Page 123 of The Lie Maker

“More than you can possibly know.”

He handed the phone back to me, drew on the can, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I guess we’re going to have to go save her,” Dad said.

Sixty-Four

Jack

Once Dad had made the decision to help instead of run, we needed a plan.

“So you’re pretty sure they’re at that cabin,” Dad said, “but you don’t know where the cabin is.”

“Yeah,” I said, already feeling defeated. “The only person I can think of who might know where it is, is dead.”

“Your witness,” he said. “The one you interviewed.”

I nodded.

“Except he wasn’t a witness. Gwen’s not with witness protection, so that guy really wasn’t a witness. Didn’t you say you saw him on TV?”

Slowly, I said, “He’s an actor.”

“Gwen hired him to play a part. So that you’d be convinced she was what she claimed to be. Did you see his body?”

“No.”

“Did she show you a picture?”

“No.” I thought about that. “So Garth Walton doesn’t have to be dead.” I looked at Dad. “Then why did she tell me he was?”

He gave me a look that said he had no idea.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “She came up with the story that he’d been killed right after I told her I’d seen him on TV. Maybe she was worried I’d start getting suspicious at that point, start putting it together. That she’d hired him for a role. So Gwen improvised. Told me he’d just been killed to put me on edge, freak me out, rattle me.” I laughed morbidly. “It worked.”

“If he is alive,” Dad said, “and we can find him, he can lead us to that cabin.”

“So long as they didn’t blindfold him, too.”

“No need to. He wasn’t the one being scammed. You were. The blindfold was all part of the charade. Let’s not waste any more time here. We head back to Boston and try to find this Garth Walton along the way.”

We decided to hit the road. We opted to take Lana’s Beemer instead of Dad’s car. The BMW was built for speed and hugging the road, and I was grateful Lana had kept it in tip-top running condition. I got in on the passenger side because I was going to be doing research on my phone.

“Can you drive a stick?” I asked him.

“Please,” he said derisively. He was about to get in on the driver’s side when he stopped and said, “I need one minute.”

I watched him walk over to the trailer next door and rap hard on the door. Seconds later, it opened, and Gord appeared. He stepped outside. I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Dad did a lot of talking, and Gord did a lot of nodding. Then, finally, they shook hands.

Dad got back in the car, grim faced, and said, “Let’s go.”

“What was that about?” I asked.

“I told him I wouldn’t be coming back.”

Once we were on the road, I looked in the glove box and found a notepad and a couple of pens, which was not only convenient but unsurprising, considering the car belonged to a reporter. I knew if I looked in the trunk, I’d find a bright-orange hard hat and matching vest. Lana always kept those in the trunk, along with a clipboard, because she’d learned using those items would gain you access to anything. Buildings, accident scenes, whatever. But all I needed for now was a notepad and a pen to jot down any useful information I might find online about Garth Walton.

We hadn’t gone very far when Dad, after glancing down at the dash, said, “We’re pretty close to running on fumes.”