“Great.” He loosens his tie and pulls it off, unbuttoning his collar.
I used to love watching him do that. He always stretches his neck to one side as he pulls free his top button, and there’s something really sexy about it. Every time he’d come home, I’d stop what I was doing and hop over to give him a kiss. I’d run my hands into his dark hair, perfectly combed to one side for work, and muss it up a bit, because I think it looks better that way.
He notices me staring at him and suddenly looks alarmed. “I, uh, I’m going to change.” He rockets into the bedroom like I might chase him down for a kiss.
I pull out a carving fork and knife. The chicken now seems like a bad idea. Maybe I don’t care enough to apologize.
Then again, I’m going to have to find a new place to live if Nathan kicks me out, and landlords tend to require pesky things, like proving you have an income.
I pierce the chicken just as Nathan walks back into the room. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and I briefly imagine stabbing the fork straight into his neck. It’s two-pronged, so it would leave twin bloody little holes, like a vampire bite.
My other hand is holding the knife, and I stare at him as I double-fist my weapons, waiting. I want him to say it first. He’s the one who clearly thinks I’m a murderer; he should have to say it first. I’m pretty sure those are the rules.
I stare. He stares.
Finally, he says, “How was work?”
“I was fired.”
He edges around me and reaches into the counter next to the fridge. “Cool. You want some wine? I’m going to have some wine.”
I wait for my words to sink in, but he just reaches for the bottle of wine, oblivious.
I stab the knife into the chicken, right between the breast and thigh. I may have used a bit more force than necessary.
Nathan jumps. I smile.
At this rate, he’s going to end up married to a murderer.
Listen for the Lie Podcast with Ben Owens EPISODE ONE—“THE SWEETEST GIRL YOU EVER MET”
Maya Harper: She got away with murder, and everyone knows it. Every single person in Plumpton knows that Lucy Chase killed my sister. It’s just that no one can prove it.
Maya Harper was eighteen years old when her older sister, Savannah, was murdered. She describes Savannah as fun and sweet, the kind of woman who could organize a party in less than an hour and make it look like she’d worked on it all month.
Maya:?????????????She was just so nice and welcoming to everyone. And she was the best sister. When she was in high school, she’d let me hang out with her and her friends sometimes. And we weren’t even close in age. She was six years older than me. I didn’t know anyone else who had a big sister who let a little ten-year-old tag along to football games.
Maya was happy to talk to me, but she was skeptical that I’d find anything new.
Maya:?????????????You know that my family has hired three different private investigators, right? Like, my parents did not give up. I don’t know if there’s anything left to find.
Ben:???????????????I’m aware, yeah.
Maya:?????????????I guess it couldn’t hurt, though. I mean, it’s been five years and it’s like no one even cares anymore that Savvy is dead. They’ve all given up.
A quick note here—you’ll often hear people who knew Savannah refer to her as “Savvy.” It was what most people called her.
Ben:???????????????So you haven’t heard any updates from the police or the DA or anyone?
Maya:?????????????Not in years. They all knew Lucy did it, they just couldn’t prove it, I guess.
Ben:???????????????There have never been any other suspects?
Maya:?????????????No. I mean, Lucy was covered in Savvy’s blood when they found her. She had Savvy’s skin underneath her fingernails, there were scratches on Savvy’s arm and bruises shaped like Lucy’s fingers. People saw them fighting at the wedding. Lucy killed her. She killed my sister and got away with it because the useless police department said there wasn’t enough evidence for an arrest.
Ben:???????????????Have you had any contact with Lucy recently?
Maya:?????????????No, not since she left Plumpton. She’s never come back, even though her parents still live here.
Ben:???????????????As far as you know, is she still claiming to have no memory of the night Savannah died?
Maya:?????????????Yeah, that was her story.
Ben:???????????????Do you believe her?
Maya:?????????????Of course I don’t believe her. No one believes her.
Is it true that no one believes Lucy Chase? Is she hiding something, or have the people of Plumpton accused an innocent woman of murder for five years?
Let’s find out.
I’m Ben Owens, and this is the Listen for the Lie podcast, where we uncover all the lies people tell, and find the truth.
CHAPTER THREE
LUCY
Nathan, as it turns out, has no balls.
We ate chicken. We drank wine. I played with the giant carving knife just to watch him sweat. He rambled on about work.
He did not ask whether I’m a murderer.
At this point, I’m curious how long this can go on for. He’s clearly wanted to break up for a while, and now he’s worried I’m going to murder him. Surely he will locate his balls and actually say the words “Please move out of my apartment and never contact me again” soon?
On the plus side, I have more time to look for a new place while I wait for the inevitable. Just this morning I found a very promising one-bedroom with no income requirements. It looks like a dump in the pictures, and the landlord asked to see a picture of my feet when I emailed, but, hey. It’s cheap.
Sometimes I think about the fact that the twenty-two-year-old version of me would be absolutely horrified by almost-thirty me. That shiny, smug newlywed with a four-bedroom house was so certain that she had life figured out and it was all going her way.
Guess what, asshole?
I also halfheartedly applied for a couple of new jobs over the weekend, and already got a rejection from one. I’m really killing it lately (pun intended).
But I don’t actually want a new job, if I’m being honest. I’ve published three romance novels under a pen name, and the third one is actually selling some copies. It’s an unexpected turn of events, considering how few people bought my first two books, but it means I’ve had to work overtime on the next one, so I don’t lose momentum.
And maybe, with a little luck, they’ll start selling enough copies so that I don’t have to worry about finding another mind-numbingly boring day job.
Of course, now I have to worry about a podcaster shining a very bright light on my past, and possibly someone finding out that it’s actually a suspected murderer writing their new favorite rom-com. No one except my agent, my publisher, and my grandma knows about my career as a romance author, but I’m a favorite subject for the amateur internet sleuth.
The thought nags at me all weekend. Monday morning, I run extra miles on the treadmill in the gym at Nathan’s complex, and then head to the grocery store because I need to tell my feelings to chocolate. Lots of chocolate.
The grocery stores are never empty in L.A., even on a weekday, because no one here has a real job. I maneuver around a woman at the entrance who is talking on her phone and wearing leggings that probably cost more than my entire outfit. They make her butt look great, though.
I turn my cart into the produce section. Maybe I’ll get something to chop into tiny pieces in front of Nathan.
(A nicer person would just say, “Hey, you heard about the podcast, didn’t you?” and put him out of his misery. I should try to be less of an asshole. Tomorrow, maybe.) A slim blond woman is tapping a butternut squash with one finger, and I try very hard not to imagine smashing the squash against her head.
I fail. Squash, as it turns out, is a weakness of mine.