Listen for the Lie(22)

Colin:????????????She wasn’t exactly … single.

Ben:???????????????She was in a relationship.

Colin:????????????Yes.

Ben:???????????????You went to her house?

Colin:????????????No …

Ben:???????????????Where’d you go?

Colin:????????????Just her car. She drove it a little bit down the road and we just … I don’t think anyone at the wedding even noticed we were gone. They definitely didn’t notice I was gone, anyway. If her husband was suspicious, I don’t know.

Ben:???????????????And then she drove you home?

Colin:????????????No, I walked. She had to get home.

Ben:???????????????You walked home, alone, at what? One a.m.? Two? In the rain?

Colin:????????????It’s a safe town, man.

Ben:???????????????I’m just trying to clarify the timeline here. You were out, alone, during the time Savvy was killed. But you lied to the police and said you walked home right after she left.

Colin:????????????I didn’t kill her.

Ben:???????????????But this is the correct timeline now?

Colin:????????????I didn’t kill her.

Yo, can we start again? I feel like I messed this up.





CHAPTER TWELVE


LUCY




Did you call Ben?

I glance down at the text Grandma just sent me.

“You’re sure you don’t want roses? Your mom said pink roses.” The florist frowns at me suspiciously, like I’ve come into her shop with the intention of ruining my grandma’s birthday party.

I press the call button on my phone and put Grandma on speaker. She picks up right away.

“Hello?”

“Grandma. Opinion on pink roses?”

“Tell your mother I will vomit on her pink roses.”

I raise my eyebrows at the florist. She purses her thin, red lips, like she’s very insulted on behalf of pink roses everywhere.

I take Grandma off speaker and press the phone to my ear. “Party planning is going terribly and your birthday is going to be a disaster.”

“Can’t wait. Have you listened to today’s interview with Colin? Did you call Ben?”

“I’m still thinking, traitor. I’ll call you later, okay? I have to stop this pink roses disaster.”

“Oh yes, please do.”

I press end on the call and return my attention to the red-faced florist.

“Gerber daisies. No roses of any color.”



* * *



I return to my parents’ house to find Mom trying to sweep the floor with one hand while holding on to a single crutch with the other. I drop my purse on the kitchen table and take the broom from her.

“Thank you, hon. The girls are coming over in about ten minutes and I can’t have this place looking like a pigsty.” She fluffs her hair, which is already fluffy enough to make most southern women proud.

“Who are the girls?” I sweep some crumbs out of a corner and into the pile.

Mom hobbles over to the couch. “Just some friends. They come over every other week for tea. We do a book club sometimes, but not today. We just did a book last week.”

“Which one?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I never read them. Who has the patience for reading anymore?”

I snort as I sweep the dirt into the dustpan. She twists around to look at me.

“You stopped by the restaurant to look at the room?”

“Yes. It’s very nice.”

“And approve the menu?”

“They gave me a sample of their meatballs. Highly recommended.” I dump out the dustpan and return the broom to the closet.

“I heard from Janice today that she and your uncle Keith are all booked at the inn, so no need to worry about that. Ashley and Brian too.”

“I was definitely not worried about that.”

“Your aunt Karen too,” she says, ignoring me. “All set. No one needs rides; they’re driving in from Houston.”

I was definitely not going to offer a ride to the family members I haven’t spoken to in years.

“Did you talk to the florist about the flowers?” Mom asks.

“Yep.”

“She’s going to do centerpieces with pink roses?”

“She sure is.” I head to the stairs. “I should make myself scarce for this, right?”

“Goodness no! I told them you’d be joining us. Don’t embarrass me.”

“Way too late for that, wouldn’t you say?”

“I meant don’t embarrass me by going to hide in your room when I said you’d be joining us.”

“All right. It’s your funeral.”

“I’ve never understood that saying and I’d prefer that you not explain it to me.”

The doorbell rings. Mom fluffs her hair one more time and waves for me to answer it.

I walk over to the front door and pull it open.

I can see immediately that tea means wine.

Four ladies stand on the front porch, each armed with a bottle of wine. Two white, two red.

I try very hard not to imagine murdering them by grabbing a bottle and smashing it across their skulls, but it’s difficult when they bring their own murder weapon.

I smile instead and invite them in.