Liquid Lies (2 page)
Authors: Lois Lavrisa
She’s been married to her aerospace husband Tom for over 21 years and they have four children - two boys and two girls. She’s a member of several writing organizations including: Mystery Writers of America (MWA), Romance Writers of America (RWA) and Sisters in Crime (SIC). Currently, she’s serving as vice president of the Low Country RWA. For the past six years she’s been a member of the Savannah Pen & Ink writers group. She’s written for a local newspaper, a magazine, numerous newsletters and posts weekly on a blog. Additionally, Lois has worked as an adjunct instructor and a technical writer.
If you want to contact her, please go to
www.loislavrisa.com
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www.liquidlies.com
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www.facebook.com/authorloislavrisa
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www.thechubbychicksclub.com
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www.faceb
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m/loislavrisa
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www.goodreads.com/loislavrisa
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Novels by Lois Lavrisa
Liquid Lies
Harmony Hill
Short Stories in Anthologies
Eternal Spring
Her short story titled “Picture not Perfect”
WG2E Summer Fling
Her short story titled “Turnabout Twist”
He Sees You When You’re Sleeping
Her short story titled “Christmas Corpse Caper”
WG2E Spooky Shorts
Her short story titled “Treat or Trick”
Dedication
To my husband Tom, who always believed in my dreams, even when I did not. For knowing that I was the one for him the first night we met, and who patiently waited three years for me to figure out that he was the one for me.
Connect with Lois Lavrisa Online
Five Fun Facts about Lois Lavrisa
One night. Two best friends. Two tickets to a sold out concert. One joint. Two bottles of wine. One perfect eighteenth birthday celebration and a memorable last night together.
Or so we thought.
“See? My auto repair class was a much better elective than your classic French art class,” I teased Francesca. She held an umbrella over me while I finished putting a full-size spare tire on her red BMW. The buzz from the wine and pot had worn off long ago. At one o’clock in the morning I wanted to be home in bed, not out here. The neon red light flashed and reflected off the rear window
24 Hour Truck Stop & Diner
. I added, “Where would that get us now?”
“But CiCi, if your life depended on your knowledge of Claude Monet or Paul Cézanne.” Francesca wiggled the umbrella, splashing me with water drops. “You’d be dead.”
“I doubt an answer on French artists would ever be a deal breaker in a life or death situation.” I ducked out from under the umbrella and put the jack and flat tire in her trunk. “Or in any situation for that matter.”
“It could be. You never know.” She moved next to me. “Anyway, my senior aptitude test said I was artistic and should do something that involves travel. I’m just saying that, while I’m traveling to all the museums in Europe with my aunt, one day someone might offer me a million Euros to answer an art question, you never know.”
“Yeah, sure. Those tests aren’t always accurate anyway. Mine said I should be in law enforcement.” I smiled. “But then again, if I was a cop, I could get your sorry ass out of jail. Which, by the way, I’m surprised you haven’t been in yet.” She looked like an angel, but all the years I knew her, she acted more naughty than nice. Yet, she had a childlike innocence to her mischief. It was never boring being around her.
“Ha ha. You’re lucky to have me in your life. I add excitement. Danger.”
“Don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You won’t have to, because you’re going to tell me that you’ve changed your mind and you’re moving to Paris with me.”
“Two problems with that. One, I don’t have the money to go to Paris, and two, I’m already enrolled at the University for the fall semester.” Then I held my hand to my heart. “And of course, there’s Ken.”
“Okay, by the way that was three.”
“Fine, three reasons I can’t go with you.”
“It’s your lucky day, I have all the solutions to those problems. Firstly, my aunt Vivian is absolutely loaded; her hubby left her with a small fortune. So she’ll take care of both of us. Second, drop out of college. Problems solved.” She closed her eyes as she held her hand to her forehead. “Thirdly…Wait. I can see your future. You’re dumping your high school sweetheart. Another image is coming to me. I see a gorgeous Parisian man feeding you endless bowls of pasta.”
I held up my grime covered hands. “Oh great psychic one, can you tell me what I’m going to do now?”
“Scratch your ass,” Francesca said.
I laughed as I lunged at her with my soiled hands. She screamed and dodged my attempt to wipe my hands on her jacket.
As we made our way over the potholed gravel parking lot to a wooden sign that read Restrooms, we passed a handful of cars. I noticed a few semi trucks parked in the back. At the gas tanks, a solitary car was filling up as we entered a door that read Ladies.
On our exit, the cool night air blasted us. It was August 31
st
, and the slight chill in the air announced that Wisconsin autumn was in full swing. We both put on gloves and zipped up our jackets. A burly man wearing a shabby black leather jacket emerged from the men’s side. A lone light bulb dangling overhead illuminated his tanned face framed with graying on his temples. He smiled at us. Wrinkles set in around his mouth and eyes. Late forties, I thought.
“Well, hello ladies,” he stepped in front of us. He pointed to a semi truck several yards away, “You looking for some fun?”
Francesca flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder. At five foot ten, she stood eye to eye with the man. “What kind of fun are you talking about?”
“I’ve got some cold beer in my truck if you’re interested in a nightcap,” he said.
“We’re just leaving.” I jumped in.
Why was she flirting with this guy? It didn’t surprise me that he was flirting with her. I was accustomed to being in her shadow whenever Francesca was around. At five six, with a slim boyish body and shoulder length brunette hair, I felt average to the core. Unmistakably overshadowed by Francesca’s stunning appearance. But Ken thought I was beautiful, and said so the day I met him when he almost knocked me down getting to class. We first met when he was a senior and I was a freshman. We’ve been together ever since.
I jabbed her in the side. “Let’s go.”
“Not before I have a drink.” Francesca glided her statuesque figure over next to him and trailed her slender hand over the collar of his tattered jacket. “What the hell. It’s my birthday.”
He lifted an eyebrow. A smile crept over his face, “Follow me, gorgeous.”
I grabbed Francesca’s arm. “What are you doing?”
“Excuse us for a second,” Francesca said to the man as she pulled me a few feet away from him. “CiCi, chill out. It’s an adventure.”
“Oh so that’s what this is called? Adventure, insanity. Same thing,” I said.
“Trust me.”
“Really? What could go wrong going with a stranger to his lair?” I could think of a million things and they all were trouble.
“C’mon, nothing will happen. We’re tough. To quote from Hugo ‘we’re more strong than time.’ Translation, we’re invincible.” She smiled. “Plus it’ll be fun.”
“A concert is fun. Being out here in the middle of flipping nowhere is not.” I emphasized by shaking my hands around. “And quoting from a French poet is not helpful. How about this quote, ‘Distrust and caution are the parents of security,’ Ben Franklin. Let’s listen to Ben and go home. No more adventures tonight.”
“It gets my adrenaline going.” She tapped my arm.
“Take up jogging. That’ll rev you up,” I added, tapping her back. Francesca always sought out danger, while I was the incessant voice of reason.
“This is our last night together. I mean even Ken knew we had to make this night spectacular- right? He bought us the concert tickets and everything. So c’mon. Live a little? I know you hate anything that shakes up your safe little world. But please, for me?” She put her head on my shoulder.