Page 43 of Artifice
“Yes, and we do take away their phones. Unfortunately, a couple of students found their way around that rule. We discovered some of them are able to communicate through the gaming systems we allow them to use on occasion. We really have to stay on the ball as far as changing technology. If there’s a way they can bend the rules, then they’re going to bend them.”
Olive hated to admit it, but his answer made sense.
There was a chance that Colin Andrews and those two other students truly did leave on their own. Maybe Colin felt too ashamed to go back to his family or to try to get in touch.
That possibility wasn’t out of the question.
But that didn’t put Olive any closer to finding out the truth.
Maybe tomorrow, when she arranged to talk with Abe, she would finally get some answers.
When dinner was finished, Michael walked her to her car.
“I appreciate your honesty with me about your concerns,” he started. “And if there’s anything else that comes to mind while you’re here, please let me know.”
“I’ll do that,” Olive said. “You’ll be around for the rest of the week?”
“I will be. At least until after the gala on Friday.”
She smiled. “Perfect. I should be seeing you around.”
“That you should.” He took a little bow. “Good night, Ms. Bettencourt.”
“Good night, Principal Denarau.”
He stood by her car, watching as she climbed inside.
She shut the door, all too aware of his presence. Then she started the engine.
But she waited a minute before pulling away.
She watched in her rearview mirror as the principal climbed into his own car.
He started his engine and pulled onto the road a moment later.
She waited the obligatory seventeen seconds, and then she pulled out also.
Principal Denarau appeared a little too good to be true.
He was a little too slick for her comfort.
Olive knew this could be a colossal waste of time. But right now, she wanted to follow him and figure out where exactly he was going.
CHAPTER 23
Olive maintained a careful distance as Principal Denarau’s sleek Audi wound through the narrow streets of Edgewood.
Dinner had been pleasant enough, filled with charming anecdotes and passionate speeches about Lighthouse Harbor’s noble mission.
But something about his polished veneer felt too practiced.
Now, as his taillights disappeared around a bend, she slowed her rental car, maintaining the gap between them.
The road had narrowed, transitioning from quaint coastal town to industrial zone at the harbor’s edge. Weathered warehouses loomed like ancient sentinels against the night sky, their corrugated metal skins glinting dully in the sparse streetlights.
Principal Denarau’s car slowed, then turned into a gravel lot beside the largest warehouse—a hulking structure with broken windows along its upper level.
Instead of pulling directly in, he continued another hundred yards before parking in the shadows beneath a derelict loading dock.
