Lie, Lie Again: A Novel, page 1
OTHER BOOKS BY STACY WISE
Beyond the Stars
Maybe Someone Like You
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2020 by Stacy Wise
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Lake Union Publishing, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Lake Union Publishing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781542022774
ISBN-10: 1542022770
Cover design by Laywan Kwan
Dedicated to all those who inspired the writing of this book
CONTENTS
AFTER
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
AFTER
Monday, March 20
Sirens shattered the cool evening air with a piercing wail that rivaled a speed-metal concert. The bright lights of emergency vehicles spun dizzying circles through the sky, a frantic dance to the earsplitting dissonance.
Brakes squealed and doors slammed.
The sirens screamed to a stop at the apartment complex on Mockingbird Lane, and the night seemed to exhale.
Emergency workers streamed from the truck with rapid efficiency, their medical kits and blue latex gloves ready to work miracles. Only the onlookers, who wore the slack-jawed expressions of those who had seen a ghost, stood rooted to the ground, seemingly frozen in time, unable to look away from the body splayed facedown on the asphalt.
Sylvia stood between Riki and Embry, her arms crossed loosely at her chest. Their small semicircle was casual, like spectators at a parade. “Well, a body at the bottom of the stairs is sure to draw a crowd.”
CHAPTER ONE
BEFORE
Sunday, March 5
The world news section of the Sunday paper was spread across Hugh’s otherwise pristine kitchen table. Sylvia dutifully skimmed the headlines. Casualties! Crisis! Corruption! Why couldn’t they report good news? It seemed that paper sales would go up if they splashed uplifting headlines across the front page. She sipped her coffee and enjoyed the bittersweet tang of the powdered creamer she’d added. Hugh had introduced her to the chemical concoction. She’d initially mocked it, but now she was obsessed. Too much was probably deadly. She laughed to herself. The dreary news was clearly taking a toll. Doom and gloom. As much as she enjoyed her Sunday mornings with Hugh, she could do without the newspaper bit. But he loved his old-fashioned ritual, the familiar smell, and his eventual inky fingers. Trendy frameless glasses were perched on the tip of his nose, his half of the paper in a tight fold. Such a serious man. She liked that she had the power to make him smile.
He was absolutely perfect in an everyday-man sort of way. It was one of the things that made him so desirable. Would he be insulted by the everyday-man comment if she were to say it aloud? Words were funny. It was all too easy to misinterpret things when you weren’t privy to the vast array of thoughts in the other person’s head. She studied him as he read. Dark-blond hair, cool gray-blue eyes beneath the glasses. His lashes were stubby. There was really no nice way to say it, but on a man, stubby lashes weren’t so bad, were they? They were thick and full and gave him an assertive look. A reliable look, like he’d be the one to give you tax advice or walk you through the process of setting up a wireless remote. Yes, everything about him was steadfast and sturdy. Hugh was the Volvo of men. She laughed to herself. He certainly wouldn’t like that analogy. The man drove a Range Rover.
Meeting him had been a lucky fluke. He’d been wearing a wedding ring, and married men weren’t her type. But he’d pulled up a barstool next to hers at the Vertigo, and a conversation began to flow as smooth as the red wine she sipped. The lights in the bar were dim and golden, and unlike the name suggested, the place had a gentle, old-Hollywood feel. When she’d asked how long he’d been married, he laughed and slid off the ring.
“It’s a fake.” He’d proceeded to twist what she realized was cheap metal into a tiny infinity sign.
“Fake? Why?”
He’d leaned forward, eyes twinkling, and spoken quietly, like he was letting her in on a secret. “Well, it’s not like I’m fighting off women, but I’ve found that wearing a ring allows me to enjoy a drink without any weird vibes from a woman who thinks I’m hitting on her. Usually, I just want to talk.” With a humble shrug, he added, “I’m a people person.”
“And with the wedding band, you’re Mr. Safe Guy, not Mr. Slick.”
“Right.” He’d tucked the crumpled metal into his pocket. “Does that make me sound crazy?” His smile was genuine, and Sylvia found herself grinning back.
She’d inspected his face. He had to be in his thirties—late thirties, so he couldn’t be much older than her thirty-five years. Interesting that he was still single. “We’ll call it a unique approach. How’s that?”
“Fair enough.” He’d lifted his drink to hers. “I’m Hugh.”
“Sylvia.” As they’d clinked glasses, a sudden certainty had washed over her. After all the thinking and plotting and planning, he’d simply appeared in her path like a lucky penny.
Later that night, in a dark corner of the Vertigo foyer, they’d pressed their bodies together and kissed like lovers. As she drove home alone, she’d laughed to herself, amused that she’d left the Vertigo with an acute case of vertigo. Because of Hugh. How long had it been since a kiss had left her dizzy?
Truth be told, it wasn’t because he was an extraordinary kisser, though he’d been perfectly acceptable in that department. The excitement had stemmed from Hugh’s infinite potential as a partner. He would be the one to father her future child. The two of them would make a beautiful baby together. A smart one too.
The baby-wanting was a fascinating new thing for Sylvia. When the calendar had landed on December thirteenth last year, quietly sliding her from thirty-four to thirty-five, her biological clock had transformed from the steady tick of a metronome’s beat into a freight train doing doughnuts off the track. It was unusual for her to want something so badly. Sure, she could hook up with some guy and get herself pregnant, but there was risk involved. Bad genes, for one. And she wasn’t interested in a baby with a side of herpes.
Her instincts had been right about Hugh. He was free of both. She smiled at him from across the table before returning her gaze to the headlines. One in the bottom corner caught her eye. “Mad cow disease was found in a cow in San Diego,” she read aloud. “That’ll do wonders for the meat industry.”
“Huh?” He adjusted his glasses and looked at her.
“Mad cow disease,” she repeated. “It says here that humans who consume the contaminated beef could be at risk of developing prion disease, which is . . . blah, blah, blah . . . Ah, here! ‘A degenerative brain disorder that can quickly disable or kill its victims.’ Well, that sounds delightful. Do you think the cows literally go mad?” She chuckled. “Bumping into each other and mooing incoherently before they keel over? I mean, it’s kind of sad but funny too.”
“There’s nothing funny about mad cow disease, though it’s rare for humans to get it. If I recall correctly, they would have to consume infected tissue or some such.”
Sylvia smiled. “It’s rare? Do you see what you did there?”
He chuckled.
“Anyway, we should become vegetarians.”
Hugh thumped his paper to the table and slid off his glasses, awarding her with an amused look. “We’ll drink green juice and eat pounds of kale.” A kitchen timer buzzed, and he stood. “Or we can indulge in buttermilk biscuits. They’re vegetarian and they’re ready.”
“You are a prince among men. I’ll get the butter and jam.” As she took the jam from Hugh’s tidy refrigerator, her mind trailed to the cows. How could a cow go mad? They didn’t deserve to suffer that way, though some humans she knew might.
Well, even if Hugh thought she was joking, she was going to stop eating meat for the foreseeable future. Going mad by way of eating beef sounded dreadful. Sanity was something she treasured. Besides, it wouldn’t be too difficult to give up meat. She was already faking it for the neighbors in order to avoid a repeat of the dreadful cheesy-beef-and-tater-tot casserole that Embry had brought over for no discernible reason several weeks ago.
“It’s just the neighborly thing to do,” Embry had explained in her syrupy southern accent when Sylvia had inquired as to the occasion.
“It looks delicious for the meat-eating crowd, but I’m a vegetarian. What a pity,” Sylvia had responded, assuming an appropriately disappointed expression. “But you should enjoy it with your family. I’m sure it’s Kylie’s favorite!”
Kylie was three. And really, did anyone over three enjoy tater tots? Embry was sweet but dim. Hopefully she wouldn’t get any bright ideas and show up one night with a quinoa-and-collard-greens casserole. Sylvia grimaced as she brought the jam and butter to the table.
Hugh transferred four of the biscuits to a plate, his hands tucked into large black oven mitts. “Here we are. Piping hot,” he said as he delivered the biscuits.
Sylvia plunked one onto her plate and sliced it open with a knife, quickly slathering butter across the middle so it would melt into the doughy nooks. She began to spoon thick jam on top. “What is this? It’s all coagulated.” She laughed as she poked her spoon at the glop. “It looks like cat guts.”
“Sugar-free,” he said absently. “Lil—” He stopped abruptly and forced a cough into his closed fist. “Ahem. Wrong pipe. Anyway, what I was saying is, there have been a number of articles lately about how less sugar is better.”
You almost said Lily. Sylvia stiffened but forced herself to soften her shoulders along with her expression. “Less sugar is better.” She took a bite of gooey goodness, but it might as well have been tar. Her hackles were up. This was the third time he’d mentioned his ex in a week. Lily. That meek woman who walked as though her bones were healing from fractures. They had bumped into her a few weeks ago at a coffee shop. Hugh had stood to hug Lily when she’d timidly approached their table, her overcast eyes darting to Sylvia.
“Lily! What a surprise to see you. This is Sylvia, one of my coworkers.” His tone had grown deeper, like he’d switched to his office voice. “We’re having a quick briefing before we meet with Jeff.”
Lily had perked up, though her eyes still looked like rain. “Oh, hi. Nice to meet you.” Shifting her gaze back to Hugh, she said, “I decided to run out for a coffee, since Hunter is with my mom.” She sounded apologetic, like getting coffee was a crime.
After she scurried away, Hugh tipped his head close to Sylvia’s. “Sorry for lying about the work thing,” he whispered, his stubby lashes fluttering. “She’s an ex.” He circled his finger next to his ear, indicating Lily was nuts. “If she thinks I’m dating again, she could very well do something desperate, like harm herself. Or me, for that matter. I don’t want to feel responsible for her crazy.”
“You’ve never mentioned a crazy ex-girlfriend.”
He smiled. “I’m not supposed to, right?” Leaning back, he added, “At least, that’s what I read in a magazine. It would lead you to think I have questionable judgment.”
“Interesting theory. What makes her crazy? She seemed painfully normal.”
He sat up straighter. “I’d rather not bad-mouth her. Besides, I don’t have to worry about you. You’re tough, not a fragile flower like—” He cleared his throat and sat up straighter. “Like I was saying, we should include the goal-analysis matrix in the report.”
Sylvia shifted her gaze to the left, and there stood Lily, waiting for her coffee mere feet away. Hugh was good. Keenly aware. It was odd that he’d dated a woman like Lily. She looked like a flimsy scarecrow in her sloppy leggings and a peach tunic that nearly swallowed her. So very different from Sylvia, who never would’ve worn such an atrocious ensemble, even for scrubbing the toilet.
Hugh prattled on about goals and numbers and bottom lines while she nodded, still contemplating Lily. That shade was dreadful on her.
Hugh’s expression suddenly relaxed, and his shoulders dropped. “She’s gone. Sorry about the ramblings.”
“Don’t worry. I completely ignored every word,” she said brightly. “By the way, who’s Hunter?”
“That!” He’d rolled his eyes. “A Pomeranian. We got him together, but now he’s Lily’s. She treats him like a baby.”
Hugh had scoffed about Lily a few weeks ago, but maybe he wasn’t as over her as he’d claimed. It was mind-boggling. Sylvia had so much more to offer. And she was not about to stand for being second best. Hell no. She dipped a spoon in the jam and pulled it back out. Clotted red clumps hung from it. She laid the dirty spoon on her plate and jumped to her feet. “I have to go.”
“But we just started eating.”
Drawing her lips into a tight line, she said, “Sorry. You know how I love buttermilk biscuits, but I just remembered I’m supposed to meet with Belinda and Sarah. It’s a work thing. I’ll text you later.” Her vagueness was purposeful. It was important he understood she’d lied. She checked his face for signs of frustration and smiled slightly at the way his thumb and pointer finger gripped his chin, as though he were trying to find the solution to a problem.
It’s right in front of you, babe. Stop mentioning your ex, and we can move forward.
“I hate that you have to go. Can I see you next weekend?”
She took her plate to the kitchen and stopped to kiss him full on the lips. “Call me. I really do need to run. Bye.” With a flourish, she swung her purse to her shoulder, grabbed her overnight bag, and left. She took a few steps, then stopped in the carpeted hallway of his apartment building.
Now what? Usually her Sundays were filled with Hugh. All day and into the night. But leaving had been necessary. The only option, she reassured herself as she started for the elevator. So what if she wouldn’t see him for a week? He wouldn’t see her either. It went both ways, didn’t it? He would miss her when he was off in Vegas or Phoenix or wherever his job took him. Traveling for work was something that had sounded so glamorous until she met Hugh. Now it was only a drag. But she played it off as though it didn’t bother her in the least. She was fun and carefree, after all. The opposite of Lily.
She rode the elevator to the lobby, deep in thought. As much as she wanted to believe she had the power in this relationship, a swing in balance was threatening, and it was giving her a stomachache. Strange. She was typically adept at keeping her feelings separate from her relationships. Some might claim it wasn’t healthy, but for her, it was necessary. Better to cut a man off before he could do the cutting.
That said, she wasn’t ready to sever ties with Hugh. But he needed a nudge in the right direction. If he mentioned Lily again, she would leave again. It would be like electric-shock therapy. He seemed like a fast learner. She certainly hoped he was.
CHAPTER TWO
Wednesday, March 8
Embry Taylor smoothed the paper napkin in her lap and watched her husband of four years tuck in to his plate of baby back ribs. It was the most relaxed she’d seen him in days. If only she felt that calm. What she’d learned that morning had her nerves sparking like live wires.
But she couldn’t tell him. Not tonight. It’d be best to let the news simmer for a bit.
A smudge of barbecue sauce sat like a brushstroke on Brandon’s chin, but he was enjoying his food too much to notice. His entire focus was on savoring every bite. Mindfulness in action.
That was important, wasn’t it? Living in the moment. Being mindful. Ever since they’d moved to Los Angeles, she’d felt a shift in her thinking, as if the City of Angels were alive with real angels. Angels who whispered in her ear at night, prodding her with their silken voices.
Be present.
Think.
Listen to your heart.
She had done just that this morning. Those angels had stopped her from rushing out to Brandon and telling him what she’d learned. Persistent little things with their fluttery wings and sage advice.
Be calm. Just be.
Telling Brandon would relieve her stress, but what would it do to him? Send him right over the edge, that’s what.
