Page 12 of Oliver

Also, Dixie didn’t run away. She wasn’t on the streets. She had a home and there’s zero evidence indicating she sold her body.

What I do have is a shit ton of letters written to a married man who could have lost his career if he was caught. Not only that but Oliver was fiercely protective of his family.

The one time someone tried to talk shit about his dad, in the seventh grade, Oliver made sure he never did again. That poor kid, I don’t remember his name, transferred to another school, soon after.

I’m no stranger to Oliver’s vitriol myself. What I don’t understand is why he defends his dad to begin with. The man is a predator, and his prey are all the foolish young girls he sucks in.

After my fruitless search of the internet, I laid across my bed, staring at the ceiling. Mr. Goodlow’s threats from earlier seemed to indicate his culpability but on the other hand, he could easily explain it away as dealing with a hysterical family member.

It certainly didn’t point to anything I could use. The further I pushed in this weird ass situation the more confused I became.

The ringing of the doorbell brought me from my useless reverie and knowing Mom wasn’t going to answer it, I trudged down the stairs with a heavy heart.

The last person I expected to find was Maeve though and I couldn’t contain my incredulity when she mustered a feeble smile.

I had no choice but to lead her up to my room because I didn’t want my mom to hear anything we said, but as soon as we were inside with the door closed, I said, “Why are you here?”

She stood awkwardly at the door while I dropped tiredly to the bean bag on the floor before saying, “You want to prove my dad, did it? Fine. What’s next?”

Really? She expected me to believe this shit. Who sent her? Ollie. That rat bastard.

“How do I know you’re not just here to find out what I know?” I asked and she shrugged.

Tired of staring up at her, I waved at the bean bag opposite and she sat down, saying, “Charming Charlie is a boat.”

A what? What the fuck?

“Who’s?” I asked and she ground her palms into her eyes.

I fought down a flicker of pity for the fatigue rimming her eyes because dammit, I was tired too.

“Frank McCafferty,” she said.

McCafferty? As in Diem McCafferty?

“Supposedly he’s been missing for a year though,” she continued. “Have you heard anymore from Dr. Love?”

Dr.-Fucking-Love. Ha. Even the handle is fucking stupid.

Biting my tongue, I shook my head. I hadn’t heard from Dr. Love because he was doing just fine threatening me in the damn flesh.

“Penny, why do you think my brother is involved?”

A loaded question if there ever was one, I eyed her for a moment, before finally, relenting when she said, “Please.”

“Okay,” I grumbled, pulling up my messages and tossing her the phone. The messages were all between Oliver and Dixie until the last one. They flirted, spoke dirty shit that made my stomach heave, and I presume met up a few times. All of which meant nothing until a month after my sister died and a new message came through.I’m warning you, playpen.

After reading through a few of the exchanges, she finally said, “Playpen?”

My chest burned but I pushed aside the bitter retort and said, “That’s what your dick brother called me in kindergarten.”

The little shit thought it was funny. Back then, every time he uttered it, I would have a full-on fit which is why he probably had zero motivation to stop.

Maeve’s brows furrowed and she handed the phone back to me as she said, “If he did, then he was purposely telling you who he is. Why would he do that if he murdered someone?”

Heat filled my cheeks and I looked away. How did I explain how I knew this wasn’t an innocent bid to get me to back off? I didn’t because no one needed to know about Oliver and me, if for no other reason than that I was not exactly proud of it.

“He was threatening me,” I finally muttered and although she eyed me dubiously, she didn’t comment.

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