Once Upon a Lie by Maggie Barbieri Page B

Claire was buried—was the day that Maeve had sold his 1964 Mustang three years earlier when it finally became clear that his mental slide was due not to dehydration, but to dementia. The look on his face when she told him it was gone, having brought him the check from the new owner to endorse, was etched in her brain. It had taken him only a day to forget that he had ever had a Mustang, let alone that it had been a classic in mint condition, but she remembered. She would never forget. It was the day she had broken his heart.
    Poole was sipping his coffee and looking at her. “So the answer is no?”
    She realized that she had never answered him. “The answer is no.”
    “You’re sure?”
    “I’m sure,” she said. “Why?”
    He didn’t respond. “Does your father still know how to take public transportation? Have friends who drive?”
    “No and maybe. I don’t really keep track of who has a license at Buena del Sol.” As she watched him write in his book, she felt the knot in her stomach, the one that had started when she had laid eyes on his badge, begin to grow. Was this actually going where she thought it was going? If so, her worst fear had been revealed, taking shape right in front of her eyes. She looked at Poole, now finished writing, staring back at her, watching her face for any betrayal of the truth. She shook her head slowly. “Not him, Detective. Not my dad.”
    “We have to cover all bases, Ms. Conlon.”
    “He’s an old man with a brain that doesn’t let him remember what he had for breakfast by the time he gets to lunch.”
    “You said it yourself: you’re the daughter of a cop. And only a cop could know some of the things that this perp knew.”
    “Please. You have to believe me. It’s not him.”
    He looked at her sadly. “Then who?”
    She realized that she had slumped a little bit over the counter, her hands reaching out to him, pleading with him to believe her. She sat up straighter. “I don’t know.”
    Poole snapped his notebook shut and put it into his pocket. He handed her the pen that she had lent him. “We’ll need to talk to him.”
    She nodded, her head feeling wobbly on her neck. She thought back to the night that Sean had died and how Charlene Harrison had later reported that Jack had gone wandering that night. Great. Now he was a senile octogenarian with no alibi.
    “If you think it would be better to have a lawyer present, you can arrange that.” He held her gaze. “It’s just a formality,” he said. “Covering all of the bases.”
    “That won’t be necessary,” she said quickly, thinking that by doing so, she’d be helping to implicate Jack. When she thought about it, though, she knew her first call was going to be to Cal. She was sure he would have a different take. She’d have to remind him that having the baby strapped to his suit jacket wouldn’t be appropriate or appreciated.
    They moved back into the store and she unlocked the front door. Poole turned, his hand on the doorknob. “Really, why were you speed dating, Detective Poole?”
    He was considering whether or not to answer. He kept it simple and vague, just as he had the night they had first met. “Part of the case.”
    A little sliver of fear pierced her brain. Was she part of the case because of her relationship to Jack? Or was there someone involved who was at the event? Was it the guy who wanted to know her sign? The tawdry-looking blonde with the big boobs who had gotten the attention of every man there?
    He continued to linger by the door, studying her as she puzzled through the different scenarios in her mind. “I know this is more than a little strange, under the circumstances, but can I buy something before I leave? My littlest one would love some cupcakes, I imagine.”
    If this was his way of leaving on good terms after practically accusing her father of murder, he was almost successful. Maeve went back around the counter on shaky legs and took out a box. “How old?” she asked,