We Told Six Lies(39)

A look of surprise, and then sympathy, washes over the guy’s face.

“I’m going to back up,” he says, gently. “I’m Nick Parco. I work for the Miami Herald. I haven’t been there long, and I need to make a good impression, right, because newspapers don’t exactly keep journalists around who aren’t breaking major stories.”

I sigh with impatience, and Nick waves his hands.

“Right, right,” he says. “Anyway, I thought maybe I could figure out what happened to the wife and kid of Frank Manning.”

“Manning?” I say.

“Yeah.” He jabs his thumb toward Molly’s house.

I think of how Molly and her mother are going by a different last name now—Bates. I wonder if it’s Molly’s mother’s maiden name or if they changed it for a darker, more sinister reason. My stomach churns. I don’t want any more mysteries. I want answers.

I don’t want to show my ignorance, but I find myself asking, “Who is Frank Manning?”

“He’s your…girlfriend’s?…dad.”

I nod to confirm Molly and I were dating. Are dating.

“Anyway, Frank Manning is the guy that swindled hundreds of people out of their life savings. You might have read about him?” He raises his eyebrows, but I have no idea what he’s talking about.

“Right, kids don’t read newspapers,” he mutters. “Anyway, this guy who worked for Frank figured out that he was basically running a Ponzi scheme and threatened to tell. Most people would turn themselves in or flee the country. Or, I don’t know, pay the guy off or something. But people close to Frank say he could talk someone into doing almost anything. So, basically, instead of quitting while he was ahead, he decided to convince this poor guy that he was depressed. He, like, I don’t know, changed the chemistry in his brain. Made him question his marriage. His children. His career. Made him question why he was alive at all.

“So here’s Frank playing the part of the helpful friend while this guy is getting closer and closer to taking his own life. And finally, he just does it. At the office. Just stands on his desk and offs himself.”

The ground beneath my feet sways.

Molly lied to me.

Molly is not who I thought she was. Or maybe…maybe she’s exactly who I suspected she was, and this is the reason why.

“Frank ended up going to prison anyway,” he continues. “Someone else ratted him out once the police started sniffing around. He’s there for thirty years. Course, that doesn’t help any of the people who lost their money.”

Nick looks at Molly’s house. “These two were basically run out of town. Their possessions were seized, and their accounts were frozen. But people want someone on the outside to blame. And they’ve got questions. Like, did Frank’s wife know how he was making the money? Did she hide any of it? How often does she talk to Frank now?” Nick shakes his head. “I can only imagine what that guy’s doing to the other prisoners he’s with. Or to the guards. He’s probably building an empire on the inside.” He shrugs. “He won’t talk to me, but I thought maybe his wife would. That’d still be something.”

I look at Molly’s house, too, and sort through what this means. Do the police know that Molly Bates is really Molly Manning? They must. And what about all those people out there that lost their money, or their homes, or their children’s college funds? Would some of them want revenge? How careful was Molly’s mother when changing their names and covering their tracks?

My list of suspects just grew to hundreds of strangers. Maybe thousands.

How am I ever going to find her?

“So will you?” Nick asks.

I realize he’s been talking, and I haven’t heard a word he’s said.

“What?” I ask.

“I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind answering a few—”

“What do you think happened to her?” I ask suddenly.

“To Molly?” He thinks about this. “Sounds like she just took off. She probably knew someone had figured out where she and her mom were. But seems like some people think someone might have taken her. It’s an interesting twist in the story.”

I glare at him, and he shifts under my gaze.

“What’s she like anyway?” he asks, and I can tell he’s slipping into his fact-seeking role even now. “Is she like her dad?”

I pull in a deep breath. Release it. “Yeah,” I say. “I think she probably is.”

“Shit,” he says, and shakes his head. “Well, if someone did take her, and she’s anything like him, then I’m more afraid for the kidnapper than I am for her.”





PART III

   drain you





MOLLY


He visited her three nights in a row.

Each time, he’d bang once against the door—

Sing.

And she’d stand, her white dress dirtied, and sing until her throat grew raw. Molly wasn’t an exceptionally good singer. Quite the opposite, really. But what she lacked in talent, she made up for in emotion. That’s who music was truly intended for—the passionate. Those with things to say which couldn’t simply be said.

When she grew tired, she’d ask only one thing in return.