Familiar Lies (2 page)

Max awoke the following morning. It was a Tuesday and Max called in once again and, as expected, work obliged. He hit the shower first thing, the hot water waking him up and getting his mind going. He tossed the letter around in his mind as the white noise of the falling water surrounded him, creating a background over which he might place thoughts and ideas.

The shock had worn away, shock that had been nearly as great as the shock he’d endured when he learned his son had died. He was left only with hard reality in the form of a letter written by his own son, just before his death, and the implications it carried with it.

Could Josh have been leading some sort of secret life? Involved with people who Max—his own father—had never met? The possibility couldn’t be denied. Josh had his own car and his own life outside the home, along with the freedom explore it.

While that much was true, it didn’t explain how Josh could have ended up in a situation where he thought someone might be trying to kill him. The very thought of such a thing was absurd. And yet Max had a letter written by his son stating such a thing as truth.

The possibility that it was all some sort of hoax fabricated by his son entered his mind. But to what end? The tone in that note didn’t seem insincere; anything but.

So if it wasn’t a hoax then it had to be real.

Why hadn’t Josh come to him? Why hadn’t he reached out before things got so bad? Max would have helped, no matter the trouble. Surely Josh knew that.

Max turned off the shower and stepped out, looking at himself in the mirror. He looked thin, gaunt even. He hadn’t really noticed before. That could probably be said for a lot of things over the year since Josh died and Katie left him.

Katie. Had she noticed anything odd about their son? Maybe something she dismissed, some strange behavior that she’d not known to look for, not without the aid of that terrible letter?

Max wished for a moment that he’d never found it, but that notion soon passed. If Josh’s death wasn’t accidental, if someone was responsible for it then that person needed to be held accountable.

Max threw on his boxers and stepped into his old slippers. They smelled bad, he noticed. Had they always? It didn’t matter, he had something to do, something important. He stepped out of the bathroom and made his way through the living room, headed toward the attached garage. He walked straight through the kitchen and opened the door leading out and into the garage.

He hadn’t been in there since Josh died, but he knew where he was headed. He knew what he was looking for.

He entered the garage and stepped around the old newspapers and other junk littering the floor as he headed toward the corner. There he found the climbing equipment that the police had returned to them after the investigation. He went to it, picking up the rope and working it through his hands as he searched for the severed end.

After a few moments he found it. He stared at it closely, inspecting the break carefully.

The police report said that the rope broke after being shredded on the edge of a sharp rock near the top of the cliff Josh had been climbing. But the cut didn’t look right. It didn’t look accidental. It looked intentional. Too clean, too neat.

Like it could have been made with a knife.

Not a smoking gun, but enough to plant a new seed into Max’s mind.

Someone might have murdered his son and Max Williamson would go to whatever extreme necessary to find out who did it.

Max sat in his son’s bedroom at the foot of the neatly made bed reading the letter for what seemed like the hundredth time. By now he pretty much had the thing memorized, for better or worse. It occurred to Max again as he sat there that Josh had made that bed himself, as he always did, the morning he died.

The morning he was killed
, a voice in his head added.

Ignoring the voice, Max stared at the laptop for a moment before walking to the desk and taking a seat. He opened the laptop’s lid and pressed the power button. A few clicks and whirs followed, accompanied by a pleasing blue light indicating the machine had powered on. The familiar logo appeared, followed by the desktop wallpaper.

Max felt his heart break again into tiny pieces as the picture of their Grand Canyon trip a few years earlier appeared on the screen. In the photo, Josh stared back at the camera, his arms around Max and Katie. They all looked so happy then.

Max snapped himself out of the past and refocused on the task at hand. If he saw the desktop wallpaper then that meant Josh hadn’t set a password. That was a good thing.

Where to start?
Max wondered. He glanced at the letter again for reference and found that he really didn’t need it anymore. All the names had been committed to memory. He opened the address book by clicking on the proper icon and waited for the application to load. When it did, he began searching. Gabe, Caldwell, Vanessa, and Julie; all had been mentioned in the note.

They all came up with no matches, all except for one.

Vanessa.

Max read the name out loud. “Vanessa Simmons.” His voice sounded odd in the empty room.

Max read on, noting the address. He entered it into his phone and brought up a map with directions. Vanessa Simmons lived four miles away in Camden. A quick trip under any conditions.

Max put the computer to sleep and closed the lid gently. It felt strange, like closing a coffin lid.

He walked out of Josh’s bedroom and into the living room, staring at the small red dot flashing on top of the map on his phone screen. He needed to talk to this girl. He needed to figure out who she was and how she knew Josh.

Vanessa was a mistake
, Josh’s letter had said. Had Vanessa been a girlfriend? Max thought hard, trying to remember any girls Josh might have brought home over the year or so before he died. He couldn’t remember any. But he’d been working so much then, a lot of late nights and weekends. Normal for the job. It was entirely possible that Katie might remember this Vanessa girl. Maybe she met her one day after school or had her over for dinner a time or two.

But to ask Katie would mean that he’d have to call her.

He could try that later. Better to talk to Vanessa directly and see what she might know before getting Katie involved. His ex-wife would only complicate things.

He’d need a reason to call on Vanessa; under normal circumstances, a forty-six-year-old man didn’t show up at a high school girl’s door asking questions about her. That kind of thing raised all sorts of red flags, exactly the kind of thing he did not want.

What about the truth?
that voice in his head suggested.

The truth, or a version of it. Maybe not the whole truth, but suggestions of it.

It was as good a plan as any. He got dressed, putting on a nice shirt and slacks, something agreeable that would help to not rouse the family’s suspicions. He grabbed his car keys and pulled away, armed with the map and a vague idea of what he might say when he met Vanessa face to face.

It took ten minutes to get to Vanessa Simmons’ house, after making a wrong turn despite the map and having to double back. He found the house easily after that, located in a cul-de-sac and beaming with magazine-grade curb appeal. It seemed Vanessa’s parents had a little money to their name.

Max sat in his car, a newer model Volkswagen Passat that didn’t look too out of place in this neighborhood, and watched the house for a few minutes. The family appeared to be home; lights burned in the living room, visible through the picture window and two cars sat parked in the driveway. A moment later, Max noticed a man walk through the living room. Vanessa’s father, he assumed.

The father could be a problem. Likely he’d be suspicious when Max came to the door, but a reasonable man could talk to another reasonable man and explain things. Things like the police missing something in the investigation of his son’s death, something that had been nagging a grieving father and needed to be put to rest. None of that was untrue, despite the omission of any other information contained within Josh’s letter.

Omission wasn’t exactly lying as much as it was a filtering of the truth.

Max got out of the car and felt butterflies take flight in his stomach. Initially, he didn’t think he’d be so nervous, but the closer he got to the door the worse it became. No matter; he planned to finish this thing he’d started, for himself and for Josh.

Max arrived at the door and pushed the doorbell before he lost his nerve. A few excruciatingly long moments passed before Max heard movement from inside. A moment later the door opened and Max found himself staring at a boy, perhaps nineteen years old.

“Can I help you?” the boy said.

Max cleared his throat. “Hi, my name is Max. I believe I’m looking for your sister.”

“Sorry, buddy. I don’t have a sister. I think you got the wrong address.”

“I’m sorry,” Max said. “So there’s no Vanessa Simmons here then?”

The boy looked confused. “Well, yeah. But she’s my mom.”

A shock traveled through Max’s body. He stood there, dumbfounded for a few seconds before recovering. “Oh, my mistake. Is she home? Could I have a word with her?”

The kid shrugged. “Sure. Wait here and I’ll go get her.”

The kid disappeared into the house, leaving the door open and Max standing on the front step.

Max felt his world spin for a moment.
Vanessa was a mistake
, the letter had said. He could only imagine what that meant.

A moment later a thin woman in her mid to late forties appeared at the door. She had long, black hair and a narrow face with brown eyes and perfect white teeth from an expensive dentist. A shirt one size too small covered a push-up bra and a dancer’s frame.

“Hi there,” Vanessa said, smiling. Small crow’s feet appeared around her eyes, not displeasing in the least. “Something I can help you with?”

Max didn’t know what to say. His story, already thin, dried up and blew away with the wind. He said the first and only thing he could think of. “Josh Williamson.”

Vanessa’s face changed instantly. The perky and attractive soccer mom disappeared, replaced by an aging, frightened woman. “Who are you?”

“I’m his father.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not safe. Not for any of us. You put yourself and my family in danger by coming here. How did you find me?”

“I found a letter, written by Josh.”

Vanessa cast furtive glances all around the cul-de-sac. “Were you followed?”

“Followed?”

“Never mind. Meet me tonight at the Bayside Diner, eight o’clock sharp. Don’t be late and don’t tell anyone you’re coming. Make sure no one follows you. Do you understand?”

“I don’t understand any of this. What was Josh mixed up in?”

“I can’t talk now. Tonight, at the diner. Be there.”

Max nodded.

“And don’t come back here ever again.” Vanessa shut the door, locking the deadbolt behind her.

Max backed away slowly, his mind still reeling as he turned and headed toward his car, more confused now than he’d been when he arrived.

Max pulled into the Bayside Diner’s parking lot at seven-thirty that evening. He didn’t want to be late; something told him that if he was he’d never get the chance to talk to Vanessa again.

He got out and walked into the diner, ordering a coffee that he couldn’t seem to bring himself to drink. He sat in a booth near the far corner of the restaurant, away from the plate glass windows adorning the front of the building. For some reason, he thought that Vanessa would want that.

She arrived right at eight o’clock sharp, not a minute early or late. She entered the building wearing large sunglasses, like some kind of informant in a spy movie. It might have been funny had the circumstances been different. Today it just made him more nervous. Vanessa was afraid, truly afraid, and Max had a bad feeling that she had every right to be.

She found him quickly and came right to the table. She sat down without a greeting, glancing around at the patrons. Four or five tables had diners sitting at them and they all seemed inconspicuous enough, or at least Max thought so.

“You should take off the glasses,” Max said. “You stand out like a sore thumb.”

Vanessa paused, considering. She removed the glasses carefully, folding them up and placing them on the table in front of her. Max watched her closely. Her face was pale, the tendons in her neck tight. Her pleasant demeanor had all but vanished, replaced with the look of a frightened animal. Her hand shook on the table and she placed her other hand on top of it to stop the movement.

The waitress that had seated Max returned to their table. “What can I get you, ma’am?”

Vanessa didn’t answer. Instead she looked at the young waitress suspiciously.

“She’ll have coffee,” Max said. “One cream, two sugars.”

The waitress looked mildly confused before shrugging and placing her notepad back in her apron pocket. “Right away.”

As the waitress headed back to the counter to retrieve the coffee, Max leaned in. “I need you to tell me what this is all about.”

Vanessa took a deep breath. She bit her lip. Max noticed it quiver slightly as she attempted to hold back tears.

The waitress returned with a white coffee cup, two creams and one sugar. Max did not point out the error. Instead, he said, “Thank you.”

“Sure thing,” the girl replied. “You need anything else you just let me know.”

“We sure will,” Max replied, smiling. He felt like an actor playing a part; fake and hollow.

“You shouldn’t have come to my house,” Vanessa said, her voice low.

“Why not?”

“You put everyone at risk.”

“How did you know my son?”

Vanessa didn’t reply.

“How did you know him?”

Vanessa paused. She opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again as she searched for the words.

Max frowned. “You didn’t.”

“It was only once. It was a mistake.”

“He was seventeen!” Max said.

“Keep your voice down,” Vanessa said. “Don’t draw any attention to yourself.”