One Perfect Lie

by Lisa Scottoline

  “Yes I do! This is terrible! This is wrong!” Heather felt disgusted. She had been happy that Jordan had become friends with Evan, but no longer.

  “The girl sent it to him—”

  “I don’t care! Two wrongs don’t make a right. She shouldn’t be doing that, but she doesn’t expect him to send it around!” Heather tried to calm down. “I mean, how does this even happen, like, how does it work? How did you get this picture?”

  “Mom, guys do it. It happens—”

  “How. Does. It. Happen?”

  “Well, she probably sent it to him by Snapchat or she texted it to him.”

  “What is Snapchat again?” Heather couldn’t keep up.

  “Snapchat is when you send a picture to somebody, and it disappears.”

  “A picture, like a sext? This is a sext, isn’t it? I heard about that.”

  Jordan half-smiled. “Okay, yes it is.”

  “And if you send it by Snapchat, it disappears?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have Snapchat?”

  “Yes, but I never use it.” Jordan rolled his eyes.

  “Good.” Heather felt a little better. “Okay, so why does Evan still have it if it was on Snapchat? Why didn’t it disappear?”

  “Either he took a screenshot of it or she didn’t send it on Snapchat. She could have texted it to him. Mom, chill.” Jordan put up his hands like he was being robbed. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I’ll delete it, okay? Now can I please have my phone?”

  “You wait one minute.” Heather went back in the kitchen, grabbed her phone, and before Jordan could stop her, she took a picture of the sext.

  “Why are you doing that?”

  “I want proof. This is outrageous.” Heather wasn’t exactly sure of the answer. It seemed like something a good mother would do, and she wasn’t falling short anymore.

  “Mom, it’s not, everybody does it.”

  “You don’t, do you?” Heather was pretty sure he was still a virgin.

  “No, of course not.”

  “Jordan, I never want you to do this. Even if a girl sends you a picture like this, I don’t want you to send it to anybody else. It’s wrong. It’s embarrassing. It’s probably even illegal.”

  “Okay, Mom, whatever, can I have my phone?” Jordan held out his hand.

  “Do you think Evan’s parents know that he’s sending pictures like that? Because if you were doing that, I’d want the mother to tell me. I should call her, right now.”

  “Mom, please, no, don’t.” Jordan’s eyes flared.

  “I think I should, I think I have to.” Heather dreaded calling Mindy and telling her that her son was a dirtbag, which wasn’t going to ingratiate her with the Winners’ Circle. She didn’t know if Mindy would believe her or if she would be furious with her. The messenger always got shot, didn’t they?

  “Mom, don’t call his mother. Please, that would be so embarrassing.”

  “For who? For you? You shouldn’t be embarrassed. He should be embarrassed.”

  “But Mom, Evan will be so pissed at me.”

  “And Evan will be in trouble if I don’t. Which is worse?”

  “Oh man.” Jordan sighed, walking around to his seat at the table.

  “I can’t do nothing about this, Jordan. I’m not going to pretend I didn’t see it.”

  Jordan sighed again. “Can we eat?”

  “Damn!” Heather turned to the stove, but the French toast was already burned.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chris pulled up in front of the modern A-frame that looked like a European ski lodge, set off by itself on one of the wooded hilltops outside of Central Valley. He parked, cut the ignition, and got out of his car at the same moment as Dr. McElroy emerged from her Subaru, struggling because of her orthopedic boot.

  “Oh my, I’m not doing very well,” she said, leaning on the car.

  “Let me help you.” Chris went to her side.

  “Thanks. I forgot that they have this damn hill.”

  “Not to worry.” Chris took Dr. McElroy’s arm and guided her up a gravel walking path that wended up in a gentle curve. Massive evergreens flanked the path and surrounded the house. “This is a major house, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Jamie owns a real estate company. He does very well for himself, and he and Abe designed the house together and had it built. It’s quite something.”

  “It sure is.” Chris wanted to pump her for information because the newspapers had no details about Abe’s suicide. “I’m sure it’s going to be hard for Jamie to live in a place they designed together.”

  “Yes, though it wasn’t a complete surprise to him. Abe did have a history of depression.”

  “Really. But depression is one thing, and suicide is another.”

  “Well, confidentially, Abe tried to end his life once before.” Dr. McElroy lowered her voice as she labored to walk uphill with the cumbersome boot. “We kept it hush-hush at school and we thought he had recovered. Abe wasn’t even in therapy anymore. It’s just awful that this time, he succeeded.”

  Chris mulled it over. The previous attempt did make it more likely that it was suicide, but still. “I heard that he hung himself. Where did he do that? And was it Jamie who found him? I’d like to get the story before we go in, so I don’t say the wrong thing.”

  “Of course. Jamie called me after it happened so we could figure out how to deal with it at school. Jamie is very responsible that way, and very caring.”

  “Good for him,” Chris said, keeping her talking.

  “Anyway Jamie told me that he came home late Friday night. He was showing some homes then met with the PR man from the Chamber of Commerce, out past Sawyertown. He didn’t get home until one o’clock in the morning and the house was empty, so he assumed that Abe was out late. They have a great circle of friends and they love to socialize.” Dr. McElroy sighed. “Anyway, when it got to be about three in the morning, Jamie started to worry. He knew Abe wouldn’t be out that late, and also Abe wasn’t answering any of his texts or calls. By the way, Abe’s car was in the driveway but Jamie didn’t think that was unusual because when Abe thought he might be drinking, he never drove. Jamie assumed he had a designated driver.”

  “Of course.” Chris nodded, guiding her along.

  “So Jamie called their friends, and Abe wasn’t out with any of them. Then Jamie checked the cottage and that’s when he found Abe, hanging from the rafter.” Dr. McElroy shook her head. “He had hung himself with the power cord from his computer. Isn’t that so horrible?”

  “Yes, awful.” Chris paused. “But what cottage are you talking about? I thought you said Jamie found him at home.”

  “They have a cottage out back, behind the house.” Dr. McElroy motioned to the A-frame, as they drew closer. “Abe called it his writing cottage. You know he loved literature and he wrote short stories and poems. I think he might have entertained the notion of writing a novel.”

  “Really,” Chris said, as they were approaching the front door. “So where is the writing cottage?”

  “It’s in the backyard. I’m terrible at measuring distances. That was where Abe did his writing, he used it as his own private retreat. Other writers do that, he told me once even Philip Roth did that.”

  Chris tried to visualize it. “If the writing cottage is in the backyard, I’m surprised that Jamie didn’t see the lights on and know that Abe was there.”

  “The lights weren’t on. Jamie told me he thinks Abe left the lights off on purpose, so he wouldn’t see him and stop him.”

  “Oh, I understand.” Chris still had his suspicions. “So I assume there wasn’t a suicide note?”

  “No, there wasn’t a note.” Dr. McElroy shuddered. “It’s so sad to think of the pain that Abe must’ve been in. I’m glad he didn’t leave a note, and the police told me that it’s not uncommon for there not to be a note.”

  “Oh, you spoke with the police?”

  “Yes, they came to the school yesterday and tal
ked to me about Abe. I told him about the previous attempt, but Jamie had told them already, too.” Dr. McElroy sighed heavily. “So tomorrow morning we’ll have an assembly, and grief counselors will be there, and Jamie told me that there will be a proper memorial service later this month.”

  “When is the funeral?” Chris had read the online obituary, but it hadn’t given any details about scheduling.

  “There’s no burial. Abe wanted to be cremated, so Jamie honored that request.”

  “Of course.” Chris masked his dismay. If Abe’s body had since been cremated, it couldn’t yield any further evidence about whether he had been murdered. Under state law, there had to be an autopsy, but it must have been routine, since suicide was suspected. A toxicology screen wasn’t done routinely, but it would’ve showed if there was alcohol, tranquilizers, or another drug in his system, which could have incapacitated Abe and facilitated someone’s hanging him. Now that evidence would be gone. It wasn’t a mistake that a big-city medical examiner would’ve made, but Central Valley was a small town.

  “I’m sorry this happened, so early in your time with us. We’re usually a quieter town than this.”

  “After you.” Chris opened the front door for Dr. McElroy, who stepped inside, and he followed her into a house brimming with guests.

  Dr. McElroy got swept up with some students, and Chris got the lay of the land. The living room was of dramatic design, with glass on the front and back walls, and a ceiling that extended to the floor in an immense triangle. To the right was a living area furnished with tan sectional furniture around a rustic coffee table, and on the left was a glistening stainless-steel kitchen. A few casseroles, a sandwich tray, and soft drinks sat on a table, and a handful of guests talked in small, subdued groups. Jamie was in the kitchen, surrounded by an inner circle of friends that included Courtney and her husband and Rick and his wife.

  Chris headed for the back of the house, so he could get a better look at the writing cottage. The backyard was lush grass, with a pool covered by a green tarp, and behind that was a smaller version of the A-frame main house, the writing cottage. He sized up the distance, and if the lights had been off inside the cottage at night, there would have been no way to see Abe inside. Ambient light would have been nonexistent, and there had been a cloud cover Friday night.

  He eyed the cottage with more questions than answers, the obvious one being who was the last person or persons to talk to Abe before he died? What had been his state of mind? Why now? Had he given any indication that he was about to commit suicide? Where was his phone? His computer?

  Chris turned from the window, scanning the crowd. He didn’t know any of the couple’s friends, but he knew Courtney and Rick, and they seemed the best place to start, so he went over. “Hey, everyone, how are you all?” he asked, when he reached them.

  “Horrible, I still can’t believe it. He seemed fine to me.” Courtney shook her head sadly, and her husband Doug put his arm around her, drawing her close.

  “I know.” Chris sighed. “You know, it’s shocking because we all got together for lunch on Friday? Abe seemed fine.”

  “That’s what I keep saying.” Courtney looked at Rick, stricken. “Right, Rick? We can’t believe it. His parents are so upset, too. They’ll be here tonight. They’re the nicest people.”

  Rick sighed. “They are. We met them when we went out there. It’s just awful. But I get it, I understand. We went through it with him, last time he tried. He took pills. We all thought he was over it, but I guess he wasn’t.”

  Chris remained skeptical, but hid it. “Had you noticed him becoming depressed again?”

  “Honestly, I didn’t,” Courtney interjected, her bloodshot eyes bewildered. “I think he was having a hard time with the rejection though, I know that. He told me that.”

  Next to her, Rick nodded. “I think that’s what did it. It put him over the top.”

  “What rejection?” Chris asked, keeping his tone less urgent than he felt.

  “His poems,” Rick answered. “He was trying to get his poems published. You should read them. But he kept getting rejection after rejection.”

  Courtney scowled. “These agents, they’re really the worst. He wrote to one in New York, and the agent emailed him, ‘We don’t have time to take any more clients, and if we did, we wouldn’t take you.’ Isn’t that so mean?”

  “That’s terrible.” Chris supposed it answered why Abe would commit suicide now, but still. “Rick, did you talk to Abe Friday night? Did he call you or anything?”

  “Well, yes.” Rick’s expression darkened, and a deep frown creased his forehead. “He did call me, but I couldn’t take the call. I keep thinking, what if I had? What if I just taken the five minutes to talk to him? Maybe he wouldn’t have—”

  “Rick, no, don’t say that.” His wife, Sachi, rubbed his back, her expression strained. “We were at my mother’s that night, and she’s been in chemo, so she wasn’t feeling well. Rick was helping me with her—well, you don’t need to know the details. I asked Rick not to take the call right then, I thought it was a social thing. I never realized that…”

  Courtney nodded, her eyes glistening. “Rick, it wouldn’t have made a difference if you’d taken the call. Nobody knows that better than me. He called me that night, too, and I talked to him. He was upset about the rejection, but I never would’ve thought he would kill himself.”

  Doug chimed in, “Honey, like the pastor said, everyone has their own struggles. You did your best. You were on the phone with him a long time.”

  “Was I? I didn’t think I was.” Courtney reached into her purse, thumbed to her phone screen, and showed it to her husband. “Look, he called me at 9:35 P.M., and I was only on for fifteen minutes. I wish it had been longer.”

  Rick glanced at Courtney’s phone, nodding sadly. “It must’ve been right after he called me.”

  Courtney nodded. “Probably, and like I say, he was disappointed but not suicidal. He even asked if we could get together Saturday night, last night. He wanted us to go out to dinner, but we couldn’t.”

  Doug frowned, glancing at Chris. “I had a work thing last night. My boss’s birthday. I couldn’t miss that. We had to say no.”

  Courtney’s eyes glistened with new tears. “But I feel like Rick does, what if I had said yes? What if we made the plans? He needed friends this weekend, and I wasn’t there for him.”

  Chris still had no answers. “Courtney, you can’t blame yourself for this. You were a wonderful friend to him, and so were you, Rick.”

  “Thanks,” Rick said, miserably.

  Courtney wiped a tear from her eyes. “I just really loved him. We all did.”

  “He knew that.” Chris noticed over Courtney’s shoulder that there was a lull in the guests greeting Jamie. “Folks, excuse me, I’d like to pay my respects to Jamie, okay?”

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Susan picked up the dirty laundry in Raz’s bedroom while he showered in his bathroom, getting ready for their therapy session. Ryan was already at his therapist’s office, and her therapist had wanted to see her and Raz together. She had agreed, though she couldn’t deny the unease in the pit of her stomach. She knew the family needed professional help, but all three of them in simultaneous therapy put their crisis in relief—Neil’s survivors were barely surviving.

  Susan picked up sweat socks, which reeked, then his favorite jeans. It had been a long and difficult day yesterday, with Raz coming home after practice, emotionally drained about Mr. Y’s suicide. Raz had even stayed inside last night, alone in his room. It was the first Saturday night he hadn’t gone out in a long time.

  You’re the parent, remember?

  Susan picked up a stained T-shirt and tried not to think about what Neil would’ve said about the mess in this room. He was the one who used to nag the boys about their room, their shower schedule, and whether their homework was done. He always had a running timeline of their quiz, exam, and midterm schedules. He checked their grades on the
CVHS portal and he shepherded them through the PSAT, SAT, AP testing, and college application process.

  She kept picking up clothes, going through the things that Neil used to do, and she hadn’t even realized how many tasks there were until he had passed. She picked up a wet towel, then straightened up, suddenly assessing the scene. Raz’s bedroom had always been a pigsty, but she found herself seeing it with new eyes, and for the first time, she realized that it bordered on hoarding.

  Raz’s bed was flush under the window, but the sheets looked grimy. Piles of dirty laundry lay around the bed on the floor and some had been stuffed under the bed, mixed in with sports pages, Sports Illustrated, empty cans of Red Bull, and Snickers and gum wrappers. Dirty underwear and sweatshirts were mounded on top of the television, and video games were strewn about. The controllers were buried under old CDs, which Raz never even bought anymore.

  Susan blinked, appalled. She didn’t know when it had gotten this way. She had to be the worst mother ever born. Her own son had been burying himself in filth and she hadn’t even realized it until this very moment. She felt shocked at the realization, horrified at her own neglect. How had she been so selfish? So blind?

  She resumed picking up the clothes, distraught. She collected a dirty T-shirt, a soiled blue Musketeers Baseball shirt, and another one identical to the first. She had no idea how Raz had accumulated so many Musketeers Baseball T-shirts, maybe he was buying them instead of washing them, or he was getting them from the team. Either way, she stepped from one pile of dirty clothes to the next, cleaning up his room, and when her arms were totally full, she went over to the hamper, which he kept in the closet.

  The hamper overflowed, and she set the clothes she’d been holding onto the rug, looked inside, and saw that it was taken up by sheets and a blanket. She pulled the sheets and blanket out, but at the bottom, she felt something hard. Instinctively she withdrew her hand. It could be something crusty with mold, pizza crust, or God-knows-whatever. She had seen enough stiff socks to last a lifetime, mostly because Neil would find them and show them to her to make her laugh. Today, she wasn’t laughing.