Page 5 of Tell Me Your Lies

I follow the kitchen staff and discover the dining room is right next door to the area with a grand piano. A long table with an immaculate crisp white tablecloth, glistening silverware, glasses and cups overlooks a magnificent view of the beach. At the head of the table sprawls Linc Boswell, the epitome of a heavy metal rock star. His long black hair hangs over his shoulders. One of his ears is pierced with a dangly silver snake. His arms and neck are covered with satanic tattoos. He is in remarkably good shape for a man in his mid-forties. Well-defined muscles peek out from under the arms of his black faded T-shirt stretched across broad shoulders. If I didn’t know better, I’d have placed him closer to thirty. He gives me an inquiring stare and his gaze moves over me in an assessing manner. I walk into the room following the staff as they place the food and other refreshments along the middle of the table.

“Ah, you must be Alani?” Linc stands and offers me his hand. “Linc Boswell, I’m Isabelle’s husband.” His mouth stretches in a wide smile. “Have you eaten? Please sit down and at least have coffee with us.” He turns toward the window. “Isabelle, breakfast is ready and your visitor has arrived.”

He is still holding my hand and I gently ease it away. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Boswell. I’m looking forward to finding out everything about the family so I can start writing Isabelle’s memoirs.”

“Call me Linc. Everyone is on a first name basis here. My kids will be down to eat soon. We all had a late night. When we’re done here do you want me to take you downstairs to my recording studio? I’m sure you’ll need to get the feel of everything while you’re here. Isabelle will take up most of your time, she is a stickler for details.” He winks at me. “At least her version of the details. Some of us have different memories but then again, I can’t remember much around the time our kids were born.” He sighs and drops back into his seat and then waves a hand at the platters. “Help yourself. We don’t like being bothered by the staff.”

I’ve never been a fangirl and don’t have a problem with famous people but I can understand how this guy’s animal magnetism sets his audiences on fire. I don’t like all of his music or the lyrics, and seeing him in the flesh is a massive contradiction to the persona he portrays on stage. He is a really nice man. “Yes, I would like to see your recording studio as you are a big part of Isabelle’s life and of course you will be included in the book. I’d like to get your stories of how you met and your first impressions of each other. In fact, anything interesting that I can use to enhance the story. If you have any secrets you would like to reveal it always helps to make a bestseller and I’m sure Isabelle would like that.”

“Oh, I expect to have a bestseller.” Isabelle floats into the room wearing a peacock-patterned silk coverup over her swimsuit. She’s tall, elegant, and black hair spills over her shoulders like silk. She has an arrogant tilt to her head and blue eyes stare down her nose at me as if I’m a cockroach. “You must be Alani. Are you settled in? I’m anxious to start work on the book.” She takes a seat opposite me and as she crosses long suntanned legs, a red slip-on sandal dangles from her toes.

I take a deep breath and try to break the hypnotic stare Linc has on me and shake my head. “Well, no actually. You see, my room is too small for me to work in but it’s not a problem if I do the interviews here during the day and return to my parents’ place to work. I need plenty of space for all my documents and research information, and that tiny room is claustrophobic and there’s not enough light.”

“Really?” Isabelle snorts and inclines her head, regarding me like her next meal. “Your contract states that you work here. Where you work is my decision.”

“We have twenty bedrooms and three guest houses and you put her in the staff quarters?” Linc splutters over his coffee. “Sam’s daughter? After what he’s done for us? Have you lost your fricking mind?” He shakes his head slowly. “The next time you go under the knife with him maybe he’ll put your nose on crooked.” He chuckles and then turns to look at me. “There’s a room overlooking the beach, two doors away from our daughter, Mia’s room. I’m sure she’ll show you the ropes, and it’s far enough away from the others to give you some peace and quiet.” He lifts the receiver of a phone beside the table. “Bill, I want you to move Alani’s things into the guest bedroom two doors along from Mia.” He replaces the receiver and looks at me. “Done.” He indicates to Isabelle with his chin. “If you have any more problems with her, just come and see me.”

“Don’t think every young woman who visits this house is here for your benefit.” Isabelle glares at him. “She’s here because I want her to write my memoirs. Just remember that.”

I stare from one to the other, cheeks heating and horrified at being the cause of an argument. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to cause any problems.”

“This, Alani, isn’t arguing. This is just a discussion.” Linc leans toward me as if divulging a family secret. “I’m glad I got her to sign a prenup.” Linc looks at me, shrugs and helps himself to a platter of crispy bacon. “If she keeps up this jealousy, I’ll toss her out into the street.”

A young woman walks into the room, wearing a tatty black shirt and leggings but she’s barefoot. Heavy black makeup and a nose ring make her difficult to place but I recognize her from school, although I joined the literary crowd, enjoyed music and plays, and Mia was a goth and still is by the way she dresses. Behind her, a young man I’d put at around twenty-two yawns explosively and stares at me as if I have two heads. I know who these people are from my early research on the family. The young man is Oliver. There is one more sibling and his name is Lucas, who is twenty-seven and the oldest of the three children. Lucas is in his father’s band and writes songs. Oliver has Linc’s dark good looks, blue eyes with long black lashes. Mia’s eyes are paler but also blue and her hair is a sheet of black with violet streaks tumbling down her back.

“Morning.” Oliver sits next to me. “You must be Alani. So, is the book going to be an exposé of all the terrible things my mother’s done during her life, or are you going to be gentle with her?”

I smile at him and his laughter is infectious. “There needs to be a few secrets unveiled or the book won’t sell. No one likes to read a boring life story but luckily most celebrities have interesting lives and I’m sure Isabelle has a few skeletons in her closet she can share with me.”

“You’re looking at one of them.” Linc pushes food in my direction. “Eat, you’ll need the energy working here.”

“I recognize you from school; well, vaguely. I was in the ‘most likely to be found in a graveyard’ group.” She grins. “I noticed Bill moving your things into the room along the hallway from me. That’s good. Us girls must stick together but I suggest you use the lock on your door overnight. You never know which one of my dad’s cronies are wandering around off their heads.” She giggles. “Whatever you do, don’t go out on the boat with any of them. They say it’s for fishing but I’m not so sure.” She stares at Linc. “People go out and never come back. Isn’t that right, Dad?”

“Mia.” Isabelle leans back in her chair. “Anything you say will end up in the book. The next thing we know we’ll be getting raided again. Do you want strange men going through your things?”

“I don’t need the cops to do that, Mother.” Mia glowers at Linc. “I found one of his friends in my room last week.” She shoots me a meaningful stare and wiggles her eyebrows. “You can make what you like out of that gem, Alani.”

I smile. Perhaps Mia will be able to divulge some sensational stories to add to the book but then I see Isabelle’s eagle eyes rest on me. I clear my throat. “Everything I write will be approved by your mother.”

“Well then, I hope you’ll last longer than the last one.” Mia fills a plate with fruit. “The last person Mom employed to do research into her life ran out the front door and we never saw her again. In fact, no one has ever seen her again.”

EIGHT

Isabelle

So, this is Alani. I’ve heard so much about her it seems I know her already. My gaze moves to Linc’s face. It’s as if he can’t take his eyes off her. I’m not surprised. Although in her early twenties, she is exactly his type. He is attracted to women with fair hair and deep blue eyes. Add a flawless complexion, slightly pinked cheeks, a small but very well-proportioned body and she’d be a knockout in anyone’s eyes—I hate her already. Why couldn’t I pick a plain Jane ghostwriter? Don’t authors spend long hours locked in small rooms chasing deadlines and not caring about their appearance? Alani is the opposite: smart, feisty and speaks her mind. She reminds me of my son, Lucas. Most people believe he’s a recluse—the strong silent type—but he’s Linc’s clone. Smart and doesn’t suffer fools.

I notice Alani looks away from Linc as if trying to avoid his penetrating gaze. I’ll give her points for that. She is answering his questions in a polite manner but it’s obvious she doesn’t want to become involved with him or just hasn’t fallen under his spell yet. The problem I have with Linc is that he seems to be completely unaware that he’s staring at people. He has a way with people that can strike them dumb. When he turns on his charisma, he’s like a snake charmer and people around him are the cobras. I watch the interaction between Oliver and Alani with interest. All my kids have been well versed in not telling any family secrets. Oliver is our nerd. He tends to be brutally honest with people but most of the time he’s living in game world.

As I eat my fruit platter, I notice the way Alani eats. She selects a very small amount of food and cuts it into tiny pieces. Each forkful she puts into her mouth she chews for a long time before delicately dabbing her lips with a napkin. She is extremely attentive and I can’t imagine anything slipping past her. I’ll need to be on my guard. Before I approached her agent, I took the time to listen to some of the audiobooks of the biographies she’d written. In every single one of them she reveals a sensational secret hidden from the celebrities’ past. How she manages to persuade them to reveal their darkest secrets, I can’t imagine. I’ll need to control what goes into my book—my story, my way—but this girl is good and has all the right connections. What if she discovers the truth about me, and releases it to the tabloids once the book is written? I can’t allow that to happen. That is why I chose her. I have a few aces up my sleeve I can play if she dares to step out of line—because ours isn’t the only family with secrets.

NINE

Alani

Wrestling a stampeding bull elephant to the ground would be easier than getting Isabelle to commit to an interview time. She vanished after breakfast saying that she needed to shower and get in the mood for my interview and would see me later. Everyone else I ask is too busy right now, so I sit on the deck, taking in the view of the coastline and the large yacht moored beside jet skis, with a helipad nearby. The security here is not intrusive—apart from the cameras—but from where I’m sitting, I can see there’s no other access to this part of the house. No one can get near the boat or helicopter. I wonder if they use the chopper to fly everywhere? I need to explore the house and take notes of what I’m seeing to enrich the book. Readers like to know all the small details. I stand and yawn before heading along a pathway, hoping I don’t get lost. The house sprawls in all directions without any type of plan, as if parts of it have been added over the years.

I follow the path that winds alongside the infinity pool and into a shaded tropical garden. It’s well maintained and obviously the work of a professional gardener as the plants are healthy even in this heat. As I follow the path between a row of palm trees, the mournful sounds of an electric guitar drift toward me. Intrigued, I stop to listen, assuming it’s Linc working on a new song. The low moody guitar riffs pull me forward and I pass an indoor koi pond into a sun-drenched atrium filled with rare orchids. I want to stay and admire the blooms but I keep walking, mesmerized by the sound, and discover the eldest son, Lucas. Twenty-seven, barefoot and shirtless, he sprawls across a black leather chaise with a vintage Gibson in his lap. He is the clone of his father, and looks up in surprise, stops playing and runs a hand through his tousled hair. His unreadable gaze moves over me. I swallow hard. “Oh, I’m sorry to disturb you.”