Page 13 of Oliver

“Do you have any other suspects?”

Relieved to move away from that topic, I shrugged and ticked off my fingers, as I said, “Fine. Bone. Matt. The Sinners.”

“Bone?Matt? The Sinners?”

Her wide eyes were amusing to say the least and with a snort, I waved my arm. “You can’t really be that naive, Maeve. They work for the mafia.”

With that she seemed to sag into herself before pushing to her feet and approaching the window. “Okay, what about proof?”

“That’s what I don’t have. Just these damn messages.” Which was maddening. How could I get past this damn roadblock?

“Dixie knew something,” I said. “I just wish I could figure it out.”

It was one of the reigning theories. Was she murdered because of Mr. G and his precious reputation or because she knew something that she shouldn't have?

With a pulse of guilt, I pushed the thought away as Maeve said, “She must have something somewhere.”

Huffing, I mumbled, “I’ve checked everything.”

After a moment, she sat back down and stared at me with a troubled frown before saying, “I think Ollie was the one who hit you over the head.”

Of course! Fucker. Slamming my hand against the floor, I rasped, “I knew it!”

My victory was short lived though and I sucked air through my constricted lungs before rubbing my aching chest. The proof didn’t exactly feel great, especially with our past. I was such a fucking fool.

“Look, I know you’re not going to believe me, but I don’t think he’s conspiring with my dad. I don’t…” When I raised a brow, she continued, “For whatever reason, he’s trying to warn everyone off. I don’t know why, beyond the obvious reasons.”

Arguing would be pointless especially because I refused to tell her the extent of my suspicions. Instead, I said, “So what about the rabbit’s foot? That part doesn’t make sense.”

How did Charming Charlie fit in with Ollie and Mr. G? If Frank McCafferty was missing, who was messaging me as Charming Charlie and why?

“I don’t know, but we need to find Charming Charlie,” she said, and while I agreed, I was suspicious.

Usually, she was trying to talk me out of something harebrained. What was her motivation now?

“The boat or the man?” I asked.

“Both.”

After she left, I stewed over her confession for hours.

Now I’m glaring at Oliver’s front door because despite everything, it’s his actions in the parking lot of Fight Club that circle my brain.

Beyond the fact that it’s a completely shitty thing to do and hurts on a level I refuse to define, it speaks to him knowing something about Dixie’s death.

Is he involved? Yes, my brain screams while my stupid wretched heart continues to make up lame ass excuses. I seriously need to stop lying to myself.

When no one answers, I raise my palm again, intent on getting him to open the door only to pause when it swings open and Oliver’s mother, I presume, eyes me with a frown.

Truthfully in my haze of self-righteous rage, it didn’t occur to me that I would meet his mom.

A tingle of curiosity cascades down my spine and dropping my hand, I say, “Um, hello, Mrs. Goodlow. Is Oliver around?”

Oliver’s mother is the last of his family that I haven’t met. I wouldn't exactly define my relationship with Mr. G as healthy enough to utilize when it comes to decoding Oliver’s world. Maeve and I aren't close. Besides, despite being twins they couldn't be more different if they tried.

Mrs. Goodlow’s eyes harden into chips of ice and the affectation is so reminiscent of Oliver’s disdain that I shudder. Wow. Are both his parents’ assholes?

“No, he’s not home,” she grunts. “I don’t appreciate the racket you’re making. If Oliver wants to talk to you, he’ll call you.”

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