Liar Liar Read online

  Her car was parked across the street. She ran to it and rummaged through her purse for the keys. She found them just as the front door of her house opened, and a dark silhouette appeared in the doorway. It had to be Drummond. He must have been waiting on the street, watching the house. When he saw Josh leave, he’d scaled the fence to their backyard and cut off the electricity. The noise that woke her must have been Drummond dropping to the ground when he went over the fence.

  Nicole’s hands were shaking, but she managed to get her key in the ignition and start the engine. Drummond had almost reached her when she slammed her foot down on the accelerator and made a tire-screeching U-turn, narrowly missing him. As she sped away, she could see him in her rearview mirror. He was heading for a car parked a few houses down. It looked like a junker, which she figured would probably be slower than her own relatively new car. She hit Ventura Boulevard going fifty-five miles an hour, heading for the freeway. Drummond’s car was in better shape than it looked. He handily caught up with her and started tailgating her.

  Nicole raced through every stop sign and red signal, hoping a police cruiser would spot them and pull them over. But no such luck. The buildings and businesses they passed were dark, and the streets were empty. She got onto the ramp of the freeway, pressing her pedal to the floor. Drummond was several car lengths back, falling farther behind after they shifted from the Ventura Freeway to the San Diego and began the climb up the steep hill. With this temporary reprieve, she took some deep breaths and began to formulate a plan.

  She tore off the freeway at Santa Monica Boulevard, heading toward the beach. Before long, Drummond caught up. He began hitting her rear bumper successively, knocking her forward in her seat. She sped up. So did he, but she was able to stay far enough ahead to avoid any more attempts to bump into her.

  To her left, she spotted an alley. She knew the West L.A. Police Station was one street south of Santa Monica Boulevard, adjacent to an alley. She prayed this was the one. She turned, tires screeching, into the alley. Drummond missed the turn and kept going. But almost immediately, she heard his tires squeal as he reversed course and followed. Halfway down the alley, where she remembered seeing the police parking lot, was a six-foot stone wall. Had she made a mistake and turned too soon?

  When she reached the end of the alley, she made a quick left turn. And there it was. On her left, she could see part of the neon sign, just the letters ICE and, below them, ION. No police cars were in sight. Drummond, behind her, wouldn’t be able to see the sign or have any idea where she was headed. She made another left, pulling into the driveway that ran past the station’s entrance. Then she hit the brakes.

  Drummond’s car plowed into her. The crash was deafening. Since the collision came from the back, the airbags didn’t deploy. Instead, she was jerked forward and banged her head on the steering wheel. The blow knocked her out for a moment. She opened her eyes with a start. Pain radiated from her forehead. Something was dripping into her eyes, and she could barely see. When she wiped it away, her hand came back covered with blood.

  Meanwhile, police were pouring out of the building. In her rearview mirror, she saw Drummond get out of his car and start to run. She had to wipe her face again to watch while half a dozen cops pursued him. They quickly disappeared from view. Dimly, she thought he’d probably be able to outrun them. He was bigger, with longer strides, trained to run fast. Before long, however, Drummond reappeared, surrounded by cops. His hands were cuffed behind him.

  Nicole wondered if they knew who he was. She tried to roll down her window so she could tell them, but it was stuck, as was her door. The impact must have bent the door, or the whole chassis. She knocked on the window and called out. But no one seemed to hear. Then the door on the passenger side opened, and a policeman said. “Your head’s bleeding. We’re calling the paramedics. Don’t move until they get here.”

  “Wait,” she said. “Do you realize who you just brought in?”

  “Yeah. The guy who smashed into your car and tried to flee the scene.” He hurried away before she could tell him it was Andy Drummond, who the police were looking for.

  Minutes later, she heard a siren that grew louder and louder. A red paramedics van pulled up next to her. Two men jumped out to unload a stretcher board equipped with what looked like a red vice to hold her head. The paramedics used a piece of equipment to open her door. They lifted her onto the stretcher. That was when she blacked out.

  She woke up in the hospital. Josh was by her side, holding her hand. She had a terrible headache, and she was confused. “What happened?”

  “Drummond rammed his car into yours, and you hit your head. You’ve been unconscious for a couple of hours.”

  Nicole took hold of the bedrails and tried to sit up. The movement made her dizzy. Her vision broke into little pieces. She lay back again.

  “You’re not supposed to sit up yet,” Josh said.

  “Did they figure out who Drummond was?” she said. “I tried to tell them.”

  “They sure did. He’s being charged with the murder of Mary Ellen Barnes, your attempted murder, and there’s one more thing—” He lapsed into silence.

  “What?”

  “Drummond drove back from Mexico yesterday in some kind of psychotic rage. First he paid a visit to Kayla Jones’s place. After she testified, Sperantza advised her to stay somewhere else until Drummond was picked up, so she was at a friend’s. He trashed her place and spray painted death threats on the walls. Her building has CCTV, so the camera caught him going in and out.”

  “I’m glad she’s safe. He might have killed her.” Nicole closed her eyes, about to drift off, then opened them again. “I almost forgot. What about your dad? How is he?”

  “He’s fine. It was just indigestion, like he said. But they’re keeping him on a heart monitor just in case.” Josh was silent a moment, looking puzzled. “Can I ask you something? What were you doing driving around after I left you? When I got a call from the police that the paramedics were taking you to the hospital, it scared me to death. They said you were unconscious, but they wouldn’t tell me any more than that.”

  Nicole explained. As she talked, she studied his face. He had that expression again, the one he got when he was exasperated with her. Was he blaming her for the encounter with Drummond? Was he still angry that she’d broken her promise to stop working on Doshan’s case? Were they about to loop back into that same old fight?

  “Jesus,” he said, holding his head in his hands. “I never should have left you by yourself like that. I should have had you come with me. We should have kept security around until Drummond was caught.”

  “It’s not your fault, Josh,” she said. “We couldn’t keep Timothy around indefinitely. The police established that Drummond had left the country.”

  He gave her a wary smile, and his hands were trembling as they picked up hers. He leaned in to kiss her.

  Awhile later, when the painkillers wore off, Nicole’s head hurt. But her mind had cleared, and she was no longer in a fog. That was when she had an epiphany. She’d felt Josh was the perfect man for her, and she truly did love him. But she also understood she was completely wrong for him. She’d imagined she wanted what he did, but that wasn’t true. She liked helping people in trouble, sticking her nose into messy situations and resolving them. She was good at it. At the same time, things happened to her and sometimes to the people around her—bad things. For the first time, she realized that this wasn’t coincidence. It didn’t happen to other people.

  No matter how much Josh wanted a quiet family life with her—no matter how much she wanted to give it to him—she couldn’t. They weren’t right for each other at all. It surprised her that this realization, which meant the end of her and Josh, didn’t cause more heartache. Instead it came almost as a relief. She didn’t have to lie to herself anymore.

  Epilogue

  It was a warm, sunny Saturday afternoon, and Nicole was in her new apartment. She’d started opening boxes filled with
the household effects she’d put in storage when she moved in with Josh. The doorbell rang. It was Steph, who’d offered to come over and help.

  “You don’t look too broken up,” Steph said.

  “It’s funny,” Nicole said, “but I’m surprisingly okay. When we’re done here, I’ll take you out for dinner. I have reservations at that hot new restaurant, Chartreuse. It’s right here in Westwood. We can walk.”

  “Later we can hit some clubs,” Steph said. “You need to meet someone new. You know, get right back on the horse.”

  “No horses for me, please. I’m not ready.” All at once, Nicole found herself on the verge of tears. Maybe she wasn’t doing as well as she’d thought. She missed Josh, and the thought of Mary Ellen’s death filled her with grief and regret. She turned back to the boxes, eager to think of something else.

  They worked in companionable silence until 4:00 p.m., when they decided they needed expressos to boost their energy. A coffeehouse down the block was just minutes away. As they were leaving, Nicole’s phone rang. She dug it out of her purse.

  It was her boss, Jerry. “Sorry to bother you on a Saturday,” he said. “We have an urgent case, and I think you’d be a perfect fit. It means going to London to persuade a runaway to come back to L.A. with you.”

  “What kind of runaway?”

  “She’s fifteen,” Jerry said. “I gather she’s a handful—spoiled and headstrong.”

  “And I’d be leaving when?”

  “Tonight. The parents are springing for a first-class ticket. The father is CEO of the Merrimac Corporation, one of our clients. Are you up for it?”

  Nicole smiled. She was free to do anything she wanted, and this sounded interesting, although she knew how challenging teenagers could be. “Sure,” she said. “It would be good to get out of town for a few days.”

  “I had a hunch you’d feel that way. Better start packing. Your flight leaves at 9:00, and you need to be at the airport earlier than usual. There’s another terror alert, and security is especially tight.”

  After Nicole hung up, she told Steph about her new assignment, “We’ll have to take a raincheck on our big night out,” she said.

  “London? First class? Fab!” Steph said. “I’ll help you pack.”

  Nicole pulled a suitcase from the closet, chose a couple of outfits, and lay them on the bed. “Here,” she said. “Could you put these in the hanging compartment of the suitcase while I pack my makeup and stuff?”

  Nicole disappeared into the bathroom with her cosmetics bag. When she returned, Steph was done packing the clothes and was busy tucking lingerie into the suitcase.

  Nicole reached in and pulled out a filmy nightgown. “I’m bringing PJs. I won’t be needing this.”

  “Who knows?” Steph said. “You might run into your old flame, Reinhardt.”

  “Reinhardt?” Nicole laughed. “I’d almost forgotten about him. Anyhow, he’s sure to be out of town on one of his mysterious assignments. And I’ll be saddled with a difficult teenager.”

  Steph took the nightgown out of Nicole’s hands and put it back in the suitcase. “You never can tell,” she said. “When it comes to you, anything can happen.”

  Acknowledgments

  Once again I want to thank my daughter Jennifer, son-in-law John, and granddaughters Anabelle and Lila for their unflagging interest and support. I want to thank my husband Bill for his feedback and advice and for rereading this book every time I made changes. A very special thank you to my brother-in-law Jeff, now retired from his criminal defense practice, who was an indispensable source of advice and information on the legal issues that came up in Liar Liar.

  Thanks, too, to Cathy Watkins for her input about the business of private investigation and catching glitches in my plot. Also, thanks to Susan Scott, Joyce Brownfield, and Trish Beall for all their hard work in proofreading the book and keeping the story on track. And finally, thanks Sue Price, Jeannie Hahn, Claudia Luther, and my other friends who have been loyal boosters of my work.

  About the Author

  Liar Liar: A Nicole Graves Mystery is Nancy Boyarsky’s third novel, following The Swap and The Bequest. Before turning to mysteries, Nancy coauthored Backroom Politics, a New York Times notable book, with her husband, Bill Boyarsky. She has written several textbooks on the justice system as well as articles for publications including the Los Angeles Times, Forbes, and McCall’s. She also contributed to political anthologies, including In the Running, about women’s political campaigns. In addition to her writing career, she was communications director for political affairs for ARCO.

  Readers are invited to connect with Nancy through her website:

  nancyboyarsky.com.

  Nicole Graves

  by Nancy Boyarsky

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