Page 12 of House of Lies

I need to find out where this place is. I need to know if my mother abandoned me like she abandoned the Calloways all those years ago when she fell in love with Thomas Monroe, my father.

If I can just get the address, I can go over there and?—

The realtor interrupts my sleuthing strategy with an impatient-sounding, “Are you looking to buy?”

I can’t blame him. I’m staring at the listing like it’s the holy fucking grail.

“Not me,” I say through a laugh, and then realize that I’m literally looking a gift horse wearing suspenders in the mouth. “It’s…uh…my boss.”

Donald says nothing, obviously waiting for the name of said boss. Problem is, my boss is a middle-aged woman named Edith Brown, and I don’t think she’ll appreciate being dragged into this.

“Lewis,” I say reluctantly, since my mind has gone blank, and it’s the only name I can think of. “Mr. Lewis.”

“He’s seen the online listing?” It’s not really a question, but I nod anyway.

“Yeah, said he loves the—” I wave a hand “—architecture, or whatever.” I give an abashed little chuckle. “I know nothing about that kind of stuff. But he’s really interested.”

Donald inclines his head. “If Mr. Lewis is indeed interested in Glenmont, we have an open house on Friday. I’m afraid it’s only for qualified buyers, though.” Parker adjusts the lapels on his slim-cut shirt. He’s obviously regretting having mistaken me for a qualified buyer.

Jerk.

“There’s a link in the contact section of the brochure. If he can send through his documents for us to verify before Thursday, we’ll be more than happy to send him an invitation.”

Parker doesn’t even wait for my response. He turns, gestures something to the receptionist, and leaves. I passed a silver Porsche on the way in, and I’m not even half-surprised when he gets into it and tears off down the street.

Damn it. I didn’t have time to ask for the address. I’m about to reunite the pamphlet with its friends when the receptionist bangs down her receiver and lets out a long sigh.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, ma’am,” she says, smoothing a hand down her sleek blond hair and absently adjusting her already straight name badge. Vanessa’s immaculately lined brown eyes peer over at me. “Was Mr. Parker able to help you with the Glenmont listing?”

I give her a wan smile, flapping the brochure. “Kinda.”

She smiles gratefully and starts tapping keys on her laptop.

“Actually…” I slide over to her, pasting as warm a smile on my face as I can muster. “Mr. Parker seemed a little busy. My boss, Mr. Lewis, he wanted to know what area the listing was in. So he can schedule out his Friday.” I give an uneasy laugh. “You know, golf and all that.” Another laugh. “And when I say he, I mean me. I handle his schedule, obviously.”

God, I’m messing this up so badly. In the greater scheme of things, it’s great that I have such a tough time lying…but having a clear conscience is really not working to my advantage.

Vanessa shakes her head. “I’m sorry, ma’am, we only provide the address to qualified buyers.”

I take a chance. Like a big, fat, Glenmont-Manor-sized chance.

“Oh, Mr. Lewis already sent through all his documents yesterday.” I laugh again. “I mean me, of course.” I widen my eyes at her. “Oh, God, please tell me you got them?”

“Mr. Parker’s secretary handles the verifications, but she’s just stepped out quick.” Vanessa slides over a notepad and clicks her pen. “I’ll ask her to call you as soon?—”

“Is there any way you can check? It’s just, he’s been bugging me about this all morning.” I lean in, putting a hand by my mouth to shield a whispered, “He’s very motivated to buy.”

Vanessa purses her lips, and I’m not sure if she’s annoyed at my insistence, or considering whether to break some rule I’m not aware of by helping me.

My cellphone rings. I’m so invested in this charade of mine that I jerk in surprise at the unexpected sound. Vanessa jumps too, and we both give each other a nervous little chuckle.

“Sorry.” I fish my phone out of my purse and stare at the screen.

I inherited a lot of traits from my mother. Her chestnut hair, her green eyes, and her purse fixation. But record keeping is obviously not a hereditary trait. Her Filofax was full of neat entries. I can barely enter someone’s full name in my contacts.

And thank God for that, because what’s showing on the screen right now is one word, all lowercase.

lewis

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