Page 6 of Dirty Liars

“As long as we can stop having early morning murder calls I figure we can keep it a secret until it’s time to give birth. You know people get all weird when they find out someone is pregnant. I don’t want to be treated any differently.”

“If you think my mother is going to wait until you’re giving birth you’re out of your mind,” he said. “You’re carrying her first grandbaby. Expect to be treated differently.”

I knew he wasn’t kidding. Mrs. Lawson was going to be over the moon once we broke the news, and as selfish as I wanted to be about keeping the baby our little secret, I knew it couldn’t last forever.

“We’ll keep it secret for just a little while longer,” I said. “I just need to plan better in the mornings so I’ve got time to let it pass.”

Jack parked his Tahoe under the covered portico of The Mad King Resort. It was all glass and natural stone and looked like a mountain retreat framed between centuries-old trees that edged along the Potomac. The crisp scent of pine mixed with the earthy aroma of the river created both a serene and overwhelming atmosphere.

“Give me a second,” I told Jack, looking down at my bloodstained coveralls and boots. “I don’t want to give anyone a heart attack. These don’t look like the kinds of people who talk about death over their morning coffee.”

“They don’t know what they’re missing out on,” Jack said. “The way I see it, if you start the day talking about death then things can only get better from there.”

I grunted in agreement and hurriedly stripped down to the black leggings and oversized cashmere sweater the color of raspberries I’d put on that morning. Then I dug for the black ballet flats I’d packed in the bottom of my bag.

“Do I look like I’ve spent the morning trying not to throw up?” I asked, pulling the band out of my hair and running my fingers through it, hoping it looked artfully tossed instead of crime-scene chic.

“You look beautiful in that sweater,” Jack said. “Really puts some color in your cheeks.”

“Yet still not a direct answer to my question,” I said, eyes narrowed.

Jack grinned as the doormen opened the polished glass doors for us and we walked into a lobby that smelled of luxury. There was a large fireplace that dominated almost the entire right-side wall, and several rocking chairs were placed in front of it. The fireplace had been laid with fresh wood. Nights were still chilly well into April, so I imagined happy hour would be quite cozy later that afternoon.

On the left side was an indoor grotto with a cascading waterfall, and several seating arrangements were placed around it. The entire back wall was windows that looked out over spectacular grounds, where guests were already outside participating in whatever activities the resort had on the schedule for the day. There was a large square bar in the center of the room that already had several patrons despite the early hour.

“It’s a good thing I can’t keep my hands off you,” I muttered. “Otherwise you’d be insufferable.”

Jack leaned down and said, “It’s because you can’t keep your hands off me that you look like death warmed over right now.”

I elbowed him in the ribs as we made our way to the check-in area. It was tucked away in a glassed-in partition, and Jack held up his badge discreetly to the smiling woman behind the desk.

“We’re here to see Oliver Harris,” Jack said.

“Of course,” she said, without missing a beat. “He’s expecting you. Let me show you to his office.”

She took us across the lobby and carded herself through a side door that led into a long hallway. It was utilitarian, with gray carpet and ivory walls. There were several wooden plaques on the left side, announcing awards the resort had won.

The woman knocked on the first door on the right and waited for a response.

“It’s open,” a voice said.

She opened it and said, “Mr. Harris, you said to bring the police straight back to your office if they had more questions.”

“Of course,” Oliver said, standing behind his desk. “Would you please have some coffee sent in? I’m sure we could all use some after the morning we’ve had.”

“My pleasure,” she said, and shut the door discreetly behind her.

Now that the morning sickness had passed, coffee sounded amazing. And I wouldn’t have turned her down if she’d returned with some fancy Danishes either. I was trying to limit my coffee intake. I practically lived on coffee, so I had a complete understanding of what addicts must feel like being weaned off the hard stuff. I’d been drinking my first and only cup of the day as soon as the morning sickness passed each day. It was safest for everyone that I start out the day with a shot of caffeine.

Oliver Harris was a tall, thin man with skin the color of the foam on top of the espresso I liked to get at Lady Jane’s Donuts. He wore gray slacks and a matching four-button vest with a pale blue shirt and navy-and-silver-striped tie. His head was shaved bald and his teeth were blindingly white.

“Please, come in and sit down,” he said.

“We appreciate your time,” Jack said, reaching out to shake his hand. “I’m Sheriff Lawson. This is Dr. Graves. She’s the coroner for King George.”

“Yes, of course,” he said, reaching out to shake my hand next. “Such a tragedy that has brought you here. We’re all in shock. And it’s upset many of our staff and guests. Understandably so. No one wants to think they’re in the vicinity of a murderer.”

Jack and I took our seats in the white leather chairs that faced his desk.

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