The Liar

“You’ve never been a bumpkin. But there you are—young, fresh, inexperienced, but game. It takes game to get on stage. He checks you out, then he moves in, feels you out. By then he’s got a good sense what you’re like, what you like. And he makes himself exactly what you like.”

“What if I’d said no, no, I can’t just run off to New York City with you?”

“He’d have moved on, found somebody who would. I’m sorry.”

“No need to be. It’s a relief in its way to feel like it was never really about me. It was never really personal. It makes it more of a puzzle to solve.”

“Okay. Wow, that looks great.”

Pleased, she set the completed platter on the eating counter. “My mama would tell you presentation counts. So even if it doesn’t taste good, at least it looks good. Let’s hope we have both. Sit down. I’ll serve it up, and you can tell me what’s next on your list.”

“Houston, right?”

“It was Houston for about six months.”

“Then Atlanta, Philadelphia, then Hilton Head. You said Richard never did anything without a reason. Why did he want you and Callie to go with him to Hilton Head?”

“You think he might have had some sort of deal going there, and we’d have been cover again.” She plated a hefty slice of meat loaf with generous portions of potatoes and carrots. “Oh God, Griff, what if it wasn’t an accident? What if the deal went bad, and he was killed? Dumped in the ocean?”

“You’re probably never going to know the answer to that one. He put out an SOS, didn’t he?”

“Somebody did, but . . . Griff, Forrest said Harlow escaped around Christmas. Richard—that was just a couple days after Christmas.”

“Killing Richard wouldn’t be a smart way to get to the millions.”

“No, you’re right. But there could’ve been a fight, an accident, and you’re still right. I’m probably never going to know, at least unless they catch Harlow.”

She put a smaller portion on her plate, sat. “It probably happened just the way the police think. He liked taking risks. Driving fast, skiing the fastest slopes, scuba diving, rock climbing, skydiving. He wouldn’t have let a squall stop him. But it did. What else?”

“The PI. Maybe he’s just what he claimed, but—” After the first bite of meat loaf, Griff stopped. “Wow.” Sampled another bite. “Okay, that seals it. I’m keeping you. This meat loaf’s better than my mom’s—and if you tell her I said that, I’ll swear you’re a liar.”

“I’d never insult another woman’s meat loaf. You really like it?”

“Ask me again after I’ve licked the plate.”

“Must be the beer. In the meat loaf.”

“There’s beer in the meat loaf?”

“An old family recipe.”

“Definitely keeping you.” He stopped eating long enough to cup a hand at the back of her neck, pull her over for a kiss.

“I haven’t made meat loaf in years, so I’m glad it turned out.”

“Prizewinning.”

“Tell me what you think about that detective.”

“Right. I fell into an altered state due to beer-laced meat loaf. So the PI, he tracks you to Philly, follows you down here. He’s either dedicated or he has an agenda. He’s licensed and all that, and he swears the brunette wasn’t his client. Forrest says he won’t name the client.”

“I didn’t get that much out of Forrest.”

Griff shrugged. “We were talking. He’s alibied for the night of the murder, so there’s no legit cause to hassle him. Yet.”

Head cocked, she stabbed a bite of carrot. “You know more.”

“Bits and pieces. I know Forrest says the widow and her son both deny hiring the PI. The insurance paid out, and they’ve put the whole ugly business behind them. The Miami police talked to them, and it looks like they’re alibied for the murder, too.”

“You’re just a well of information.”

“He’s worried about you—Forrest. Mostly it’s negative information, so I guess he didn’t want to dump it on you.”

“Knowing’s better than not.”

“Now you know. Most of the rest is pure speculation. We can speculate pretty confidently Harlow’s been in the Ridge. It’s no big leap to speculate he killed the brunette, if for no other reason than who else, and he had motive since she’d claimed he shot the widow’s son—and maybe he did—but since the gun you found in Philadelphia in Richard’s safe-deposit box was the one used, it’s more logical to—”

“What? What did you say? The gun I found—Richard’s gun?”

Griff decided he needed a long drink of wine. “Okay, listen, he—Forrest—just got the information on that today. The Miami cops did the ballistics, verified the gun you found in the bank fired the bullet that wounded the son. I happened to run into him this afternoon, and he told me.”

“Richard. Richard shot someone.”

“Maybe. Maybe he just grabbed the gun after, but . . . logical speculation. His gun, his shot. Harlow always denied it, and he’d never taken a hit on weapons charges before this.”

“She lied. She was in love with Richard—Jake to her. At least in her way she loved him. She lied, even after he betrayed her. It wasn’t just the money, the take, that had her tracking me here. She was jealous, angry and jealous that he’d spent those years with me. Had a child with me.”