The Lies I Tell(11)

I shrugged, as if his opinion was one I’d heard before. “Optimism is a choice.”

“That’s what I always say!” His delight was palpable. “I didn’t learn that until I was much older though.”

I gave him a skeptical look. “You’re not that old.”

He grimaced. “Forty-eight.”

I bumped my shoulder against his. “I like older men.”

He chuckled. “Good to know.” We were quiet for a moment. “Where did you grow up?” he asked.

“Grass Valley. A tiny town in the Sierras,” I told him. “You’ve probably never heard of it. Population twelve thousand. Everyone knows everyone else. After my mother died, I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.” I studied his face, looking for any trace of skepticism, but it was open and trusting. He believes me.

“What brought you to Los Angeles?”

“A boyfriend,” I admitted. “Oldest story in the book. But I’m happy here. I’m at the city college in Santa Monica, doing a digital design degree. I’m living in student housing right now, but as soon as I’m done, I hope to get a place and start my own design business.”

He looked into my eyes and asked, “Do you believe in fate?”

I believed in making your own opportunities. I believed in taking what you wanted from life, and if you had to hurt someone in the process, it had better be for a good reason, because I also believed in karma. “I do today,” I said.

He leaned forward and kissed me. His lips were soft against mine, and I closed my eyes to the laugh lines around his eyes, the gray peppering his hairline.

“When can I see you again?” he whispered.

A woman on Rollerblades whizzed past us on the bike path, the beat from her headphones a whisper in the air around us. I looked toward the ocean, where the sun was sinking below the horizon. Stepping into this role felt as easy as sliding on an old coat, contouring my body as if I’d been wearing it for years. “How about Thursday?”





Kat


I’d been working at the LA Times when the story of Cory Dempsey had broken. I was lucky to have the job. My mother had cashed in a favor with a friend of hers, landing me as a junior reporter under the famed investigative journalist Frank Durham. It was my first big story, and I was eager to prove myself, accompanying him as he made the rounds to press conferences, to the police station, and to meet with sources close to the investigation. I was even present when Frank met with Cory’s family, a rare interview granted with the very strictest of parameters.

That was where I’d first heard Meg Williams’s name. Not in the course of the interview itself—two parents working hard to stay on the right side of public perception, deflecting blame away from themselves for what their son had done to those girls.

But in the corner, where I sat taking my own notes, I heard different things from the cousins who’d driven Mr. and Mrs. Dempsey up from San Diego. Bits and pieces of a whispered conversation I wasn’t supposed to overhear. As far as they knew, I was just a young, female assistant with headphones shoved in her ears, waiting for her boss to finish his interview so she could type up his notes.

“Supposedly, this all happened while Cory was living with his girlfriend. Right under her nose.” A male cousin in his late twenties.

“God, can you imagine finding out your boyfriend did something like that to a young girl?” His female counterpart.

I held my eyes on my notebook, writing the words live-in girlfriend and circling them. And then I kept listening, bobbing my head to a beat that wasn’t there.

“If he was Cory? Yes.”

“Who told you he had a girlfriend?”

The male cousin grimaced. “Nate.”

Nate Burgess, Cory’s closest friend. Frank had included his contact information in the legend he’d given me. I added Nate’s name to the web I’d started sketching out in my notes.

“What else did Nate say?”

“Not much about the high school girls. Claimed he had no idea.”

The woman gave a derisive laugh. “Right.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the man’s gaze cut to me, and he lowered his voice. “He said something interesting though. About the girlfriend, Meg.”

I added the name Meg to the page and held my breath.

“Nate says she came out of nowhere seven months ago, infiltrated Cory’s life, and conned him into giving her access to everything.”

“Let me guess, she was young and hot.”

“Probably, but here’s the thing—Nate claims everything Meg told Cory about herself was a lie. That she targeted him from the beginning and used what he was doing to his students as cover to empty his bank account and disappear.”

“That doesn’t make her a con artist; that makes her a hero.”

***

Back in the car with Frank, I brought it up. “One of the cousins brought up the possibility that Cory’s girlfriend, Meg, was conning him. That she set all of this up.”

I looked at Frank across the center console, his white hair erupting out of his head in a way that had earned him the nickname Einstein among the other reporters. He was a legend, and I was lucky to be able to learn from him. But it wasn’t easy, having to constantly fight for the real assignments, not the public records searches and lunch orders my male colleagues kept trying to stick me with.