Behind Every Lie(65)

Once we’d finished, Liam made me a fresh cup of tea and a plate of toast, setting them on the coffee table in front of me.

“You feeling better?” He sat next to me on the couch. I nodded, leaning my head against his chest. He wrapped an arm around me and stroked a hand down my hair. I was lucky he was here to take care of me.

“I’m sorry.” My voice was muffled against his suit blazer.

“It’s okay,” he assured me. But for the first time I wasn’t sure if he meant it.

Liam’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket and read a text. His face went slack with shock.

“What’s wrong?”

He looked up at me. “The building inspector rejected my building permit.”

He sat for a moment, paralyzed, then lurched for the stairs, taking them two at a time. Anybody else would cut their losses and walk away. I certainly would. But not Liam. Backing down was too close to rejection, and Liam would never allow that. He wouldn’t allow no to stop him from getting that building permit.

I trailed up the stairs after him, but he was already coming back down, his briefcase bulging with files. He brushed past me and grabbed his coat and keys.

“Keep all the doors and windows locked,” he ordered. “I’m really sorry I have to go. I need to talk to this building inspector in person. I’ll call the lawyer and take you to the detective’s office when I get back, okay? And after that, we’ll get you to the doctor.” He brushed a quick kiss across my forehead. He’d returned to his old self, his jaw set, his eyes flashing with determination. “I can’t let this fall through.”

The door shut behind him, the chain lock swinging dizzyingly against the wood.

Can’t? I thought. Or won’t?

I lay on the couch for a little bit feeling sorry for myself, my head thumping horribly. Finally I managed to drag myself into the kitchen to make another cup of tea. While the kettle boiled, I looked at the calendar on the refrigerator. The appointment we’d scheduled with Father Byrne was there, written in clean block letters on Wednesday. I could’ve sworn it was for next week, on Tuesday, because I’d scheduled to get off work early that day.

I got my phone from my bedside table and opened the calendar to Tuesday. Off work early was written at 2 p.m. on Tuesday. But when I scrolled back to last Wednesday, our meeting with Father Byrne was clearly scheduled. I clicked into the appointment and it told me: Created by Eva Hansen.

God, I was useless.

I took my tea back to the couch and stared at the dead bolt on the front door, the shiny polished gold of new metal. The house felt oppressive. It was all those locks, the bolts slid shut, the chains fastened tight. Claustrophobia, thick as a sea mist, closed around me.

I pulled my yoga mat from the hallway closet and tried a few poses, but I couldn’t relax my mind. My body was filled with a restless, electric energy. I dressed in clean jeans and a blue sweater Liam had left out for me on the dresser and went outside for a walk.

Ginger saw me and bounded across the grass. She headbutted her nose against my jeans and fell into step behind me as I strolled along the dirt path that hugged the lake. Damp, cold air seeped through my coat. The wet soil released an unnatural fog that swirled over the brackish water. The air smelled like a storm was brewing. My left arm prickled in reply, electric pulses crawling up my skin.

Maybe it was the acid left from the wine, or the fear that had hounded me for the last week, or the knowledge that I was Laura and not Eva, and I didn’t even know what that meant, but something was … off. I felt disoriented and unsettled, restless. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but it was there, just out of reach.

I sat on the edge of a damp, rotting log and dialed Detective Jackson’s number. Ginger twined around my legs, purring and blinking at me with huge green eyes.

“Detective Jackson. It’s Eva.”

“Eva. Good to hear from you.”

“I’m back from London. Actually, I got back yesterday, but I was just so tired.… I mean—what I mean to say is, I can come in to you today. I have a lot to tell you.”

“Okay, great. That’s really great, Eva. Thanks for letting me know.” He sounded distracted. The jabber of voices filtered through the phone, punctuated by the whistle of the wind. “Sorry, I’m in the middle of something. Hold on a sec.”

There was a long pause, then a muffled directive as he called something to someone.

After a minute, he returned. “Have you spoken to your brother today?” Jackson asked.

“No. I haven’t. Not since yesterday. Why?”

Somebody spoke to Jackson. The rustle of fabric covering the mouthpiece crackled in my ear. I couldn’t quite make out Jackson’s reply. The cold started seeping through my jeans into my thighs. My fingers were going numb. I wished I’d worn gloves.

Jackson came back on the line sounding rushed. “Really sorry, Eva, but I hafta go.” A gust of wind whooshed in the phone. From somewhere far away somebody called his name. “Just stay where you are, and I’ll call you back a little later, okay?”

“Wai—”

But the line had already gone dead.

What the hell? I stared at my phone, confused. Clearly going in to his office wasn’t urgent. Now I was glad I hadn’t rushed there this morning.

I tried Andrew, remembering what had seemed so urgent before I passed out last night: he had the key to Mom’s house.