Page 21 of Artifice (Pros and Cons Mysteries #4)

F rom the street, The Harborlight Dining Room appeared deceptively modest—a weathered clapboard facade with mullioned windows and a simple hanging sign swaying gently in the evening breeze.

But as Olive stepped through the blue door, she immediately understood why Margaret had called the place “the crown jewel of our little town.”

Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the space, their light supplemented by hurricane lamps at each table. In the corner, a pianist played Debussy on a baby grand, his notes floating above the hushed conversations of the other diners.

The ma?tre d’—a silver-haired gentleman who introduced himself as Maurice—led Olive to a corner table where Principal Denarau was already waiting.

He rose when Olive approached.

The man was in his mid-forties and nice-looking with a trim body and a full head of dark hair just beginning to gray at the temples.

But what surprised Olive more than his good looks—which really didn’t shock her since she’d seen pictures of him online—was how nicely he was dressed.

Before she had taken the job at Aegis, she probably wouldn’t have been able to pick out designer labels. But since it paid to pick up on details like that now, she’d become fairly astute at it.

The suit he wore right now probably cost at least seven thousand dollars.

The clothing seemed quite expensive for the principal at a home for troubled teens.

“Ms. Bettencourt,” he said with a practiced smile.

She grinned. “Please, call me Liv.”

“And you can call me Michael.”

He already had a hand extended. Olive went in, fully expecting a handshake.

Instead, Principal Denarau pulled her hand to his lips and planted a soft kiss there. “So glad to have you here with us.”

So this man was a charmer.

Of course, with someone like Margaret as the director of the school, maybe his charm balanced out her dour attitude.

“It’s good to be here.” Olive kept her voice friendly but professional.

She had some hard-hitting topics she needed to address with him, and she didn’t want to seem too chummy before diving into the difficult questions.

He pulled out a seat and pushed it in for her.

This was beginning to feel more like a date than a meeting. She hadn’t expected that.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve taken the liberty of ordering a bottle of Harborlight’s private reserve Chablis. The perfect accompaniment to their signature dish.”

“Which is?” Olive accepted the napkin that Maurice unfurled with a flourish before placing it in her lap.

“Atlantic halibut en cro?te,” Michael replied.

“Local halibut encased in a puff pastry with a lobster and scallop mousse, served with champagne beurre blanc and seasonal vegetables from the restaurant’s own organic garden.

Chef Larousse trained in Paris before returning to his hometown to open this establishment fifteen years ago.

The halibut has been written up in Food & Wine twice. ”

As if on cue, Maurice returned with an ice bucket containing the wine. “Chef sends his compliments, Principal Denarau, and wishes to inform you that he’s prepared his special truffle variation of the halibut this evening, as you prefer.”

Michael nodded appreciatively. “Excellent. We’ll both have that, Maurice. And perhaps start with the oysters? The Pemaquid Pointers are exceptional this season, I’m told.”

“Very good, sir.”

As Maurice withdrew, Michael leaned forward slightly. “I hope you don’t mind my presumption in ordering. The halibut truly is transcendent—and I thought it might be a fitting prelude to our discussion about the future of Lighthouse Harbor.”

Actually, Olive did mind. She preferred ordering her own food and drinks.

But she offered a polite nod instead and took a sip of the wine that had been poured for her. It was, indeed, exceptional.

“No presumption at all. I’m looking forward to experiencing the best this town has to offer.

” She glanced around at the other diners—a mix of well-dressed couples clearly celebrating special occasions along with what appeared to be local aristocracy.

“Though I’m curious—a restaurant of this caliber seems unusual for a town this size. ”

“The Harborlight is our pride and joy,” he acknowledged. “During summer, it’s impossible to get a reservation without booking weeks in advance. Seasonal residents and tourists keep it afloat, and those of us who live here year-round reap the benefits during the quieter months.”

He paused, swirling his wine.

“Much like Lighthouse Harbor itself, The Harborlight represents the perfect blend of tradition and innovation,” he continued. “We honor our past while evolving to meet changing expectations.”

Olive recognized the segue for what it was—a return to his sales pitch about the youth facility.

As their oysters arrived, glistening on a bed of crushed ice, she prepared to navigate both the carefully orchestrated meal and the conversation that Michael clearly had planned with equal precision.

When Olive had done her research online about Michael Denarau, she’d been able to see the basic facts about him. But nothing had indicated just how charismatic he was.

He was the type of man who could wine and dine anyone.

Well . . . almost anyone.

“We’re absolutely thrilled to have you here with us,” he continued.

“How long have you been at Lighthouse Harbor?” Olive asked.

“I’m coming up on my third year.”

“And what did you do before this?” Olive took a sip of her drink. She knew the answer to the question but wanted to hear it in his own words.

“Before this, I was a teacher for three years. I discovered being in the classroom wasn’t for me. Instead, I became the director of a retreat center about four hours from here.”

“Excuse me if I’m being blunt, but I have to say, for someone so well put together, I’m surprised the school is so rundown. It doesn’t match to me.”

Surprise—but not offense—flashed through his gaze. “No, I appreciate your honesty. And I understand you have a lot of things you need to consider before you make any donations. Please don’t feel as if any questions are off limits.”

If he only knew exactly what questions Olive wanted to ask, then he probably wouldn’t have said that.

“As far as my outfit,” he glanced down at his suit, brushing off a stray crumb, “I’m the face of the school, so I always try to put my best foot forward.

I’m not going to lie—my parents aren’t wealthy like yours, but they are well off.

That allows me to take care of myself more than I’d be able to on the salary the school offers. ”

Olive supposed that made sense.

“And as far as the state of the school, we’re more concerned about making structural repairs rather than cosmetic.”

Good answer.

She fastened her gaze on him. “When I was in the gazebo today, the structure was definitely a safety issue.”

More surprise flashed in his gaze, but he handled the comment well. “Unfortunately, every time Mr. Thorne puts up caution tape, someone removes it.”

“A student?”

“I can only assume.”

She remembered the face of the boy who’d trapped her in the gazebo. Ethan.

When she remembered the cold look in his eyes, another shiver raced down her spine.

What if the evil at the school wasn’t coming from the staff?

What if it was coming from the students?