Page 15 of Artifice (Pros and Cons Mysteries #4)

T he pattern continued with the next student, a sullen boy named Josh who artificially brightened when he recited that “Lighthouse Harbor provides a safe harbor where we can weather the storms of adolescence and prepare for calmer waters ahead.”

When Olive asked about his family visits, he responded with practiced precision about the “structured family engagement program designed to heal relationships and build sustainable support systems.”

By the fifth interview, Olive had identified eight phrases that every student had used verbatim. When Peter, a gangly seventeen-year-old with nervous eyes, entered the room, she decided to try a different approach.

“Do you ever leave campus? I hear there’s an amazing gazebo nearby where students like to hang out after hours.” Colin’s mother had mentioned the place to Olive. Apparently, he really liked to hang out there when he needed to get away.

She hadn’t seen the structure yet for herself. It was out of view of the building—probably just the way the students liked it.

Did the admin know about this after-school meeting place?

She wasn’t sure.

Peter’s face paled slightly at the mention of the gazebo. “Students aren’t allowed in that area.”

His fingers twitched against his leg as he spoke.

“Oh? Is it dangerous?”

“Lighthouse Harbor prioritizes student safety above all else,” he replied automatically. “Our comprehensive safety protocols ensure that all residents can focus on their personal growth journey without concern.”

“Of course.” Olive smiled reassuringly. “I was just curious about the stories I’ve heard. Something about students who’ve gone missing?”

Peter’s eyes darted to the door. Director Ingraham had stepped away momentarily. His shoulders seemed to relax ever so slightly.

He leaned forward. “They don’t want us talking about?—”

The door opened fully as Director Ingraham waltzed in with a steaming mug and asked brightly, “How are we doing in here?”

It was like she knew what they were talking about. Had she been standing outside the door listening just out of sight?

Maybe.

Peter straightened immediately. “I was just telling Ms. Bettencourt how Lighthouse Harbor has given me the structure I need to succeed.”

“Wonderful.” Director Ingraham beamed. “Peter has made remarkable progress in our program, haven’t you, Peter?”

“The dedicated staff provides both boundaries and opportunities for growth.” His voice went flat again.

When Peter left, he was replaced by a thin girl named Eliza who spoke about the “holistic wellness approach that nourishes mind, body, and spirit” while never making eye contact.

When asked about the educational offerings, she praised the “personalized academic curriculum that allows students to maintain educational momentum while addressing behavioral challenges.”

Throughout all seven interviews, not a single student mentioned anything concrete about their daily lives, their actual experiences, or their relationships with staff or other students.

They spoke of nothing genuine—just words drilled into their vocabulary.

It was as if they were speaking a foreign language using only catchphrases from a limited word list.

In between students, Director Ingraham returned, expectant smile in place. “I hope these conversations have been illuminating, Ms. Bettencourt. Our students are our best ambassadors.”

“Indeed.” Olive closed her notebook. “They certainly stay on message.”

Margaret’s smile faltered only slightly. “We encourage positive expression about their experiences here. Many arrive with negative communication patterns—blaming, exaggerating, manipulating. Learning to articulate the benefits of their program is part of their growth.”

“Of course,” Olive said. “And they’ve clearly learned that lesson exceptionally well.”

What they hadn’t learned—or perhaps had been explicitly coached against—was why three students might have disappeared from a facility that “prioritizes student safety above all else.”

After Olive interviewed the last student, she decided she needed a breather.

Director Ingraham was occupied in the office, so Olive slipped outside.

She headed through the courtyard and out the gate toward the cliff in the distance.

She followed the narrow path that wound along the cliff’s edge toward the gazebo.

If Olive was going to find any evidence of what the teenagers might have witnessed, that seemed like a promising location to start.

The wind had picked up, carrying the scent of impending rain. Dark clouds gathered over the Atlantic, casting the rocky shoreline below in shadow.

Olive pulled her jacket tighter, regretting her decision to explore the grounds so late in the afternoon. The path narrowed further, forcing her to step carefully over exposed roots and loose stones.

As she rounded a bend, Lighthouse Harbor disappeared from view, leaving her alone with the sound of waves crashing against the rocks below.

The gazebo appeared ahead, its once-white paint peeling to reveal weather-beaten wood beneath.

Even more shockingly, the structure jutted out over the cliff—probably only by a couple of feet.

But the sight made Olive’s throat go dry.

Was that even safe?

She quickened her pace, eager to investigate and return before the storm hit.

The first drops of rain began to fall as Olive stepped onto the gazebo’s creaking floorboards. She made her way to the railing, peering over to study the cliff face.

As she took another step, the floorboard beneath her right foot shifted.

Olive glanced down, noticing how it seemed oddly loose compared to the others.

She knelt to examine it when she heard a soft, deliberate cough behind her.

She turned and saw a boy standing at the gazebo entrance. He was no more than sixteen, with a shock of dark hair falling across narrowed eyes. His Lighthouse Harbor uniform—navy pants and gray sweater—couldn’t disguise his rail-thin frame or the tension in his shoulders.

Something about his stance made Olive immediately wary.

“You’re the rich lady.” The teen shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “The one who wants to give money to this place.”

“That’s right.” Olive slowly straightened. “And you are?”

“Don’t matter.” He took a step forward. “What matters is you shouldn’t be out here. It’s not safe.”

“I was just heading back.” Olive moved toward the entrance.

The boy didn’t budge. “Funny thing about this gazebo. Been here forever. Rotting away like everything else in this dump.” He scuffed his shoe against a floorboard. “Some parts are more rotten than others.”

A chill ran down Olive’s spine.

She remembered the loose board she’d been examining.

“I noticed Director Ingraham showing you those fancy plans,” the boy continued. “Talking about building some new wing. Did she mention how dangerous this gazebo is?”

“No,” Olive said carefully. “Why? Did something happen here?”

The boy’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Take another step and find out.”

Olive glanced down at the gazebo floor, suddenly understanding.

The loose board she’d noticed—and several others—had been deliberately tampered with.

She should have told someone where she was going.

Now it was too late.