Page 3 of Pretty Lies & Ugly Truths

Although, it doesn’t really sound like something I would do. Usually, I stick to only one or two drinks max. My past experiences with alcohol have not been great, but it’s the only logical explanation I have at the moment so, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

That ringing starts up again, and I walk around, trying to find my phone amidst the chaos of my now destroyed room. I tore apart the tiny space in the search for my clothes, and I may have gone a teensy bit overboard. It now looks as if a hurricane has blown straight through here.

By the time I finally dig it out from under the bed, the ringing has stopped. There are three missed calls, all from my boss, Jane.

“Shit!” I curse under my breath. One glance at the time lets me know that I am nowverylate for work. I immediately hit the callback button, still trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for my tardiness when she picks up.

“Good morning sleepyhead,” she says in a sing-song voice. “Running a little behind this morning, are we?”

“Yes. I’m so sorry. I must have overslept.” It technically isn’t a lie.

“It’s okay, dear. Take your time. You know we’re never that busy during the weekdays. Feel free to take the day off if you need to,” she offers. “You work too hard anyway. You deserve a break every now and then, you know? You’re still young. You should enjoy life while youcan. One day, you’ll be old like me, and you won’t be able to do the same things you once could.”

I feel a pang in my chest at her words. Jane, my boss and the owner of J. Austin Books, the bookstore where I work, is also my adoptive mother. She was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis about fourteen years ago.

Fortunately, it was relapsing-remitting, so she would have prolonged periods of remission between her symptoms. In the early stages, her exacerbations were fairly mild and infrequent, but they’ve gotten slightly worse the older she gets. My biggest fear is that it will transition into the secondary progressive type and I will have to watch on helplessly as she deteriorates.

“You’re not old,” I tell her, my voice thick. Though her appearance has aged some over the years, at fifty she’s hardly old. Still, I know some days she probably feels closer to eighty with the way the disease weighs on her. “And don’t worry—I’m still planning on coming in. Just give me twenty minutes, and I’ll be there.”

“Don’t rush. Seriously, I’ll be fine on my own. I’ll just be here unloading all these boxes.” A wave of apprehension creeps down my spine.

“What boxes?” I ask, not remembering seeing any boxes in the storeroom last night.

“The shipment I ordered, of course. Thank you for staying late to let them in. One of the boxes contained a new release for today, and I have already had a few calls this morning asking if we had it in stock. Of course, I’ve already put my copy aside. One of the perks of being the owner…” She goes on cheerfully, completely unaware I’ve stopped listening. Instead, I’m silently freaking out, because I have no idea what she’s talking about.

I didn’t let any delivery guys in last night. At least, I don’t think I did. I vaguely remember waiting for someone to come, but no one ever showed up. After that, there is a big gaping hole in my memories, this missing chunk of time and no matter how hard I try, I cannot remember what happened next.

“Mags…You still there, honey?” Jane asks, after I’ve been quiet a beat too long. I’m not even sure when she stopped talking.

“Uh—yea. I’m fine.”

“You sure? You sound a bit off,” she says, concern lacing her voice. “Are you sure you don’t want to take the day?”

I consider it, tempted to take her up on her offer. I’m not feeling fine at all, but I know if I don’t go, she’ll wind up overdoing it. Then, she will have to spend the next several days in bed recovering.

“No. I’m good. Promise,” I say, in what I hope is a reassuring tone.

“Ok… I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Hey!” she calls out before I hang up. “Do you mind stopping by Oliver’s on your way? I could really go for a chai latte with almond milk. I would get it myself, but I don’t want to have to lock up the store.”

“Of course. See you soon.” Hanging up, I remind myself again that it was only a dream.

As I go about getting ready, however, I can’t seem to shake the nagging feeling that maybe it wasn’t. With noshred of evidence and nothing else to go on, there is no way to prove it one way or the other.

One thing I do know, though, is that even if I was capable of killing a man—which I’m not—there is no way I could have disposed of a body and cleaned up a crime scene by myself. And come on… It’s not like anyone else would do it. Cover up a stranger’s crime? Nowthatwould be crazy.

Maybe going to work is a good idea after all. Maybe once I get to the shop and see the wood oak floors sans blood, everything will seem better.

It doesn’t.

If anything, it’s worse. My anxiety is through the roof, which is making me twitchy and paranoid. The entire time I am in line at Oliver’s I can swear I’m being watched. However, when I look around, no one’s paying any special attention to me.

By the time I get to work, drinks in hand—Jane’s chai and a caramel latte for me—I am jumpier than a frog.

I set my bag down and walk to the back to help Jane finish unloading the boxes.

I barely make it two steps into the storeroom before I freeze. A wave of icy panic claws its way down my throat, choking me, making it nearly impossible to breathe. My hands start to shake so bad, I almost spill hot coffee all over myself and the floor.

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