Beautiful Lies (27 page)

“Tell Alice she’s fired the next time you see her, okay? I’ve had enough of her shit. I’m trying to run a damn business here.”

I nod. I take a big step backward, trying to pull deep breaths; I need fresh air so badly. The walls seem to ripple when I look at them. I want to go home.

Out of nowhere, I am acutely aware of the pain in the back of my head. The bald spot is hidden by my partial ponytail, but I can feel the dull throb with every pulse of my heart. My wrists hurt, too, their marks covered by the cuffs of my shirt. Every time I move my arms, the fabric brushing against my skin sends tiny shivers of pain through my body.

I can’t stop myself. “You’re a joke,” I blurt. Just as quickly, I clap a hand to my mouth.
Shit.

He pauses midswig, surprised, staring at me. “What did you say to me?”

I reach behind myself, feeling around for the doorknob.

“You’re not going anywhere yet. Say that again.”

The façade of my sister has slipped away. It’s just me now. He’s a fool if he doesn’t recognize me as Alice.

“I said you’re a joke. Everyone in town knows it. People laugh behind your back. They know you cheat on your wife. You’re an embarrassment to your family, especially your son. If I had a father like you—”

“But you don’t,” he says calmly. He shakes his head, almost like he’s disappointed in me. “I’d expect this sort of shit from your sister, but not from you. I guess I shouldn’t
be surprised, though, since you
are
twins.” He leans back in his chair and laces his fingers together behind his head. He seems to be enjoying himself. “The poor little orphan girls. Right? That’s what people say about you two, if you’re interested. There’s Rachel, the sweet one, and Alice, the screwup.” He laughs. “I guess you’re more alike than I thought.”

I turn around, fumbling at the doorknob. I don’t want to start crying, not now, not in here.

“Go ahead and leave,” he says, laughing again. “I don’t give a damn. Come back and apologize when you’ve calmed down. Your sister’s a different matter, though. She’s not welcome here at all. She’s done. If she ever comes home at all. That’s another thing people say, Rachel. They say that one of these days, Alice is going to get herself into some real trouble if she keeps screwing up—”

I spin to face him so quickly that my hair whips the side of my face. My vision is blurry with anger. I can feel my heartbeat behind my eyes.

“Shut up about my sister.”

He gives me an amused look, sips his drink, and turns his attention back to the paperwork sitting on his desk. He waves a hand carelessly at me. “Get the hell out of here, Rachel.”

As I leave his office, I slam the door behind me with enough force that pretty much everyone in the bar is looking in my direction once I come rushing down the hallway.

“Hey,” Kimber says as I hurry past her, “what’s the matter with you?”

I ignore her. I ignore everyone. I take a quick look around the restaurant, searching for my cousin, until I catch a glimpse of him through the window of the swinging kitchen door. He’s back there washing dishes, smiling to himself, his iPod headphones on his ears.

I want to go back and get him, to bring him home with me. He shouldn’t be working at a place like this, not with a boss like Mr. Hahn. But as I’m standing at the door, watching him, something stops me.

He looks so happy. He loves this job. And as far as I know, nobody—not even Mr. Hahn—has ever been unkind to him.

“Rachel.”

I jump. Kimber’s hand is on my shoulder. I turn around to find her frowning at me. Her waitress uniform—a long-sleeved white dress shirt and black pants—is clean and perfectly ironed, her red bow tie knotted in such a way that its center curves into a dimple. Her long hair is pulled into a high ponytail, and for the first time in as long as I’ve known her, I notice that her ears aren’t pierced. When she turns her head, a wispy cluster of scarring is visible just above her collar, near the bottom of her neck.

“What is it?” I’m out of breath from running down the hallway.

She wrinkles her forehead in concern. “What happened back there? Did you get into trouble?”

I ignore the question, turning to look at Charlie again instead. He notices me, his smile widening as our eyes meet. He waves with a hand covered in soap bubbles.

“I quit,” I tell her.

“What?” she almost shrieks. “Why? What did Mr. Hahn—”

“Mr. Hahn is an asshole,” I interrupt, tugging at the corner of my bow tie until it comes undone. “I hate this job anyway. Screw it.” I’m so frustrated that I could cry. I turn away from the kitchen door so that Charlie won’t see me. “Screw it,” I repeat, under my breath.

Kimber presses her lips together, a hint of disapproval clouding her typically serene expression. But she doesn’t seem angry, not exactly—she seems sad. “Do you mean that?” she asks.

Now that I’m out of his office, I feel like I can breathe again. I take deep breaths, grateful for the feeling of air spreading through my lungs. My face is sweaty and flushed. I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees, nodding.

When I stand up, Kimber’s arms are crossed against her chest. “Rachel,” she says in a loud whisper, “what’s the matter? We’re friends; you can tell me.”

The truth seems so obvious. I’m barely even trying to act like my sister; how can she not realize who I am?

When I don’t answer her, she continues, asking, “Is that it? You’re just going to leave?”

I nod. “Yes.” After a pause, I add, “He fired Alice. I don’t want to work here without her.”

She wrinkles her eyebrows. “Come on, Rachel. I know
she’s your sister, but Mr. Hahn had every right to let her go. He could have fired her a long time ago. She’s been stealing liquor for months—you know that.”

Did
Rachel know? I’m surprised by all of this shared knowledge about my theft; my sister has never mentioned to me that she was aware of it, and I always did my best to hide it from her. I didn’t want to get her in any trouble. Too late for that now, I guess.

“Charlie will be upset that you’re leaving,” Kimber says.

I nod. “I know. I’m sorry. Just tell him … tell him I got a headache, okay?”

She frowns. “All right. Are you sure you don’t want to talk, though? I’m really worried about you.”

“Not now,” I say, shaking my head. “I have to go home.” I pause. “Call me later, okay? We’ll talk then.”

She presses the heels of her hands against her eyes. As her arms fall limply at her sides, she sighs. “Fine.” After a few seconds of silence, the two of us staring at each other, she nods at the door. “Go. You’d better leave before you get into even more trouble.”

I start to walk away, but then I have second thoughts. Without a word, I walk behind the bar and lean past Doug, who’s mixing a drink, to grab a bottle of tequila.

“Rachel?” He stops midstir. “What are you doing?”

I grab a tumbler and pour a few shots into the glass. I swallow it in one gulp; it tastes so foul that my eyes water, and I have to hold my breath for a few seconds just to keep it
all down. Once I’m finished, I press the glass into Doug’s free hand. He takes it, stunned. Everyone in the bar is stealing glances at me, even as they pretend to be minding their own business. I can still feel their gaze at my back as I walk out the door.

I’ve only taken a few hurried steps outside when I hear a low whistle coming from somewhere behind me. Before I have a chance to turn around, someone calls, “Rachel, stop. What’s your hurry?”

It’s my friendly neighborhood policeman, Ryan Martin. He stands beneath one of the bright floodlights in the parking lot, his hands shoved into his pockets. Instead of his uniform, he’s wearing jeans, a long-sleeved gray shirt, and loafers without socks.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

He gives me a lopsided, shy smile. “I guess I’m following you.”

In a matter of seconds, it has begun to rain. I step beneath one of the green canvas awnings attached to the building. Ryan joins me, but right away it becomes obvious that there’s not quite enough covered space for both of us to stand comfortably; our bodies are only a few inches apart, draped in shadow as we stand beyond the reach of the lights that shine down on the parking lot.

“You’re following me?” I repeat, trying not to breathe on him, afraid he’ll smell the liquor on my breath.

He doesn’t respond at first. He looks past me, toward the parking lot, and smiles. “I think you made a friend.”

“What?”

“Cookie.” He nods. “Look.”

I glance over my shoulder. A red compact car is parked maybe fifty feet away. The passenger-side window is down; Cookie is looking at us. She sits with her paws resting on the edge of the door, her furry head sticking out into the rain. “She’s going to get soaked,” I tell him. “So is the inside of your car.”

“Meh.” He runs a hand through his hair, mussing it up. “They’re both washable.”

There is a loud crash from inside the restaurant; it’s obviously the sound of somebody dropping a tray of dishes. I wince, thinking of Charlie, and how devastated he’d be if he lost his job.

“Actually, Rachel, I do have a question for you. Do you have a minute?”

I nod, keeping my mouth closed.

“It’s about your sister’s boyfriend, Robin. I did some research after you left the station today, and I couldn’t find an address for him. You said his last name is Lang, correct?”

I nod again.

“Can you spell it for me?”

It seems like a silly question. How many different ways
are there to spell Lang? I do it anyway, though, turning my head slightly, hoping he won’t notice that I reek of booze. “L-A-N-G,” I say slowly. “Just like it sounds.”

“Huh. Okay.” He scratches his forehead. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Why? What’s the matter?”

“We couldn’t find any record of somebody with that name in Greensburg.”

It doesn’t surprise me that much; Robin never even got a driver’s license. He’s always claimed he prefers to stay under the radar. I shrug. “Sorry. That’s all I know about him.”

“Rachel …” Ryan’s voice trails off. He stares up at the underside of the awning; its corners are thick with cobwebs. A big black spider dangles from a single thread, its legs pulled close to its body as it hangs in the misty air, waiting for who knows what.

Ryan lets out a deep breath. “Look, you seem like a nice girl. I don’t want you or your sister to get into any trouble. But things aren’t adding up. Not the way you’ve explained them to me.”

I wrap my arms around my body, shivering in the chilly night air. My memory has grown clearer since I got to work; I was probably just too tired to think earlier tonight. I remember everything about the day now, including my visit to the police station. “What do you mean? I told you everything I know this morning. You said you believed me. You told me about your epilepsy. I thought you understood how sometimes things happen that we can’t explain.” I know
I should tell him that I saw Rachel this afternoon, but I’m afraid of what might happen to my grandma if I reveal that she’s been helping my sister hide out. I can’t do that to her.

“I know what I said,” Ryan answers. “I remember. And I did believe you.”

I take a step backward, into the rain. “You
did
? You mean you don’t believe me anymore?”

“Come on. Don’t do that.” He reaches out and tugs my arm, pulling me back under the awning. “I talked to Marcus Hahn today. He swears up and down that nobody has stolen anything from him.”

I shake my head. “He’s lying.”

“I don’t know about that. He was very cooperative.” Ryan pauses. “He was in Philadelphia on business all weekend. He can prove it.”

“So what?” Regardless of why Rachel ran away, Mr. Hahn
is
lying about the money.

Another pause. “Rachel, does Robin own a car?”

“…”

“You never met him, did you? How would you know where he lives? How would you know he didn’t hurt your sister? Do you know anything about him aside from what she’s told you?”

“Stop it. I know enough.”

He softens his tone. “Rachel, you can trust me. I only want to help you. Both of you.”

I’m so cold that my fingertips are numb. All I want is to
go home. Squeezing myself more tightly, I ask, “Why did you come here tonight? Just to accuse me of lying?”