Time Will Tell

by Barry Lyga

  They rode in silence, not wanting to say anything incriminating in front of the Uber driver, a sixty-something grandmother who chattered the entire time about her grandchildren, pictures of whom festooned the dashboard of her ten-year-old Miata. Jorja asked her to drop them off a few blocks away from PSYCHIC ADVICE.

  “So that there’s no digital paper trail connecting us to this place,” she explained after they’d disembarked and watched the car trundle off into the distance.

  They hiked half a mile to the building and stepped inside. It took a moment for Elayah’s eyes to adjust to the gloaming within. She noticed two things. One, the spot with their hostage was empty.

  Two, the delightful smell of coffee filled the room.

  “What the hell, Liam?” Jorja screamed.

  Liam perched on the old counter. A box of Dunkin’ coffee sat next to him, along with an open box of donuts. “Oh, come on. I brought coffee and donuts. You can’t be that pissed.”

  “You let the guy go!” Marcie exclaimed. “That wasn’t the plan.”

  “Sure it was. I just did it early.”

  Elayah pushed past Jorja and Marcie and stood before Liam. It took her far longer to speak than it should have, gazing up into his eyes, which flicked back and forth as they gazed back, as though he were trying to conjure words of his own.

  She spoke first, though: “Thanks. You did the right thing.” When I should have, she did not add.

  Then she broke off a piece a chocolate donut and popped it into her mouth.

  “We had an agreement,” Marcie said again, her voice hot.

  “Don’t worry,” Liam said with a saucy grin that made Elayah weak. Fortunately, chewing the donut gave her something to do in the moment. “I followed him.”

  The man had limped, going slow, Liam told them. He followed at a safe distance. A mile down the road, where it intersected with Route 54, the road that led south to Brookdale, the man waited for the late-night traffic to abate, then staggered across 54 and turned onto Gilbert Street. Liam was just wondering how long the guy planned to hobble along on that bad leg when he walked up a driveway, grabbed a spare key from a fake rock in the flower bed, and let himself in.

  The address was 147 Gilbert Street. Liam noted it and went home to sleep.

  “And then,” he finished, breaking a sour cream donut in half, “I woke up early and laid in a supply of coffee and donuts. Because I love you guys. Bonus: I was back home in time to fist-bump the dads good night.”

  He jammed half the donut into his mouth and offered the other half to Elayah. When she demurred, he shrugged and somehow managed to cram that half into his mouth, too.

  “So we just find out who lives at 147 Gilbert,” Marcie said, “and we’ve got… well, something at least.”

  Jorja was already fiddling with her phone. “According to real estate sites, that house hasn’t been on the market in close to twenty years. Our guy would have been a kid at the time.”

  Elayah did a reverse address lookup on whitepages.com and came up with the name Lisa De Nardo. Then she scooted over to Facebook. Lisa De Nardo’s profile was locked down pretty well. No photos visible, but they did note that she graduated from Canterstown High in 1987. Same year as their parents. Other than that, they landed only her maiden name, McKenzie.

  They went to Elayah’s house. Both of her parents were at work—Dad on a weekend shift, Mom making up time at the real estate office.

  Mom’s yearbook did indeed reveal a Lisa McKenzie, an attractive blond with a dome of too-sprayed hair and a wide smile.

  “Let’s go see her,” Elayah said.

  Liam and the others exchanged a look before Marcie spoke. “Are you sure? We don’t know what we might find. The guy from last night is working with her.”

  “This could be some crazy-ass You stuff going down here,” Liam warned. “We got way lucky yesterday. Pop always says luck is like salt in the shaker—you eventually run out, usually when you need it the most.”

  “Why is it about salt specifically?” Jorja asked, her brow furrowed. “I mean, you could say that about any ingredient, really.”

  Liam goggled. “Is that what you got out of that?”

  Elayah threw her hands up in the air. “Guys!” The previous day’s adrenaline had run out long ago. Her rage and her violence had burned themselves out, leaving a fine ash of determination. She felt close to the end of this and wanted to get there. Now.

  “What if he answers the door?” Liam asked.

  Jorja shrugged. “He never saw any of us.”

  “He might have seen my face at the statue the other night,” Liam reminded her.

  “I don’t remember my parents ever talking about someone named Lisa,” Marcie said, screwing up her expression into her deep-thinking face.

  “Me neither,” Liam offered. “‘Hello, Ms. De Nardo,’” he went on in an overly bright voice, “‘did you go to school with our parents and murder someone in 1986?’”

  “We’ll be a little more subtle than that,” Marcie observed dryly.

  Elayah stomped her foot for attention. “This isn’t a debate. This isn’t even a discussion. I’m going. You all can come with me or not, but I’m going. Maybe Lisa De Nardo can put us on the right path.”

  “Well, then I’m going with you,” Marcie said.

  “Me too,” Jorja said quickly.

  Liam sighed. “Okay, okay. I’ll drive.”

  Lisa De Nardo’s house was an off-white Tudor with a bright red door on a smallish lot in a neighborhood of similar houses. It also had a sign in the front yard that read #MAGA 2024 in white text on a red background.

  “This is gonna go well,” Liam muttered.

  “You didn’t mention this,” Jorja said, sounding very inquisitional in that moment. Sometimes her dad’s lawyer spirit possessed her in the weirdest ways.

  “It was dark. I didn’t notice it.”

  “She might be one of those nice racists,” Marcie said with an air of perfectly feigned innocence.

  “You ready, Marse?”

  They had agreed that Marcie would lead the questioning—adults really, really liked her.

  “I’m ready.”

  “Let’s just do this and get out of here,” Elayah grumbled.

  De Nardo answered the door on the first ring and—much to Elayah’s despair—could not have been sweeter to them as she listened patiently to Marcie’s spiel. The woman was tall and curvaceous—buxom floated up from the depths of Elayah’s unconscious vocabulary—with frosted blond hair tied back in a ponytail. She could have been a friend’s older sister, and Elayah had to remind herself that she (A) was her dad’s age and (B) had a damn Trump sign in her front yard.

  Elayah studied De Nardo carefully as Marcie explained about the attack, looking for any hint of recognition or knowledge, finding none. Either Lisa De Nardo was a good actor or she really knew nothing about the man with the knife.

  “I’m so sorry for what happened to you,” she said, wincing at Elayah’s exposed neck.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Elayah told her. “But, Ms. De Nardo, if we could just ask you a couple of questions… it might help lead to the arrest of the person who attacked me.”

  It was the thinnest of possible premises, and somehow De Nardo fell for it. She insisted they call her Lisa, then let them inside. The living room into which she led them was all dark wood accents juxtaposed to bright yellow furniture. It worked.

  “Have a seat.” Lisa gestured airily to the sofa and an overstuffed armchair. “I work from home, so if anyone asks, I was at my computer the whole time, right?” She dropped a wink that goosed a conspiratorial grin out of Elayah, who then immediately reproached herself for responding at all. #MAGA 2024. Right.

  “We just have a couple of questions,” Marcie said, clearing her throat. She held out her phone and flicked through the apps for a moment.

  “I’m sorry,” Lisa said, “but wow. Except for the red hair, you look so much like your mom did at your age. It’s crazy.�
��

  Marcie cleared her throat again. “I do?”

  Liam, next to her on the couch, elbowed her in an absolutely unsubtle way. Elayah and Jorja locked eyes and groaned, but Lisa just chuckled.

  “No, it’s okay. We all have lives to get back to. Fire away, kids.” She had swung a chair out from the nearby dining room and now sat down, crossing her legs. Elayah noticed Liam noticing and experienced a hotter flush of anger than she would have expected. Yeah, yeah, Lisa De Nardo was a MILF for sure, but they had all seen the damn sign outside!

  “You said I look like my mom,” Marcie began. “So you knew her? You knew all of our parents?”

  Lisa threw back her head and laughed a little too throatily. Elayah was getting a serious creepy vibe from her now. No one had to break out that level of flirt-laughing for high school kids.

  “We all knew each other. It was a small school. Still is, I guess? Anyway, sure, I knew them. Didn’t really pal around with them or anything, but I had a couple of classes with your dads.…” She pointed to Jorja and Liam. “And everyone knew the Laird twins. Black Lightning!”

  With a dazzling smile, she turned to Elayah, who smiled tightly in return.

  “I was there junior year when your dad and your uncle broke the county record for the fifty-meter relay. Wow, what a moment!”

  “It was the hundred,” Elayah told her.

  “Was it? I guess that’s twice as impressive!” Lisa’s laughter tinkled musically, and Elayah decided she hated this woman with every bone in her body.

  “So, did you put anything into the time capsule?” Marcie asked, getting them back on track. “Or did you witness anyone putting anything into the time capsule?”

  Lisa frowned. “What time capsule?”

  “The one in the news. The reason we’re here.”

  With a heavy sigh and a little shake of her head, Lisa backed off her frown just the slightest. “I get my news from Newsmax and the radio.”

  “This was in the Loco last week,” Marcie tried. “A big story.”

  “I don’t have much use for the mainstream media,” Lisa sniffed.

  “It’s just the Loco.” Liam couldn’t keep a note of condescending sarcasm out of his voice, but it apparently sailed right over Lisa’s head.

  The story had also been on ABC, CNN, NPR.… But those, of course, would just be fake news, to be avoided at all costs. Elayah gritted her teeth together, but Marcie came to her rescue, jumping in and offering a quick sketch of what had happened: the burial of the time capsule in 1986, last week’s excavation, followed by the attack. She left out the knife and its wrapping and the note, still in accordance with the sheriff’s orders, but came down hard on the attack in Elayah’s room.

  “So what we’re wondering,” Marcie finished up, “is what could have been so important in there that someone would kill for it. We have a picture of the contents.…” She nudged Jorja, who sheepishly stumbled over to the other side of the room and showed her phone to Lisa.

  Elayah had a sudden hunch. “Ms., I mean, Lisa, may I use your bathroom?”

  “Of course.” She pointed out the door.

  Elayah went into a small powder room just off the kitchen. She turned on the sink to cover any noises and began pawing through the medicine cabinet. Nothing jumped out at her.

  Under the sink was a small pail filled with cleaning supplies, an open box of tampons, and a bottle of soap refill. There was also a first aid kit. Elayah opened it. It had clearly been used, but there was no way to tell when or how. Nothing incriminating.

  She shook her head at her mirror image and flushed the toilet just to make it seem real, and that was when she caught a glimpse of the trash can.

  White gauze.

  Spotted with blood.

  She took a deep breath, resisting the urge to pound out of the bathroom, waving the bloody gauze and screaming, “You know! You know!”

  Instead, she took a few pictures of the gauze, then calmly walked back out to the living room, where Lisa was just finishing looking at the photos on Jorja’s phone.

  “I’m really sorry,” Lisa was saying as she handed the phone back. “None of this is ringing a bell for me at all.…”

  “Is there anything you do remember?” Marcie raised an interrogatory eyebrow at Elayah, who thought less than a second and nodded. They had agreed they wouldn’t push hard unless they had to.

  Well, they had to.

  “Nothing that someone might want to hurt someone over?” Marcie continued. “Because we have reason to believe you might have been involved.”

  Lisa’s neck stiffened, and her countenance changed in an instant, going from “cool mom who might just be willing to give you some over-the-shirt action” to “stone-cold beeyotch.”

  “You have reason to believe, do you?” She smiled without mirth. “I don’t rightly care what you have reason to believe. You come into my home and accuse me of trying to hurt this girl?”

  Taken aback, Marcie floundered for a moment. “That’s not what we’re—”

  “We’re not accusing you of anything,” Liam interrupted, physically pushing Marcie back against the sofa as he leaned forward, blasting Lisa with his best, highest-megawatt smile. It was, Elayah surmised, something like watching an irresistible force meeting an immovable object as two very attractive people stared each other down.

  Lisa cracked first, though not along the fault line they’d wished for. “I think you kids should go. I don’t know anything about what your parents were up to back then. I didn’t even know they buried a time capsule.”

  “But—” Liam said.

  “No. Time to go.” And this time it wasn’t hot older lady to studly young man. This time it was grown-up to kid. Against which there was no defense or rejoinder.

  LIAM

  Evidence. Finally, evidence. And El had just walked away from it.

  “You could have said something,” he said for the third time since they’d vacated Lisa De Nardo’s house. “She knows something! Why didn’t you text us?”

  They were stopped at a red light. He took advantage of the moment to slam his palms against the steering wheel to vent his frustration. Bloody gauze. Bloody gauze!

  “Settle down,” Jorja told him from the back seat. “What were we going to do? Flash our badges and read her her rights?”

  “You could have taken it!” Liam ignored Jorja’s jab.

  “Touch someone else’s blood? Gross,” said Marcie.

  “Come on. That would be tampering with evidence,” El said with maddening poise. “And what was I supposed to do, wad it up and shove it in my pocket? That’s not contaminating it or anything.”

  “She’s involved!” Liam howled, slamming on the gas as the light changed. He was in no mood for intolerably, infernally placid rationality. Elayah had found actual evidence and then let them just walk away. He wasn’t used to being pissed at El—he’d actually never in his life been pissed at El—but this was a special occasion for sure. “It was the guy. I saw him go in there with my own two eyes.”

  “Whoever he is, he can’t be her husband,” Marcie said, scrolling her phone. “Too young, for one thing.”

  Liam figured that a lot of young dudes would be happy to be married to a hottie like Lisa De Nardo, but he wisely kept that thought to himself.

  “Could be a son?” Elayah offered.

  Marcie chewed at her lower lip. “All I’m finding for De Nardo on Facebook is two guys in college. Too young and neither one looks like the guy we saw last night.”

  “Guy we kidnapped last night,” Liam reminded her.

  “It’s a dead end,” Jorja said. “She kicked us out. We need to find another angle.”

  There was a murmur of agreement from Marcie, then a nod from El.

  Liam couldn’t believe it. They had their first real evidence!

  “Are you guys nuts?” he demanded, making a left at a stop sign. “You’re giving up on her? I didn’t even want to do this! I didn’t even want to get involved, but
you guys pushed me. You guys wanted to torture the dude. You guys wanted to do all of this, and now you don’t want to do the work? Fine! I give. Let’s just call it a day. Let’s just pick the easiest answer, right? Let’s say El’s uncle whacked someone and skipped town, which is nice and neat.”

  No one spoke for a moment. Liam replayed what he’d just said and realized…

  Yikes. That was pretty likely, actually.

  “That’s not funny, Liam.” Marcie had pressed against the door, arms folded over her chest, not even bothering to look at Liam in the rearview.

  “I didn’t—”

  “Take it back, Liam,” Jorja said, quiet, but firm. “Right the hell now.”

  El said nothing. She gazed out the window as Liam drove, pointedly ignoring him.

  He hadn’t really meant it. It had been a joke. A bad one. He’d stepped right on Sacred Uncle Antoine. It was stupid and now El was ticked off. He had to say something to make it better.

  “Look, it can’t be El’s uncle. Like he’s been reading the Loco down in Mexico and saw the story and teleported up here in time to cut her throat? Get real.”

  “Enough,” El said. She wasn’t looking at him. His joke couldn’t actually end up being the truth, could it?

  Silence from El was twice as deep and twice as long as silence from anyone else. Unbearable. He had to keep talking. “I say it’s the dude, and we should go back there and make the MILF tell us what she knows.”

  “I said enough!” El twisted in her seat, fixing him with a glare. “Shut up already!”

  Liam’s heart pumped too fast. His fingers shot pain up his arms as he gripped the wheel even more tightly. He dared slide his eyes sideways for half a second to scope out El’s anger, but she wasn’t even looking at him anymore. She was staring down at her phone, her cheeks darkened and her lips thin against each other.