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  An eRedSage Publishing Publication

  This book is a work of complete fiction. Any names, places, incidents, characters are products of the author’s imagination and creativity or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is fully coincidental.

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  Liar

  An eRed Sage Publication All Rights Reserved Copyright © 2016

  eRedSage is a registered trademark of Red Sage Publishing, Inc.

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  ISBN: 9781603105798; 1603105794 Liar eBook version

  Published by arrangement with the authors and copyright holders of the individual works as follows:

  Liar © 2016 by D. Morrissey

  Cover © 2016 by Artist

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  ebook layout and conversion by jimandzetta.com

  Liar

  ***

  By D. Morrissey

  TO MY READERS:

  The Southern Ladies’ Glee Club is meant to entertain and amuse. The sassy, saucy ladies from Arkansas deliver charm and wit. But, they are far from graceful, as their exploits turn into catastrophic comedies. I hope you enjoy reading about the ladies as much as I enjoyed writing about them.

  READER ALERT!:

  The Southerns Ladies’ Glee Club is a five-book series. Book One is “Liar”. Book Two, “Deceiver”, will be out by the end of 2017.

  Chapter One

  “Hey! You alive? Get up!”

  A low, irritated groan that sounds more like a growl rumbles in my chest when I wake to someone’s foot nudging me in the ass.

  “How long have you been lying here?”

  Maybe if I ignore it, it will go away.

  “Hey! Billie! You gonna get up? Or do I need to hit you with some cold water?”

  Dammit. It’s not going away. “No.”

  “Do you know what time it is?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want some breakfast?”

  “No.”

  “Can you say anything besides no?”

  “No.”

  Dave’s gravelly, strident voice finally compels me to sit up. After a rub with tight fists, my sleep-swollen eyes finally open enough to take in my surroundings. Where the fuck am I? The marching band stomping around in my head warns against any sudden movements, so I just sit there while the details of last night slowly coalesce. A bar, a hotel, a naked man, some ostrich feathers, a maid’s uniform…

  Oh, yeah. Now I remember. Sort of.

  “Coffee?”

  Is that what that heavenly smell is? “Yes.”

  “Here.” Dave shoves out his hand to help me off the floor, and I take it, like a sap. He pulls me up so hard, my feet lift off the floor. “You look like shit, sweetheart.”

  Spinning. Dizzy. Better. Okay... I sigh and rake my fingers through my hair. “Geez, Dave. I just woke up. I don’t turn beautiful for another thirty minutes or so.”

  Chuckling, he makes his way over to the coffee pot. “I hate to break it to you, kid, but I think you’re going to need at least an hour for that today. What the hell did you do last night?”

  That’s actually a pretty good question. My brows knit together as I try to recall all the specifics. “Well, obviously, I had a couple of drinks.”

  Dave stomps back over to the little break room where I’m standing scratching various body parts, and he deposits a steaming hot cup of java on the table, sloshing it to Hell and back while he curses under his breath. “A couple? Yeah, obviously. But, then again, what else is new? Christ, Billie. When you start passing out here on weekdays, I wonder if it might not be time for you to look into those twelve steps I keep hearing people talk about. I hope you at least waited until after you got what we needed.”

  I roll my eyes, an act that is immediately punished by an ice pick chipping repeatedly at my grey matter. “Of course I did. When have I ever not delivered?”

  He looks at me as if I’ve grown a horn in the middle of my head.

  “Well, besides that time,” I proffer.

  He cocks his brow and starts to speak, but I cut him off.

  “Or, that time. You know that wasn’t my fault. No one told me he was a priest.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You should never do that with holy water. Did you get the pics or not?”

  “I told you I did. They’re on my phone.” I grab my jacket from the table, stuff my hand inside the pocket and fish it out, double checking just to make sure I did actually get them before handing my phone to Dave.

  He scrunches his face as he takes it from me. “My God, kid. You need to go home and clean up. You smell like you’re still highly flammable.”

  “Yeah, and my mouth tastes like ass.” I pick up my coffee cup and smack my lips.

  “I shudder to think why that might be.”

  He actually shudders, and a small smile lights my lips. I always figured that was just an expression.

  My smile turns to a wince as soon as I take a sip of the black sludge Dave calls coffee. Forcing myself to swallow it, I wonder how anyone in their right mind would voluntarily drink this crap. I take another sip while continuing to ponder it.

  In the meantime, Dave diligently pokes at my phone trying to figure out how to view the pics. He’s a good guy, usually, but technology is definitely not his friend. “We have about a half a dozen subs that I need you to deliver today.”

  Ah. What would it be like to have a job where people are actually happy to see you? I could have been a doctor or a nurse, or a barista, even. I mean, who’s not fucking overjoyed to hear a barista ask “what can I get for you?” But, instead, I show up with a subpoena, and they either cuss me, try to hit me, or slam the door in my face. Or, come to think of it, sometimes, they do all three of those things. And then there’s always the runners. I hate them the most. I’m a smoker so I’d just as soon run over them with my car and save my breath. But, since that’s against the law, and since I get fifty dollars for each surviving asshole I serve, better believe I’ll run after them. Yeah. I’ll chase them, all right.

  “I’ll start on them as soon as I get a shower.”

  “Good. They’re on my desk. You’ll have to drive out to Hot Springs for a couple of these. So, they’re probably going to take up most of your day.”

  Normally, he doesn’t let me near his desk, but he’s totally mesmerized by my phone. It’s like a brain-teaser for the technologically challenged, and there’s no way he can walk and operate it at the same time.

  Shuffling over, I grab a red Manila folder off his desk. Bingo!

  “Hey, these are actually pretty good shots of Lover Boy,” he shouts, finally figuring out how to open the pictures. He scrolls through them excitedly now that he’s got the hang of it. “This isn’t the same place he went to the last time, is it?”

  “No. He went all-out last night. They ended up at the Excelsior after they left the bar.”

  Lover Boy is actually the latest in a long line of cheating spouses that Dave is contracted to investigate, which usually entails me hanging out at various questionable establishments hoping for a money shot. Anything involving a fluid exchange is a money shot—that includes kissing, especially with tongue, tequila body shots, and, well, just use the old imagination. I get paid quite well for them, too, even better than the subs.

  “How the hell did you get this one?” Dave flips my phone around in circles like it’s an Indy 500 steering wheel.

  “Room service. She was new, and she only
charged me fifty bucks for the uniform.”

  “I see. Is that a feather?”

  I can’t help but smile.

  Finally, he clears his throat and scrolls to the next pic. “Well worth the return on your investment, my dear. Well worth it. Is this girl a pro?”

  “Which one is it? Let me see.”

  He stretches out his arm, and I look over his shoulder to study the photo. “Um... yeah. That one is a pro. A really talented pro. But, they didn’t actually do the nasty. I figure she must have told him that she wasn’t handing out any free rides last night. So, he ended up leaving with ...” I reach out, scroll ahead a couple of pictures, and point. “Her. He was with her until about two this morning.”

  “She looks familiar.” Dave smirks as stares at a photo of the woman’s breasts.

  “I bet. Too bad her head is cut off of that one or it might help you recognize her faster. There’s another one of her in there with her head and her clothes intact. I think I actually got her face in that one, too.”

  “Well, good work on these. I’ll call the soon-to-be-former Mrs. Lover as soon as we get these downloaded. I can bill this one out as soon as I talk to her, too.”

  “Good. I need the cash.” I migrate to the kitchen and start yanking open drawers and cabinets. “I know we had some aspirin in here somewhere.”

  “Far left drawer under the microwave.”

  Thank you, God. “Oh. I need a car. The Mazda’s at the Excelsior. I didn’t have the money to get it out of valet parking after paying off the maid.”

  This is me breaking the news to Dave gently. Fortunately for us, one of the perks of working for Dave is that he also sells used cars, which means a company car for each of us. It’s a great benefit and almost makes up for the peanuts we get for a paycheck.

  “Is that right? But you had enough to get a ‘couple’ of drinks.”

  I flash him a cheesy I-know-you-love-me smile. “Yeah, but you know I never drink and drive.”

  “Well, I guess there’s something good to say about that, at least.” He walks to his desk and tosses me the keys to the Mustang. “Here. I’ll have Kevin pick yours up later.”

  My eyes must’ve been bulging out like saucers. The Mustang? He never gives me the Mustang. That’s Kevin’s car. “Holy shit! Thank you!”

  “Yeah, well, Kevin’s going to be pissed. You know he likes to drive that one, plus he always bitches about his legs being too long for the Mazda. But, you can take it up with him later.” He digs into his pocket, pulls out a wad of cash and peels off a few bills. “In the meantime, this should hold you over until we get paid.”

  My hand is a blur as it snatches the cash from his fingers. “Thank you, again, Mr. Rockefeller. I’ll let you know if I run into any problems with the subs.”

  “Rockefeller. Don’t I wish? Oh! And, don’t forget that you’ve got that thing tonight with Lucy.”

  Thing? What thing? Oh, fuck! ‘That’ thing. Heaving a huge sigh, I present him with my best doe eyes, silently pleading.

  It doesn’t work. He points his stubby finger at me in response. “Nope. I don’t want to hear it. Lucy’s been looking forward to this for three weeks.”

  What was I was thinking when I agreed to attend this stupid self-defense class with Dave’s wife? He had begged me as a personal favor so she wouldn’t have to go alone. God knows, I owe the man. I hate to admit it, but I do. So, saying no is not an option. I tried to get him to just let me show her a few moves or give her some pepper spray or something. But he wouldn’t be persuaded, insisting that she had her sights set on going. Apparently, it’s some kind of a community service program that the local cops are hosting, and she’s real big into the whole community support scene. Me? Not so much since I’ve had the opportunity to serve subpoenas on most of them.

  Still, I can’t for the life of me understand why she would want to go with me anywhere, or why she even likes me at all, for that matter. She’s sweet, nice, cute and mild-tempered, everything that I’m not. In fact, I consider myself to be her absolute polar opposite, the total other end of the spectrum, the Anti-Lucy.

  “Dave, surely Lucy has some other friends from, like, her flower club or something who can go with her tonight?”

  He shakes his head.

  “A niece or a coworker?”

  “No.”

  “What about that lady from her quilting club?”

  He gives me a wilting stare. “Imelda Swanson?”

  “Yeah. Imelda Swanson. Why can’t she go with her?”

  “Mrs. Swanson is seventy-six years old, Billie. She could throw her hip out just walking to the mailbox. She’s not going to a self-defense class. Now, suck it up and get your ass moving. Those subs aren’t going to serve themselves.”

  Fuck. Clearly, he won’t be persuaded to see reason on this one. “Fine. Tell her I’ll pick her up at six.”

  “I will. Now go.”

  He pours himself another cup of sludge and plops down behind his desk as I stand there, watching and waiting for him to spill it. He always spills it. Three... Two... One... He sloshes the cup down on his desk and mutters curses as coffee splatters on everything within a six-inch radius.

  “Why are you still standing there?” he growls.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Williams came by yesterday before I left.”

  His face immediately softens. “Oh. What’d they say?”

  “They’ve decided not to pursue a civil case.”

  Dave closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Six years old. Goddammit. She was six years old.”

  Who the hell are you telling? It’s all I can do to not get physically sick every time I think about it. So, I usually try really hard not to think about it at all. “Yeah, I know. Anyway, they’re not going to move forward with the wrongful death suit. He said they’re tired and they just want to mourn in peace now.”

  “Yeah. And that fucker will just walk away scot-free. Did that to a six-year-old girl, and nobody can do a damn thing about it. It’s just crazy.”

  “I know. They both looked like hell, too. And, I hated to even bring it up to you first thing in the morning like this. But you needed to know. It’s over. Done.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.” He begins idly shuffling papers around on his desk. I know he’s thinking about Chelsea, his and Lucy’s ten-year-old daughter who died of cancer a while back. And, that means it’s time for me to leave. I can’t watch him cry anymore, especially this early in the morning.

  I grab my jacket and my phone and head for the door, pausing for a split-second with my hand on the doorknob. There’s really nothing I can say to make it better. “Later.”

  Not waiting for a response, I step outside into the crisp October air, the sunshine warming my face and a light breeze brushing through my hair. It feels like Heaven as I drag a deep breath of fresh air into my pack-a-day battered lungs. There’s nothing better than autumn in Arkansas. Spying the Mustang across the parking lot, I trot off in that direction.

  I feel a little better already, whether from the aspirin or the fresh air, I don’t know. Maybe, it’s just relief that I’m out here and not back inside the office with Dave choking on a big, toxic cloud of grief so thick, you could poke holes in it with a pitchfork. I may not have kids, but I sure as hell know what it’s like to lose people. To lose people you love. I don’t ever want to go through that shit again. Families are a pain in the ass, anyway, and friends are way more trouble than they’re worth. As a rule, I don’t date anyone for more than a one-month stretch at a time. Booty calls are encouraged and quite necessary. Clingy men who need another mother are to be avoided at all costs. Best to be alone. Best to not care about anything or anyone.

  This is my mindset as I get in behind the wheel of the dark blue, sixty-nine Mustang and crank her up—totally fucked up. My whole day in the shitter already. I grab Kevin’s shades out of the console and slide them on. Aviators. My favorite! Thinking about how pissed Kevin’s going to be when he finds out I took his car and his glasses makes
me smile as I shift her into drive and haul ass out of town toward my place.

  Chapter Two

  “Look, lady. I told you. There’s nobody here by that name.”

  As I glance down at the folder in my hand, my fingers peel through the paperwork. There he is, mugshot clipped beside the subpoena I’m trying to serve. He looks a little rougher in the photo. But there’s no mistaking him, Allen Smith. My eyes narrow as I hold up the photo for display. “Any idea where I can find your twin brother, then?”

  He squints at it for about a nanosecond.

  “Fuck you,” he spits and moves to slam the door.

  It glances off my boot before I shove it forcefully with my shoulder, surprising him as it bounces back and slaps him right in the face. Taking advantage of his stunned acquiesce, I slip the subpoena through the opening and watch as it floats like a feather to his feet. “Mr. Smith. You’ve been served. Have yourself a great day.”

  Spinning on my heels and marching back to the car, I half expect him to follow me outside and try to kick my ass. He’s a big boy, and no doubt he could pull it off. I rest my hand on the Taser I keep in my pocket just for such occasions. Lucky for me, most guys have issues with hitting women, especially smaller ones like me. But there’s always the exception, and this guy could crush me like a bug if he wanted. Lord knows, he seems plenty pissed enough. I reckon I’m safe when I reach the car without being tackled. So, I crawl in and take my time driving back toward the highway and my next delivery.

  Okay. Who’s next? Leaning over, I pluck out the next sub sheet from the folder. A lot of these people are repeats, many of them multiple repeats. But this next guy is a sub-virgin. I’ve never seen him before. Hm… Adam Lesser. He’s nice-looking from the photo, really nice-looking. Plus, since it’s a Driver’s License photo and not a mugshot, I can probably assume he’s never been arrested before. No priors in the file that I can see, not even a traffic ticket. The guy’s totally clean.