Chapter Twelve — Someone Is Lying
RONAN
Ronan knew Elliot was lying before Elliot finished the sentence.
It wasn't the words. The words were fine.
Perfectly reasonable, actually. Claire had called.
Claire needed help. Elliot had gone to campus.
He'd be back before dinner. Nothing unusual.
Nothing suspicious. Nothing that should have made Ronan stand in the middle of the carriage-house kitchen with his phone pressed to his ear and stare through the dark windows toward an empty driveway.
“Claire needed help with what?”
A pause. Tiny.
“Her research proposal.”
Ronan looked at the clock above the stove. 6:18.
“On a Sunday night?”
“She procrastinates.”
True. Claire absolutely procrastinated. That should have helped. It didn't.
“What class?”
Another pause. Smaller than the first.
“Methods.”
Ronan's jaw tightened. Elliot's voice remained easy. Too easy.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You sound weird.”
Ronan almost laughed.
“You're asking me?”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
Silence. There it was. The word they had both started hating. Elliot exhaled quietly.
“You're doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Checking.”
Ronan leaned against the island.
“I asked what class.”
“You asked where I was, who I was with, what she needed, and what class it was for.”
“That's conversation.”
“No. That's an interrogation.”
Ronan looked toward the windows again. Rain had started around five and turned the backyard into a mirror of black grass and reflected porch lights.
Water ran steadily from the gutters. The main house glowed through the trees, warm and normal and close enough that Ronan could probably shout and have Thomas hear him from the kitchen.
The carriage house still felt strangely isolated.
Maybe because Detective Vance had stood on the porch only a few hours earlier asking whether Ronan owned black gloves.
Maybe because she had been sitting in her car afterward.
Watching. Maybe because Ronan had spent the last three hours wondering how many photographs police had of him. Or Elliot.
“I'm not interrogating you,” he said.
“Sure.”
“Don't start.”
“I didn't.”
“Where are you?”
Silence. Ronan closed his eyes.
“Elliot.”
“Campus.”
“Where?”
“Library.”
“Which one?”
That did it. Elliot laughed once. Cold.
“Seriously?”
Ronan immediately regretted the question. Bellweather had one main library. He knew that. Elliot knew he knew that.
“Forget it.”
“No.”
“Elliot.”
“No, ask.”
“I said forget it.”
“You want to know what floor? Which table? Who's sitting near me?”
“Stop.”
“Maybe I should send you a picture.”
Ronan straightened. The irritation in Elliot's voice was real. Good. At least that part was.
“You don't need to send me anything.”
“Then stop acting like I do.”
The line went quiet. Ronan rubbed the bridge of his nose.
He was tired. Not physically. Something deeper.
Every conversation seemed to have a second conversation buried beneath it now.
Police questions. Online rumors. Dylan. Elliot.
Ronan couldn't tell which things mattered anymore. That was probably the problem.
“I'm sorry,” he said.
Elliot didn't answer.
“I mean it.”
Another pause. Then softer:
“I know.”
Ronan exhaled.
“When are you coming home?”
“Soon.”
“Dinner?”
“Yeah.”
“Mom's?”
A groan. Ronan smiled despite himself.
“That answers that.”
“Tell her I died.”
“Considering current events, maybe don't joke about that.”
Silence. Again. Wrong.
“Sorry.”
“No. You're right.”
Ronan stared at the floor. The call had become strange enough that he wanted it over.
“Drive safe.”
“I will.”
“And Elliot?”
“What?”
Ronan hesitated. He nearly asked whether Claire was actually there. The question sat on his tongue. He swallowed it.
“Nothing.”
Elliot laughed without humor.
“Fuck that word.”
Then he hung up. Ronan lowered the phone.
For several seconds, he stood motionless in the kitchen.
He told himself the discomfort came from guilt.
He'd been acting suspicious of Elliot for days.
Of course Elliot was defensive. Anyone would be.
Especially Elliot. Especially someone who noticed every microscopic change in other people's behavior.
Ronan opened the refrigerator. Nothing looked appealing.
He closed it. His phone vibrated. Claire.
Ronan froze. He stared at her name. Not Elliot. Claire. A message.
CLAIRE: hey is elliot with you?
The kitchen disappeared around him. Not literally. But something inside Ronan went still enough that the room felt different. He read it again. hey is elliot with you? His thumb hovered. Then:
RONAN: no
The typing bubble appeared immediately.
CLAIRE: weird
Ronan's heartbeat shifted.
RONAN: why
Pause.
CLAIRE: he left me on read like 2 hrs ago
Ronan stared. Two hours. Elliot had said Claire called. Claire needed help. Ronan typed. Deleted. Typed again.
RONAN: you weren't with him?
The answer came fast.
CLAIRE: no?
Then:
CLAIRE: why
Ronan looked toward the front door. The empty hook where Elliot's coat should have been. The driveway beyond the windows. Something cold moved beneath his skin.
RONAN: nothing. thought he mentioned you
The word felt poisonous now. Nothing. Claire sent:
CLAIRE: lol no
Then:
CLAIRE: u guys fighting again
Ronan didn't answer. He called Elliot. Straight to voicemail. He stared at the screen. Called again. Voicemail. The irritation arrived first. Then fear. Not murder. Not yet. Something simpler. Where the fuck are you? He texted.
RONAN: Call me.
One minute. Nothing. Two. Three. Ronan paced once around the island.
Stopped. He hated pacing. Elliot paced. Ronan worked.
Fixed. Acted. He checked Elliot's location.
The map loaded. A blue circle appeared. Bellweather University.
Ronan stared. Relief came quickly. Then slowed.
Campus. Fine. He was on campus. Maybe Claire wasn't the only person there.
Maybe he'd lied because he didn't want Ronan interrogating him.
That explanation made sense. Ronan almost accepted it.
Then he zoomed in. The location wasn't the library.
It sat near the northern edge of campus.
Behind the old athletic complex. Near a service road.
Ronan frowned. The old athletic fields hadn't been used regularly since Bellweather opened the newer complex east of campus. Why the fuck would Elliot be there?
His phone vibrated. Elliot. Ronan answered immediately.
“Where are you?”
Silence. Then:
“Hi.”
“Don't.”
“What?”
“Claire just texted me.”
Another silence. Longer. Ronan felt his stomach drop.
“Okay.”
“You said you were with her.”
“No. I said she needed help.”
“Same fucking thing.”
“It isn't.”
“Where are you?”
“Campus.”
“I know.”
That got him.
“How?”
“Location.”
Silence. Ronan heard something in the background. Wind. Maybe traffic. Not library noise.
“You're checking my location now?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“You lied.”
“I didn't lie.”
“Claire isn't with you.”
“I never said she was.”
“You said she called because she needed help with a research proposal.”
“She did.”
“Claire says she hasn't talked to you in two hours.”
Pause. Ronan's jaw tightened.
“Elliot.”
“I was going to help her.”
“Going to.”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you near the old athletic complex?”
Silence. Nothing in Ronan's body moved. The question landed differently this time. He could feel it through the line. Not anger. Calculation. Then Elliot said:
“I went for a walk.”
Ronan closed his eyes. There. Another lie. Or maybe not. But it sounded like one.
“From the library.”
“Yes.”
“To the athletic fields.”
“Yes.”
“In the rain.”
“Yes.”
Ronan laughed once. No humor.
“You don't even like rain.”
“I don't mind rain.”
“You bitch when your shoes get wet.”
“Maybe I wanted air.”
“Why?”
“Because you keep treating me like a suspect.”
That stopped him. Ronan's anger faltered. Elliot continued.
“Every question. Every look. You think I don't notice?”
“I didn't say you're a suspect.”
“You don't need to.”
“Elliot.”
“I'm coming home.”
“Where are you right now?”
“I told you.”
“Exactly.”
Silence. Ronan heard a door close on Elliot's end. Car door. Then the low chime of an ignition.
“Drive home.”
“Planning on it.”
“Straight home.”
Elliot laughed.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“Fine.”
The line disconnected. Ronan stood with the phone against his ear for several seconds after the call ended.
Then lowered it. Something was wrong. That did not mean murder.
He forced himself to separate the two. Something was wrong.
Elliot was hiding something. People hid things.
Ronan hid things. The relationship alone proved that.
Maybe Elliot had gone somewhere because of them.
Maybe he'd met someone. Maybe Detective Vance had contacted him again and Elliot didn't want another argument.
Maybe Claire actually had asked for help and plans changed.
Maybe— The front door opened twenty-two minutes later.
Ronan was waiting. He hated that he was waiting.
Elliot stepped inside with rain darkening the shoulders of his coat. His hair was damp.
His expression was already annoyed.
“Don't.”
Ronan stood beside the island.
“I didn't say anything.”
“You're standing there like someone's father.”
“Where were you?”
Elliot shut the door.
“Campus.”
“Where?”
“You know where.”
“Why?”
He removed his coat slowly.
“Walk.”
“Why lie about Claire?”
“I didn't.”
“Stop saying that.”
Elliot hung the coat.
“Claire asked for help earlier.”
“She says you left her on read.”
“After.”
“After what?”
“After she asked.”
Ronan stared. Elliot turned.
“You want my phone?”
The question came hard. Ronan's chest tightened.
“No.”
“Take it.”
“No.”
Elliot pulled the phone from his pocket and held it out. Ronan didn't move.
“Go ahead.”
“Put it away.”
“No. You clearly want to check.”
“I said put it away.”
“Then stop treating me like I'm guilty of something.”
Ronan's anger flashed.
“I don't know what you're guilty of because you won't tell me the fucking truth.”