She Lied She Died Read online

  Of course Jack knew Jenny. They went to school together.

  But, as far as I knew, Jack ran around in different circles—band members and goth kids and the quiet ones. Those were Jack’s people.

  And he hadn’t even been in Austin when Jenny died. When he’d returned and heard the news of Jenny’s death, he hadn’t seemed upset. Just shocked, like the rest of us.

  I didn’t realize where I was going until I made a sharp right on Wilson Lane then a left on Willow Run. I have to talk to Chrissy. I need to ask her what she knows about Jack…

  Dennis’s truck was parked in the driveway, impulsively crooked, like he’d turned up in a hurry. As I parked directly behind him, I was thankful the press was gone. Are they finally getting bored with this? I hope so, I thought, dully.

  Showing up uninvited at Dennis’s trailer was risky at worst, rude at best. But it’s not like Chrissy hadn’t done the same thing to me a few days ago…

  I left my satchel on the passenger’s seat and turned the engine off. Slowly, I approached the trailer. It was two in the afternoon; too late for most people to be sleeping, but Chrissy had said Dennis worked third shift.

  I’d barely made it to the porch ramp when I heard the sound of glass breaking, coming from inside the trailer.

  “Oh, fuck you, Dennis! Keep your damn hands off me. I mean it!”

  I froze, my foot resting on the first porch step. Should I call the police, or just leave?

  “What are ya gonna do? Call the cops, bitch? They’d probably come in and whack ya themselves,” Dennis screamed.

  There was a loud thump and a muffled cry, followed by the sounds of grunts and groans inside.

  I darted up the rest of the steps, banging both my fists on the screen door.

  Immediately, things on the other side of the door grew quiet.

  I banged again, with one fist now. “It’s Natalie Breyas. I’m here to pick up Chrissy for our interview.”

  Seconds later, the door swung open, nearly knocking me off the thin stamp of porch.

  Dennis’s face was red and blotchy, his eyes wide as saucers. He huffed from his nose like a caged bull, then said, “Good, please get her out of here.”

  For a moment, I was scared he would ask me in. But then Chrissy’s face appeared behind him. Her nose and mouth were bleeding.

  For the first time since meeting her in person, she looked as defeated as she had on camera following her release from prison.

  “Come on,” I said, motioning her to come with me. Dennis was glaring at me, still breathing hard, but I couldn’t manage to raise my eyes to meet his.

  I wasn’t exactly frightened of him; I had my cell phone in my pocket and could call the cops if I needed to. But I was afraid of doing anything to set him off; anything to give him a reason not to let her leave.

  Chrissy coughed in her hand, using the opportunity to swipe at the blood on her face.

  “I forgot about our meeting. Let me grab a few things and I’ll meet you out there in a minute.”

  The last thing I wanted to do was let Dennis close the door and for her to disappear back inside that trailer … but what choice did I have?

  I got back in my car and waited. Minutes passed, my heart beating in my chest like a drum. I clenched my hands into tight fists, nails digging into my palms.

  I could remember Mom and Dad fighting, angry voices behind their door. Dad had never hit her, but they’d argued viciously when they thought they were “alone”. It was no surprise when she left us. I was only fourteen when she went. She took everything with her … her clothes and shoes, all of her jewelry. Every piece of her was gone, almost like she’d never been there in the first place.

  The fallout and stress after the Juliott murder tipped her over the edge.

  But I wish she would have taken me with her. She wasn’t the only one who wanted to escape Austin…

  “I have to go away soon,” she had told me. “I want you to know that I love you. Me leaving … it has nothing to do with you. Your dad and I … and what happened to that girl … I just can’t stay here anymore.” She warned us so many times she was going, but I didn’t think she really would.

  I was almost ready to get back out and approach the trailer, when the front door banged open and shut. Chrissy emerged from the rickety porch, a ratty old backpack slung over her left shoulder.

  If she leaves Dennis, where will she go? I wondered.

  As Chrissy folded herself into my car’s passenger seat, I released a pent-up whoosh of breath.

  I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, I decided.

  I clicked the automatic locks and backed away from the grimy old trailer.

  We were sitting in my den like two girlfriends, paper plates filled with thick, gooey slices of pizza balanced on both of our laps.

  “I haven’t had pizza in years,” Chrissy moaned, closing her eyes as she chewed an oversized bite of sausage and pepperoni.

  The traces of blood were gone; she’d barely mentioned the incident with Dennis since getting in the car with me. Her stomach was rumbling and so was mine after that messy meal at Katie’s. I’d considered stopping somewhere to eat, but I didn’t want to draw any attention to us.

  “Where is this from again?” Chrissy asked, finishing off one piece and promptly scooping up another from the box.

  “Gia’s. It’s been around for a while, but not since…”

  “Not since I went to prison,” Chrissy finished for me.

  I nodded. I’d gone outside to meet the delivery boy, leaving Chrissy in the house so she wasn’t spotted. With no vehicle to place her here, I was hoping the news vans would stay away.

  “I heard about what happened last night,” Chrissy said, talking through a mouth full of cheese and sauce.

  My stomach turned, remembering the incident with the girls. Specifically, Adrianna’s daughter.

  “How did you hear about that?” I dropped my pizza plate on the floor by my feet, then sank deeper in the cushions, head swimming with exhaustion. I’d barely slept in the last twenty-four hours, but it was more than that—I felt mentally drained by it all.

  “Facebook, where else? There’s a private group on there, discussing my homecoming. Local peeps,” she added, as I raised my eyebrows.

  “If it’s private, how do you know about it?”

  “Well, I don’t know … I don’t understand how this social media stuff works. I could see the group, but I couldn’t see the posts. So, naturally, I infiltrated.”

  For some reason, that didn’t surprise me. It sounded like something I’d do, if I wanted to sneakily get information.

  “What did they say about last night?”

  “Just that some local teens put a plastic dummy in the field.” Chrissy smirked at me.

  “And? What else did they say?” I asked, rubbing my eyes drearily.

  “That you chased them like a banshee through the woods in your bathrobe.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Jesus. Let me guess? Adrianna’s in the Facebook group.”

  “Yeah. I think so. But who cares?” Chrissy shrugged. She picked up her cup of soda and chugged it loudly.

  I winced as she burped in my direction.

  “Sorry. Prison isn’t exactly charm school,” she teased.

  “So what happened back there with Dennis? You still haven’t told me.”

  Chrissy’s face hardened. “He’s an asshole. I met him while I was in prison, through letters and calls. He’s the brother of one of my fellow inmates. Former fellow inmate,” she corrected.

  “Why him? And who was this other inmate? How did you know her?” I pushed.

  Part of me wanted to test her, to see if she’d lie about Alison Alinsky.

  “His sister Alison was in prison with me. She was a real piece of work. Killed her own kid.” Reading my mind, she added, “If I sound heartless, I’m sorry. We had to be that way … to survive with all those awful people. Did you see this?” She pointed at the scar on her cheek.


  “How did you get it?”

  “Let’s just say that kid killers aren’t very popular in prison. I didn’t even know the girl who cut me. It was my fourth year there when it happened, my face split open like a cantaloupe…”

  Chrissy shuddered at the memory and I flinched.

  “So, I guess I felt bad for Alison. She was quiet as a mouse, and I knew she’d get trampled over.”

  “So, when did you fall in love with her brother? How did that come about?” I asked.

  Chrissy snorted. “I didn’t fall in love with Dennis. Hell, I barely even like the guy. And that’s the problem in his eyes, I guess. He always wanted more.”

  She went on, “He reached out to me in prison. His sister gave him my information. He wanted me to protect her, keep his little sister safe…”

  “And did you?”

  Chrissy grinned, her scar glowing in the shadowy living room. “I promised to keep her safe and watch her back if he did me some favors too.”

  “What sort of favors?” I asked, reaching down for my coke. I was parched, my throat sore from screaming across the field last night.

  “Well, she was severely mentally ill. I know the papers didn’t make it out that way, but she truly was.”

  “Anyone who kills little kids is sick, I don’t think anyone is doubting that,” I said.

  “Agreed. But Alison was delusional, and she heard voices. And she had trouble getting her anti-psychotics in prison. I helped smuggle them in through her brother, and I watched her back. We kid killers have to stick together,” she said, bitterly.

  “How long has he been abusing you?”

  Chrissy froze. Slowly, she said, “I didn’t know things would turn out this way. I thought I made it clear to him that I wasn’t interested in a romantic or sexual relationship. He agreed to help me get a place or set up a place for us to stay temporarily until I could get a job and get on my feet. That was the deal. I had to have somewhere to live, as a condition of my parole, and his little sister needed help. I thought we understood each other.”

  “And that brings us back to the question: why here, Chrissy? Why return to Austin? You must know that getting a job in this town is going to be difficult.” I know my words must have sounded harsh, but they were true. Chrissy had no future in this town; surely, she must have known that.

  “I have no plans of staying here. I wanted to come back for a couple weeks and connect with my brothers, then maybe head west and try to find a waitressing job.”

  This is news to me.

  “Your brothers? But surely you must have known they were gone.”

  Chrissy shrugged. “Like I said, I refused their calls and visits for years. And by the time I wanted them back around, they’d moved on with their lives. Their numbers had been changed…”

  “Your older brother is in prison in Georgia. Drug crimes, I think. And I’m not sure about your younger brother. I know he and your parents moved away shortly after your conviction. I’m sorry,” I said, softly.

  Chrissy smiled, sadly. “I knew my parents left, but I guess I was still hoping Trevor might be around. I didn’t realize he was serving time at the same time I was… I’m going to write him, but I haven’t yet.”

  “But beyond that, what else is here for you? You know the townspeople will never forget you’re here. They’ll harass you till your dying day.” Again, my words sounded harsher than I wanted them to. But if I couldn’t be honest, then what was the point? It made no sense for her to be here, and I wanted to understand WHY.

  But Chrissy was ready to talk about Dennis now.

  “The first time he hit me was my third night in the trailer. I guess he was pissed when he realized there weren’t going to be any perks of having me as a roommate.” Her mouth twisted into an O of disgust. She reached for her soda again, but then changed her mind. “I was going to take off the next morning, maybe try to hitch a ride at the truck stop in Newbury, make my way along with the little money I had in my pocket from Dennis. But then, I woke up that morning and I found your letter in my mailbox. It felt like destiny, as cheesy as that might sound to you.”

  Destiny.

  Such a strange thought … but how many times had I thought about this case? Lost sleep as I read through the dark web chat rooms and the wild theories that made no sense over the years? I’d wanted to write this story for so long … but now that she was here in front of me, I wasn’t sure how to get to the truth.

  “Well, if you want me to write this story, then you need to let me ask you some questions. I feel like all I know so far is mostly what I’ve already heard. Can you do that for me?”

  Chrissy stood up and grabbed her backpack off the lazy-boy chair. She unzipped it and pulled out two cans of Monster energy drinks.

  “I got hooked on these in prison, what can I say?” She laughed, then popped the top on one can and handed me the other. “You ready to stay up late and do this interview? I’ll try to be more forthright this time.”

  I accepted the can and gave her a wary smile.

  Is she planning to stay the night here? I wondered. The thought of her sleeping inside my house made me a little uneasy.

  “Okay. Let’s do it,” I said.

  “That chess board over there…” Chrissy pointed at my father’s old chessboard, the one I kept on a small end table in the corner. It was a beautiful old set—black and white leather top with stone carved pieces. I used to grip them in my hands, rolling them back and forth, back and forth, when I was a child…

  “Yeah?”

  “Can we talk and play at the same time? I haven’t played since I was a little girl. I miss it.”

  I miss it too, I wanted to say. But I didn’t.

  There were some quiet nights, alone in the farmhouse, when I played the game by myself. Moving around pieces on the board, my only opponent myself, and the ghosts of my father and brother in the room with me.

  “You play chess?” I asked, trying to hide my surprise. Even I couldn’t play much when I was younger. It wasn’t until I was a teenager that Jack taught me the rules.

  Chrissy rolled her eyes. “The Cornwalls might be trash, but we aren’t stupid.”

  “I’ve never thought you were stupid, that’s for sure,” I assured her.

  There were three light taps on the front door.

  I stood and went to the window, peeking out through the blinds. For some reason, I’d been expecting the press or Dennis. But it was Officer Nash Winslow outside.

  “It’s the police. Can you go somewhere? I don’t want to give them any reason to stick around longer than they have to.”

  “What are they doing here?” Chrissy whispered.

  “Probably following up on what happened last night.”

  I watched Chrissy disappear through the kitchen. She took a left down the hallway and went inside the bathroom.

  I opened the front door and stepped outside.

  “Hi, Nash,” I said, stifling a legitimate yawn. That energy drink wasn’t giving me much energy, at least not yet. “What can I do for you?”

  Sheepishly, Nash held up a thick manilla folder.

  I pulled the front door slightly closed behind me. “What’s that?”

  “My father’s old case file. Or what I could find, anyway. I thought you might like to take a look. I’ll need it back soon though,” he said.

  “Why are you doing this?” I said, plucking the folder from his hands before he could change his mind.

  “Because you said she’s claiming innocence. And if you’ve agreed to write her story, then I’m inclined to think you might believe her. Read those. Then tell me what you think.”

  “Thank you.”

  He seemed disappointed when I didn’t invite him in, but finally, he waved and walked back to his cruiser.

  Back inside, I quick-stepped down the hallway and closed myself in my bedroom. I heard the bathroom door open. “Is he gone?” Chrissy called through the hallway.

  “Yeah. He was just checking in.
I’m changing my shirt. Be out in a minute. Why don’t you go ahead and set up the chess board?”

  “Okay,” Chrissy said, her voice eager and enthusiastic.

  I stared down at the thick old file in my hands, wishing I could read it now. But first, I needed to talk to Chrissy and find out what her next steps were and try to get in as many questions as she would allow.

  I slid the folder between my mattress and box spring for later.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I expected Chrissy to be an aggressive chess player. But she surprised me, taking out her pawns early. Letting me take the lead.

  I had both knights in play, a clear path to move my bishop. But, somehow, I felt leery of her cool and collected approach to the game.

  “I went to see Katrina Juliott today.” I took out one of Chrissy’s pawns, sacrificing my own. But Chrissy didn’t take the bait, not with the pawn or my statement. I’d expected a reaction from her, but her face was blank, unreadable.

  “She has Alzheimer’s. For a while, she thought I was Jenny,” I said.

  Chrissy grimaced at the dead girl’s name.

  “And she showed me pictures … one was of you and Jenny. That was quite a surprise.”

  Finally, Chrissy slid one of her bishops out. But before she removed her fingers from the piece, she slid it back to its rightful place, choosing another pawn instead.

  “I’m not surprised. I told you we knew each other. You read the letters in the shoebox I gave you?” Chrissy asked, eyes never leaving the board.

  “I did.” I made no more moves, sitting back in my chair and focusing on Chrissy’s face. After the energy drinks, I’d made glasses of Jack and Coke. Jack and soda for her, only Coke for me. I needed to loosen her up. Needed to get some answers. My head and heart were too heavy for drinking tonight.

  “This picture I saw … you both looked younger, maybe only eight or nine when it was taken.”