Authors: Maggie Barbieri
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Literary, #United States, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Mystery, #Cozy, #Culinary, #Women Sleuths, #Thrillers & Suspense, #Crime, #Literary Fiction, #Crime Fiction
Lies That Bind (37 page)
Jo stood by the water’s edge with the baby, a rotund little guy with a shock of black hair, strapped to her front. Unlike watching Devon in Cal’s sling, Maeve enjoyed seeing the baby—John Stuart the final determination, or “Jack” for short—dangling from Jo’s torso, his little feet kicking with delight whenever Maeve appeared.
If she didn’t know better, she would think that the kid had a little bit of the real Jack, the old Jack, inside of him. No one should be that happy to see someone who wasn’t his mother or father.
Chris Larsson manned the barbecue, stoking the coals. “Barbecue is man’s work, Maeve,” he said, laughing when she poked him in the side in protest. “You should know that.”
She left him to it, walking back to the car to make a second trip with the cart that the Parks Department left for picnickers to transport larger items. Maeve had two cases of water in the trunk of the Prius, far more than she needed, but the amount the girls had bought. She opened the trunk of the car and hoisted both cases out, dropping the first with a loud thud onto the cart. When she had successfully loaded both on, praying that the worn tires of the cart would hold and not go flat on her, she slammed the hatch shut, surprised to find a man standing in front of her car.
“Maeve Conlon,” he said, like he always did, using her full name.
“Rodney Poole.” She held on to the cart, which seemed to have a mind of its own, not to mention bad alignment. “You turn up in the strangest places.” She looked into the park; Chris was still messing with the coals and using what seemed like too much lighter fluid to light them. She hoped he stayed there. Explaining who Rodney was, what their connection was, would be too complicated.
“Gorgeous day for a picnic,” he said.
“How did you know?”
He pointed at Doug, a long way away by a tree at the river’s edge, rustling around in a very feminine diaper bag for something to soothe the baby.
“Right,” she said.
“Lots of nastiness up in Rhineview this past winter.” He stated this as if he were commenting on the weather.
The graves had been dug up, DNA testing was complete, and the people who had been members of the Mansfield Missing had been found and accounted for.
“You can say that again.” In the distance, she saw the minivan that the group home used to transport its residents. He didn’t give anything away and neither would she. “You appear at the oddest times, Poole,” she remarked again, still a little mystified by his presence.
“Does it make you uncomfortable?” he asked. “Because I’ll stop if it does.”
Don’t stop. “It’s fine.” She looked at the Deckman’s minivan, pulling up into the handicapped spot not far from where she was stacking the water onto the cart.
“I just wanted to tell you that Michael Donner died last night.”
She had vowed to forget that name forever but there it was again. “Good riddance.”
“Inexplicably,” he said, a smile on his lips, “he ended up in Sing Sing. No one knows what happened. Found him dead in his cell.”
“Sing Sing, you say?” A tendril of fear traced her spine, landing in her solar plexus. Her mind went back to her conversation with Doug, about how his partner had a long-lost brother there, doing time. How much time, she didn’t know. If he was still there, had been there for Donner’s murder.
“Yes. Know anyone there?” he asked, turning and looking out at the water.
“No,” she said. But you do, she thought. She looked at him, wondering. But he was the same Rodney, rumpled and kind, the man who kept her from doing the wrong thing at the wrong time, from going too far. Had he gone too far himself? And to what end?
“I hate to think of you hurting,” he said.
“I’m not. I have a sister,” she said. She didn’t say another word lest she bring back that time when he told her what she had done, what he had figured out. How she had killed a man and never lost a night’s sleep.
“Beautiful spot,” Poole said.
“It is.” She pointed to Evelyn, bursting from the front door. “I hear you’ve been through the same,” she said, not sure she wanted to know. “Not knowing.”
His mouth, almost smiling up until this point, went slack.
“I’m sorry,” she said, busying herself with the water bottles, one case teetering dangerously to the side and threatening to fall into the parking lot. He walked over and helped her.
“We have a lot in common,” he said, as if just discovering this for the first time. His arm brushed against hers as he righted the case of water. The sound of happy voices filled the space behind them.
“I know.” She put both hands on the cart to see if she could push it herself. “Do you want to stay? Meet my sister and her roommates?”
His face got that sad look that she had seen once or twice before. “I’d better not. Conflict of interest and all.”
That didn’t really describe the situation but she let it go.
“There’s my sister! There’s my Maeve!” The little woman, shorter than Maeve but with her eyes—the shape and color—hugged Maeve from behind, taking her breath away. Maeve turned around and gave her sister a proper hug, one that wasn’t quite so painful; when she looked for Poole, he was gone, and with him went the fear that she had felt in his presence, the thought of how he had closed another door for her, again leaving her consciousness at the sight of her sibling. Her sister.
“Are my nieces here?” Evelyn asked. Today, she was wearing jeans with a neat crease down the front and a tee shirt; all of the women who lived with the Deckmans wore the same shirt when they were out in public together. It was bright orange and could be seen from a distance.
“Yes,” Maeve said. “They are. And Jo, and Doug, and little Jack. Everyone’s here.”
Evelyn looked up at her younger sister. “But not my daddy. He’s not here.”
Maeve took her sister’s flushed cheeks in her hands, kissing her forehead.
But you are and I love you, she thought. You are my gift.
Maggie Barbieri
is a freelance editor as well as a mystery novelist. Her father was a member of the NYPD, and his stories provide much of the background for her novels. Visit her online at
www.MaggieBarbieri.com
, or sign up for email updates
here
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ALSO BY
MAGGIE BARBIERI
Maeve Conlon Novels
Murder 101 Novels
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CONTENTS
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
LIES THAT BIND.
Copyright © 2015 by Maggie Barbieri. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
Cover design by Olga Grlic
Cover photographs: woman © plainpicture/Stephen Carroll; branches © rodho/Shutterstock
eBooks may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases, please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department by writing to [email protected].
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-01170-1 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-01169-5 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9781250011695
First Edition: February 2015
