Page 58 of Everyone Here Is Lying
William Wooler’scell phone rings on the bedside table in his hotel room. He regards it nervously, then picks it up. “Yes?”
“William?”
It’s his wife. And she sounds upset. “What is it? Have they found her?”
“No. But I know who the witness is.”
Had the police told her? They’d refused to tell him. “Who?” he asks tersely.
“Marion Cooke. She lives on our street.”
He sits back against the headboard of the bed.Marion Cooke.It’s disconcerting—astonishing—to learn that she is the witness, that it’s someone he knows. “How did you find that out?”
He listens while she tells him, impressed. It’s more than he’s done.
“She denied it at first,” Erin says, “but then she admitted it. She says she’s telling the truth about Avery getting into Ryan’s car, and obviously the police believe her, because they’ve got him in custody. But, William,” she’s sobbing now, “how could she have waited so long to call? She saw him take her. If only she’d called right away—”
She’s right, William thinks. If they’d known earlier, they mighthave found her in time. But now... he knows—they both know—that it might be too late.
He feels a rage well up in him to match his wife’s. He can’t find words.
“William?”
“I can’t believe it,” he says, his voice shaking. “She’s a nurse at the hospital.” He feels utterly betrayed by someone he sees regularly. She knew Avery had gotten into Ryan’s car, and she said nothing for more than a day, even though it was all over the news that they were looking for her and that the police suspected William of harming his own daughter. She hadn’t spoken up. Why? Marion has a lot to answer for. But if she’s telling the truth, and Ryan took Avery—he feels the room spin.
“I didn’t know you worked together,” Erin says. “She didn’t mention that.” She sobs in despair. “If he doesn’t talk, we’ll never know what happened to her.”
When she hangs up, William puts down the phone, his mind in turmoil. Erin thinks Marion’s telling the truth about Avery getting into Ryan’s car. Why would she make something like that up? But he doesn’t want it to be true. Because if it is, Avery is probably dead.
William had thought, in the beginning, that Avery had run away. He’s the only one, besides Avery, who knows that he hit her that day hard enough to knock her off her feet. He feels a deep shame thinking about it. He remembers going out to his car, hesitating, turning to go back in and beg once more for her forgiveness. But he hadn’t. He’s the only one who knows how furious she must have been. He knows she can be vengeful. He thought she’d run away, but as time went on and she wasn’t found, that seemed less and less likely. He’d gone from fearing that she’d reappear andtell everyone how he’d struck her, to fearing she really had been taken by someone and that he would be wrongly arrested for murder. And now, worst of all—she was probably taken, and murdered, by the son of the woman he loves.
•••
Marion leans againstthe kitchen counter, clutching its edges, for a long time. The situation had gotten out of control. They’d been shouting. She tries to recall exactly what was said, but now it’s all a jumble in her head. Could Avery have heard it all?
She must go down and face the girl—her questions, her demands, her cold intelligence. She knows that the longer she waits to go downstairs, the angrier and more impatient Avery will get. But she must think. She opens the fridge and takes out an opened bottle of white wine. She pours herself a glass and drinks, finishing it quickly.
She has to face Avery. The more she delays, the harder it will be.
•••
Avery hearsthe kitchen door at the top of the stairs opening. She’s left her bedroom door open, waiting. She’s in a nasty mood. It’s taken her long enough, Avery thinks. She was probably figuring out what to say. Avery’s sitting on the bed. It’s almost time for the eleven o’clock news.
Marion comes into the bedroom and faces her, her arms folded across her chest. “Your mother was here,” she says.
She’s trying to act normal, but she’s not fooling Avery. “I know,” Avery says carelessly. “What did she want?”
Marion seems to relax a little. She sits down on the bed. “Shewas going up and down the street, trying to find out who called in the tip about Ryan Blanchard. The police won’t tell her who it is.”
Avery stares at her. “I heard shouting.”
Marion nods. “Your mother was very upset, ranting about the police not doing their jobs. She’s out of her mind with worry.”
Avery flicks her eyes to the television set. “The news will be on in a minute.” She picks up the remote and turns on the TV but mutes it until the program starts. “I was thinking of leaving tonight,” she says. But Avery wants to punish Marion. She says, “Until I heard you say thatyou’rethe one who called about Ryan Blanchard.” She turns to face Marion now. “You think I didn’t hear all that? You think I stayed in my room like a good little girl?” She sneers at her, feeling angry and superior. “I was right behind the kitchen door, and I heardeverything.” She leans in close to Marion’s face and hisses it again. “Everything.” She pulls back. “Why would you do that, Marion?” When Marion doesn’t answer, she shouts, “Why would you do that?” And she turns and grabs the small lamp off the bedside table beside her and throws it against the wall, where it shatters violently, narrowly missing the television. But Marion remains maddeningly calm.
She says, after a long pause, “I wanted to get back at his mother.”
“Why?” Avery demands.
