Rules of Lying (Jane Dough Series) (20 page)

“Nah, I don’t think so. You might have missed
that
chance, but you could work out another one. Anyway, it was your friend Richard that I saw.”

“And you were thinking I’d be sorry I missed that because … ?”

“Didn’t you say one of the roofing contractors he sent over had tattoos of spiders on his knuckles?”

I shuddered. “Yes. He was a weirdo with a capital W.”

“Well, didn’t you also say Richard didn’t know him?”

“Yeah. Richard didn’t know any of the contractors he called.”

“That’s odd because Richard was with a guy at the street party early last night, a guy with spider tattoos on all his fingers, and they seemed like best buds.”

“Are you sure?” I couldn’t imagine that there were two guys running around with spiders tattooed all over their knuckles, so surely it was the same guy, but what were the chances of Richard meeting him, having no idea who he was, but becoming best buds right off the bat?

“I’m sure. I was standing beside Tattoo Guy when he paid for their drinks. And afterwards, Richard gave him some money.”

“For the drink?”

“Not unless prices have gone up about a bajillion. Richard gave him fifties. I don’t know how many, but a few.”

Okay, now that
was
odd. I tried to think of any reason Richard could be paying a contractor I didn’t even hire, but I couldn’t. Well, maybe he was doing something else for Richard, something that had nothing to do with me. But, then, why would Richard have pretended not to know him? I was getting a bad feeling about Richard again, only this time it was a little less vague than usual. This time it reminded me of that feeling I got when I thought someone was lying to me and I couldn’t prove it. And I didn’t like it one bit.

I
spent two hours walking around my house and property with the insurance inspector. He was a really nice guy, and I was thankful for that. After hearing horror stories from people about their insurance inspectors, I hadn’t known what to expect. This guy was from California, and he liked the fact that I knew people out there too, probably because he was homesick. He’d been on the road for two months now, first up to South Carolina and then to Florida, and he was looking forward to getting back home to his wife and kids.

He said they’d pay for a new roof and for patching the ceilings inside. They’d also pay a flat amount for the refrigerated items I’d lost, as well as yard clean-up, though the amount wasn’t much. Still, every dollar counted.

I was thinking this over when the inspector told me they wouldn’t pay Richard’s hospital bill under the hurricane policy. It would have to go through my regular homeowner’s liability, which carried its own five-hundred-dollar deductible.

“What?”

“A Richard Crenshaw filed a claim for reimbursement of hospital charges for injuries sustained in a fall from your roof while trying to repair it after the hurricane,” the inspector read from his clipboard.

“He was
not
trying to repair my roof,” I fumed. “He didn’t believe that the electrical mast would have to be replaced like I said, so he insisted on getting up there to look at it himself. I didn’t even want him to get up there to look at it!” This really pissed me off. I hadn’t asked Richard to get up on the roof.

The inspector was sympathetic, but he couldn’t do anything about it. Hurricane insurance covered damage from the hurricane or injuries sustained during the hurricane, not injuries sustained as a result of someone looking at damage after a hurricane.

I was livid, but I didn’t take it out on the inspector. He couldn’t help it if Richard was an ass.

While the inspector surveyed the attic, I called Richard and left a message demanding an explanation about the insurance. It wasn’t the fact that he’d filed against my insurance for the bills, but rather that he had been sneaky about it. Not only hadn’t he told me he was filing, but how the hell had he gotten my insurance information so that he could submit a claim to begin with? I wanted some answers and I wanted them now.

When the inspector came down from the attic, I learned I had bigger problems.

“You’ve got hornets,” he said.

“What?” This seemed to be my response to everything lately.

“In the attic. Hornets. Bad. Scared the shit out of me, I have to tell you. I mean, I’ve seen hornets’ nests before, but I’ve never seen that many hornets all in one place.”

My brain was unable to compute for a few seconds. “How could that be? I’ve had roofing contractors up there, and they didn’t notice anything.” It occurred to me that only one contractor had actually gone into the attic, the contractor with the spider tats. Maybe he just pretended to go in there. But why would he do that?

“I don’t know what to say to that,” the inspector said. “There must be a thousand hornets up there. I’d only just stuck my head in for a quick look-see and man, I almost fell off the ladder. I slammed that attic door shut. Took me about thirty seconds to quit shaking. Really, I’m talking a
lot
of hornets.”

“Could it be from the hurricane? I mean, could they have been looking for a place to hide out or something?”

He shook his head. “You should call an exterminator. And it will take more than a bug bomb to get rid of those. He may have to tent the house.”

For crying out loud. How much more did I have to take? And how would I come up with the money?

*****

“Well, Jane, what did you expect me to do?” I had Richard on the phone, finally, after I’d left about thirty-two million angry messages for him. “I was helping
you,
after all.”

I blew out my breath. It was a good thing he was on the other end of the phone and not standing next to me because I might have ended up in prison for murder.

“You weren’t helping me, you were belittling me. You didn’t believe me when I told you the mast had to be replaced—oh, and by the way, it had to be replaced—and so you insisted on being an ass and getting up on the roof to look at it yourself.”

“I can’t believe you feel that way,” Richard said, sounding genuinely hurt. “I really was trying to help. Is it my fault I’m not used to women who know the things you know? My sister doesn’t even know what an electrical mast is.”

Well, hell, what was I supposed to say to that?

“Why didn’t you tell me you were filing a claim against my insurance?”

“Because I wasn’t. I was just asking about it. The next thing I knew, the woman had taken down all the information. When I tried to back out of it, she said I’d be committing insurance fraud if I let my personal insurance cover the accident. If only I hadn’t given her my name, I could have just hung up, but it was too late. Believe me, I wish I’d never made that call. I’m having to pay all these bills until someone reimburses me. If I’d used my own insurance, everything would have been paid.”

“Well … how did you know my insurance information?” It was difficult to rant when he kept coming up with these fast answers in such an apologetic voice. Even though I didn’t believe him.

“You told me you had State Farm. I just called them and gave them your name and address, that’s all.”

Had I told him I had State Farm? I didn’t remember that, and I wasn’t sure it was true. But I couldn’t prove it.

“Well, now I have to pay a second deductible because this isn’t handled under my hurricane insurance.”

“I’m really sorry, Jane. If this had gone on my personal insurance, my deductible was already paid. Believe me, I wish it had worked out differently.”

Although he was saying the right words, with the right tone of voice, there just wasn’t any real sympathy in them. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he had rehearsed them.

But I
didn’t
know better, so maybe he had. But again, I couldn’t prove it.

“Why were you paying the roofing guy with the spider tattoos?”

“What?”

“Why were you giving that roofer fifties? Sue saw you giving him fifties at the street party. What was that about?”

“I owed him some money.”

“But you said you didn’t know him.”

“I didn’t want you to hire him based on my relationship with him. That’s why I said I didn’t know any of the contractors. I don’t want to be responsible for your hiring someone who might not work out.”

He was again saying words that should have been okay, but for some reason, they didn’t come across that way. I wanted to scream.

*****

“Where’s Richard?” Hank was helping me pick up the rest of the debris left on my property. So far we’d filled eight large trash cans with shingles and were only halfway done. We’d filled all the garbage cans I’d been able to borrow from neighbors, so we would have to throw the rest of the shingles onto a tarp. At least we’d used common sense and started at the farthest lot so we’d only have to drag the second tarp filled with picked-up shingles a short distance. Turns out, shingles are really heavy.

“Richard says he’ll be back this week to help me, but I’m not sure I trust him.”

Hank stopped and shaded his eyes from the sun while he gave me a cowboy stare. “What’s the story?”

I shook my head. “No story, just a feeling. Every time I turn around he’s either costing me money or causing me trouble. I mean, think about it. Someone turned me in for cutting up that tree and only you, Richard, and I knew I’d done it. That cost me one hundred dollars. Then he broke his chainsaw at a crucial time, which wouldn’t have mattered if he’d listened to me and cut up the bamboo as we went along. Then he couldn’t help me with any preparations for the hurricane, and then he injured himself, which meant he couldn’t help me after that. Then he turned his injury in to my insurance, which will cost me an extra five-hundred-dollar deductible. He couldn’t get any electricians out here, but you got one right away. And the exterminator who took care of the hornet problem told me he thinks someone put those hornets in the attic.”

“Are you shittin’ me?”

“No, I’m not. Only one roofer went into the attic—the one who insisted on parking his van in the garage while he was going up and down the attic ladder. He’s also the guy that Sue saw Richard giving fifties to at the street party.”

“You’re making a pretty convincin’ argument, even for a woman who doesn’t trust men.”

“Now why would you say that?” I stopped foraging for shingles and drew myself up into my indignant stance—feet planted apart, chest thrust out, chin tucked in, eyes narrowed. I didn’t like people thinking they had me figured out, even if they did. “I don’t distrust all men.”

“Don’t you?”

“As a matter of fact, the one person I trusted more than anyone else in the world happened to be male. Johnny Smith. Of course, he was only six at the time.”

“I knew there’d be a catch because it’s obvious you don’t trust us.”

“It’s not men I distrust, it’s me.” I was shocked shitless when those words came out of my mouth, but as soon as I said them, I knew they were true.

Hank barked out a laugh. “Sorry,” he said, “it’s just that you look so surprised.”

“I am. I had no idea I didn’t trust myself until now. I’ve been blaming men. I guess I should have been blaming me.”

I picked up a couple of shingles and tossed them onto the tarp while considering my words. I had confused myself. Exactly what was I blaming myself
for?
For picking out guys who couldn’t be trusted? Yeah, maybe. No, that wasn’t it. I was also blaming myself for not noticing the signs that had been right in front of my face.

Hank dropped a bunch of shingles onto the tarp and kicked one that had landed on the sidewalk back onto the pile. “Why blame anyone? Why can’t you just say it was a lesson learned, like most things in life? If someone cheated on you, if he hurt you, you’ll recognize his type next time, save yourself some heartache.”

Hmmm. Maybe, maybe not. It seemed to me Pete’s type wasn’t so easy to recognize, especially since he seemed to be hiding his type from himself. The night before Pete moved out for six months, supposedly to concentrate on his next CD with no distractions, he’d gotten dead drunk and slurred out that he wanted to “fuck Jarrod.” Jarrod had been the new bass player in his band.

Pete had seemed shocked by his drunken admission, but he wasn’t so inebriated that he didn’t immediately realize what he had said (I think my high-pitched scream, which could be heard throughout the bar and down the block, had something to do with it) and tried to recant by mumbling something inane like, “You know what I mean. I love Jarrod like a brother.”

I was probably more shocked by Pete’s outburst than he was, but at the same time, that little voice in my head said, “Aha! I told you something was off there.” I’d always blamed myself for the lack of combustion in our sex life, thinking if I were prettier or sexier or more exciting, Pete would be more excited with me. I even told myself it didn’t matter that he preferred to watch the porno movies, which I ordered hoping to turn him on, by himself.

The irony was, I thought I’d picked out the perfect Prince Charming. The rake who would forsake all other women for me, like in the historical romances I loved so much. It had never occurred to me to worry about men. But I couldn’t really blame myself for that, especially when I caught Pete cheating on me with women. If he was really attracted to other men, then what was up with that?

Still, from the night of Pete’s inadvertent confession, I couldn’t stop thinking about what else I’d been missing. Not missing out on, but
missing.
I’d always been too much of an analyzer, but I became obsessed. Did this person really mean what he said, or was he thinking something else? And just exactly how far off the regular path could that something be? I was suspicious of everyone and everything.

What had all that suspicion done for me? Nothing. I’d had to sit alone in a closet with a bunch of stray cats through not one, but two major hurricanes.

Hank grabbed a corner of the tarp, my signal to grab the other corner. We dragged the shingles to the street and dumped them onto the stationary tarp.

“You’re right,” I told Hank. “I always had a feeling, deep inside, that Pete wasn’t the right guy for me, but I ignored it.”

“Sounds like you need to pay attention to those feelings.”

I grunted my agreement. I did agree, but I was thinking. Wasn’t my little voice a part of me? And if it was part of me and I didn’t trust
me,
how could I trust my little voice? The answer to that question didn’t matter, as far as the situation with Richard was concerned. Logic, my emotions, my little voice—
everything
—told me something was wrong with Richard.

I’d never intended to go through with the agreement, so now that I’d gotten confirmation from the universe that I should listen to my gut, I planned on telling Richard to get lost. I not only felt relief once I made that decision, but a strange exhiliration.

Maybe I couldn’t
prove
Richard hadn’t been on the up and up with me, but I knew deep down he hadn’t been. I was finished with Richard and I couldn’t wait to let him know it.