Page 29 of Artifice
“Of course,” Olive said. “And they’ve clearly learned that lesson exceptionally well.”
What they hadn’t learned—or perhaps had been explicitly coached against—was why three students might have disappeared from a facility that “prioritizes student safety above all else.”
After Olive interviewed the last student, she decided she needed a breather.
Director Ingraham was occupied in the office, so Olive slipped outside.
She headed through the courtyard and out the gate toward the cliff in the distance.
She followed the narrow path that wound along the cliff’s edge toward the gazebo.
If Olive was going to find any evidence of what the teenagers might have witnessed, that seemed like a promising location to start.
The wind had picked up, carrying the scent of impending rain. Dark clouds gathered over the Atlantic, casting the rocky shoreline below in shadow.
Olive pulled her jacket tighter, regretting her decision to explore the grounds so late in the afternoon. The path narrowed further, forcing her to step carefully over exposed roots and loose stones.
As she rounded a bend, Lighthouse Harbor disappeared from view, leaving her alone with the sound of waves crashing against the rocks below. The gazebo appeared ahead, its once-white paint peeling to reveal weather-beaten wood beneath. Even more shockingly, the structure jutted out over the cliff—probably only by a couple of feet. But the sight made Olive’s throat go dry.
Was that even safe?
She quickened her pace, eager to investigate and return before the storm hit.
The first drops of rain began to fall as Olive stepped onto the gazebo’s creaking floorboards. She made her way to the railing, peering over to study the cliff face.
As she took another step, the floorboard beneath her right foot shifted.
Olive glanced down, noticing how it seemed oddly loose compared to the others.
She knelt to examine it when she heard a soft, deliberate cough behind her.
She turned and saw a boy standing at the gazebo entrance. He was no more than sixteen, with a shock of dark hair falling across narrowed eyes. His Lighthouse Harbor uniform—navy pants and gray sweater—couldn’t disguise his rail-thin frame or the tension in his shoulders.
Something about his stance made Olive immediately wary.
“You’re the rich lady.” The teen shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “The one who wants to give money to this place.”
“That’s right.” Olive slowly straightened. “And you are?”
“Don’t matter.” He took a step forward. “What matters is you shouldn’t be out here. It’s not safe.”
“I was just heading back.” Olive moved toward the entrance.
The boy didn’t budge. “Funny thing about this gazebo. Been here forever. Rotting away like everything else in this dump.” He scuffed his shoe against a floorboard. “Some parts are more rotten than others.”
A chill ran down Olive’s spine.
She remembered the loose board she’d been examining.
“I noticed Director Ingraham showing you those fancy plans,” the boy continued. “Talking about building some new wing. Did she mention how dangerous this gazebo is?”
“No,” Olive said carefully. “Why? Did something happen here?”
The boy’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Take another step and find out.”
Olive glanced down at the gazebo floor, suddenly understanding.
The loose board she’d noticed—and several others—had been deliberately tampered with.
