Page 84 of Artifice

He’d already informed her that that text Colin had supposedly sent his family hadn’t actually been from his phone. Someone had used an app to make it look like it had come from Colin’s number.

Which meant someone was trying to cover up whatever had happened to him.

Now Olive had all morning to occupy herself. What could she do that would lead her closer to answers?

First, she needed to update her boss on what was going on.

Nearly as soon as Olive hung up with Rex, her phone rang again. She didn’t recognize the number, but the area code showed it was local. She put on her most elegant voice as she answered.

“Is this . . . is this Liv Bettencourt?”

Olive sat up straighter. “It is. Stephanie?”

“I saw your note. And I wasn’t sure if I should call or not.”

“I have questions . . .”

“It’s not just about what to do in town either, is it? It’s about the school.” Stephanie’s tone dropped even lower.

“It is.”

“I can’t talk about it here. I’m afraid someone might overhear.”

Olive’s pulse kicked up a notch. “Do you want to meet somewhere?”

“Yes. But I can’t meet until tonight after my shift.”

Olive fought a frown. She’d love nothing more than to meet with Stephanie this morning, especially if she had answers. “That’s fine. Just name the time and place.”

“I know it’s late, but how about at eleven?”

Olive supposed that made sense because the restaurant didn’t close until ten. “Where?”

“The lighthouse.”

“The lighthouse?” Was that the unofficial meeting spot of everyone in town? It seemed that way.

“I know it sounds weird, but you’ll understand when I tell you what I need to tell you.”

Olive supposed that explanation made sense. “I’ll see you then.”

Now she was more curious than ever about what Stephanie might have to say.

CHAPTER 45

The boardroom occupied what had once been the King mansion’s grand dining room. Original oak paneling darkened by time surrounded a massive table that gleamed under a crystal chandelier. Portraits of stern-faced men—former directors of the mental institution, Olive assumed—stared down from gilded frames.

“Ms. Bettencourt, welcome.” Principal Denarau gestured to an empty chair he’d saved for her. “As I’ve told you before, we’re honored by your interest in our institution.”

Olive smiled and adjusted her silk blazer. The Liv Bettencourt persona demanded power dressing, and this outfit had cost more than her real apartment’s monthly rent.

“I appreciate the invitation.” She took the seat near the front of the table. “My family’s foundation is always looking for innovative therapeutic approaches.”

Director Ingraham sat at the head of the table, her posture rigid as she introduced the board members one by one. “Dr. Lawrence Chen, our medical advisor. Mrs. Eleanor Whitmore, representing our primary investors. Mr. James Morgan, our legal counsel. Dr. Victor Wells, whom you met earlier. And Mr. Dallas Sheffield, who joins us from California.”

Olive froze at the last name, keeping her expression neutral through sheer force of will.

Sheffield? It couldn’t be.