Page 10 of Artifice
What was the home hiding? Who knew its secrets?
And where was Colin Andrews now? That was her main concern.
She needed to find the boy, and she prayed he was unharmed.
Nothing was worse than delivering devastating news to hopeful parents. She hoped that wouldn’t be the outcome.
At that thought, her phone buzzed.
She glanced at the screen and felt the blood drain from her face.
Someone had sent her an old picture of her father.
Probably the same person who’d hinted they knew who killed him.
Why was someone tormenting her like this?
CHAPTER 5
Olive leaned back in her chair and took a sip of her water as she observed the other patrons inside The Salty Kettle.
A young couple near the window talked quietly over dinner. Two women laughed to themselves while showing each other pictures on their phones. Two couples were seemingly out for a double date, one of the men already appearing to have had too much to drink.
Olive’s gaze stopped on a lone man sitting on the other side of the restaurant.
As soon as their gazes met, he looked away—the first dead giveaway.
He’d been watching her. But why?
Was someone in town already suspicious about her presence? Had someone at Lighthouse Harbor sent this guy to keep an eye on her? If she asked too many questions, would she suddenly go missing also?
Or was he connected with her father and the mysterious circumstances of her dad’s unsolved murder?
Any of those things seemed possible.
Olive liked to keep things simple.
But right now, her life was anything but.
There were too many threats, too many possibilities for trouble.
She’d have to make the best of it, however.
Too many people were counting on Olive for her to fail . . . including her family, who still needed justice for their murders.
Olive continued watching the man, realizing that what had caught her attention wasn’t his appearance but his behavior. The mystery man kept checking his watch. His eyes darted to the entrance each time the door opened.
But what she especially noticed was the manila folder he’d placed on the table. He kept one hand resting protectively over it at all times.
What she wouldn’t give to know what was inside that folder . . .
When the cast iron skillet of bubbling mac and cheese arrived, the server set it down with a warning about the hot dish and a knowing smile. “First time trying it? Give it a minute to cool down—but not too long. It’s best when the cheese is still stretchy.”
Olive stared at the golden-crusted dish, steam rising from pieces of succulent lobster nestled among the pasta.
For a moment, she allowed herself to be just a woman enjoying a comforting meal in a charming New England restaurant, not someone carrying the weight of secrets and an ulterior motive that had nothing to do with charitable donations.
As she gingerly dug into the cheesy pasta dish, her gaze went to the man again.
