The liars beneath a ya t.., p.1
The Liars Beneath: A YA thriller, page 1
PRAISE FOR THE LIARS BENEATH
“Completely unputdownable.” — Leighton, early NetGalley reader
“A solid YA mystery/thriller I’d definitely recommend.” — early NetGalley reader
“Did I mention I loved the romantic side of this book too? No? Because I lived for it!” —@heabookshelf
“This book was such a great read and I can not wait for it to hit the shelves. I can already think of a handful of people I want to tell to read this book!” — Julie, Educator
“This was what I was in the mood for: a twisty, possible murder mystery with realistic characters…” — Sequoia, early NetGalley reader
“This romantically dark YA thriller is crazy and nothing is what it seems here in this small town in Iowa.” — Rubie, early NetGalley reader
“A stunning story of friendship and a driving force of interest. The lies and betrayal were bone chilling.” —@neariousreads
“If you’re into YA, thrillers, and secrets, this is the read for you.” — @Bethsreads
“Not only was the story line absolutely riveting, but the characters were multi-layered which kept me guessing what all would be revealed next.” —@heabookshelf
“Heartbreaking, but thoughtful; disturbing, yet hopeful; beautiful, yet dark, you'll lose yourself in THE LIARS BENEATH” —Jessica Calla, advanced reader
THE LIARS BENEATH
A YA THRILLER
HEATHER VAN FLEET
WISE WOLF BOOKS
An Imprint of Wolfpack Publishing
wisewolfbooks.com
THE LIARS BENEATH. Text copyright © 2022 Heather Van Fleet. All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, publications, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Cover design by Wise Wolf Books
ISBN 978-1-953944-64-1 (ebook)
ISBN 978-1-953944-58-0 (paperback)
LCCN 2021948862
To Emma. My fifteen year old queen, my Podcast partner in crime. Someday I’ll write the fantasy book of your dreams. For now, this will have to do.
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CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Untitled
Chapter 3
Untitled
Chapter 4
Untitled
Chapter 5
Untitled
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Untitled
Chapter 8
Untitled
Chapter 9
Untitled
Chapter 10
Untitled
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
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About the Author
1
July
Present Day
Splinters tear at the undersides of my nails when I squeeze the church pew ahead of me. The raw skin burns, but I welcome the pain, needing it to distract me from the ache in my chest.
In front of me sits an old man who’s scratching at his comb-over toupee. The side falls down past his right ear, leading way to the baldness beneath. I huff, irritated because I can’t see the front of the church around his oversized head...not that I want to. Not when I know what’s there.
Her coffin.
Her face.
The results of my biggest mistake.
“And now a reading from the book of Ecclesiastes, chapter three, verses one through eight.” The minister clears his throat, talking nonsense Rose would’ve laughed at.
Instead of listening, I relax under Dad’s arm, while Mom clings to my right hand. Settled and sheltered, I shut my eyes, welcoming the darkness. It promises peace, an almost believable sense that this isn’t happening.
In a world away from grief, I’m with my best friend again—the echo of her voice whispering promises of forever in my ear. We climb trees, fish with my father early in the mornings on his boat, then spend our afternoons swimming in the river alcove off Colton Road.
Our space, our world, she tells me.
Yes. Always, I smile and say.
“...and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up...”
I clutch Mom’s hand even tighter, bottom lip trembling. The minister tries to pull me back in, but I won’t let him. Not now.
Slipping back into my memories, I inhale the smoke from summer bonfires, taste the s’more goop dripping from between my lips, listen to Rose’s laughter while she watches me shove four marshmallows into my mouth at the same time.
Away from the church, in the dark, non-lonely recess of my mind, mud squishes beneath my boots with every step we take along the dam near my house. Rose teases me for being scared of falling into the water, her blue eyes filled with mirth.
With the setting sun at her back and a hand over my forehead blocking the glaring light, I watch her long-limbed body teeter close to the edge, balanced on one foot like a ballerina. As always, she’s completely fearless.
But then the rush of water drifts closer, her lips part in a silent scream, and I gasp...
More tears fill my eyes when they pop back open, and my recollections become nightmares with the snap of a twig beneath my feet, though I wasn’t there the night she died.
The sole source of Rose’s end was the exact same thing I feared falling into for so long. Irony is cruel.
Two weeks ago, I was finishing up the first of my college applications, readying for senior year. Now I’m preparing for a future knowing Rose would be by my side every step of the way.
We were best friends. Like sisters even. Joined at the hip since the age of ten, living the dream of two girls eager to become women. Rose was the other half to my whole. Together, we could have accomplished anything.
If only she hadn’t been so stupid.
If only she was still alive.
I shiver, letting go of Mom’s hand to wrap my arm over my stomach. The muscles harden beneath, and agony builds a bomb inside.
Don’t cry, Becca. Don’t you dare.
“You okay, sunshine?” Dad whispers, no doubt sensing my mood.
No, I want to say. I’m dying inside. But that’s not what comes out.
“Uh-huh.”
Without bravery, I’ll fall apart.
My gaze wanders the congregation, searching for familiar faces. Those who loved Rose, those who might have hated her too.
Sienna’s the first person I see. She’s a girl I know from school, someone I hung out with at lunch if Rose wasn’t there. A friend to me, a barely passable acquaintance to Rose. Her exposed cheek is blotchy and red, stained with tears I’m surprised she’s shedding.
Beside her sits her on-again, off-again boyfriend, Alex. His arm is draped around her shoulders and his head is tipped back, brown eyes half-lidded as he looks to the ceiling. He’s either high or sleeping. Either option wouldn’t surprise me
I look away, catching sight of a few nosy townspeople, some distant relatives of Rose’s I barely know too. Overall, though, I don’t see many familiar faces. Not Adam, her best guy friend. Not even Travis—though my ex not showing up doesn’t surprise me. I think he hated Rose more than she hated him.
“And finally, I’d like to leave you with a few words from Rose’s older brother, Ben,” the minister finishes.
My lips part with shock. I move forward in the pew, my father’s arm falling away. I can’t believe he’s actually here.
My best friend talked nonstop about Ben; hero-worshipped him even, despite the fact that he constantly ignored her. His achievements were her achievements. The awards he won, the trophies he earned playing football too. Rose treated her older brother like a king. A saint, really, who could do no wrong.
But then Mr. Perfect went away to college and turned his back on Rose and everyone else who loved him. That’s when everything changed.
I search the room, eyes narrowing when I catch sight of his profile.
Head to shoulders, cheeks to hair, I take him in, inch by inch. It’s been almost eight months since I last saw him—not since Thanksgiving. The Ben I knew back then was skinny yet cut. Six-foot-plus with a thick head of messy, blond hair. This Ben coming to stand before the congregation is nothing like that boy now, and I’m not sure what to make of it.
“So...”
His voice crackles when he looks up from the podium. Red-rimmed blue eyes capture the crowd as he searches through faces. The mic squeaks while he adjusts it, and I notice right away how badly his hands shake.
“My sister was...” He sucks in a breath, exhaling harshly. “A monster.”
Gasps sound from around the church. But instead of mirroring everyone’s shock, I tuck my chin against my chest and
Rose was a monster. Just not in the sense that these people think.
My best friend was brutal, a tell it how it is kind of girl. She ranted with the best of them, standing up to everyone who she thought was in the wrong—even when they weren’t. I loved her. God, did I ever.
But I’ll never be as monstrous as she was.
I’m Becca and she was Rose and now I’m just...alone.
Ben furrows his brows as he looks at the podium again. “Sorry. Wrong choice of words for anyone who didn’t know her, I guess.” His lips purse. “More a top-shelf, grade-A beast.”
Dad stiffens but makes no move to speak. Mom, though, glares at me like I’m in the wrong. I shrug her irritated stare away, breathing in through my nose and welcoming the change in pace.
“My sister was ferocious. All claws and bite,” Ben continues. “She took stupid risks, never listened to anyone but her best friend, and that relationship was shady at best.”
I blink.
Wait, what?
“I loved her, yeah,” he keeps going, despite the increasing mumbles of the congregation. “But she was out of control.”
I dig my nails into my palms so hard it sends a sting through my hand. I look down, spotting blood in the crevices from where I’ve pierced the skin. Ignoring it, I look at Ben again, waiting, wondering, hating...
“And this whole church thing?” Laughter spills from his mouth. “You really think that my sister cared enough about God and heaven and forgiveness to want any of this?” He digs his fists into his eyes for a moment before dropping them with a thump against the podium. “I’m pretty sure she never once stepped foot in a church for fear of being burned at the stake, honestly.”
“Shut up,” I whisper, drawing my parents’ gazes.
Ben doesn’t hear me, but even if he had, I’m sure he wouldn’t care. To him, I’m nothing more than his little sister’s sidekick—a glorified pain in the ass. (His words, not mine.)
“Becca.” Mom touches my shoulder. “Did you know he was going to do this?”
“Of course not.” It’s not like Ben and I are besties.
“Screw this,” Ben growls, crunching his paper into a ball. “And screw you too, Rose.” He tosses the lined sheet up and over his shoulder, only for it to drop on top of her coffin.
“You cheated,” he growls, eyes to the stained-glass ceiling above. “You hear me, little sister? You cheated!”
I narrow my eyes, unmoving, while the rest of the congregation grows even more restless, murmuring, objecting...
“Get him out of here.”
“He’s completely lost it.”
“This is the most disrespectful thing I’ve ever witnessed.”
Ignoring them, Ben cackles, his voice growing louder as he continues. “That’s nothing new though, is it? Cheating’s always been your way. Why the hell would I expect anything different?”
The minister rushes toward him, but Ben’s mom, Ginger, gets there first. She tugs the mic out of her son’s hands, placing a few fingers over Ben’s wrists. Leaning up on the toes of her shoes, she whispers something into his ear.
Even that doesn’t stop his rage.
“That was always your way, little sister,” he yells without the mic.
“Ben, stop it. Right now,” his mom pleads through the mic.
He shakes his head. “Your constant need for attention, then doing the worst thing imaginable just to get it.” He turns toward the coffin, his upper body trembling. “Pretty sure I couldn’t have helped you even if you asked for it.” He scoffs. “And Becca, the one and only person you actually ever listened to?”
My heart jumps like it’s bouncing on a trampoline.
Shut up, shut up, shut up!
“She sure as hell didn’t keep you safe, did she?”
I’m on my feet before I can blink, the words burning my throat as I scream, “Shut up!”
Ben’s gaze shoots in my direction, eyes widening a little. Guilt finds a home on his face in the form of a wince, while his cheeks darken to a shade of cherry red.
I lift my chin, thankful he feels the stab of my words. It’s on the edge of my tongue to yell even more, but Mom tugs at my hand before I’m able.
“Sit down, Becca. Please. You’re making this worse.”
“I’m making this worse?” I motion toward Ben. “What about this asshat?”
She grips the bare skin of my forearm, her eyes going wide.
Maybe she thinks I’m on the verge of losing it.
Unfortunately for her, I think I already have.
I turn to Ben again, chin lifted in defiance. I’m not going to let this go—ever. Not if it means he gets to bad talk me and my best friend’s relationship. We worked, he and her did not.
His gaze lands on the podium instead of me, while his bottom lip seems to shake.
Good, I think, remembering the millions of times he’d made his sister cry.
Ginger stands even closer to him, an arm thrown over his shoulders as she whispers something into his ear again. The proverbial son—he could never do wrong in her eyes, and that fact disgusted me.
Seconds later, Ben nods, and she takes her position in the front row again, her gaze darting briefly to mine. There’s a flash of desperation inside her stare, like she’s asking me for help. If she’d been any kind of mother at all, we wouldn’t be here, which is why help is the last thing she’ll get from me.
“I’m sorry.” He sniffs, wipes his nose with the back of his arm. “It’s just…I loved her so damn much it hurts to breathe without her, and I don’t know what to do.” He inhales so deeply the sound echoes through the microphone.
Crackle.
Sniff.
Sigh.
“She was stubborn and reckless, yeah, but you all need to know this. Rose didn’t kill herself, nor was her death some accident either. And as her older brother, I will clear her name and find out what really happened to her that night.”
More gasps follow. Then the whispering begins—hands to mouths, gazes searching each other’s faces like there’s an actual killer among us.
I roll my eyes, completely disgusted.
Gossip is scary real here in Winston, Iowa. And knowing my best friend’s death has been the scandal of the century in this town only makes it that much harder for me to grieve. Nobody wants to believe something bad had happened to her—the sister of the Ben McCain, former superstar quarterback of Winston High who was undoubtedly destined for the NFL someday. Blah, blah-blah, blah-blah.
Supposedly an investigation took place. Nothing led to foul play, as all witnesses were accounted for and had alibis. The case is what my dad had called open and shut: a strung-out teen who’d jumped over the dam, then drowned in the Mississippi River not far from where she’d last been seen...at a party that I did not go to.
Some called it suicide.
Others called it an accident.
But not a single person said it was preventable.
Guilt twists my stomach, and my hands start to sweat. Unable to deal anymore, I turn toward my father, praying he understands because I doubt Mom will. I need fresh air. The room feels like a two-foot box. One I’m currently trapped inside. If I don’t get out, I’ll pass out.
“I need to go,” I whisper.
Dad frowns, gaze still directed ahead. He’s seduced by Ben’s words. I can see it in the crinkles of his eyes, his hand as he rubs it over his mouth.
