Page 43 of Everyone’s a Liar

Alligators, wild dogs, and even a few cougars. Better safe than sorry.

She didn’t slow until she was through the gate and passing by the tennis courts. Then, coming to a halt, she gathered her shaken composure. Now that she was back within the manicured grounds of the Willows, she felt silly at being spooked by what was probably nothing.

Refusing to give in to the urge to lock herself in her rooms, Livia glanced around, her gaze catching sight of the wind vane on top of the old stables. The center was shaped like a rooster with metal arrows showing the four directions: north, south, east, and west. The air was soggy, but there was enough of a breeze to send it spinning.

The stables had been converted to garages long before she was born, but she’d never bothered to do more than peek inside them. When she was a young girl she thought they smelled like gas fumes and old oil, and as she got older she just wasn’t interested.

Now she crossed the lawn with firm steps, careful to keep her eyes averted from the nearby pool. It was a habit she’d developed as a young child. Reaching the long building that had been recently painted a bright white with black trim, she punched in the code to open the door. Thankfully, it was the same code used to open the front gates. Probably not the best security system, but a stroke of luck for Livia.

Stepping into the gloomy darkness, she fumbled for the overhead light. It took some searching, but at last her fingers brushed over the switch on the wall and a bright glow drove away the shadows. Entering the garage, she closed the door and walked past the neat row of expensive cars—a BMW, two Mercedes sports cars, and a Land Rover. At the end of the line was an old Ford Taurus that no doubt belonged to Janet, and a vehicle covered by a heavy tarp that had belonged to her grandfather.

Now that she knew there’d been a chauffeur at the Willows, she assumed there must be some sort of luxury sedan under the tarp. By the time she was old enough to remember her grandfather, he’d rarely left the estate, demanding any business dealings be conducted in his private office. But it was easy to imagine Henri Benoit lounging in the back seat while a uniformed servant drove him to his various businesses.

She also suspected that the staircase she’d noticed at the back of the garage led to a private apartment for the chauffeur. She hadn’t thought about the purpose of the upper floor until now, but it was the only thing that made sense.

Threading her way through the cars, Livia hesitated at the bottom step, glancing out the window to make sure there was no one approaching the garage. When she was sure there was no one in sight, she headed up the stairs.

The wood creaked beneath her feet, disturbing the thick silence that filled the garage. The noise made her wonder if anyone had bothered to climb the stairs since her grandfather’s death. Maybe not since the last chauffeur left the estate.

Her suspicions were confirmed when she pushed open the wooden door at the top of the stairs and entered a large loft. It had a narrow bed pushed against the wall and a matching dresser next to it. There was a kitchenette built into the far corner, if you could call it that. There was a sink, a microwave on a narrow counter along with a tiny fridge, and a TV tray with one wooden chair. Beyond the kitchen doorway she could see a cramped bathroom with a toilet and shower, but no sink.

It was barren, but private. If she had to work for the Benoits she’d take this cramped space over a room in the Willows any day of the week. Heading toward the bed, she lifted the mattress, then lowered herself to her knees to look underneath. There was nothing to see but dust bunnies and a used condom.

“Ew.”

Livia shoved herself upright and moved to check out the kitchenette. It was equally empty, and thankfully devoid of condoms. A peek in the bathroom assured her there nothing to see here.

Livia placed her hands on her hips, not sure what she’d hoped to find. Maybe a few personal items that would give her a clue to Manny’s life. Or a hint of why he’d left. Perhaps most importantly, she’d wanted to see if he had a connection to her mother. A futile wish, she acknowledged, turning to cross back toward the door.

Her breath caught in her throat. Had she shut it? Or did it close on its own?

Reaching out, she grabbed the knob and gave the door a shove. It opened a fraction. Just far enough to prove it wasn’t locked, but it hit something that prevented it from moving any farther. Almost like someone had wedged it shut.

“Hello?” She slammed her hand against the wooden panels. “I’m in here. Let me out.” She pounded it again. “Hey! Let me out.”

She pressed her ear against the crack between the door and frame, straining to hear sounds of movement in the garage. Silence. Whoever had jammed the door was gone.

Or worse.

Livia abruptly stepped away from the door, her hand pressed against her racing heart. What if they were down there waiting? She’d tried to dismiss the possibility that she’d been followed to the mausoleum, but obviously her sense of unease had been right. Someone had been creeping behind her and now they’d trailed her into the garage.

Horror swept over her like a black cloud.

Why? Why would they lock her in here? If they wanted to hurt her it made more sense to attack her when she was in the cemetery. If someone threw her body into the swamps it could take weeks to find her. Assuming anyone would bother to look. And she wasn’t going to die up here. Not when she could call for help.

Still, there had been a reason someone had locked her in this room. Either a tasteless joke or a warning. She was betting on the warning.

She reached into her purse for her phone, only to hesitate. It wasn’t the instinctive aversion of making a spectacle of herself in front of her family that made her pause. After all, one of them was quite likely the culprit. And she could easily call Bryce to come and get her out. But whoever had jammed the door thought she was stuck.

This would be the perfect opportunity to sneak out and expose the jerk.

Spinning around, Livia darted toward the window and flipped the flimsy locks. She shoved on the frame, grunting in frustration when it refused to budge. The wood had warped over the years. Livia braced her legs and leaned forward, putting her weight behind her next shove. There was a cracking sound, as if a part of the wood had splintered, then the window jerked upward far enough for her to crawl through.

Livia hurriedly grabbed the chair and shoved it against the wall. Then, refusing to consider the danger of dropping from a second-story window or confronting her stalker, she looped one leg over the sill and then the other, balancing for a second as she glanced down, trying to choose a landing spot.

This was stupid, she silently told herself. She should call Bryce and wait for her to come and clear the door. That was the sensible thing to do. Only she wasn’t going to be sensible, she acknowledged, spotting a pile of clippings from the recently mowed yard.

Sending up a prayer that she didn’t break her leg, Livia shoved herself off the ledge. She squeezed her eyes shut as the wind whipped past her, tugging at her clothing. It lasted a mere second, but her stomach had completed a full flop by the time she hit the ground.