Page 66 of Obscurity
This was where the festival money had really gone. But why? Why pour money into a house at this location? It wasn’t prime vacation property.
Voices drifted from the front of the house—two men discussing something in low tones in what appeared to be the living room.
Olive caught fragments, something about “schedules,” “the next group,” and “containment protocols.”
She moved toward a staircase, her shoes silent on the hardwood floors. If there was evidence to be found, it wouldlikely be in an office or study—somewhere Brad conducted business. She needed to start upstairs. Downstairs was too risky.
The first room at the top of the stairs was clearly a primary bedroom, expensively furnished but empty. The second was a guest room, also vacant. The third door opened into a bathroom that looked like it belonged in a luxury spa.
But the fourth door revealed exactly what she’d been hoping for—a bedroom with an office space in the corner. There was a large desk, filing cabinets, and multiple computer monitors that displayed what appeared to be security feeds from around the festival grounds.
Olive slipped inside and quietly closed the door behind her.
She needed to start searching.
But before she even made it to the desk, footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Heavy footsteps. Climbing steadily toward the second floor.
Panic raced through her.
She looked around for a hiding spot or alternative exit, but she only saw one door.
The footsteps came closer, accompanied by, “I just need to grab something.”
Olive pressed herself against the wall behind the door, praying she wouldn’t be found.
But as the footsteps paused right outside her door, she realized she might have just walked into the very trap she’d been trying to avoid.
CHAPTER 43
Olive’s heart hammered so loudly in her ears she was certain whoever was approaching would hear it through the door.
She heard the soft sound of a hand touching the door handle.
Her mind raced. She frantically glanced around.
That was when she saw a closet door, partially obscured by a fake tree.
She darted toward it, slipping inside just as the office door opened. The closet was deeper than she’d expected, and she pressed herself behind some hanging coats and jackets.
Through the slightly opened closet door, she watched as someone entered the office.
Elias Mercer.
The lodge owner looked nothing like the cheerful host he played for the festival guests. His face was drawn with stress, his usually perfect appearance disheveled, and his hands shook as he pulled out his phone.
What’s he doing here?Olive wondered.
She’d assumed this was Brad’s private residence, but Elias clearly had access and familiarity with the space.
Plus, how had he gotten here? Had he hiked in?
She hadn’t seen or heard any helicopters recently.
Elias paced to the desk, his phone pressed to his ear as he waited for someone to answer. When the call connected, his voice was strained with barely controlled panic.
“Listen, we need to talk,” he said without preamble. “This whole thing is spiraling out of control. Now that journalist girl is missing?—”
