Dangerous Lies Read Free Page A

the top shelf of the open closet. A boy must have lived here. I wondered where he’d gone.
    Somewhere far away, surely. As soon as I turned eighteen, I was going far away from this place too.
    Reaching into the front pouch of my suitcase, I pulled out a small bundle of letters. Contraband. I wasn’t supposed to bring anything from my old life, any proof that I had come from Philadelphia, and I felt a thrill at this small rebellion—accidental as it was. Call me sentimental, but lately I’d been carrying Reed’s letters with me everywhere. The more unstable my home life had become, the more comforting I’d found them. When I felt alone, they reminded me that I had Reed. He cared about me. He had my back. Up until three nights ago, I’d stored the letters in my purse. I’d moved them to my suitcase to keep them from being discovered. Some of the letters were recent, but others were from as long ago as two years, when Reed and I first started dating. Vowing to ration them, I took one from the top and returned the others to their hiding place.
Estella,
Don’t know if you’ve ever had someone leave a note under your windshield wiper, but it seemed like the kind of thing you’d find romantic. Remember that night on the train, when we first met? I never told you, but I took a candid picture of you. It was before you left your phone on your seat and I chased you down to give it back (hero that I am). Anyway, I was pretending to text so you wouldn’t know I took your picture. I still have it on my phone.
I love you. Now do me a favor and destroy this so I can keep my dignity intact.
xReed
    I pressed the letter to my chest, feeling my breathing slow. Please let me see him again soon, I silently begged. I didn’t know how long the letters would tide me over. But tonight’s letter had done its job; the loneliness drained from my body, leaving a deep physical exhaustion.
    I rolled onto my side, expecting sleep to come quickly. Instead, I grew more aware of the quiet stillness. It was an empty sound, waiting to be filled. My imagination wasted no time inventing explanations for the soft creak of the walls, shrinking as the day’s heat wore off, or the occasional thud on the floorboards. I couldn’t shake the picture of Danny Balando’s dark eyes as I slipped into restless sleep.

THE RUMBLE OF A LAWN mower carried through the bedroom window, which I’d opened in the middle of the night after waking dizzy with heat and bathed in sweat. The whine of the engine grew nearer, passing right under the window, then droned to the far edge of the lawn. I cracked one bleary eye and found the clock on the nightstand.
    Annoyance and outrage shot through me. Kicking free of the sheets, I stuck my head out the window and shouted, “Hey! Check the time!”
    The guy pushing the mower didn’t hear me. I slammed the rickety window shut. It muffled the noise fractionally.
    I flipped the guy off. He didn’t see it. The first rays of dawn were behind him, illuminating thousands of flecks of pollen and gnats buzzing around his head like a halo as he pushed the mower across Carmina’s yard. The toes of his boots were stained green from the grass, and he wore a tan cowboy hat low over his eyes. He had earbuds in, and I watched his lips move to the lyrics of a song.
    I dropped a nightshirt over my head and stepped into the hall. “Carmina?” I padded to the end of the hall and knocked on her bedroom door.
    The door cracked. “What is it? What’s the matter?”
    It was so dark in her room, I couldn’t make out her face. But I heard the anxiety in her voice and could hear her fumbling for something, clothes most likely, on the floor.
    “Someone’s mowing your yard.”
    She dropped the clothes and straightened. “And?”
    “It’s only five.”
    “You woke me up to tell me the time?”
    “I can’t sleep. It’s too loud.”
    Her mattress springs creaked as she settled back into bed. She let out a sigh of exasperation. “Chet Falconer.