The Lies that Bind, page 6
“I’ll see what else I can dig up,” I said. “What’s the address of his house, again?”
“It’s right up the street from me, but I don’t know the number. He lives on the rich side, by the water.”
“Do you know when he bought the place?”
“Just a year or two ago,” she said. “I remember the for sale sign going down.”
“So he materialized in Snug Harbor relatively recently,” I said. “I wonder where he was before that?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Surely there’s something online?”
“Not that I’m seeing,” I said. “But I’ll keep looking. I’ve got to run,” I said, as a woman approached the register. “Call you later?”
“Of course,” she said.
8
I arrived at my mother’s house about ten minutes after six. I recognized Ted’s SUV in the gravel driveway, snuggled in next to my daughter’s car. I turned off the car, checked in the mirror to make sure I didn’t have the remains of my lunch salad between my front teeth, and took a deep breath before opening the door.
“Maxine!” My mother met me at the front door, arms wide. “I’m so glad to see you.”
“I see I’m last to the party,” I said, walking in and stopping short at the sight of Ted—Theodore, now—and Kirsten “K.T.” Anderson—snugged up on the love seat of my mother’s living room.
I looked at my mother and raised my eyebrows, knowing she could read what I was thinking but not saying. In short, What the h***?
They surprised me, she telegraphed back with her own eyebrows, and I glanced over at Caroline, who was perched on the edge of a rocking chair, her arms folded tight over her chest, her mouth a tight moue of disapproval.
“Max!” Kirsten disengaged herself from my ex-husband and crossed the hardwood floor to greet me. Before I could even think how to respond, she pulled me into a bony, floral hug. “So good to see you. I’m glad we’re going to have some time to get to know each other!”
“I didn’t realize you’d be here with Ted,” I said.
“I surprised him,” she said. “Theodore thought I had a meeting with my editor in New York, but it got postponed, so I decided to tag along.”
I glanced at Ted—Theodore, I corrected myself—who had stood up and was pulling at the collar of his polo shirt and looking a little like he’d rather be just about anywhere but my mother’s living room right about now. Which made me feel infinitesimally better. He had lost weight since we parted ways; his shirt no longer pulled tight at the belly, and there was now a bit of bicep visible under the hem of the sleeve. Kirsten had been good for him, it seemed; I knew he suffered from high blood pressure, and the weight loss must help. He gave me a weak smile and said, “Good to see you,” as we engaged in an awkward hug. He still smelled the same, like Old Spice deodorant and Tide laundry detergent, and the familiarity was jarring.
So much had changed.
“Caroline,” I said once I’d disengaged. She gave me a tight smile and a long-suffering nod, but didn’t get up.
“Can I get everybody a drink?” my mother trilled.
“Yes,” Ted and I said at the same time.
“Gin and tonic? I know you both like them.”
“Actually,” Kirsten said, “do you have cranberry juice and vodka by chance? I can whip up some Cape Cods… that’s what we’ve been drinking lately.”
“I’m not sure, but I might,” my mother said. “I have to check.” With that, she disappeared, leaving the four of us in uncomfortable silence.
“Well, then,” Kirsten said brightly. “Here we all are.”
“Well spotted,” Caroline grunted, then unfolded her arms and pulled out her phone. Ted shifted uncomfortably, and I shot my daughter a warning look.
“How are things going in Snug Harbor, Caroline?” Kirsten plowed on. “I hear you’re working at your mom’s store.”
“It’s fine,” my daughter said shortly, not looking up from her phone.
“What are you working on, Kirsten?” I asked, hoping to distract from my daughter’s rude behavior.
“I’m about halfway through a new book, actually,” she said, and Ted reached over to squeeze her hand encouragingly. Who was this man? I wondered as she continued on, “It’s about a con woman who fleeces a bunch of big rollers in New York and then disappears, leaving her boyfriend for dead. Everyone’s looking for her, and it’s a matter of whether the cops can find her before the people she bilked get to her. Or her boyfriend’s parents.”
“That sounds… intriguing,” I said, glancing at Ted. “Does he recover?”
“I haven’t decided yet, but the plot usually works better if you have an actual dead body, so probably not.”
Ted seemed remarkably unconcerned by this plot development. “Do they manage to find her?” I asked.
“I don’t know yet,” she said. “I’m only halfway through. I haven’t figured out how they’re going to track her down,” she said, sucking on her lower lip for a moment, “but I’m sure Ted will help me come up with something. He’s so creative.”
A retching sound came from Caroline’s direction, and again I shot her the laser glare.
“Speaking of dead bodies, did you hear about that investor who went off the cliff?” Kirsten asked.
“I did,” I said. “Do you know anything about him?”
“I heard a bit of gossip in town this afternoon, actually,” she said. “Theodore and I were having lattes at Sea Beans and someone suggested someone named Denise might be responsible.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “Who was talking?”
“It sounded like the man’s son, actually. He said some woman had sworn to kill his dad for ruining her future.” She cocked her head. “He didn’t seem too broken up about the loss of his father. If I were an investigator, I’d take a closer look at him. See who was named in the will.”
I leaned forward, feeling surprisingly glad that I was having this conversation. “What else do you know about Charles Carsten?” I asked.
“I know more now than I did this afternoon, I’ll say that. I was curious, so I googled him when I got home. Not much out there, actually. It’s like he just exploded out of the ether about two years ago.” She bit her lip. “Makes me wonder if maybe he had a past he was leaving behind somewhere.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“I don’t know. A bad marriage. A business deal gone bad. Maybe he spent some time in jail and wanted a fresh start? He does like his cars, though. He’s all over the forums.”
“You really did research him,” I said.
“I’m always looking for intriguing story ideas,” she said, just as my mother arrived, carrying a jug of cranberry juice.
“I found this in the pantry. It expired two months ago, but it should be okay.”
Kirsten let a slight frown slip out before reapplying her smile. “That’ll be just fine,” she said. “I’ll come make them with you.” She got up and bustled out in a hurry; for a moment, I felt a little bit sorry for her. It’s got to be hard going to your boyfriend’s ex-wife’s house for dinner. Particularly when your boyfriend’s sullen daughter and former mother-in-law were in attendance. How exactly had this come to pass?
“Caroline,” I hissed when I was fairly certain Kirsten and my mother were out of earshot. “Be polite.”
“Why?” she asked.
“It’s not okay to be rude to a guest… or your dad’s girlfriend,” I said, looking to Ted for support. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much coming from that quarter; my ex-husband was just sitting there looking dazed.
“I didn’t invite her here,” Caroline pointed out.
“It’s not your house,” I reminded her. “We’re all guests here.” Although I did have to wonder what on God’s green earth my mother had been thinking.
“Fine,” she said, then stood up shortly. “I’m not hungry. I’m going to my room.”
“Caroline…”
“Tell her something made me sick to my stomach,” she said as a parting shot, then stalked out of the room.
9
“We can’t let her talk to Kirsten like that,” I said to Ted. Before he could respond, Kirsten and my mother sailed back into the room with a tray full of cocktails.
“We made Cape Cods for everyone!” Kirsten said in a gay voice, then registered my daughter’s absence. “Where’s Caroline?”
“She wasn’t feeling well,” Ted said. “She went to lie down. Oooh, these look amazing,” he said, taking a brightly colored cocktail from the bamboo tray Kirsten proffered. He took a big swig and smacked his lips approvingly as I took my own glass from the tray.
“I thought you didn’t like cranberry juice,” I couldn’t help but mention.
“I still don’t like it straight,” he said. “But I can’t resist a Cape Cod.”
“Right,” I said, and took a suspicious sip from the glass in my hand. It tasted like… cranberry juice.
“Delicious, isn’t it?” Ted said.
“Mmm,” I said, looking down at my glass. It might taste like cranberry juice, but at least it had vodka in it. I took another big sip. It was going to be a long evening.
“So,” Kirsten said. “How are things at the bookstore? I love what you’ve done with the place; it’s so bright and cheerful!”
“I’m figuring it out as I go,” I said, taking a big swig of my Cape Cod, which was already almost half gone. “Caroline’s going to help me get my social media up and running.”
“Oh, social media is so important,” Kirsten said, leaning forward and giving me a view of her expansive cleavage. She had dressed in slacks and a blue silk top that accentuated her curvy figure, and her nails were long and pale pink. “Without social media, I’m not sure if I ever would have made the New York Times list. I’ve got a great assistant… maybe she can give you some pointers. I can give you her contact information.”
“Thanks,” I said with a polite smile. While I wasn’t actively opposed to Kirsten, I wasn’t up for a buddy-buddy relationship with my ex’s new girlfriend, either. “I’m wondering if the strategy may be a little different for a local bookstore than an author,” I suggested, taking a diplomatic tack.
She waved my thought away with a slender hand. “Oh, it’s all about buzz. You’ll have them lining up outside the doors soon enough.”
“Just like they did at your reading,” my mother piped up. “It was so nice of you to come, Kirsten. I know Maxine really appreciated you taking the time… I know you must be in such demand!” I glanced over at my mother, who was looking at Kirsten as if she were a triple layer chocolate cake and my mother had just spent six months on the Keto diet. Was she really fan-girling my ex-husband’ girlfriend?
“I was happy to do it,” Kirsten said. “I love connecting with readers. And I’m happy to do another reading whenever you like!” she added, turning to me.
“How long are you and Ted in town for, anyway?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Theodore and I are just up for the weekend. I’ve got to meet with editors Tuesday, so I’m afraid it’s back to the grindstone.” She twinkled a smile at me. “And I suppose I probably should get around to killing someone!”
It was an interesting profession, mystery writing, I thought as I finished my Cape Cod. A timer went off in my mother’s kitchen. “Who’s ready for dinner?” she asked.
“I am,” I said. “And how about another one of these Cape Cods while we’re at it?”
“I told you there were amazing!” Ted beamed, putting a hand on the small of Kirsten’s back and guiding her to the kitchen. I waited until they were both turned away to roll my eyes and tipped my glass up to get the last bits of vodka into my system.
“What was that woman doing there?” Caroline asked me as we pulled out of the long gravel driveway and headed back toward Seaside Cottage Books; I’d put her behind the wheel instead of me, since I’d been hitting the Cape Cods fairly hard. Caroline, on the other hand, had spent all of dinner in her room, then announced she was going to open the store tomorrow and needed to spend the night in my apartment above the shop. Although it was more than obvious to everyone present that she really just wanted to be out of any house that my ex-husband and his girlfriend might be spending the night in. I was guessing my mother hadn’t put them in separate rooms.
“By that woman, I assume you mean Kirsten? I don’t know,” I said, honestly. “I think grandma likes having a famous author in the family.”
“She’s not in the family,” Caroline bristled, clenching her hands on the steering wheel.
“Honey, I know it’s weird, but she makes your dad happy. You don’t have to fall in love with her, but it might make things smoother if you were able to be… well, polite.”
“Polite?” she huffed. “I was totally polite.”
“If you call refusing to speak and then not coming to dinner ‘polite,’ then I guess you’re right,” I said. “But I kind of got a different impression.”
“Whatever. Why is she here, anyway?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I guess your dad is trying to smooth things over and make us all a big happy family.”
“Well, we’re not,” Caroline spat. “The family is gone.”
Her words felt like a shot to the gut, and I took a long breath before I responded. “Your family is and always will be here. Just because your dad and I don’t live in the same house anymore doesn’t mean we’re not still family. We love you and we’re here for you. Always.”
I reached out to touch her shoulder, but she flinched away, and she barely waited for the engine of the car to come to a stop before she yanked the door open and bolted up the stairs into my apartment.
I climbed out of the car, my limbs feeling heavy and sluggish, and stood for a long moment at the top of the path to the beach, smelling the scent of beach roses and feeling the salt air against my face, then turned and headed up the steps to the apartment, where Caroline had already locked herself into the bathroom.
Nobody tells you there will be days like these.
Caroline was a lump on the couch when I padded into the kitchen at eight the next morning. I made coffee, filled a travel mug, then took Winston down to the shore path for our morning constitutional. It was a misty gray morning. The tide was low, revealing a swath of glistening pebbles mixed with broken mussel shells and dotted here and there with bits of bladderwrack, and the mist was curling around the trees and rocks on Snug Island. It was a pensive, moody scene, which suited my frame of mind perfectly.
Despite the stresses of the past few days, I could feel myself relax as I breathed in the sea air and walked along the shore-hugging path. I passed the main pier, where the sightseeing boats and a few massive yachts bobbed in the water, then rounded the point toward the row of grand mansions whose back windows fronted the Gulf of Maine. A seagull dove and picked up a crab as I walked by the spot where I’d heard what sounded like a murder plot just a few days earlier. So much had happened since then it felt more like a month ago. The yard adjoining the shore path appeared to be empty this morning, though, so there was nothing to eavesdrop on. Besides, I thought as Winston sniffed at a rock, I had bigger fish to fry.
As Winston and I stopped to sniff a mound of beach roses, I thought about what Kirsten had said yesterday about Charles Carsten. Had he had a past he’d left behind? If he had, it must have been pretty financially rewarding if he owned a chain of coffee shops. I was curious about his son, too. And who was his girlfriend, Amanda, and did he have other friends or associates? Even after searching for him online, I knew almost nothing about him except that he had a son who was planning to buy Sea Beans, and loved classic cars.
Speaking of Sea Beans, I was almost out of coffee; without realizing it, I’d managed to finish off the contents of my travel mug. “Let’s go see if we can say hi to Denise,” I suggested to Winston, and instead of retracing our steps along the shore path, we turned and walked toward town.
Main Street was already humming with tourists out enjoying the clear, bright morning and pausing to admire the gifts available in the shop windows. Again, I found myself wishing the bookstore were a little closer to the main drag, and wondered how to draw folks down to visit. I pushed the thought of my own business aside as the coffee shop came into view; there were more pressing things to worry about than my bottom line at the moment.
Denise was at the register when I pushed through the door of Sea Beans. Her normal cheery demeanor was gone, though; her face was drawn, and she was taking orders like a robot. Still, I was happy to see her working. She needed something to take her mind off her troubles, although making coffee in the store she’d hoped for so long to be able to buy probably wasn’t ideal. Particularly when the person who had recently coopted her future had died under suspicious circumstances.
I took my place in line, enjoying the scent of freshly roasted coffee mixed with something delicious that must have just come out of the oven. I suspected it might be the big, sugar-topped cranberry-walnut muffins on a cake stand next to the register.
I had made it up to third in line and Denise still hadn’t noticed me. As I ogled the fresh muffins and tried to whip up some self-restraint, a brown-haired woman clutching a dachshund stepped up to the counter.
“What can I get for you?” Denise asked in a rote voice that was nothing like her normal cheery tone.
“Actually, is there someone else who can help me?” the woman said.
Denise blinked. “Why?”
“I heard what you did to that poor man,” she sniffed, pulling her dachshund tighter to her chest, as if Denise might leap over the counter and steal the little dog. “I don’t want a murderer making my coffee.”
10
Denise’s face paled, and a hush fell over the coffee shop. My friend regarded the sharp-nosed woman—who resembled her dachshund, I now realized, with a long torso and squat, skort-clad legs—and then gave her an icy smile. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I promise you, I haven’t killed anyone. At least not yet. But I’m the barista this morning, so if you want coffee, you’ll have to take your chances.”
