The Liar

“I . . . No. I’m sorry, I don’t know. That was over three years ago.”

“Think about it,” Forrest said easily, though his hand stayed light on her thigh. “That was just a couple days before Easter. It was Good Friday.”

“Oh. Easter, and Callie would have been nearly a year old. I got her an outfit, a bonnet and everything. I took her for photographs that Friday. I have them in her album. They had props—little chicks and stuffed bunnies. Baskets and colored eggs. I sent copies to Mama, and to Granny.”

“I remember those pictures.”

“That was Friday afternoon. I don’t remember what time, exactly. It was at this place called Kidography. It was such a clever name. I remember because I took Callie back for other pictures, the photographer—her name was Tate . . . Tate—oh God—Tate Mitchell. I’m sure of it, I’m sure that’s the right name. And after, that first time on the Friday before Easter, I changed Callie into play clothes and took her for ice cream as a treat. I’d bribed her with that, told her if she was a good girl I’d take her for ice cream—even that young she knew the word ‘ice cream.’ We went to Morelli’s.”

“Best ice cream in Atlanta,” Landry said.

“You’ve been there? Callie loved going there. We went to Morelli’s, and I let her spoil her dinner. I remember that, I remember thinking, Oh well, she’s not going to want a good dinner now, so it had to be late afternoon.”

“What about that evening, that night?” Boxwood prompted.

“Let me think.” She pressed her fingers to her eyes. “Let me try to go back and see it. There was traffic—I remember that—and how Callie fell asleep in the car. I was worried, a little, that I wouldn’t get home before Richard. He didn’t like if he didn’t know where I was. I thought about texting him, but I didn’t. He didn’t like me to call or text him when he was working.”

Lowering her hands, she took a settling breath. “We got home, I think it must have been around six or so. Charlene—she did some cooking and light housekeeping for us—but she had the long weekend off. So Charlene wasn’t there, and I was glad to have the condo to myself. I liked Charlene fine, I don’t mean to say I didn’t like her.”

“But the place was quiet, just you and your daughter.”

She nodded at Landry. “Yes, that’s it. Callie was a little cranky, what with the photos, the ice cream, the nap in the car, but I settled her down with Fifi—her stuffed dog—and some blocks. She liked these blocks that made noise. I hurried to put dinner together. I swear I can’t remember what I fixed, but I had it together by seven or seven-thirty, and I was relieved. But he was late. Richard. I put it in the warmer, and I got Callie her meal, coaxed her to eat a little, and she did since I’d waited until she’d worked off that ice cream. I gave her a bath, and read her a story, and put her to bed.

“I did text Richard then, just to say his dinner was in the refrigerator, and if I was in bed already, he could heat it up. I was angry, I guess, but tired, too.”

She rubbed at her temple, rubbed and rubbed as she tried to see it all again.

“I went to bed not long after Callie was down. I never heard him come in. I saw him in the morning. I looked in, and saw he’d slept in the guest room.”

It seemed so personal, where he’d slept, she had to fight off a blush.

“He, ah, used the guest room sometimes if he got in late. I fixed breakfast for Callie, and I put eggs on to boil. We’d dye eggs for Easter later that day. He didn’t get up till close to noon, and he was in a fine mood. I remember that, too, clear now, as he was in such a fine mood, all jokey and excited. He made Callie laugh, I remember. I guess he could see I was a little put out, and he said something—I don’t remember what because he always had some excuse. Late meetings, couldn’t get away. Whatever it was, then he . . .”

Trailing off, she gripped her hands together, tight, tight. “Oh God, the hair clip. He said, here was a little something for Easter, and he gave me the clip. He said I should go fix my hair, and get Callie dressed up. He was taking his ladies out for lunch. He hardly ever wanted to take Callie anywhere, and she was so happy about it, I set being put out aside. I did exactly what he wanted. I’d gotten used to doing what he wanted. The hair clip.” She pressed her lips together. “He’d stolen it, then he gave it to me, like you give a Milk-Bone to a dog.”

She took a long breath. “I guess you can check on the time of the photos and all, but I can’t prove the rest. Somebody probably saw me come in with Callie, but I don’t see why they’d remember after so much time. And no one was home. If you think I was with Richard, if you think I was part of what he did, I can’t prove I wasn’t.”

“That’s a lot of detail on a day that long ago,” Boxwood pointed out.