Page 17 of Tell Me Your Lies

I nod sympathetically and clear my throat. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll ask her. There are a couple of things I need to speak to you about that might be good inclusions in the book.” I tell her about the two stories that Linc divulged. “It’s not very clear in the media reports that I read what exactly happened so how about you tell me in your own words? It would make quite a hook for the book.”

“Where did you read that I’d had breast implants?” Her brow wrinkles into a deep frown. “I never flashed Linc on stage but my friends did and we all got arrested but I wasn’t showing off implants because I had no need to. I have natural beauty.” She lifts her chin. “I should sue the newspaper that said that but it was a long time ago and probably it has gone past its best by date or whatever they call it. You know—” She levels a shrewd look on me. “—that’s the sort of lie that Linc would spread. He figures it’s a joke. Don’t write anything in the book he tells you without running it past me first. That man couldn’t lie straight in bed.”

I can’t avoid looking at her huge round breasts; the gap between them is wide enough to fit her palm and they sit up without sagging. I’d say I was looking at Sam’s best work. Why lie about it and make her husband look like a fool? “I did ask him about you splitting your dress at the premiere of one of your movies. I wanted to get his side of the story.”

“He exaggerates, as usual.” Isabelle lets out a long sigh and rolls her eyes. “My heel caught in the hem of my skirt and pulled it down is all. It did tear a little up the seam but not enough to show I wasn’t wearing any underwear.” She raises both hands in the air and drops them. “You see what I’m up against? Linc is always accusing me of being jealous but why should I believe him when he tells me he doesn’t look at other women, when he constantly lies to me?”

I blow out a breath, wondering what on earth we can use to make this book sing. “I believe you should include both these instances and maybe embellish them a little to make them readable. Both these would be inside information of your lives together and people eat that up. What do you say, if we include you in the three women that flashed him on stage? We won’t mention anything about implants, just that maybe you were having a girls’ night out and being on the front row and seeing your handsome husband sitting on the stage you got carried away?”

“You think he’s handsome?” Isabelle’s eyes turn dark as she stares at me. “I find that comment inappropriate.”

The woman is impossible and she’s acting toward me as if I’m stupid. I sigh. “I’m looking at the scene through your eyes, Isabelle. I’m sure, as we’re talking about twenty or so years ago, he would have been quite a good-looking man at the time. You can be assured I have absolutely no designs on your husband. I’m here to do a job.”

“They all say that.” She flicks the tips of her long fingernails together, the thumbnail clicking over the others, agitation flowing from her. “Every time someone comes here to interview me it always turns around to the children or Linc. It’s as if I don’t matter.” She inclines her head and looks at me. “I hope you’re not planning on writing Linc’s memoirs because there’s no way he wants his life story told yet. He’s always told me he’ll consider it when he’s in his eighties.”

I know she’s trying to gain my sympathy but the poor little me act doesn’t work. I need the facts and I don’t want to waste my time writing a memoir that isn’t going to sell. “I’m here to write your story so you need to tell me everything. No one’s life goes smoothly. It’s the ups and downs during people’s lives that makes them human and it’s that side of a movie star’s life the readers want to know about.”

“There are some things I only discuss with my very close friends.” Isabelle purses her lips. “I’m not sure if I want everything to come out in a book.”

Hoping she is at last showing a crack in her armor, I smile. “That’s why you have me. I want sensationalism but not at a cost to your reputation. I want a book that will reignite your career. You need to trust me. I would have hoped that as we’re practically neighbors and Sam is a good friend of yours that we could be friends.”

“I don’t pay my friends.” Isabelle waves a hand at me. “I don’t feel like talking anymore. Everything I was going to tell you has completely vanished from my head.” She lifts her chin, eyes flashing. “Tell Allison to come in. She’s waiting outside.” She hands me the key to unlock the door. “Leave the door open.”

I stand but can’t unlock the door with my trembling fingers. When it clicks, I stagger out, grateful to be away from her. An unsettling fear grips me and I glance over my shoulder to see her eyes fixed on me. I’m trapped in this house behind two sets of gates and in an impenetrable fortress with a woman whose personality changes dramatically every time I speak to her. I shudder as I think back to what Lucas told me. Am I actually speaking to the real Isabelle, or is she just playing a role? He did warn me. Maybe I should just pack my bags and leave. Is this what happened to Jenny? Did Isabelle’s constant weird mood fluctuations drive her so crazy that she’s still running?

TWENTY-THREE

I find Allison sitting in the hallway, scrolling through her tablet. An assistant to a movie star sounds like a great position but, honestly, Isabelle treats her like a servant. Look at her waiting, like a dog the owner has told to sit. I absently wonder just how long she’d sit there waiting on Isabelle’s call. It’s demeaning and makes me feel sorry for her. I have a few things I need to ask her and wait for her to look up. “Isabelle wants you, but before you go can you tell me if Jenny left any notes on her work? She did mention that you cleaned out the room when she vanished.”

My suspicion rises when Allison’s eyes widen and she drops her voice to just above a whisper.

“Vanished isn’t how I’d describe what happened.” Allison tucks her tablet under one arm and her gaze flicks back and forth along the hallway as if making sure no one is listening. “Jenny had been working with Isabelle for a few weeks and she’d written some chapters. Isabelle insisted on checking everything and during the reading, she went ballistic. She used a marker to redact parts of the manuscript. I have no idea what Jenny had written that upset her so much and I’m not sure if Jenny knew either. The strange thing is, when I gave the documents back to Jenny, she went back to edit her files and said they’d been changed.”

I lean in, interested. “What do you mean? Changed by Isabelle?”

“I don’t know. This is where it gets interesting.” Allison moves closer to avoid being overheard. “I figure Jenny was a little unstable because she insisted that someone hacked her files and changed the document after she printed it. She told me that parts of the chapters were different to what she remembered writing.” She sucks in a deep breath. “Late that night, she stormed back to Isabelle and accused her of messing with her things. They had a blazing row. It was dark and Linc tried to calm everyone down. Jenny said she refused to write the book because Isabelle manipulated the truth and treated her like a servant. I remember seeing her running along the hallway back to her room. She was gone in the morning. Isabelle told me she’d fired her and Jenny had left in a hurry. I was sent to collect her laptop and files. Isabelle gave them to Oliver to delete everything. A couple of weeks later the cops showed and asked questions. Everyone in the house played dumb.” She grips my arm. “I shouldn’t be telling you any of this but as you’re in the same position as Jenny, I suggest you tread lightly if you want to keep your job.”

I nod. “Thanks. Are you saying Jenny left her laptop behind?”

“Isabelle supplied it and insisted she work on it. She didn’t trust her to use her own laptop.” Allison frowns. “The thing is, Isabelle is so dependent on people doing everything for her, she didn’t know that Jenny couldn’t sell her story to anyone. Jenny told me Linc had made her sign an NDA, and I did try to explain that to Isabelle but she didn’t believe me.” She sucks in a breath. “Even Linc told her to stop worrying and they were covered.”

Astounded, I nod slowly. “And Linc didn’t explain everything to her?”

“I believe he tried and maybe he got through to her because she employed you, didn’t she?” Allison laughs but her eyes show concern. “Unless she has something she can use against you. I’ve seen her in her foulest moods. I wouldn’t put anything past her. When she gets mad everyone ducks for cover.”

Blackmail? Does Isabelle believe that she can hold the fact that Sam didn’t report a gunshot wound over me? I want to laugh; at that time I hadn’t seen my adoptive parents for years. How could I possibly know Sam’s dirty little secret and why would I care? A thought enters my head. Why does Linc stay married to her? They don’t get along. What is Isabelle holding over his head? I stare at Allison, and her hand trembles as if she regrets telling me. I smile to reassure her. “No, I’m an open book and I’ll make sure Isabelle is happy. So, all the notes were destroyed?”

“Unless Oliver kept copies, but I found notebooks.” Allison bites on her bottom lip and then, as if deciding, nods. “I guess it’s okay for you to look at them but you must return them.”

My mind is spinning with questions. Who in the house had the ability to change Jenny’s work? Clearly Isabelle didn’t agree with what Jenny had written but that would be a simple editing issue. I wonder what she’d discovered and if it was cause to fire her. The nerd, as Lucas had called him—his brother, Oliver—had deleted the files from the laptop, so he had the password—if there was one. Would he change the manuscript, on his mother’s orders? My mind spins but now I’m suspicious of Allison’s motive for telling me. Is it the truth or is everyone playing games with me? I decide to lean into Isabelle’s poor me act for Allison’s benefit. If she reports back to her as Linc had suggested, it will be to my advantage. “Yes, of course I’ll return the books. It’s just to save Isabelle the trouble of going over everything twice. I believe she finds the interviews stressful. I’m finished with her for the day. Where will I find Oliver?”

“Do you recall where I took you when you arrived?” Allison raises one eyebrow and waves a hand toward the stairs. “His bedroom is upstairs, but he spends all his time in his gaming room. It’s set up for him to create all types of apps and other things. Don’t ask me what he’s doing because I have absolutely no idea. He’s always in there and only sometimes comes out for meals, usually breakfast.”

I smile. “Thanks.”

As I make my way down to the gaming room—I imagine that’s what it’s called—I consider the two different stories I’ve received from husband and wife. I decide to check all media outlets on my phone as I walk, for a mention of the night she flashed Linc on stage and the time she ripped her dress at a premiere of one of her movies. Most media coverage comes from eyewitness accounts. The reporter was either at the concert or the premiere and actually witnessed what happened, so it would probably be unusual if the accounts differed in many ways. I would like to get to the truth of the matter even for my own peace of mind. I’d really like to have the absolute truth written in Isabelle’s memoirs as the book will remain in print for many years to come.

I’m surprised when I come to an open door and see a room that’s larger than I expected. Desks and display units fill every wall. Monitors, LED lights and half-built tech projects clutter the desks. Oliver has his long dark hair tied back at the nape of his neck and is working before a screen. I watch for a few seconds as his fingers fly across the keyboard. He seems to be in a different world, with headphones hanging loosely around his neck. A tray of food sits untouched on the desk beside him. I stand in the doorway waiting for him to pause. The room is dark and I feel as if I’m invading his privacy. The moment he sighs and leans back in his chair I knock on the door. “Hi Oliver. Can you spare a few minutes to chat with me?”