Page 21 of Tell Me Your Lies

“Is it a secret?” Willow inclines her head and drops her eyelashes. It’s one of those moves she makes when she doesn’t want people to see what she’s thinking.

I give her a long stare as I make up my mind whether I should divulge exactly what I’ve been doing. I’d always considered her to be a good, kind and loving mom, but it’s difficult to get over the fact that she’d lied to me all my life. They could have told me earlier so I could have got used to it. Not the entire truth of course but the fact I’d been adopted shouldn’t have been such a big secret. When I was at school, two of my friends had been adopted. They always used to say they’d been chosen by their parents and they always believed it made them special. Their parents dealt with the matter early in their lives. So, coming to terms with what my parents had done to me and the timing of them telling me still has a sour taste in my mouth. I know I should get over it, and trust me I’ve tried, but it’s always there in the background eating away at me, all through my time in college and since living in New York, and it seems to be back again now.

I sigh and look at her. “You won’t like to hear what I’m going to tell you. I’ve discovered the name of my mother and would you believe that she was the woman murdered by a crazy fan of Linc Boswell, who set the murder scene to mimic his song ‘Black Valentine’? I’ve always said that we’re all connected in some way. It seems my mother fell on hard times and probably worked as a sex worker at the time of her death. I’m going to visit her sister today. I thought it would be good to find a little more information about my mom. I haven’t really worried about it previously but since I’ve been doing research on people’s lives, I realize that I know nothing about my own.”

“Sam mentioned that you gave him the third degree about your father.” Willow’s eyes show deep sadness. I notice in that moment the strands of silver in her hair and how thin her arms have become. “You know we wanted to tell you for years but you were such an inquisitive child that by the time you reached high school, we were concerned you’d have searched for your parents. We didn’t want you to be influenced by them in any way. We wanted you to make your own way in life without the burden of knowing your father was a convicted rapist and your mother ended up on the streets.” She gives me a direct stare and her hand reaches out as if to touch mine and then pulls back. “We had no idea you would take it so hard and that you believed we’d lied to you all your life.”

I shake my head with disbelief. “But you did lie to me all my life. You didn’t need to tell me their names. You could have just told me the files were sealed, which would have been a half-truth, wouldn’t it? I could have handled knowing I’d been adopted.” I push both hands through my hair and stare at her. “You were both the most caring and loving parents any girl could have. I still care for you both but I can’t trust you.” I meet her gaze across the table. My hands shake as I lift my coffee cup. I don’t want to hurt her. To me, deep down inside she’s still my mom. “I feel I can trust Linc more than I can my own family. That’s really pathetic, isn’t it?”

“He’s just using his charm on you, Alani.” Willow leans back in her chair and throws both her arms in the air. “It’s an act. Trust me, I’ve known those people for a long time and you can’t believe a word they say. To be honest I don’t believe they know what the truth is anymore, they’ve told so many lies.”

I rarely talk about my clients, unless it is to fact-check an incident but I look at Willow and find myself nodding. “I figure Isabelle actually writes down what she’s going to do the next day and then acts it out. Every time I interview her it’s as if she’s playing a part. It’s a challenge to get anything of interest out of her. Her entire world circles around her. It’s as if she’s not married to a famous rock god. She’s fiercely jealous of him and he’s loyal to her, as if he’s oblivious to the narcissist she’s become. He’s so easy going, most of the time he just rolls with the punches. I’ve come to the conclusion he believes a happy wife means a happy life.” I finish my coffee and push the cup away. “Well, I must go or I’ll be late. I’ll be staying here tonight and I’ll be home for dinner if you’re not going out.”

“Dinner it is.” Willow nods and pulls wisps of hair from her face. I watch as a breeze catches them. She has an ageless beauty. If she’d had a daughter, no doubt she would have been elegant just like her.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Moments later, I’m on the road heading to Susan Bright’s house. It’s some distance away and with the traffic, it takes me almost two hours to get there and I find police cruisers, their lights flashing, blocking the street. A cop standing in the middle of the road waves me away but I lean out of my window. “I’m heading for number eighteen. It’s my aunt’s house.”

“Park over there.” The cop waves me to a space alongside the curb.

After I park and turn off my engine, I see a man dressed in plain clothes—who I assume is a detective—walking toward my car with the cop. I shut my window, push open my door and step onto the road. “Will you be able to allow me to walk through to visit my aunt?”

“Not at the moment.” The man in plain clothes shows me his badge. “Detective Warner. Can I have your name please?” He writes down everything in a small notebook. “What’s your aunt’s name and address?”

I give him the details and he looks at me for a long moment. “I’m very sorry to inform you that your aunt is dead.”

Astonished, I stare at him unable to comprehend what he said. “Dead? What do you mean dead? What happened to her? She seemed fine when I spoke to her yesterday.”

“We have reason to believe she was murdered.” Detective Warner opens my car door and gently pushes me into the seat. “I know this is a shock. Did she mention anything to you about being in fear for her life or any threats?”

I shake my head. Dead? How could she possibly be dead? I’d only just found her. “No, not at all.” I lift my head to look at him. He has a very kind expression and one of those sad faces that tells me he’s seen one too many homicides in his life. I feel I need to tell him everything I know. “I’m adopted and I’d been hunting down my birth mother when I discovered that she had died some years ago. I’d only just traced my aunt and was coming to see her for the first time. She had a secret to tell me about my mother and was very excited I’d contacted her. She did mention it wasn’t something we could talk about over the phone. That was the only time I’ve spoken to her.”

“I see. You may be her only living relative. The neighbors, who she knew well, said she never mentioned any family.” Detective Warner leans one hand on the roof of my vehicle and looks down at me as if trying to discern if I’m telling him the truth. “We believe someone broke into the house and murdered her sometime during the night. I don’t have any other details I can give you. I suggest you go home because the forensic team will be here shortly and it’s not really good to see the body coming out. It’s not the way you want to remember your aunt even if you didn’t meet her.” He pulls a card out of his inside pocket and hands it to me. “If you require any more information, you can contact me. I’ll call you when the medical examiner has released the body.” He wipes a hand down his face. “She never mentioned you to her neighbors and yet you said she knew about you.”

I shrug. “I didn’t know about her before yesterday when I contacted the author of a newspaper story concerning my mother’s death. He hunted her down at the time and gave me her information. My first point of contact was speaking to her yesterday afternoon. I guess whatever she had to tell me about my mother died with her.” I look at him, trying to discover if he knows anything. “If you find a journal or anything that might help me, will you let me know?”

“Unless it’s evidence. As next of kin, you’ll likely be contacted and can look yourself.” The detective straightens. “Okay, you can leave now.”

I turn my vehicle around and head back home. So many thoughts are flashing through my mind it’s difficult to think straight. It’s as if I’m driving on autopilot and just following instructions on the GPS, without taking in my surroundings. What was the secret Susan had been keeping for all these years? Did it have any influence on why she was murdered? Did the person who murdered my mom murder her too? I chew on my bottom lip. The deeper I delve into my past the murkier it becomes.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Since becoming a journalist, I’ve learned to use my resources. I decide to call Peter Kite, the newspaper reporter. If I explain to him what I’ve discovered, he might agree to a collaboration into the murder of Susan Bright. I’ve checked him out and he’s still single, has kept a steady job with the same newspaper for years. Reporters can be animals, but I need to find someone to work with and at least I know this guy. I call the moment I get home and back into my room. My parents are at the club so I have a short window of time. He answers on the second ring and I explain what happened. “I need your help. What I haven’t told you is this case is personal. It could be a really great story but right now, my life could be in danger for whatever reason I don’t know.”

“Don’t dance around the edges, Alani.” Peter lowers his voice. Footsteps echo through the speaker and then a door closes. “Okay, I can speak now. There’s nobody here. How are you involved with all this?”

I pause, suddenly frightened to go on. Can I trust him? Do I have a choice? I take out my recording device, put my phone on speaker and press the button. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Peter, but I’m recording this conversation. I want your word that this is off the record. I don’t want everything I say to you to be on the front page of your newspaper in the morning. I believe there is more to this story than meets the eye.”

“You have my word. I will not repeat any of this conversation to anyone or write a story unless you agree in writing for me to send it to my editor.” Peter sounds very serious. “I’m not recording our conversation, so I have no proof of anything we’re saying. You know you can trust me, Alani.”

I take the chance and decide to tell him everything I know, without including anything about the Boswells. “This is what I know. My mother is Rachel Stackhouse. She was the teenager the felon Clifton Barnes raped and left for dead. She spent most of the pregnancy in a coma and I was born in Tallahassee. Shortly afterward a couple adopted me and I only discovered this the night before I went to college. My adoptive parents withheld all the information from me until recently when they told me my father’s name. I needed to know my mother’s name, so I went to visit him in prison. He gave me my mother’s name but when I went looking for her, I discovered she was the ‘Black Valentine’ murder victim. That was around the time I called you. I went to visit Susan Bright and found she’d been murdered the previous evening. The problem is two-fold. She told me she had a secret that she needed to tell me about the night I was born. It must have been something important because I believe someone took her life for it. I have reason to believe her death has something to do with my father. When I went to visit him, he told me that I have a brother who is just like him.” I suck in a deep breath. “I’m worried I might be next.”

“Are you saying that monster has a son out there murdering people?” A chair squeaks as if he’s just sat down and rolled it across the floor. “What do you know about your brother?”

I sag against the wall. I’m relieved that he’s interested. “His name is Damon and he followed me to the mall.” I explain what happened.

“He’s threatened you already. This isn’t good.” Peter groans. “And you have no idea what Susan was going to tell you?”