Don't Believe a Word Read online

  ‘I don’t need any help healing,’ said Eden shortly. ‘I’m fine.’

  Flynn peered at her. ‘Really? I’m not. And if you don’t mind my saying so, you don’t seem fine either.’

  Eden was chastened by his honesty, and ashamed of her abruptness. For a moment, she could see beyond his scruffy sex appeal to what it was that her mother had liked about this man. It was not a faux pas for him to observe that some healing was in order. And it wasn’t true that she was fine. She was bluffing her way through this on every level. ‘Maybe you’re right,’ she said, adopting a milder tone. ‘Maybe there will be some … therapeutic value in working on this together. Many things about my mother came to mind when I was reading your book. I’m sure we both have … insights we can share.’

  Flynn immediately bristled. ‘Well, let’s get one thing clear. I’m not really interested in adding your insights to the mix. You’re not a co-author.’

  Despite his insulting tone, Eden recognized immediately the protective author’s ego in his words. This was a reaction common among authors to any mention of changes in their work. ‘I’m not proposing that we change what you’ve said in the book. I’m just talking about some shading. And we have to address the reality of my mother and Jeremy’s death.’

  ‘I’m not sure I want to hear this,’ he said defensively.

  ‘I’ve given it some thought. There are a number of approaches—’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about this right now. Let’s start the editorial work tomorrow. You can come to the house,’ he said. ‘I’m sorting through your mother’s things. There may be items you want to keep.’

  I’m not here to collect mementoes, she thought. I’m here to work. But she did not say it. She would look through Tara’s things, though she doubted there would be anything she wanted. She pictured the commonplace little blue house she had seen on the internet news, now the scene of the crime. She wasn’t really looking forward to visiting there, but it almost seemed like a penance she had to pay.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Sure.’

  ‘I teach two creative writing classes at the community college in the morning,’ he said. ‘Come in the afternoon.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ said Eden. ‘I’m hoping we can get a lot done while I’m here.’

  ‘Do you want dessert?’ he said abruptly.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Eden. ‘I’ve had enough.’

  ‘So have I,’ he said with a sigh.

  Eden could not help thinking that he was talking about her company, rather than the food.

  NINE

  Eden returned to the hotel, got into her robe and pajamas, and then set to work on the editorial letter she planned to email to Flynn. He was clearly going to be one of those authors you had to fight with over every change. She was used to that. Every editor at DeLaurier, or any other house, had encountered that attitude many times. The challenge was to convince the author that her only goal was to improve the book, and that, yes, most books could survive a little editing.

  Immersed in the book, she was startled by the ringing of her phone. She knew who it had to be at this hour. Her friends all texted her. Only her dad would call her this late. She felt a surge of anxiety. She had told him a white lie in order to avoid admitting that she was editing Flynn’s book, helping him to publish the story of her mother’s treasonous defection from their family. Luckily, her father, though always interested in her life, was never one to pry. But sooner or later, she was going to have to face it. She cringed, knowing that her father would be angry and disappointed. Maybe as the publication date got closer, she told herself, it would be easier to explain it to him. She didn’t really believe that, but she wasn’t ready to grapple with it yet. She just hated lying to him.

  ‘Hi, Dad,’ she said cheerfully.

  ‘Hi, honey. I didn’t wake you, did I?’

  ‘No, not at all. How was the trip to Florida?’

  ‘Great,’ he said. ‘Just got back. We had a great time.’

  Eden waited for him to elaborate, but he was guarding the details for whatever reason. Perhaps they were both holding back on their news until they could meet face to face. ‘Well, good,’ she said. ‘I’m glad.’

  ‘Look,’ he said hurriedly, ‘I know it’s late and I don’t want to keep you up.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘It’s good to hear your voice.’

  ‘Yours, too,’ he said. ‘Listen, I got a call today from a guy at an insurance company out there. Harriman Insurance. The guy’s name is Barry Preston. Apparently, you are some kind of beneficiary to your mother’s policy, and she put our home number as your contact number. I guess she figured I would always be able to reach you.’

  ‘Probably,’ said Eden.

  ‘Anyway, he wants to talk to you about the insurance.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said slowly. ‘Okay.’

  ‘I gave him your number and he said he would call you, and come to talk to you at your hotel. I checked up on him after the call. He’s legit. Has he called you yet?’

  ‘No. But thanks for the heads up.’

  ‘I don’t know what it’s all about, but I’m sure he’ll fill you in. All right, little girl. You get some rest now.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad. I will. Love you.’

  Despite her promise to her father, it took Eden longer to finish the editorial letter than she had expected. It was nearly two a.m. before she was satisfied, and pressed ‘send’. She crawled into her bed, read a page or two of an Alice Munro short story and was asleep in no time.

  The first thing she did when she awoke the next morning was to check her phone. Flynn had emailed her in reply, telling her tersely that they could discuss her proposed changes but he was not convinced they were necessary. Eden took a deep breath. She had a lot of experience with authors and had learned not to take their resistance seriously, although this was a particularly difficult situation. But she’d known it would be, going in. She tried not to think about Flynn’s negative role in her life. She had taken the task on, and now she had to prove that she was capable of doing it. She had to figuratively put on her professional hat, and ignore the implied insult to her competence. He told her to come over at two. Eden replied that she would.

  She also had a message from Barry Preston, whom her father had mentioned. He wondered if he could come to see her at four-thirty. Eden texted him back that it was okay, and she was sure she would be back in her suite by then.

  She opened the stiff drapes in the living room area onto the little courtyard. It was a windy day and the straggly trees seemed to shrink against the chill. Being here in this city, isolated and far from her own life, made Eden think constantly of her mother. The bleakness of the day mirrored Eden’s feelings. Here, where it had occurred, Eden had finally become acquainted with her mother’s husband, and met friends at the funeral, but no one had offered her any understanding of what had actually happened. She realized that what she wanted were facts. Facts which would make her better able to comprehend it. She glanced at the time on her phone. She had hours before she needed to meet with Flynn. She hesitated, and then went to her computer and looked up the number of the Cleveland Clinic. She had a right to know, she reminded herself. It was her mother, after all. She punched in the number and got through to the operator.

  ‘Yes,’ said Eden. ‘Is Dr Tanaka in today?’

  ‘He’s in, but he’s on another call,’ said the receptionist.

  ‘Could you just ask him if I could possibly see him this morning? My name is Eden Radley.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but that’s out of the question. Dr Tanaka is terribly busy.’

  Eden persisted. ‘My mother was Tara Darby, and Jeremy was my half-brother.’

  There was a brief silence at the other end of the line, and then the receptionist said, ‘Wait just a minute.’

  Before Eden could reply, she heard dead air. In a few moments, the receptionist came back on the line. ‘Can you be here in forty minutes? He can see you then.’

&n
bsp; ‘I’ll be there,’ Eden said.

  Eden put on every warm thing she had with her, but the cold winds of Lake Erie still seemed to cut through to her bones. She hurried along the slippery sidewalk into the Cleveland Clinic and made her way to Dr Tanaka’s office. She was exactly on time. She could see, by the busy waiting room, that the doctor had little time to spare. She gave her name to the receptionist and was told to sit, that she would be called. She tried not to stare at the disabled children who had been brought here, all suffering from the same condition as her half-brother, whom she had never met. But it was difficult to look at them, all behaving like cheerful, healthy children, and not think, with a leaden heart, that she had missed a chance to ever know Jeremy. She blamed herself for that, for all the good it did now.

  ‘Miss Radley,’ said the nurse at the door. ‘Come through.’

  Eden thanked her and went into the doctor’s office. His walls were covered with degrees and framed newspaper articles all attesting to his unique abilities and Eden studied them as she waited. She did not have to wait long. Dr Tanaka came in and greeted her, but did not extend a hand. ‘Let me say, I’m sorry for your loss, Ms Radley,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you. And thank you for coming to the funeral,’ she replied.

  He had a mild, intelligent gaze behind steel-rimmed glasses. He seemed calm and at ease, as if his waiting room were not filled with afflicted children and anxious parents. ‘Ms Radley, how can I help you?’ he said in a neutral tone.

  Eden took a deep breath and plunged ahead. ‘My mother’s death … the death of Jeremy … it’s very difficult. I keep thinking there must have been some warning that she was planning this. Some signs. I’ve asked her husband, but if he knows anything, he’s offering no explanation. Maybe he’s too close to the situation to be a good judge. I’ve been asking myself if anyone here at the clinic had noticed her distress.’

  ‘You were her daughter,’ said Dr Tanaka. ‘Did she say anything uncharacteristic in your recent conversations?’

  Eden blushed. She took a deep breath. ‘No, sir. Our recent conversations were perfunctory. As usual. My mother and I were … somewhat estranged. I regret this now, but I can’t change the past.’

  Dr Tanaka nodded and gazed at his folded hands on the desktop. ‘First of all, let me say that your mother participated fully in our … work here. She was ready to go to great lengths for the sake of her child.’

  Eden nodded, not knowing what to say. She discerned respect for Tara in the doctor’s tone.

  ‘Everyone who is here signs releases that they were not pressured to be here in any way. They know that there is no guarantee, and they participate willingly,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, I know they came here willingly,’ Eden said, puzzled.

  ‘Just to be clear,’ the doctor said.

  She gazed at him with narrowed eyes. ‘Is this about … Are you worried about a lawsuit?’

  Dr Tanaka’s expression was impassive. He did not answer her question.

  ‘Don’t be,’ said Eden. ‘I’m not here to place blame. I just want to know why this happened. Did she ever mention to you that she felt hopeless or despondent?’

  Dr Tanaka thought for a moment. ‘In recent months I noticed certain changes in your mother’s behavior. She seemed a bit … withdrawn lately. Distracted. She missed a couple of appointments, which was very unlike her. I had a feeling that there might be something wrong in her life.’

  Eden felt the hair stand up on the back of her neck. ‘Beyond Jeremy’s condition, you mean.’

  ‘Jeremy’s condition was deteriorating, no doubt, and she was concerned about him, of course, but she knew she was doing everything she could for her child. This kind of illness takes a terrible toll on the family. Our staff is trained to seek out signs of depression or undue anxiety.’

  ‘Did they notice those signs in my mother?’ Eden asked.

  Dr Tanaka nodded. ‘Yes. And she was offered psychological counseling if she needed it. An offer she refused, repeatedly.’

  ‘Did you think she seemed depressed enough that she might be considering ending her life? And Jeremy’s?’ she asked.

  ‘I cannot tell you what she was thinking. But I can tell you this much. Your mother loved her son. Other people might have looked at Jeremy and seen only the difficulties. But your mother? No. Never. And no,’ said Dr Tanaka gravely, ‘in my opinion, she would never have harmed him. No matter what.’

  His words struck her like a blow. ‘Really? You seem very certain of that.’

  Dr Tanaka nodded. ‘I am certain of that.’

  ‘And yet, she did harm him. She killed him. How can you explain it?’ Eden asked.

  ‘Well, I cannot explain it,’ he said. ‘But I’m a scientist. It’s my experience that if I get an unexpected result, I have to go back over my data. I make sure that I have entered every detail correctly. That I have not missed something.’

  Eden frowned at him. ‘Is that what you think? That we’ve missed something?’

  ‘I can’t say.’ Dr Tanaka stood up, signaling that their meeting was at an end. Reluctantly, Eden gathered up her coat and purse and stood up as well.

  ‘Sadly, Ms Radley, this work never lets up,’ the doctor said. ‘And even though I find this situation to be baffling, I can do no more than speculate. But it does seem a question worth pursuing.’ He extended his hand to her in farewell. ‘And I wish you well with your inquiries.’

  Eden left the doctor’s office feeling ill at ease. She had come here for some answers, and all she had now was the doctor’s blessing to pursue her questions.

  She thanked the receptionist as she passed her desk, and then, as she was pushing open the office door, she turned back. She knew that the young girl she had met at her mother’s funeral had said she was a graduate student in psychology. She was close to the situation. Maybe she could offer some answers. It was worth a try. ‘Excuse me,’ she said. The receptionist looked up, smiling.

  ‘There was a girl from your office who worked closely with my mother and Jeremy. Lizzy something …’

  ‘Lizzy Jacquez,’ said the receptionist promptly.

  ‘Is she here today?’ Eden asked.

  ‘No, she’s not in today. She may be at the university.’

  ‘Do you have a number where I could reach her?’ Eden asked.

  The receptionist grimaced. ‘I’m not really allowed to give out that information,’ she said.

  ‘Never mind. Thanks.’ I’ll just ask Flynn, Eden thought, as she left the office and walked down to her car. She glanced at her phone. She just had time for a quick bite of lunch, then it would be time to go to their meeting.

  Several lengths of broken yellow police tape still fluttered from different trees at the edge of the property, and there was a ‘for rent’ sign planted in the lawn. The blue house was a small, rectangular bungalow with a garage at one end. The house was inexpensively constructed, with several narrow windows placed just below the roofline, as if to discourage anyone from looking out, or in. It looked neglected and forlorn. Piles of bulging black plastic bags were slumped in the snow at the curb, waiting to be carted off by the trash man. Nobody was going to rush to rent this humble abode, Eden thought. Still, she was surprised to see it already up for rent. It was as if Flynn couldn’t wait to get out of there. Then she chided herself for her lack of charity. She couldn’t blame Flynn for not wanting to live in this house. Not after the terrible thing that had happened there. The place probably felt haunted to him.

  She walked up to the front door and rang the bell. In a few moments, the door opened. Expecting to see Flynn, Eden was startled to see instead, Flynn’s intern, the girl in the Muslim headscarf who had supported him at the funeral.

  The girl’s soulful eyes widened. She was still wearing a headscarf, though her clothes today were much less formal. She had on a loose-fitting blouse and a long, dark skirt that divided into roomy pants. She stared at Eden uneasily.

  ‘Hello. My name is Eden. Flynn is expe
cting me.’

  The girl lowered her gaze like a servant. ‘Mr Darby is in the living room.’

  ‘We haven’t met,’ said Eden. ‘I’m his stepdaughter. Eden Radley.’ She extended a hand, but the girl ignored it and bowed slightly.

  ‘My name is Aaliya Saleh. It’s nice to meet you.’

  Just then, Flynn appeared behind Aaliya in the hallway ‘Let her in, Aaliya,’ he said. ‘This is my stepdaughter. She’s also the editor of my book.’

  ‘So I understand,’ said the girl, polite but unsmiling. She backed away from the door, and Flynn opened it for Eden to enter. She walked past him into the small, overly warm house.

  ‘Aaliya, if you don’t mind getting started on the bedrooms,’ he said.

  Aaliya shook her head. ‘Not at all.’

  Eden watched the girl disappear down the hall. Her clothes billowed around her, like dark sails. ‘That’s a helpful intern,’ she observed skeptically.

  ‘She has been helpful,’ said Flynn, ignoring her tone. ‘Come on inside.’

  She edged past him in the hallway. He was wearing a stained gray T-shirt, ripped blue jeans and bare feet. He smelled tangy, sweaty. She felt slightly sick about the fact that she noticed his scent.

  ‘In here,’ he said.

  The house smelled stale and there was an unfamiliar, heavy odor in the air. Eden wondered if it was some sort of residue from the carbon monoxide. She followed him into the living room, which was in a state of disarray, with half-packed boxes everywhere. There were framed photos leaning against the wall. Scribbled Post-it notes flapped on nearly every surface in the room.

  ‘When are you moving?’ she said.

  Flynn ran his hand through his mop of dirty-blond waves and shook his head. ‘Not sure. I have to get a place first. God, you remind me of her,’ he said.

  Eden froze and then glared at him. ‘I don’t look anything like her.’

  ‘You can’t see it,’ he said.

  ‘Let’s talk about something else,’ she said in a chilly tone.

  Flynn shrugged. ‘Up to you.’