Page 38 of Artifice

Someone had been in her room, and they hadn’t merely been cleaning. They’d tried to get into her computer.

That meant someone was either onto her about this case, or that someone from her past had followed her here to try to get more information.

After all, she’d gotten a series of strange text messages lately.

The first one had said:I know who killed your family.

Then she’d received one reading:I know who murdered your family, and you don’t. This has got to be killing you.

Not long after that, Tom Greer, the FBI agent who’d taken her in, had gotten a text saying:Tell Olive to stop looking into her father or else.

When she’d visited her childhood home, she’d found a note reading:Like father, like daughter.

Someone was egging her on, encouraging her to investigate.

And someone else was determined to make her stop.

Olive still hadn’t made sense of everything. But she knew the truth about her family’s deaths was still waiting to be uncovered. The reasons behind it were dangerous and high-stakes.

With a sigh, she remembered the other guests staying here. She’d talked to each of them, and none of them seemed the type to be working undercover.

Then again, no one should look at her and think she was working undercover either.

She hurried through the house and found the door with a sign on the front saying “Private.”

She quickly knocked. “Mrs. Potts? It’s Liv Bettencourt. I have a question.”

Then she waited.

Finally, she heard footsteps.

A moment later, Mrs. Potts answered, wearing a pink housecoat and matching slippers.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Olive started. “I can see you’re unwinding for the night.”

“What’s the matter?” The woman squinted with concern. “You sound urgent.”

“Mrs. Potts, did you go into my room today?”

“No, you told me not to. Why do you ask?” She frowned and crossed her arms, pulling her housecoat closer.

“Someone went through my things.”

Alarm filled her gaze. “What? Are you sure? I don’t know who would have done that.”

“I don’t either. That’s why I’m hoping you can help.”

Mrs. Potts frowned again and then ushered Olive into her room. “My Henry is already asleep, but maybe we should talk in here. We’ll just need to keep our voices down.”

Olive stepped inside but didn’t move away from the door.

“Mrs. Potts, as you know, I’m here because I’m considering donating to Lighthouse Harbor. I have some private informationthat I don’t want anyone to know about or see. That’s one reason I’m so concerned. I’m also concerned for my privacy, of course.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Potts whispered. “But there hasn’t been anyone here today except me, Henry, and the other guests.”

“No repairmen or deliveries?”

She shook her head. “No, not today. I’ve been here all day, so I would have seen.”