Dead Lies (8 page)

That’s what she was doing. But she was beginning to wonder if she hadn’t pushed hard enough for answers. Maybe Max’s behavior wasn’t just a grief response. Maybe it was more serious.

She needed to take Max to another psychologist. She’d call her insurance company to get a name. She’d make the call today.

CHAPTER 10

B
Y THE DAY AFTER CHRISTMAS, FRIENDS AND NEIGHBORS HAD BROUGHT SO
many freshly-baked desserts over to the Marino house that someone who wasn’t aware of the awful truth might assume they were having a bake sale. But surrounded by all the pastries and love, Web had never felt more alone. His twin sister was gone, and none of the “singletons” who were hugging him and crying with him could understand the depth of that loss. It was a simple fact: They’d been together since conception, and now that she was gone, he was half of a person.

Half a person.

The irony wasn’t lost. First Web had lost a limb, and now he’d lost his twin. You didn’t have to be a genius to do the math. He was a hell of a lot
less
than half a person.

Web excused himself from a group of well-wishers and headed for the kitchen for a glass of water, limping awkwardly. His missing leg was throbbing today. Phantom limb pain, the doctors called it. After fifteen years, occasionally it was still there.

Web stopped short when he overheard a conversation going on around the corner by the refrigerator.

“I heard Ralph Burns is keeping a loaded shotgun under his bed,” said a voice he recognized as Mrs. Larkin, from up the street.

“Ralph always had a screw loose, but can you blame him?” said another voice he couldn’t identify.

“I asked my John if he would keep one of Peter’s old baseball bats by the bedroom door.”

“Honey, like
that’ll
do any good
.
”

Web wasn’t offended by the paranoid neighborhood gossip. It just made him feel claustrophobic.

Abandoning his mission in the kitchen, he returned to the family room. He went over to a window and forced it open, feeling immediately calmer as the cold air rushed over him. He glanced over at his parents, who were sitting together on the couch with his mom’s sister, her daughter, and her daughter’s four young children, who’d driven in from Philadelphia that morning. In spite of their brave faces, he knew his parents weren’t doing so well. Understatement of the year. They were only in their mid-seventies and in good health for the most part, but all of a sudden they’d begun to look old and fragile.

One day I will lose them, too.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and a familiar deep voice say, “How are you doing, buddy? Danny and I want to bust you out of here and head over to The Grape. Whaddya say? Beers and burgers are on us.”

Web grinned. He’d been fighting the urge to jump out the window and flee, and now Tim Christiansen, one of his best friends since kindergarten, was offering him a more dignified exit through the front door. He turned to face Tim, who was dressed in a gray pin-striped suit and pewter-colored tie that made his already dark, brooding eyes look steely. He was smiling, but Web could sense that his friend was really suffering underneath.

Tim had grown up around the corner from the Marinos, and he’d known Serena for as long as he’d known Web. There used to be an empty wooded lot between their properties, and when they were little the three of them had traveled back and forth so often between their homes that a hard dirt path had formed among the pines. Around fourth grade, Serena had begun seeking the company of other girls rather than—in her words—“icky” boys, but Web and Tim had borne that insult with great dignity and grown closer as a result. Throughout junior high and high school, Web and Tim played on the basketball team together and took turns being the tallest in their grade, until Tim had an unexpected growth spurt in college and came home after freshman year an inch taller than Web. Today, Tim still maintained that one-inch height advantage over Web, but he weighed at least twenty or thirty pounds less. Although their coloring was completely different, the fact that they were both well over six feet tall often prompted strangers to ask if they were brothers. Occasionally they said they were. And it felt like the truth.

“C’mon,” Tim coaxed. “Looks like you could use a drink.”

“I think that’s what shrinks call projection.”

“Call it what you want, but I’m feeling
thirsty.
”

Web glanced at his parents and hesitated. “I don’t know, maybe I shouldn’t leave them…”

Tim cut him off. “I’m only asking for an hour, buddy.” He put a hand on Web’s should and more gently added, “C’mon, it’ll do you good.”

Web was tempted. He could use some time away from this grief-stricken house. And there was nobody on earth he’d rather spend it with than Tim and the third member of their blood-brothers trio, Danny Callahan, who had quite naturally eased into the spot Serena had vacated back in elementary school.

Tim and Danny. His support network. They’d come over to the house early that morning and had barely left his side since.

Finally he gave Tim a nod. “Let’s find Danny.”

They picked their way through the crowd and spotted their other friend in the living room. He was standing behind the couch chatting with Beth and her boyfriend Gary, who’d flown in from Montana. Gary had been spending the holidays with his family when he’d gotten the terrible phone call. He’d taken the first flight out, and arrived a few hours earlier.

Danny turned as the two men approached, flashing a mile-wide Irish grin that, in combination with his red hair and lightly freckled face, made him look like the sunny seventh-grader he had once been. Except now Web noticed his friend had put on some weight. Of medium height and build, Danny’s weight bounced between a healthy 165 and a chubby 185, depending on how stressed he was. Web wondered what was going on with him to tip the scales toward porky again.

“Beth, I’m going to escape for a bit,” Web said, feeling a flutter of guilt in his belly again. His sister’s eyes were still puffy from hours of crying, and he could tell she’d tried makeup to conceal some of the redness. It wasn’t working. He glanced uncertainly at Gary then back at Beth.

Beth touched his arm reassuringly. “Go, Web,” she urged. “Get away for awhile. I’ll stay here with Mom and Dad.”

“Maybe you guys want to come with us? We’re going to The Grape.” The saloon was a favorite local spot, the place every Avondale kid went on their twenty-first birthday when they became old enough to drink legally, and Web hoped mention of it would entice her. She could obviously use some time away from the somber gathering too. At The Grape they could kick back and relax and stop having to make solemn promises that they’d stay strong for the sake of their parents.

“No, go on,” Beth said, looking young and frail in the yellow dress she’d pulled from the depths of her girlhood closet. She sagged tiredly into Gary, who put his arm around her and squeezed her shoulders protectively. “We’ll stay here and hold up the fort.”

“You sure?” Web asked skeptically.

“I’m sure. Go.” When he still didn’t make a move, she added, “As soon as you guys leave, I’m going to go upstairs for a nap. Promise. Sleep is all I really need right now.”

Web finally relented. “Okay, Bethie, as long as you’re sure,” he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks.” To Gary he added, “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me, too,” said Gary.

Web said goodbye and the three men went to the hall and retrieved their coats from the closet.

“I’ll meet you over there,” Danny said as he slipped his wool overcoat over his sports jacket. “I need to make a call first.” He dug his cell phone from his pocket and flipped open the cover. “You know, to The Wife.” He snorted. “For permission to go out and play with you guys.”

Web and Tim shared the look that only bachelors have the right to share and followed Danny outside.

“Tell her we’ll make sure to get you home in time for dinner,” Tim called out. “And that you’ll wear your hat and mittens.”

Danny didn’t respond, just held up his left hand and raised his middle finger. Web and Tim laughed.

Web stepped outside and paused on the stoop to take a couple of deep breaths. The air was brisk, but it felt good. He could detect a hint of moisture settling in, and he wondered if there’d be snow tonight.

Web followed Tim to his car, a midnight blue Audi he’d bought last month. Web admired the gleaming wooden dashboard of Tim’s baby—his pride and joy—and sank into the buttery leather seat.

“Check this out,” said Tim, pushing a button.

“Check what out?” Web said.

“Just wait.”

Web felt a flash of impatience. Unlike most men he knew, he didn’t give two shits about cars, which he believed served only to get a person from point A to point B. Cylinder power, trunk space, who cared?

“Now take the wheel,” Tim said.

“What?”

“Just put your hand here,” Tim urged, pulling his own hands away. Reluctantly, Web steered for a second. Then Tim broke into a grin when his friend’s face registered what he’d been so eager to show him: The steering wheel was heated.

“Cool,” Web said, obliging Tim with the response he was looking for.

“The wave of the future,” Tim said, taking back the con and shooting his friend a knowing look. “Just you wait. Soon every car will have this feature.”

My BMW already does, Web chuckled to himself. He would never tell Tim that, though. His friend had a thing about being “the first.”

The heated seats kicked in next, and Web felt himself relax into the warmth. But a moment later he shot up in his seat and opened the window. Suddenly it felt all wrong that here he was enjoying all this warmth and luxury when his sister was lying dead in the morgue refrigerator. He knew he was being masochistic—and unfairly subjecting his friend to it too—but he couldn’t help himself. He just couldn’t get the image of her lying on that cold hard slab out of his head.

Tim had the good grace not to probe Web’s thoughts; he kept his eyes on the road and drove silently.

Web gulped the frigid air, life-affirming in its own strange way, and fought the impulse to stick his head all the way out like a dog. He wanted to howl at the moon, which was already in the sky, even though it was only the middle of the afternoon. He would have done it if it weren’t for Tim. But he resisted the urge, not wanting Tim to worry that his friend had finally lost his marbles but feeling like he probably already had.

After a few moments, Tim reached the road that led into the center of town, taking them past the turn-of-the-century homes known to Avondale residents as the Grand Dames. A mix of styles from Queen Anne to Victorian and Gothic Revival, they were among the first homes to be constructed when the town went from a farming community to an escape for wealthy New Yorkers wanting second homes in what was then the country. Web had always been fond of this street because Daphne Snow, the first girl he’d ever kissed, had lived in the gable-roofed Victorian in the middle of the block. And the house next door belonged to the pediatrician he and Serena had grown up with, who was eighty years old now and still practicing in his wood-paneled basement office. The street was also wider than most in town and lined with impressive elms that, in the full bloom of spring, formed a lush green canopy overhead. Appropriately named Elm Street, it was one of five similar streets—all named for local trees—that sprouted from the town center like spokes on a bicycle tire.

With each house they passed, Web felt himself grow calmer. Avondale had that affect on him. The town was close-knit, and he knew how lucky he was to have been raised in a community that offered a sense of security and permanence.

Web turned to Tim to ask about his new girlfriend. “So, how’s Gillian?”

He watched the corner of his friend’s mouth crook upwards. “Great. She’s still in Florida.” He turned to Web. “She sends her sympathy.”

Web responded with a nod. “And how’s the vacation going?” Web asked carefully. Gillian’s ex-husband was celebrating the holidays with her and their children—under the same roof—at her parents’ condo in Boca Raton. When they’d spoken about it last week, Tim had tried to downplay his concern about this arrangement, but Web knew his friend well enough to know he was troubled by it.

“I trust her,” Tim shrugged.

Web could hear both uncertainty and wistfulness in his friend’s voice, an indication that Tim wasn’t as blasé about the relationship as he tried to appear. In spite of Tim’s intention to forever remain a bachelor, over the past few months, Web had witnessed the growing love and longing in his friend’s face whenever he talked about Gillian. He’d been wondering whose wedding he’d attend next, Tim’s or Beth’s.

“But you wish you didn’t have to,” Web observed. He waited a beat before adding, “Sounds like you feel a little more than you’re admitting.”

Tim let out a gruff laugh. “You may be right. But it’s way too early for me to even think about where this relationship might be headed,” he said, in an effort to change the direction of the conversation.

“I heard from Justine this morning,” Web said, pulling his wallet from his pocket to retrieve a couple of quarters for the parking meter. They were almost at the restaurant.

“Oh, God,” Tim said. “What now?”

Web laughed. Since the breakup two months ago, he and Tim had been referring to Web’s ex-girlfriend as “The one that wouldn’t go away.” Web had made it clear that their relationship was over and that there was no chance his feelings would ever change, but Justine was still calling and e-mailing him weekly, insisting they could make it work. Web had responded by screening his calls and deleting her emails, but occasionally he found himself running into her at a restaurant or club. This was especially awkward when he happened to be on a date. Their most recent encounter had been downright embarrassing. Justine had approached his table and after he’d introduced her to his date as his “friend,” Justine had sneered that Web had a lot of
friends.
That night he found a sobbing voice mail message from her apologizing. Lotta of good that had done. His date hadn’t returned any of his calls.