Page 27 of Before the Night Falls
As Olivia settled into her seat and Tyson walked to the driver’s side, she spotted a flyer tucked under the windshield wiper in front of her. She opened her door and wrapped herself around the windshield to reach the white paper. With a plop, she landed back in her seat and slammed the door shut.
“What are they advertising now?” Tyson asked as he cranked the engine.
“Let’s see.” Olivia buckled her seatbelt and settled back.
She unfolded the flyer, expecting an advertisement for a local fundraising barbecue or carwash. As she saw the words, the blood rushed from her face.
No. It couldn’t be.
Before Tyson could see the flyer, she crumbled it and held it in a white-knuckled fist.
* * *
“Must be some advertisement.” Tyson raised his eyebrows.
“Just junk. Nothing important.” Please don’t ask any more questions, she silently pleaded.
“Do junk flyers always make you as pale as a ghost?”
Olivia laughed weakly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Tyson glanced at her and held out his hand. “Can I see it?”
Olivia’s throat went dry. “I told you—it’s nothing.”
“If it’s nothing then why can’t I see it?”
“Tyson—” She felt herself becoming flustered and stopped to take a deep breath. “It’s a joke someone is playing on me. Please, don’t embarrass me by making me show you.”
Tyson remained quiet, and Olivia sensed he was considering her words.
Finally, he backed out of the parking spot, put the truck into Drive, and began the trip home.
Though she felt a touch of relief, her heart still raced.
Someone had copied an article about The Admirer that covered when he was shot and killed by the police. As part of the article, there was a black-and-white photo of Olivia, and beside it was a picture of Brian Elliot.
Brian Elliot with his unkempt dark hair and blue eyes. His prematurely saggy jowls. The circles beneath his eyes.
He’d worked at a landscaping center, but he also gardened at home. On weekends, he ran a vegetable stand near his house.
Olivia closed her eyes and tried to shut away the memories. Why would someone leave this photocopied article on Tyson’s truck?
The thought haunted her as Tyson drove back to his house.
Did this flyer have anything to do with the car nearly hitting her? But who would want to do that?
Olivia’s stomach churned.
Maybe she shouldn’t have eaten that hamburger and fries . . . but for reasons far different than what Tyson had implied.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
By the timethey arrived at Tyson’s house, Olivia was fighting a full-blown panic attack. Anxiety welled inside her like a sneeze she tried to hold back.
The panic couldn’t take over. It was too consuming. The emotion would cripple her from doing her job and make her look weak.
Thankfully, Tyson went out to run some errands, and Wes and Chandler had left for a baseball game. That left Olivia with the entire house to herself—other than Hobbes, of course. According to Tyson, he was in his room reading a book. Despite seeing him go into Tyson’s office that night, she thought she could trust him.
