One Little Lie Page 9

  “She had play practice, so she’s meeting us at the restaurant. I have an appointment with another neurologist next week.”

  Jane’s phone rang and she answered it. “Chief Hardy.”

  Brian informed her that the video camera footage had cleared Reid of suspicion in Gary’s death. He had an alibi for Sunday. She’d hoped to keep him at arm’s length longer.

  When she ended the call, Olivia picked up her purse. “You’re bailing on me, aren’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t bail on you—not tonight of all nights.”

  It would be hard to tell Megan, and Jane wasn’t about to let Olivia do it alone.

  Olivia put her hand on her arm. “Don’t try to put on a stiff upper lip for me. The whole department is buzzing with news of your dad’s arrest.”

  “Had you heard anything about an investigation?”

  Olivia shook her head. “The FBI must have really had it under wraps. No one I talked to knew what was happening.” She made a face. “I ran into Paul at Petit Charms, and he was beaming about it.”

  “Of course he was. He hates my dad and me. I don’t understand it. I have to find out who is behind this. Dad wants me to keep out of it while he investigates, but I have to help him.” Jane looked out to the balcony where she’d settled after the nightmare. “I had another nightmare last night. I don’t seem to get any respite from them. Maybe I’ll try that therapy meeting you suggested.”

  Olivia’s fingers tightened on Jane’s forearm. “I wish you would.” She released her and moved toward the door. “One of these days you’re going to break free from your parents and your past. You’re a strong, beautiful woman. I pray every day that you see yourself the way God sees you.”

  Olivia was the only one in town who knew about Jane’s past, and that was the way she wanted to keep it, but she tuned out her friend’s comment. God hadn’t stopped the leaders of Mount Sinai from doing what they did, and she didn’t trust him. Not one bit.

  The metal stairs clanged as they went down them. They had reservations at Billy’s Seafood just down the street. He grilled the best oysters in town.

  In minutes they were seated at a table overlooking the setting sun over the bay. The aromas of various seafood wafting from the kitchen made Jane’s mouth water.

  Olivia gave her a searching smile. “What did you think about Reid Dixon?”

  “What about him?”

  “Honey, I know he did that documentary on cults, which put him on the map. I watched it with you, remember? Did seeing him bring back a lot of bad memories? You were already having some nightmares.”

  Jane frowned. “I’ve had them every night since he came to town.” She fiddled with her napkin. “I know it would help if I talked about it, but I’m so ashamed. I’m afraid there are still people trapped in it—people I recruited. I might have ruined their lives.”

  Olivia reached across the table and took her hand. “Jane, your parents took you there when you were five. You were a kid. You didn’t choose to be there. I know you have a real fear of being thought of as gullible, but none of it was your fault.”

  “I didn’t want to leave when Dad made me, though. I’d swallowed all the lies—hook, line, and sinker. That makes me just as stupid and gullible as my parents.”

  Ponytail bouncing, Megan came through the door, and her arrival stopped future conversation, which was just as well. Jane didn’t like remembering that horrible night she escaped Mount Sinai.

  * * *

  Though Megan was fourteen, she was mature beyond her years. Olivia had raised her, so how could she be anything else than wonderful? Jane waited for a cue from Olivia. This wasn’t her story to tell—only to support.

  Olivia waited until they’d eaten their grilled oysters, garlic mashed potatoes, and asparagus. They were sharing a crème brûlée when she cleared her throat. “Megan, I have something I need to talk to you about.”

  Megan put down her dessert spoon and locked gazes with her mother. “You have MS, don’t you? Look, Mom, I’m not stupid. I overheard you on the phone with the doctor. You think I haven’t noticed the way you’re stumbling. You slur your words sometimes too. It’s okay. I’ll take care of you.”

  Jane’s eyes stung and watered at the love in Megan’s voice. This news would devastate her, and it was like watching a train speeding toward them with no way to stop it. She clenched her hands together in her lap.

  Olivia reached across the table to take her daughter’s hand. “You’re so wonderful, honey. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve a daughter like you. I wish I could say I had MS. The news is worse, sweetheart. Much worse.”

  Megan’s blue eyes widened. “Cancer?” she whispered. “Brain cancer?”

  Olivia shook her head. “I have ALS.”

  Megan glanced at Jane, then back to her mother. “What’s that?”

  “Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. It’s also called Lou Gehrig’s disease. It affects the nerve cells in the brain and spinal cord. They basically degenerate, which is why I’m having trouble walking and why I sometimes slur my words.”

  “They can fix it, right?”

  Olivia bit her lip, then shook her head. “It’s usually fatal, Megan. I’m going to fight it—of course I’m going to do whatever I can, but I don’t want to sugarcoat it. What we’re facing isn’t going to be easy.”

  “F-Fatal?” Tears pooled in Megan’s eyes, and she shook her head. “They have to be wrong, Mom. You’re still young! Let’s get a second opinion.”

  “I’m doing that next week, but I’m not hopeful we’ll find out it’s something else. The doctor was very thorough.”

  Megan looked at Jane. “You’ll help us, won’t you? We have to find a cure for Mom.”

  Jane couldn’t stop the tears from escaping her eyes, and she nodded. “I’ll do everything I can, Meg. I’ll be there for you and your mom no matter what happens.”

  “We have to find a cure! There has to be a cure.”

  Jane knew how she felt—she’d been scouring the internet for better answers as well—but this truth was something they’d all struggle to accept.

  Thirteen

  Fanny blinked her burning eyes and pulled into Harry’s favorite roadside park by the water near Pelican Harbor. Palm trees lined the park, and blue herons vied with pelicans for fish in the blue water. Her poor son didn’t understand what had happened to his daddy, of course, even though she’d tried to explain he’d gone away and they wouldn’t see him again.

  She wanted to say Gary was in heaven, but she found it hard to say something she didn’t believe. He had often mocked her faith, and unless he’d made his peace with God in his final moments, she doubted she’d see him when she crossed those pearly gates someday.

  She got Harry out of his booster seat and set him down. “I’ll spread out the quilt so we can have a nice picnic. Then you can collect some shells. How’s that sound?”

  “Are we going to see Grandma today?”

  She’d put it off as long as she could, but her mom had been generous enough to rent her a car. “We’re going to her house after a while.”

  Her mother had gotten home late last night, and they’d been in touch constantly since the news about Gary’s death. Her mom had never liked him, even though Fanny hadn’t mentioned he’d started using his fists against her this past year. Fanny wished she’d been honest. She wished she’d left him long ago so Harry didn’t have to see his father’s rage. She hadn’t wanted to admit to her mother that she’d been right, which was a really stupid reason to be someone’s punching bag.

  She spread out the quilt, then retrieved the breakfast from McDonald’s she’d bought. Harry unwrapped his sandwich and started in on it, though his gaze drifted longingly to the shore. The small opening in the trees along Mobile Bay was great for seashells, and Harry’s collection was overflowing. It felt safe and secluded here with the forest blocking the wind on the north and south sides.

  A car pulled in behind hers, and a man got out. She smile
d and waved before she returned her attention to Harry.

  “I wonder if I could trouble you and borrow your phone a minute?” the man asked. “My car barely made it here, and I’m about out of gas. I left my phone at home, and I need to call for some help.”

  Fanny hopped up. “Sure thing. I left it in the car.”

  He seemed like a nice enough young man, probably in his twenties or early thirties. It was so hard to tell age these days. She opened her car door and leaned in to snatch her phone off the console. As she straightened to turn toward him, his arm grabbed her around the waist, and his other arm caught her neck in a choke hold. He dragged her toward his car, and she fought him with all her might.

  Harry’s eyes were wide and horrified as they locked with her gaze. “Run, Harry!” She fought harder as the man’s trunk popped, and he propelled her into its recesses.

  Was Harry running? What did this guy want with her? Oh, Gary, what have you gotten us into?

  He trussed her up with duct tape, then slapped another piece across her mouth before he slammed the trunk lid, leaving her in darkness. The smell of oil and gasoline choked her, and she tried to break free of her bonds.

  She had to get to her son and protect him.

  “Harry,” the man called. “Come here, and you can go with your mom.”

  Don’t listen, Harry.

  She’d taught him that if she ever told him to run, he wasn’t to come back unless a family member called for him. But with a child, you were never sure if he knew enough to recognize danger. She held her breath and listened to the man calling for her son, but after several long minutes, she heard his footsteps crunching on the oyster shells lining the lot. His door slammed, and the car vibrated as he started the engine and pulled away.

  Her boy was probably somewhere in the thick woods. Could he find his way to help? Tears poured down her cheeks, and she prayed God would direct and watch over him.

  Harry was only four. Anything could happen to him out there. He could get lost or fall in the water. He could get bitten by a poisonous snake or attacked by a gator. She started to shake at the thought of everything that could harm him out there on his own.

  She fought the bonds with every bit of strength in her body only to sag back, perspiring and faint from lack of air when she couldn’t budge them. Her breath heaving, she rested long enough for the spots in her vision to clear, then searched for something, anything, in the trunk to use to cut the duct tape.

  * * *

  At 7:05 p.m. Jane slipped into a seat nearest the door. If things got uncomfortable, she could leave as easily as she’d arrived. She’d left Parker sleeping in his bed in the living room so she wouldn’t draw too much attention. She’d had a little trouble finding the building on the east side of Mobile, and her tardiness had saved her having to endure small talk before the meeting started.

  She scanned the group of eight people scattered among the circle of twenty folding chairs. She’d argued with herself all the way here. If she hadn’t promised Olivia last night she’d come, Jane would have turned tail and headed back to her safe little home above the beignet shop. But if Olivia could face the horror of her future, surely Jane could face the past that couldn’t reach out and hurt her any longer.

  The woman across from Jane had given her name, but it hadn’t managed to lodge in Jane’s head. The woman seemed about forty with worry lines between her brown eyes. She wore jeans and a green T-shirt. Her brown hair curled wildly around her head and was only kept out of her face by a green stretchy headband. She had one of those motherly manners that tended to put people at ease, which was probably why she was leading this shindig.

  The woman looked down at her notes in her lap. “Anyone want to share their experience in a cult? I know it’s hard to talk about, but getting it out in the open is very healing. Please don’t mention the cult’s name. We’ll keep it anonymous in case someone fears retribution.”

  Even hearing the word cult made Jane want to pull a blanket over her head so she couldn’t be seen. Until the nightmares started three months ago, she would have insisted she’d healed from her experience without any repercussions. For weeks she’d hoped the nightmares were a fluke and maybe related to stress at the job, but when they continued without relenting, Olivia had noticed the dark circles under Jane’s eyes and demanded a response.

  Jane didn’t think any psychobabble was the answer, but friendship had driven her here. Or maybe it was the lingering effects of the cult on her behavior. She tended to pay too much heed to what other people expected of her. It was a flaw she constantly battled.

  A thin, pale woman who looked under thirty lifted her hand. “Um, I’ll go. I’ve been out of t-the cult for about six months, but I can’t seem to quit glancing over my shoulder. I have trouble making decisions, and I cry for no good reason. I-I miss my friends there, the camaraderie, the love they showered on me. I think I want to go back.”

  The older woman’s expression didn’t change. “Why did you leave?”

  “They were shunning me for not being willing to marry who the leader told me to.” The girl bit her thumbnail and didn’t look at anyone. “I wanted to live my own life.”

  “And do you still want to live your own life? To date whomever you want and to pick your own friends?”

  “I-I don’t know. I don’t really have any friends. It’s hard to open up to new people. When they know I was in a cult, there’s all this condemnation and eyebrow raising. So I usually say nothing, and how can you have friends without honesty?”

  Jane could have said many of the same things about herself. Olivia was her only close friend, and she was more of a mother figure. How did someone get past all this? Her answer had been to avoid all religion and any talk or thoughts of God, but Olivia’s influence had slowly been causing her to doubt that approach.

  The nightmares scared her too. With her badge attached to her shirt and her gun on her hip, she felt invincible and strong. In the stillness of the night, she faced demons that didn’t flee when she aimed her sidearm. They didn’t run when she read them their rights. They lurked at the edges of sleep and consciousness and made her doubt who she was and what she could do with her life.

  If she could go back to Mount Sinai, would she?

  She wanted to say no, but if she got wind of the cult’s new location, she feared she would head there right this minute. She longed to see her mother. The worst thing she dealt with was the way she’d failed her mother and her son.

  She had failed those in the group she’d recruited too. She’d pulled them in and left them when things turned hard, when bullets were flying and people were dying. What kind of person did that make her? Maybe she was in law enforcement to prove something to herself. If that was true, she didn’t think she’d proven anything other than she knew how to put up a good front.

  The place felt impossibly hot, and perspiration gathered on her forehead and under her arms. With a muttered apology she leapt up and made her escape. This wasn’t the right place for her. Maybe nowhere was.

  She drove home and spent three hours on the computer looking up ALS information. Nothing she read gave her much hope.

  Fourteen

  Reid had been shocked at Jane’s call this morning that he’d been cleared, but he’d grabbed Will and brought him along to city hall. He’d been directed down the hall to what they’d called the “war room,” which turned out to be a conference room. A huge whiteboard covered one wall, and tables and chairs were occupied by four other people. He only recognized Detective Boulter and realized two were state troopers. He didn’t know who the woman in the front row was. Jane must have asked for some help from the state.

  Jane stood at the whiteboard with a marker in her hand. A flicker of her eyes told Reid she’d noted his and Will’s arrival. They took a seat in the back, and Reid nodded for Will to begin recording.

  She turned to the board and wrote Gary Dawson on it. “Let’s go over what we have on his murder. You all saw the note about t
he hidden Kennedy half-dollar.” She drew a circle around it and marked it with a 50. “What you don’t know is that I found one of those same half-dollars on my doorstep night before last. It was a 1964 coin just like the one on Dawson’s body.” She drew another circle with a 50 as the men in the room gave a collective gasp.

  Reid leaned forward and frowned. He didn’t like the sound of that.

  “I think the killer was taunting me, poking fun that we hadn’t found him yet. I turned it in to Forensics, but I’d already handled it so we probably won’t find any latent prints on it.” Jane turned back to the board. “Dawson’s head and limbs are still missing. I’m guessing the killer tossed them into the bay and we’ll never find them, but we might get lucky. So far the media hasn’t caught wind of the missing body parts, and I’d like to keep it that way. The sensationalism of what happened to the body is apt to increase the public’s fear, so continue to keep it under wraps.”

  The woman in the front row raised her hand, and Jane pointed to her. “I ran the video you gave me from the bridal shop, and I wasn’t able to get any real detail. We could release it to the news, though. Maybe the person’s walk or movements would trigger something in a viewer.”

  “Good idea. Go ahead and do that,” Jane said. “What about interviews with Dawson’s friends and acquaintances? Any luck on finding his bookie?”

  Boulter waved his hand. “I’ve got a lead to his bookie. I should know more in another day or two.”

  “Good work.” She jotted down bookie on the board. “Anything else?”

  The woman in the front spoke again. “I’ve been through his computer, but his phone still hasn’t turned up. I tried pinging it, but it’s nowhere to be found. Probably destroyed by the killer.”

  “Anything of interest on his computer?”

  “Lots of gambling sites but no link to the bookie that I can find. Hopefully Brian has better luck.”