The Lies I Told(43)

“You make that sound like a bad thing.” She set her phone down, blue eyes studying me.

“We didn’t see much of each other last year.”

“And your near-death experience has made me want to change that,” Brit said. “The thought of being alone is terrifying.”

That tempered some of the annoyance I’d felt since I’d walked into my apartment. Like it or not, we were the only family the other had.

I moved toward my desk, checked the middle drawer, and saw that the copied notes appeared undisturbed. I closed it and reached for my laptop. “The accounts should reconcile easily. There’s one new invoice for the Saturday wedding. Again posted.”

She slipped on gold-framed glasses and glanced at the spreadsheet on the computer screen. “You’re keeping better track of receipts.”

“I always have.”

She made a face. “You’ve a very unique system.”

“It all made sense to me.”

“Tell that to the IRS.” She closed the laptop without comment.

“Your little girl is growing up.”

“So it seems.” She glanced at her left hand and her gold-and-onyx college ring. “What do you think about David?”

“He seems nice.”

“We’re getting serious,” she said. “I think he could be the one.”

That was a bit of a shock. I’d never thought Brit would find anyone good enough. But she wanted children, and the clock had to be ticking.

“I guess you can thank me for that,” I said.

“I suppose you’re right. Though that would’ve been a terrible swap—you for him. A Faustian bargain.”

Would it have been that terrible for Brit? We’d seen each other barely twice last year, and there was the trust money that would go to her. “You have us both.”

She grinned. “I know. Speaking of men, I saw Paul Jones yesterday. He’s taken with you.”

“Is he?”

She chuckled, seeming to enjoy my exasperation. “He’s got money.”

“No.” Anxious to steer the conversation, I asked, “Do you think you and David will get married?”

She twisted the college ring around until all but the gold underside showed. “Who knows.”

“You know. You’ve always known what you want.”

A slight smile tipped the left edge of her lips. “Maybe. But wanting and finding are two different things.”

They are all lying.

I sipped my coffee. “Did you know Detective Richards investigated Mom’s death?”

She frowned as she looked up from the ring. “I did not. So, you’ve seen him again.”

“I have.”

“Are you sure he’s telling you the truth? I don’t remember him.”

“He let the female detective do all the interviews, but he was there,” I said.

“There couldn’t have been much to investigate. It was clear she killed herself.”

“That’s what he said,” I said.

“And then he draws the short straw when Clare died.” No missing the suspicion.

“He already had a connection to the family.”

“Still, feels a bit incestuous.”

I let her comment pass. “When Detective Richards interviewed you after Clare’s death, you said you’d been at home that evening.”

“That’s right. Stomach bug. You saw me the next morning. My eyes were beet red from all the vomiting.”

“All I remember is you standing in the kitchen. You looked pissed.”

Brit’s head tilted. “I was worried about Clare and you. I could never sleep if something was off with either of you two.”

That New Year’s Day morning, her eyes had been bloodshot. “I guess.”

“You guess?” Brit’s eyebrows lifted, like when she was exasperated. “Suggesting I lied? That’s the pot calling the kettle black. You told him you were just out for a drive.”

“I was driving. And then I bought drugs, pulled into a parking lot, used, and fell asleep.”

Brit stilled. “You were using?”

Hearing this well-practiced lie breathed life into it. “That’s old history.”

“I lied for you. I backed up your story to Richards.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Family sticks together. You might’ve been out there doing something stupid, but you wouldn’t hurt Clare.” Brit traced the handle of her mug with her thumb. “I’ve asked around about Richards over the years. He comes off as the heavy and then can turn on a dime and be your best friend. His version of bad cop slash good cop. He might have been tough on you back in the day, but it sounds like he’s your new friend.”

“Why wouldn’t he be helpful? I want this case solved as much as he does.”

“If he shut you out, then he’ll never get the chance to watch you slip up.”

I thought about the copies of Richards’s notes in my desk. Interesting observations but nothing shocking. Was it just enough to bait the hook?

Brit’s backward ring clinked against the stoneware mug. “He’s playing you. He’s about to retire, and he has one last shot to solve a case that’s hung over his head for thirteen years.”