Page 11 of Artifice

He was probably in his mid-thirties with curly blond hair and a broad build. He wore a jacket with suede patches at the elbows and loafers. The look gave him an intellectual vibe.

Was he a professor? There was a college the next town over, only twenty minutes or so away. He could very well work there. And maybe he kept glancing at her because he thought she was pretty, not because he was somehow linked with this case or her father.

She shouldn’t read too much into things.

“How’s your meal?” Stephanie appeared at the table a few minutes later, a hopeful smile on her face.

“Wonderful.” Olive smiled then nodded toward the man. “This might be a strange request, but could you tell me who he is?”

The waitress followed her gaze and frowned. “I’m afraid I can’t. I’ve never seen him before.”

“You get a lot of visitors around here?”

“Sometimes. But we’re not one of the more popular towns in the area. We kind of like it that way.”

“I can imagine.”

“Of course, everyone knows whoyouare.”

Olive’s eyebrows shot up. “They do?”

She shrugged. “It’s a small town, and Lighthouse Harbor employs a lot of people.”

“Let me guess—you’ve been told to make a good impression?”

Stephanie’s hesitant smile was all the answer Olive needed.

“More money to Lighthouse Harbor would mean more employment for people here in town.” She shrugged. “You can’t blame people for wanting to be employed.”

“No, you can’t.”

This woman could be a good source of information. Their conversation made Olive realize there was more at stake thanshe’d imagined. People were getting their hopes up that Olive would help make their lives better. She hated giving them false hope.

However, she had to concentrate on the well-being of the children at the school. She had to focus on making sure they were safe. They were the most important thing here.

“What is it like working for Lighthouse Harbor?” Olive asked. “Do you know people who’ve been employed there? Or maybe even who’ve been a student?”

Surprise flashed through Stephanie’s gaze—followed by a touch of fear.

Fear?

Was she afraid of answering? Would there be repercussions if she said the wrong thing?

Olive didn’t know, but that was her best guess.

“I . . . I’ve never worked there,” she finally said. “It’s—it’s not for everyone.”

“But you know people who have worked there?” Olive pressed. “Can you tell me more?”

She glanced around as if checking to see if anyone was listening.

Then she leaned closer. “It’s just that?—”

“Stephanie!” a deep voice called. “We need you over here.”

She glanced back at Olive, something close to panic in her gaze. “I’ve got to go.”

Stephanie definitely knew something. And she was clearly frightened.