Page 24 of The Five Year Lie

Like a good spy, he waits until she’s gone to pick up the note and read it.Code monkey—Oxbow beer garden 7p.Good music tonight.It’s accompanied by a sketch of a monkey flashing the sign of thedevil. The drawing is probably one inch square, but it contains more life than anything else in this whole fucking room.

He should just stand her up. That would send a message, and prevent him from doing anything really dumb.

Also, he shouldn’t spend the money. Portland is more expensive than he’s used to. He’s burning through his savings. And he’s promised himself that he will donate every fucking penny Chime Co. pays him to the youth center where he played hoops after school as a teen.

But the note is burning a hole in his psyche. He looks at the code on his screen and tries to remember why it’s important. Or even what he was going to do next.

Later, he’ll think of this as the minute it all went to hell. When he made the choice to tuck that sticky note carefully into his wallet, instead of dropping it into the trash and getting back to work.

But his heart has already followed Ariel to the beer garden, where he’ll spend the evening memorizing the shape of her smile when she laughs.

8

ARIEL

“Ariel?”

“Hmm?” I look up quickly to find my uncle standing over my desk.

Hell.I drop my phone onto the blotter—facedown so he can’t see the browser where I’ve been searching for the phone number for Cedarwood Cemetery in Fayetteville, North Carolina.

“Hester informs me that the Medford police force is coming in for a four o’clock meeting. Maybe you could rustle up some coffee and cookies?” He wiggles his eyebrows playfully, then glances at his smart watch. “We still have three hours, but Hester has already reminded me twice. It’s like she knows me or something.”

“Right,” I say quickly. “I’ve got you covered.”

“Good deal.” He knocks twice on the surface of my desk. “There’s a presentation as well. Hester was going to print it, but we seem to be out of copy paper.”

Crap.I meant to order it yesterday. “Forward the file to me.” I rise from my desk so fast that the chair scoots out behind me. I’ve never been the most dedicated employee of Chime Co. But this week I’m an outright disaster. “I’ll run out and get a couple reams to tide us over until our delivery from W.B. Mason’s.”

“Thanks, darlin’,” he says. “You okay? You look tired.”

“Too much Netflix,” I say with a tight smile. “Send me that presentation.”

He heads back to his office, and I grab my pocketbook and shove my phone inside.

“Yo. Ariel.” This low-voiced greeting comes from Zain, who is also typing at warp speed while staring fixedly at his monitor. “I’ve got news. Meet me in the line at Sisters Deli in twenty minutes.”

A wave of nervous energy rolls through my chest. “Got it,” I mutter. Then I head outside.

When I walk into the deli with my two reams of copy paper, Zain is already lurking inside the door. He peels himself off the wall and joins me at the back of the line. “Hey. My buddy got some preliminary information on that Social Security number. It’s pretty interesting.”

An unfamiliar woman seated at a table to our right looks up when he says this, her gaze curious.

Zain levels her with a stare, his dramatic eyebrows bunching together. “Maybe mind your own business?”

Her gaze drops to the table. Then she actually picks up her coffee cup and leaves the deli.

“I have that effect on a lot of women,” he says dryly.

“What did he say?” I press.

“The preliminary check was just a verification—to see if the number was real. That part is actually public information. We could have looked it up ourselves if we’d known.”

“Okay. But what did it reveal?”

“The social is real, and it was issued in Maine. But in 1963.”

My first thought is—that’s impossible. But then I realize it isn’t. And the copy paper in my arms starts to slip.