Read The Truth-Teller's Lie for Free Online Page B

Proust’s glass cubicle in the corner was empty.
    Charlie read over Simon’s shoulder. ‘“A gnomon is a shadow-caster.” Isn’t that how sundials work? The way the shadow falls tells you what time it is? Oh, look, it says she does miniature ones too. I could get one for my windowsill.’
    ‘I wouldn’t ask her if I were you,’ said Simon. ‘You’d probably get your teeth kicked in. Look, she does all sorts: wall-mounted, plinth-mounted, vertical, horizontal, brass, stone, fibreglass. Impressive, aren’t they?’
    ‘I love them. Except that one.’ Charlie pointed to a picture of a plain stone cube with triangular iron gnomons attached to two of its sides. ‘I’d prefer a Latin motto. Does she carve the letters herself, do you think? It says they’re hand-carved . . .’
    ‘“Time is a shadow,”’ Simon read aloud. ‘Why would anyone commission a sundial with that on it? Imagine: sunbathing, gardening, next to a reminder of your own rapidly approaching death.’
    ‘Charmingly put,’ said Charlie, wondering if Simon knew she was pissed off with him. Pissed off, upset, whatever. She was trying as hard as she could to hide it. ‘What did you make of Miss Jenkins?’
    Simon abandoned the keyboard and turned to face her. ‘She’s overreacting. A bit unstable. She implied she’s had panic attacks before.’
    Charlie nodded. ‘Why do you think she was so angry and resentful? I thought we gave her a fair hearing, didn’t you? And why did she say, “I’m not scared of the police”? That was out of the blue, wasn’t it?’ She nodded at the computer screen. ‘Is there a page about her on the website, personal information, anything like that?’
    ‘If this Haworth guy’s avoiding her, I don’t blame him,’ said Simon. ‘It might be the coward’s way out and all that, but would you fancy trying to end a relationship with her?’
    ‘He’d promised her marriage as well, so it would have been quite a let-down. Why are men such dicks?’
    A photograph of Naomi Jenkins filled the screen. She was smiling, sitting on a large black semicircular sundial, leaning against its silver cone-shaped shadow-caster, its gnomon. That word would take some getting used to, thought Charlie. Naomi’s auburn hair was tied back and she was wearing red cords and a faded blue sweatshirt.
    ‘She looks normal enough there,’ said Simon. ‘A happy, successful woman.’
    ‘It’s her website,’ said Charlie. ‘She’ll have designed it herself.’
    ‘No, look, it says “Summerhouse Web Design” at the bottom.’
    Charlie tutted impatiently. ‘I don’t mean literally. I mean she’ll have supplied all the information and the photographs herself. Any free-lancer having a website designed to promote their business is going to think very carefully about what sort of image they want to project.’
    ‘Do you think she’s lying to us?’ asked Simon.
    ‘Not sure.’ Charlie chewed her thumbnail. ‘Not necessarily, but . . . I don’t know. I’m only guessing, but I doubt that mislaying her lover was the beginning of her problems. Anyway, find Haworth, check he’s okay, and that’ll be the end of that. Meanwhile, I’ll . . . go and lie on the beach in Andalucia.’ She grinned. It was over a year since she’d been able to have five consecutive days off. And now she was about to take a proper week’s holiday, like a normal person. Could it be true?
    ‘Here’s the Shadow-caster’s business card,’ she said. ‘I certainly won’t need to contact her on my holi-jollies. Do you want one for Silver Brae Luxury Chalets as well, by any chance? Ms Jenkins lied to me about that. When I said, “Silver Brae Luxury Chalets,” she looked like I’d hit her. I bet she and Haworth did go there.’ Charlie turned the card over. ‘I forgot to give it back to her. Hm. They do transfers from Edinburgh Airport. Home-cooked meals provided if you want them, spa facilities, all the beds super-king size . . . Maybe you and Alice