Chapter 11: Three Lies

Constance adjourned the meeting in nine minutes.

She did it without raising her voice, and she left the room with Preston walking behind her.

On the sidewalk, I said, "Somebody else has Preston's phone."

"Or his number," Rafe said.

"It's somebody who knew where I'd be at 12:03 on a Thursday."

"Somebody who knew what Cheyenne would say, and who knew about my window at two in the morning."

"That's a short list."

"It's a long list. It's everyone who loves him."

We stood there while the lunch crowd went around us.

"I want to test it," I said.

"How?"

"I'll give three people three different lies about where I'll be this weekend. Then I'll see where Preston's car turns up."

He looked at me for a long moment.

"Who are the three?"

"Constance's lawyer. Cheyenne. And my sister."

His eyebrows went up.

"Lacey?"

"I'm testing everyone," I said, harder than I meant to. "If I leave one name off, the test is worthless."

I felt sick as I said it.

I sent the three messages from the corner, with my thumb pressing too hard on the glass.

To the lawyer, I said I'd be at the Astoria flat all weekend.

To Cheyenne, I said I'd booked a hotel in Montauk with Rafe.

To Lacey, I wrote, I'm going to the Catskills with Rafe. Phoenicia. Just us. Don't tell anyone.

She wrote back right away.

I won't. Be safe. Wear socks, it's cold up there. I love you.

I put the phone in my pocket and didn't look at it again.

Rafe's house stood at the end of a gravel road above the Esopus Creek, with a porch that wrapped the whole front.

It was a long, low farmhouse, rebuilt with a lot of stubborn care.

The beams were old, the windows were new, and the kitchen smelled of cedar and woodsmoke.

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