Page 28 of Misdirection

“Walter Wiggle?” She practically spit the words out with a disbelieving laugh. “What do you mean that was his real name?”

“Are you sure you want to have this conversation over the phone?”

“I’m positive,” Olive answered quickly and without any doubts.

Tom blew out a breath. “The truth is your father was either an off-the-books government contractor . . . or one of the greatest con artists of all time.”

CHAPTER 11

Olive squeezed her phone, unable to get Tom’s words out of her mind.

Her father a con artist? All the fake identities he’d made his family take on weren’t because he worked for the government? Instead, it was because he wanted to scam people out of their money?

It didn’t make any sense. Yet in another way it madeperfectsense.

A slight pounding started at Olive’s temples.

“Ollie?” Tom asked. “Are you still there?”

She pulled herself from her thoughts and cleared her throat. “Do you have any proof?”

“I’ve been gathering it, and I’d be happy to share what I have with you. But the truth is one of his aliases was that he worked for the FBI. That’s what has made all this even more complicated.”

Olive wanted to ask more questions. Before she could, someone pounded at her door.

Who was here? She hadn’t had anyone over since she moved into the apartment. Her address, however, was on file with Conglomerate.

“Unfortunately, I need to go,” she told Tom. “But I want to talk to you more about this later.”

“Of course.”

“Just one more thing. My father’s secrets . . . they’re why my father was killed, aren’t they? It wasn’t an enemy he made through the FBI who murdered my family.”

Her family’s killer had never been found.

The police had thrown out a lot of theories. They’d had three main suspects. A grifter named Bobby Lewis who just happened to be in town that night. A career criminal and town troublemaker Richard Tyson who had a long list of violent offenses. And Larry Leblanc, a man her father had accused of doing a shoddy job on some electrical work at the church.

But no arrests had been made, and the case had gone cold.

Now, it felt as if her family’s murder was all but forgotten.

But not by Olive. Never by Olive.

“Initially, I did take you in to protect you,” Tom said. “I was operating based on what I knew at the time, which wasn’t all accurate.”

The pounding sounded again.

Impatience rippled through her. She wanted to ignore whoever was here and finish this conversation. But she needed to see who was at the door.

“I have to go,” she told him.

“Good night, Ollie.” He paused. “And please don’t do anything rash. Let what I told you sink in, and then we’ll talk again.”

She ended the call and tucked her phone into the pocket of her sweatpants. Then she grabbed the gun from her kitchen counter. She held it behind her as she approached the door.

Whoever was here was clearly anxious to talk to her. The knocks sounded urgent.

But she had no idea who it might be.

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