Listen for the Lie (13 page)

“Are you trying to imply that I'm crazy?”

Ben is sitting in his usual spot at the diner, leaned casually back in the booth. His laptop is closed in front of him, his notebooks piled neatly on top. He's done for the day, or taking a break, or saw me coming and put everything away.

He squints at me. “What?”

I slide into the booth across from him. The redheaded kid behind the counter is staring at me. Someone must have clued him in as to who I am.

“Those questions you asked Ivy. What were you getting at?”

“What do you think I was getting at?” One side of his mouth lifts in an aggravating smirk.

“That I'm crazy. That a blow to the head and the stress of being accused of murder got to me and made me completely bonkers.”

“That is not what I was getting at.”

“Then what?”

“I'm just trying to get a clear picture of what happened right after the murder. The attention seemed to be very intensely focused on finding out who murdered Savvy. How many days did you have to recover before Savvy's mother came to ask you questions?”

Zero days. I could still see Mrs. Harper standing in the doorway
of my hospital room, tears streaming down her face. She'd held my hands and begged me.

“
Please, Lucy
, please
. We need to know something. Anything
.”

“I just think it's strange that your mother was so willing to give Mrs. Harper immediate, unfettered access to you.” Ben lifts an eyebrow.

“I said it was fine. At the time. I could make my own decisions.”

“I didn't say you couldn't.”

I pause and then blurt out my next words. “I was invested in figuring out who murdered Savvy too. And I never told my parents I did it.” Not that I remember, anyway. The days after the murder are very fuzzy.

“Listen, when the urge to murder someone strikes, sometimes you just gotta go with it.”

The voice is loud, and clear. I actually jump a little and glance around, like someone might be standing next to me.

He cocks his head. “I know.”

“I'm just saying, I had no problem with Ivy coming over and asking me questions. I wanted to help.”

“I'm sure you did.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Oh my god, Lucy, it means that
I'm sure you did
.” He's amused now, and I'm startled to discover that I genuinely care whether or not he thinks I killed Savvy. How fucking annoying.

“Do you always think that people have nefarious intentions, or is it just me?” he asks.

“It's just you,” I lie.

“I'm just saying, that if it were
my
child, and she'd just experienced a major trauma and a serious, life-threatening injury, I wouldn't let anyone near her. I'd build her a pillow fort and guard the doorway. Even if she was a twenty-four-year-old woman claiming that it was fine.” He arches an eyebrow. “But that's just me.”

I don't know what to say to that, so I look over at the teenager
who is now furiously typing on his phone, tongue poking out one side of his mouth.

“Did you know that Beverly invited me to her birthday party?”

My attention snaps back to Ben, my lips turning up in amusement. “She failed to mention that.”

“Is it okay with you if I go?”

“It's her party. You don't need my permission.”

“I feel like I do.” He leans back in the booth, tossing his hair out of his eye with a sort of easy sexiness that makes me uncomfortable.

“Why? Is it against the rules to go to a birthday party with the family of the woman suspected of murdering the subject of your podcast? Are there podcaster ethics?”

“I don't…” He cocks his head, like he's considering. “It's not against the rules. I've always considered the podcaster ethics to be the same as journalism ethics.”

“Sure.”

“I won't go if it'll make you uncomfortable.”

“You're the one who's going to be uncomfortable.”

“You think so?”

“My mom did not appreciate episode four, since you lightly implied she was a bad mom for letting Ivy talk to me and is also maybe involved somehow.”

“I have a high threshold for awkward.” That damn hair is in his eyes again.

My smile widens. “I believe that.”

“Does that mean I should go?”

“You absolutely should go. I suspect Grandma will be very disappointed if you're not there.”

“You think so?” He looks flattered.

“Absolutely.”

“Okay then. I will be there tomorrow.”

“Can't wait.”

“And we're doing our first interview on Monday?”

“Our
first
interview? We've talked several times.”

“First interview where we really get into things. Your grandma said you'll be here through next week?”

I let out a long sigh. “She did, did she?”

“Is that wrong?”

“No. She's right.” She'd bought me a one-way ticket, which should have been a sign that she'd planned on my staying longer than she let on. I could book my own and hightail it out of here, but I'm invested now. I can't stop thinking about what Grandma said—that Ben is actually going to figure this out.

I feel like I owe it to Savvy to stay until he does.

Not to mention that I have nothing to go back to. I'm still fired, my boyfriend is now my ex-boyfriend, and I've yet to sign a lease on a new apartment. I might as well be here, even if
here
makes me want to punch myself in the face.

“Good,” he says. “I'm starting this new thing next week, changing up the podcast format. I'll be dropping a bunch of miniepisodes instead of just doing two a week, so we can get stuff out in real time. I think people are really going to like it.”

“Great,” I say dryly.

He cocks an eyebrow.

“Fine. Whatever. Monday,” I say. “First interview. I'll be ready.”

“
I'm always ready
,” the voice sings. “
Let's fuck someone up!
”

Listen for the Lie Podcast with Ben Owens

BONUS EPISODE 1

Hey, guys. I know that you weren't expecting a new episode until tomorrow, but I need to update you about what's going on with the show. First of all, I am currently back in Plumpton, Texas. And second, I am in contact with Lucy Chase.

I know that a lot of you already know this, because you saw the picture of us together at the diner. To answer the question that approximately ten thousand of you asked on Twitter—Yes, Lucy has agreed to an interview.

In the interest of full disclosure, I wanted to let you guys know that I've always been counting on getting an interview with Lucy. Her grandmother assured me that she could get Lucy to do it, and she wasn't wrong. According to Beverly, it didn't even take that much convincing. So far, Lucy has been direct with me.

And, to be totally frank with you guys, I've had to scrap or totally rework some of the episodes I had planned for the rest of this season. Lucy being back in town has completely changed things, and we've learned a lot of new information recently.

Want to know what some of that new information is? Tune in tomorrow to hear an interview with Matt Gardner.

Yes,
that
Matt Gardner. Lucy's ex-husband, giving his first interview ever.

And keep an eye on your podcast app, because I'll be releasing some quickie bonus episodes—like this one—to keep you fully updated on everything that's happening over here.

For now, I leave you with this interview with Nina Garcia.

Nina:
             Yeah, of course I know Mrs. Chase. Or—Kathleen. I always called her Mrs. Chase in high school, when I'd go over to Lucy's house. Hard habit to break.

Ben:
               Are you two friendly?

Nina:
             I mean, I say hi when I see her around, but we're not friends or anything.

Ben:
               Do you remember seeing her at the wedding?

Nina:
             Sure, vaguely.

Ben:
               The whole time? Later that night?

Nina:
             I couldn't say. It's been too long.

Ben:
               What about Colin Dunn? You know Colin?

Nina:
             A little, yeah, back when he lived here. Why?

Ben:
               You heard on a recent episode about Colin having sex in a car with a married woman after the wedding?

Nina:
             Yes.

Ben:
               I have several sources who claim that Kathleen and Colin had an affair.

Nina:
              … What?

Ben:
              Did you know about that?

Nina:
             What? Who said that?

Ben:
               They've asked to remain anonymous. Though I was able to verify it.

Nina:
             Colin? Colin Dunn?

Ben:
               Yes.

Nina:
             She's like thirty years older than him.

Ben:
               Thirty-two years, yes.

Nina:
             I …

Ben:
               I was told it was a bit of an open secret here in Plumpton.

Nina:
             Seriously? No one told me. But I guess …

Ben:
               What?

Nina:
             Well, now that you mention it, I remember him saying once that he liked older women. I thought he meant Savvy, because she was like four or five years older than him. I guess he meant like …
older
.

Ben:
               It's a bit weird, isn't it?

Nina:
             Sleeping with a woman thirty years older? I don't know, whatever does it for you, I guess.

Ben:
               No, that everyone knew that Kathleen had an affair with Savannah's boyfriend, and no one thought it was important to mention.

Nina:
             Well, it wasn't while he was with Savvy, was it?

Ben:
               No, according to my digging, they actually did overlap. And like I said, mystery married woman in the car …

Nina
:             … Oh. Then, yeah. That's kind of weird.

I fully expect Mom to cancel the party.

I listen to Ben's miniepisode in disbelief the first time, and with more than a little amusement the second.

I didn't know Mom had it in her.

I should maybe be a little miffed on Savvy's behalf, but she was never that serious about Colin, and I honestly think she'd be amused as well.

I wait, clenched, for Mom to explode.

But she doesn't. The next morning, I come downstairs to find her cheerfully sewing lace onto a baby blanket she made for one of the girls from church.

Denial always did work well for her.

So, I say nothing, send Ben a text message that just says
damn, son
, and pretend like nothing happened.

Mom insists we get to the restaurant an hour early so we can micromanage the employees in charge of setting up the party. They don't seem particularly put out by this, like they're used to women in loud flower-print dresses fussing over the exact placement of mason jar candles.

Mom missed her calling as a wedding planner. She would have been so good at projecting a happy image for one day.

We're in a large room for special events at the back of the restaurant. They've set up a long picnic-style table, with said mason jar candles and flower arrangements dotting the middle.

Mom doesn't mention the daisies. Probably because they look so nice. Or she's totally forgotten that they were supposed to be pink roses.

Grandma arrives right on time, escorted by Ashley and Brian (my cousins, the asshole grandchildren). They're both younger than I am—early twenties—and neither of them look particularly happy to be there. Brian barely looks up from his phone to say hi.

Their parents, Keith and Janice, follow them inside. My aunt Karen, the youngest of my mom's siblings, sulks in after them, the usual sour expression on her face. She has an unfamiliar man in an ill-fitting suit with her.

I don't know when they all got into town. Mom mysteriously disappeared a few times over the last couple of days, so I assume they've been here for a while. No one had any interest in seeing me early, apparently.

They all glance at me and then quickly away. Except for Ashley, who looks me up and down and then squints, like she disapproves.

I look down at my dress. It's black, which is out of place with the rest of the colorfully dressed guests. It also has a plunging neckline, which would be more exciting on someone with bigger boobs. Still, the waiter circling the room, offering appetizers, seems to appreciate them. I do what I can.

Grandma hustles over to me, her purple sequins hustling with her. The birthday dress is very flapper-like, with a nod to a Vegas showgirl.

She squeezes my arm. “Everything looks lovely.”

“You know Mom did most of it.”

Uncle Keith and Aunt Janice appear behind her and give me loose hugs and tight smiles.

“Lovely to see you, Lucy,” Uncle Keith says, rubbing a hand over his beard.

“I'm surprised you haven't gotten remarried,” Aunt Janice says with a frown.

“Well, it wasn't so great the first time.” I laugh. She doesn't.

“Wow,” Ashley says. Her hair, which was light brown last time I saw her, is dyed a really nice auburn color, and I might have complimented it if she weren't staring at me like I was an alien.

“Hi, Lucy.” Brian looks up from his phone long enough to glance at my boobs.

“Brian, you're looking so handsome!” Mom is just telling outright lies now, I guess. She pushes his shaggy brown hair out of his eyes, and he reels back like this is the worst thing to ever happen in his twenty-one years.

The smile on Mom's face fades to open-mouthed horror as she spots something behind me.

I turn. It's Ben, holding a present with a giant pink bow, wrapped much too nicely for him to have done it himself. He's wearing a blue button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and I notice that Ashley doesn't disapprove of anything she sees there.

I can't blame her, honestly.

“Ben!” Grandma exclaims at the same time Mom says, “What are you doing here?”

Ben lifts one hand in a wave. If he's surprised that Mom didn't know he was coming, he doesn't show it.

I can't help but think that he could have saved the miniepisode for tomorrow. He posted it before the party, when he knew he would see her after it went up.

I am both impressed and a little scared.

“Kathleen, don't be rude,” Grandma says, waving a hand at Mom. “I invited him.”

“You invited him?” Mom practically screeches, and then looks at me, like I should also be horrified by this.

I smile at her, and then walk to him. I pluck the present from his arms. “Ben. You're looking smug as usual.”

He lets out a short, startled laugh. “Thanks?”

Mom gapes at me as I deposit the present on the table with the rest. Keith, Janice, and their offspring look confused.

“Everyone, this is Ben Owens,” Grandma says loudly. “He's the host of that podcast. You know the one.”

Ashley's mouth falls open. Brian starts furiously texting. Keith and Janice look like they're still waiting for the punch line.

I steal a glance at Dad. He's glowering in the corner. Karen rushes over to Mom and whispers something in her ear.

A group of older ladies with matching poufy permed hairdos appear at the door, and Grandma walks over to greet them. Mom joins her, pointedly avoiding looking at Ben.

Everyone else is staring at him, so I stroll over to stand beside him. Usually everyone is staring at
me
. Us being next to each other makes it easier for them.

We're both silent for a moment.

I point to the small bar set up on the far wall. “Drink?”

“God, yes.”

An hour later, I'm sitting in the middle of the table with Grandma on one side and Ben on the other, an arrangement Grandma insisted on. (“It's my birthday, I get to decide where we sit!” she'd gleefully declared, ignoring Mom's protests.)

I'm on my second glass of wine and the room is pleasantly blurry around the edges.

They squeezed every possible chair they could up to this table, and my arm keeps brushing against Ben's. He is not blurry. In fact, he is in too sharp a focus, and I do my best not to look at him at all.

I'm suddenly reminded that it's been at least a month since I had sex, since Nathan and I had been in a dry spell pre–murder revela
tion. It's been much longer since I had really
great
sex (thanks for nothing, Nathan).

The waiter stops behind me and refills my nearly empty wineglass.

Well, that's not going to help me stop thinking about sex.

I reach for the glass, and then change my mind. Instead, I use two fingers to push it away a few inches.

Ben watches me, and our eyes meet as I sit back in my chair. I quickly look away.

Betsy is across from us—the friend of Mom's who brought the excellent 285-calorie brownies to tea/wine—and she's openly staring at Ben. He's pretending not to notice.

“Bruce,” Betsy says.

“Ben,” I correct, and reach for my water.

“Ben. You know that saying, he had a face for radio?”

I laugh mid-sip, nearly choking on my water.

“Betsy!” Mom exclaims.

“What? We were just talking about it the other day!”

“I've heard that, yes.” Ben looks amused.

“You don't have that. In fact, I'd say it's a damn shame you decided to work in radio.”

Laughter rises up from the table. Even Dad chuckles.

“Thank you.” Ben reddens like he isn't often complimented on his good looks. Like he hasn't visited r/Podcasts on Reddit and seen the threads discussing how cute he is.

“How did you get into that?” Keith asks. “Podcasting?”

“I loved podcasts. I was obsessed with them, actually. Especially true crime. So, I decided to try one myself.”

“Just like that?” Karen asks. “You weren't even a crime reporter before, were you?” I can tell she doesn't actually need him to answer this question. She'd googled him extensively earlier. Probably made it all the way to page five.

“No, I covered mostly lifestyle and entertainment as a journalist.
True crime was more like a … hobby of mine. I actually had a bunch of cases that I'd dabbled in over the years, participated in those sites online where amateur sleuths try to solve stuff. When I decided to do my first case, I picked the one that I had the most information on already, just to try and make it easier on myself.”

“Did you solve it?” Keith asks.

“Of course he did.” Janice bats his arm. “I told you all about it.”

Keith frowns like he has no memory of that conversation, or maybe most things his wife has said to him.

“I did,” Ben says.

“You remember,” Janice says to her husband. “The teenager who was killed on prom night out in South Carolina. They found her body in the trunk of a teacher's car, but the guy
swore
up and down he didn't do it? Plus he had no motive
and
an alibi.”

Keith shakes his head, still clueless. “Did he do it?”

“No,” Ben says. “The girl's boyfriend did. He put her in the trunk because he thought she was flirting with the teacher and maybe something was going on. There wasn't, as far as I could tell.”

“That was easy though,” Ashley says, eyebrow cocked in a way that seems flirty. “It's always the boyfriend or the husband.”

Her eyes flick to me and then quickly away.

Always the boyfriend, except when it's the best friend.

“I have an idea!”

Not now.

“I did have a feeling, going in,” Ben admits.

“Got a feeling this time, Ben?” I ask. “Think you're going to solve it again?”

“Oh, good, dinner is here,” Mom says loudly. Two waiters walk into the room, plates in arm.

I meet Ben's gaze. His lips twitch up but he says nothing.

I eat quickly, because the wine really is starting to go to my head. A waiter hovers, ready to refill my glass again at a moment's notice.

The wine is flowing freely, actually, and I hold mine but don't
drink it as I glance around the table. Keith's cheeks are red. Ashley is laughing loudly.

I think this is supposed to be fun. Or, perhaps, it
is
fun. For everyone else. They could take a photo and put it on Instagram—#dinnerparty #sofun #lovemylife—and it wouldn't be a lie.

“Are you going to write a book, Ben?” Grandma asks, apparently continuing a conversation I wasn't paying attention to.

“A book? No.” He glances at me. “Someday, I might, but I don't have any plans right now.”

“People are saying you're going to.”

“Which people?”

“You know.” She waves her hand. “Twitter.”

“Grandma, you're on Twitter?” Brian looks so startled that I wonder suddenly what kind of shit he's been posting on Twitter. Something he doesn't want his grandma to see, clearly.

“You're a good writer,” Janice says. “I read some of your pieces in the
Atlantic
and
Vanity Fair
.”

“Thank you,” he says.

“Lucy, didn't you want to be a writer once?” Keith peers at me as if I've disappointed him, this relative I barely know. “What ever happened to that?”

I wasn't that good, I guess
, is what I should have said. People love that sort of shit—humility and honesty, tied together to make everyone feel more comfortable after a rude question.

I smile. “Well, you know. No one wants to read a book from a murderer.”

Keith reddens. Dad rolls his eyes.

“Lucy,” Mom says wearily.

“Why didn't you ever write a memoir?” Ashley's clearly been waiting all night to ask that question.

“Bit hard to write a memoir about something you don't remember.”

“You could write about everything else.”

I shrug.

“Let's kill—”

“You never tell your side of the story,” Ashley presses.

I've told it more times than I can count. No one believed me.

“I'm telling it to Ben.” I take a sip of my wine.

Dad's head pops up. His eyes spark with anger and questions.

“You're telling it to Ben?” Mom says the words so slowly. Perhaps they're even interpreted as calm by the rest of the table.

Maybe they
are
calm. I take a quick glance around and no one else seems nervous.

I
shouldn't be nervous. I'm a grown-ass woman free to give interviews to whichever smug podcaster I choose.

“I have an idea. Let's kill—”

I clench my fingers into a fist and will the voice away. “Yeah. I'm doing an interview with Ben soon.”

“We already talked about a few things,” Ben adds.

“That's an interesting decision, Lucy,” Dad says.

Ashley snort-laughs and then claps a hand over her mouth. Others giggle nervously as well.

“Everyone has extremely high expectations of Ben.” I'm trying to sound casual. “Just trying to help where I can.”

“I appreciate it.” Ben is also trying to sound casual. I'm better at it.

Dad opens his mouth like he has more to ask, then seems to think better of it.

“It seems like Lucy should tell her own story instead of me telling it for her, wouldn't you say?” Ben asks.

“That's true,” Ashley says with wide-eyed sincerity.

“What a load of shit.”

The voice in my head is so loud that I barely stop myself from jumping.

“Let's kill her.”

I eye my knife, but I'm too buzzed to kill Ashley. For real or otherwise.

“Or him?”

I shift in my chair. The conversation has moved on without me, and Mom is staring at me.