Page 123 of Oliver

Penny

Bone flings out his arm and I consider my options. Is Mrs. G safer if I stay hidden? I don’t fucking know.

I’d rather avoid this confrontation with her here assuming he’s here to chat and not cut me up and bathe in my fucking blood.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Mrs. G snarls and I frown.

Does she know Bone? Maybe via Maeve?

Bone barks, “If your precious family was so important than why did you fuck with her?”

Her who? Maeve?

“You think I wanted that trash ruining my family?” Mrs. G hisses.

Bone laughs but the bitter sound sends a chill down my spine. “I think Mr. G should’ve kept his dick in his pants.”

The pause is awkward before she grabs his arm and pushes him toward the door. “Out. Get out of my house.”

“You knew he was the Lucky Charm killer,” Bone says, pulling away. “You knew! You planned this whole thing, you psycho bitch!”

Mrs. G stiffens and looks behind her. I duck back just in time, holding my breath. I guess he’s not here to see me. Did my texts set him off? What does he mean?

“Don’t be stupid,” she mutters.

“Stupid! You know what’s fucking stupid,” Bone growls. “Cutting off her head when she was already dead. I’m done. I’m telling the police.”

Wait…what? Are you fucking kidding me?

My legs give out and I slide to the floor. Oliver’s mother, Mrs. G cut off Dixie’s head? Why?

I can’t fucking breathe, and I cover my mouth as Mrs. G sneers, “You need to leave right now! Why are you here? I told you never to contact me. Go!”

“What? Is someone here?” Bone sneers. “You’re precious son maybe. The one who can do no wrong? Does he know? Does he know how fucking sick you are?”

I raise my head at the silence that follows, a million thoughts racing through my brain.

Bone was there that night. Did he give her bad drugs? On purpose or was it an accident?

Was Mrs. G planning to confront Dixie but found her dead?

After a minute, I push to my feet and peek around the wall. They’re gone. Okay.

Glancing behind me even though I know there’s no one there, I pass through the living room and cock my head. There…muffled voices.

Stepping down an intersecting hall, I stop before an open door and lean against the wall, tipping my head.

“You’ll go to fucking prison, you idiot.”

“Prison? Who the fuck cares about that? People are dead! My friends are dead!”

“Not my problem! Maybe they stuck their fucking nose where it didn’t belong,” she hisses.

“You don’t fucking care about anything but yourself, do you?”

“You’re right. I don’t.”

Something fumbles within the room, and I resist the urge to peek, until the silence becomes too much and I have to know.

---