Page 16 of Tell Me Your Lies

I nod slowly, trying not to get upset. “The reason I want to know what happened the night of the murder is that I believe the victim might be a relative.” I see the astonishment wash over his face. “I need to know everything you can remember about that night—not for you—for me. Do you recall that night?”

“Vividly.” Linc snorts. “I was on my US tour. I walked off the stage and two burly cops dragged me into the back of their vehicle and drove me downtown. The fact that I’d been touring LA at the time of the murder prevented the charges going any further. They never found the killer. Are you sure you want to go there, Alani?”

I shrug. “I just want to get the facts. For instance, how many people would have seen the change of title for the song? I find it hard to believe that it was a coincidence that someone by the name of Rachel was found murdered with a heart carved into her chest and surrounded by rose petals, in exactly the same way as your lyrics. So, if you were in LA with your band at that time you couldn’t have been involved, or was it a huge publicity stunt that went horribly wrong?”

“I’d never allow something like that and I can’t count the number of people who came to my recording studio—but hang on a moment. I didn’t frame that song until it went viral so maybe not many people at all. The family, staff, my band, manager and the people at my record label. So maybe only a hundred or so.” Linc shakes his head. “The song Lucas had started was actually going to be about a romance break-up. A woman he once met, called Rachel, dumped him. He wanted to let her know what she missed out on. Having a name to the song makes it more personal. My song came from a new ink my drummer had of a bleeding heart with a knife stuck in it. The fans who listen to my music like everything about death, the occult and other terrifying things so the nastier I make the lyrics, the more records I sell. That doesn’t mean that I’m that person inside. I’m sure you could ask any author how they come up with terrifying plots and they’ll tell you the same thing. I don’t recall hearing about any authors that became serial killers.”

I believe him. For a bad boy rock star he makes sense. I also like the time he gives me without brushing me off. So many times, I’ve tried to interview family members and they’re obnoxious. I nod. “True. It just seems like a really weird coincidence unless a fan murdered her.”

“That’s the theory.” Linc looks at me. “Do you want a cup of coffee? I’m having some, and sandwiches. I eat all the time when I’m working.” He pulls out his phone. “We can talk and eat. I’m done here for now.”

When I agree he calls the kitchen and then leads me into the family room. He drops into a large stuffed leather chair and indicates to a seat beside him. I move around a coffee table to sit down. The notion that a fan murdered my birth mother is still ringing in my ears. The black leather seat sighs when I sit into its comfort and I turn to him. “The thing is, how did a fan know the song was once titled ‘Rachel’?”

“There lies the problem because the timing is blurred.” Linc clasps his hands together and looks at me. “I had press here over the time of the release, photos were taken and I showed a reporter the music sheet. Maybe it was by word of mouth. I recall him mentioning how he preferred the new title. This reporter, who will remain nameless, was at the concert in LA the day Rachel died. I talked to him after the show. When the album went platinum, photos were taken of the song and that’s when the cops arrested me again.”

I wait for one of the staff to deliver the coffee, sandwiches and a variety of cakes. Once she’s left, I turn to Linc. “I searched for media coverage of the murder and there’s no mention of your arrest or anyone else’s for that matter.”

“If this woman was a relative, she’s dead now. Why hunt it down? It’s in the past and you might not like what you find.” He pours coffee from a pot on the table into a huge mug with a pig wearing sunglasses on the side.

I shrug. “I want to find my real family.” I decide to change the subject while I have his attention. “Enough about me. I need to add some sensationalism to Isabelle’s memoirs. The problem is we have nothing.” I nod when he lifts the coffee pot over another mug. This one has flowers on one side. “She mentioned the hoax surrounding your faux marriage in Las Vegas. I’m not sure if that’s going to be big enough to drag in millions of readers. The problem is that Isabelle’s story is much the same as everyone else’s up to this point. She worked bussing tables and went to many auditions but nothing unusual happened to her.”

“She told you she bussed tables?” Linc chokes on his coffee. “That’s a lie. We were married. She never worked, apart from the movies.”

I hand him a paper towel and nod. “I gathered as much. What I need is for her to have some dirt on someone in the business but she claims she has nothing, so I’m at a standstill on which way to go with her story.”

“Oh, she does.” Linc chuckles and shakes his head. “The problem is, they have too much on her. If she divulges some of their secrets, it will be a bloodbath.” His gaze moves over her and his famous alluring smile flashes. “Don’t worry, I have a few gems you could use and you don’t need to fact-check them. I don’t tell lies—well, I do for publicity but I won’t to you, Alani.” He piles sandwiches on his plate and his smile lingers. “After Oliver was born, Isabelle wanted breast implants and her three best friends decided to have the procedure at the same time. She was about three weeks post-surgery when I left on a world tour that included the US. I arrived in Phoenix for the first leg. I’d been in contact with her constantly but had no idea she was in Phoenix. I always sit on the edge of the stage and sing a ballad toward the end of the show. At this time the audience lights go up so I can see everyone. All our concerts are filmed so we usually get a good view of the audience on every tape. They like to see themselves up on the big screen when the camera scans the audience. I’m staring down at the front row and there is Isabelle along with her friends and they flashed me their new acquisitions. It went on to the big screen and the audience went wild when they realized who it was. The next moment the cops came running down to the stage and took them all away. They arrested them for lewd behavior or whatever.”

I grin at him. This is exactly what I need for the book. “Do you think Isabelle will agree to having that story in the book, as I’m sure it was in the media at the time?”

“As it’s supposed to be about her life story I can’t see why not.” He bites into an egg salad sandwich and then sips his coffee before turning his attention back to me. “The other weird thing that happened, we were at one of the premieres of her movie. If I recall it was Sleep, My Darling. It was one she really shouldn’t have made but by that time the studios were only offering her B movies. They wanted their leading ladies younger or twenty years older. She had on a really tight white dress and tripped on the stairs and somehow split the seam right up the back. She was totally naked underneath and I walked behind her the entire evening. Before we left for the limo, I gave her my jacket, which was long enough to cover her backside. She was so darn angry with me, because I couldn’t stop laughing and the movie was a serious drama.”

I can’t stop the smile spreading across my lips. Linc’s anecdotes would save the book—if what he says is true. Is it—or is he the master of deception?

TWENTY-TWO

Sunlight streams into the room, throwing strange hypnotic waving lines across the floor as it passes through the palm trees around the pool. Although I’m not hungry, I eat a selection of sandwiches and cakes as Linc chats on about mundane things. It’s strange how comfortable I feel with him but I believe Linc Boswell’s charm affects everyone. He’s what I call a “shiny person,” someone who lights up a room and fills it like a warm hug. Maybe I seek a family like his? Underneath all the lies and secrets, they have a bond that I’ll never experience. My feeling of not belonging since discovering Sam and Willow adopted me is still with me. The shrink my parents insisted I visit during my time at college told me I believed I’d been betrayed by them. Which, of course, I had—I trusted them and they lied to me. I can’t get over it no matter how hard I try and trust me, I’ve tried, I really have, but resentment is like a cancer: sometimes it can’t be cured.

Now I have the worry of becoming like my father. The night Sam told me I’d been adopted, I wanted to kill them for lying to me my entire life—it was like an uncontrollable rage brewing just under the surface. Since that night I feel like an intruder in the home where they raised me. In fact, I’ve been more at home during my stays in the last three celebrities’ homes I worked for. Maybe it’s because those families didn’t keep secrets from each other.

“Oh, there you are.” Allison pokes her head around the door and looks at me. “Isabelle is looking for you. She wants to continue the interview.”

“She’ll be right along once she’s finished her coffee and sandwich.” Linc gives her a dismissive stare and waits for her footsteps to disappear along the hallway. “She is Isabelle’s ears and eyes. As much as I love Isabelle, it concerns me that she needs someone to watch every move I make. She won’t like me having coffee with you. The one thing about Isabelle is she’s jealous all the time. She has no reason to be jealous of you. I’m old enough to be your father.” He shrugs. “You see, she overreacts to fake news and any time the press decides I’m having an affair with this person or that she gets nasty. It’s one of the traits about her that I dislike. Her jealousy almost broke us up one time. I came home from a tour and she attacked me with her nails telling me to fire my female lead guitarist because she was rubbing up against me during a gig. She’d seen footage on the news. It was all part of the act and she should know better but I couldn’t get it through to her and ended up leaving for six weeks.”

I turn to look at him. This was all very good material. “Then what happened?”

“I came home.” He shrugs. “It seemed as if she had completely forgotten the argument, so I let sleeping dogs lie as they say. I wrote a complete album about those six weeks. Sleeping Dogs Lie.” He places his mug on the table and smiles at me. “I gotta go. I’m meeting Lucas in the studio to run through a few new songs. Catch you later.” He pauses and looks at me. “Unless you want to watch?”

The opportunity to watch him and Lucas jamming would be amazing but I smile and shake my head. “Maybe next time. Isabelle is waiting for me.”

“Anytime.” He walks away, grabbing the music sheets from the piano along the way.

I finish my sandwich and coffee. I’ll need to run through the stories Linc has told me with Isabelle to get her side of things. I’ll try and keep Linc’s name out of it, or he’ll put me into the same basket as Allison and I really don’t want that. Being almost neighbors, there might be a chance of Isabelle’s kids becoming the friends I’ve wanted all my life. I hurry up the stairs and knock before I enter. Isabelle gives me her best impression of a cat’s bum and crosses her legs. I bite the inside of my cheek to stop smiling at her. “Allison said you were ready to continue?”

“Yes, I’ve been waiting for a while.” Isabelle has changed out of her movie costume and is wearing a long silk robe adorned with red butterflies, over a skimpy swimsuit. She waves a hand at me in a circular motion. “Get on with it or we’ll never get this book written.”

There’s a question I need to ask her and it’s not about what Linc told me. “Allison mentioned that you employed another ghostwriter previously and her name was Jenny. Did she leave any notes or any other research I could use to shorten our process?”

“I’m not sure, maybe you should ask Allison. I believe she cleared her possessions out of the room when she left suddenly.” Isabelle’s eyes flash with anger. “What an ungrateful woman. I gave her the chance of a lifetime and what did she do? Drives to the nearest airport and vanishes off the face of the earth. I endured the cops coming here and asking me where she’d gone and why she left her vehicle at the airport—as if I knew? Honestly, staff come and go all the time. I don’t keep tabs on them. That’s not what I do.”