reason why hung in my throat like a bad pill that wouldn’t go down. “Sheriff Ridge asked me not to print anything unless it comes from his office and I agreed. So anything we write about Trish Givens’ murder will be from press releases or interviews with Detective Sullivan or Sheriff Ridge.”

  “You agreed to that?”

  I exhaled a deep breath. “It’s a unique situation, Quinn. There’s no easy answer with this one.”

  The look in his eyes varied from disappointment to unbelieving. “The people have a right to know what happened in their own backyard.”

  “What do you want us to report on, Quinn? You want me to detail what I saw? The condition of her body?” Leaning in, I whispered between my teeth. “You want me to tell how much blood there was? That she had no face? Just because they have a right to know doesn’t mean they need to know.”

  My mind searched for a mirror to check my reflection. To make sure I was still Ava Logan, headstrong and determined. If Ed Stinger was sheriff instead of Grayson Ridge, would I have been as accommodating?

  Quinn clearly still had concerns. If I weren’t the owner and publisher of the paper and was young and hungry and wanting to make a mark, I’d have the same misgivings.

  He was a good reporter, and for whatever reason, he hung around in the mountains of North Carolina rather than heading for larger cities and markets. I didn’t want to lose him. “We’ll compromise. Get what information the sheriff’s department will release—and don’t balk if it’s bland and generic—and put together a feature piece on how long it’s been since the last murder in Jackson Creek. Deal?”

  He mulled it over then slowly nodded. “I like it. I can make that work.”

  After he returned to his desk with new energy, I turned to Nola. “While I call the mayor, will you call Aster Hastings for me and see if we can set up an interview for this morning?”

  I didn’t want to deal with the mayor this early but he’d track me down if I didn’t. I punched the number for the town hall in the phone. The town clerk answered on the first ring.

  “Hey Ava—Justin’s waiting on your call. I’ll put you through.”

  “Good morning,” I said to empty air.

  A few seconds later, Justin was on the line. “Good morning, Ava. Have you gone to print yet?”

  I took another sip of coffee on purpose before answering. “No, Justin, I haven’t. What’s up?”

  “What did you write about the Givens’ murder?”

  Another sip of coffee followed by a pause to let him wonder even longer. “I haven’t written anything yet. And what I do write will probably be taken from the press release the sheriff issued, and that wasn’t very detailed. Just the basic info.”

  From his desk across the room, Quinn and I locked eyes.

  “Oh, good. I was worried about the details. I heard she was bludgeoned to death. Stuff like that doesn’t really need to be publicized. We don’t need all the gory stuff. Know what I mean?”

  My mind whirled with questions. The rumor mill of Jackson Creek was already at work. Except it wasn’t a rumor. “Where’d you hear that she was bludgeoned to death?”

  “Oh, one of the EMS workers told his cousin and—”

  “Well, they’re jumping the gun. The cause of death won’t be determined until the autopsy is complete so please don’t
repeat that, Justin. It just causes more fear.”

  “Sure. No problem. I get it. But, I mean, you were there. Are you going to report what you saw?”

  I finished the coffee and stewed. As I had told Quinn, writing about the gory stuff was the last thing I planned to do. There were no words to describe what I had seen.

  “Ava? You there?”

  I drummed a pen on my desk. “I’m here, Justin. And no, I’m not going to write what I saw.”

  “Has Sheriff Ridge said anything about the investigation? Are they close to making an arrest?”

  Nola got up from her desk, carrying her coffee cup, and grabbed mine on her way to the break room. I rolled my eyes and she giggled as she passed. “I haven’t heard anything about an arrest, but I’m sure when one is made, everyone in town will know about it.” Considering they already knew she was bludgeoned to death, I didn’t doubt they’d know about an arrest too.

  “Has he said if he thinks it’s someone local?”

  I shoved my hand through my hair. “If you have all these questions for Grayson, why don’t you ask him?”

  He coughed, then cleared his throat. “That’s your job.”

  “Then let me do it.”

  An awkward silence fell over the line as we each waited for the other to make the next move. I picked up the pen and doodled on my desk calendar. He broke first. “Maybe you could do a special issue when they make an arrest. You know, let the people know they’re safe.”

  “And who’s going to pay to have it printed?” It amazed me how people thought I snapped my fingers and a paper appeared, with no cost.

  “I’m sure the advertisers wouldn’t mind an extra edition in this case.”

  I laid the pen down. “I know everyone’s a little jumpy with what happened. But even if we had twenty-four-hour news coverage on it, it’s not going to change the process. Besides, people around here are going to know as soon as an arrest is made without the paper telling them so.”