Page 8 of Artifice (Pros and Cons Mysteries #4)
TWELVE YEARS AGO
T wo months into Olive’s time at Oakridge, her father remained very interested in how she was doing there. With Brianna as her new best friend, Olive thought she was doing very well.
Brianna’s group of friends had taken Olive in. She’d become particularly close to a girl named Zoe.
Olive’s father picked her up from school on most days. Thankfully, his job let him set his own hours. That meant her mom didn’t have to load up the twins to pick her up.
“Tell me again about your new friend, the one with the eccentric grandmother,” her father said as he drove Olive home one day.
“Zoe?” Olive glanced up from her book. “What about her?”
“You mentioned she stays with her grandmother after school. I’m trying to remember where you said that was.”
Olive thought back to the conversations she’d had with her new friend. “Habersham Street, I think? In one of those big Victorian houses. It has a wrought-iron fence and these huge oak trees with Spanish moss. Zoe says it’s been in their family for, like, a hundred years.”
Her father nodded thoughtfully. “Does she live there all the time, or does she just go there after school?”
“Just after school. Her parents both work at the hospital—they’re surgeons—so she stays with her grandmother until they finish their shifts.
” Olive turned back to her book, then added, “She has the coolest collection of antiques. Last time I was there, Zoe showed me these old music boxes and this cabinet full of silver spoons from all over the world.”
Olive’s family didn’t have heirlooms. In fact, when they moved, they usually left most of their things behind.
The following weekend, her father announced he’d taken on a side gig doing some finance work for an elderly client.
“It might mean some late nights this week,” he explained at family dinner. “The lady only wants me to come after her granddaughter leaves, so I’ll be starting around seven each evening.”
Olive didn’t think much about it until Wednesday afternoon, when Zoe mentioned that someone had broken into her grandmother’s house the night before.
“They took all her music boxes and most of the silver collection.” Zoe’s eyes were wide with the drama of it all. “Grandma’s really upset. She said the music boxes were irreplaceable—some of them were from Europe and over a hundred years old.”
A cold feeling settled in Olive’s stomach.
She thought about her father’s late-night work, and how he’d returned home the previous night with a satisfied smile and plans to drive to Atlanta for a few days “on business.”
That evening, Olive stood in the doorway of his home office. She watched as he carefully packed tissue paper around something.
She stepped closer for a better look.
That was when she saw a delicate porcelain music box between the tissues.
She gasped. “That’s from Zoe’s grandmother’s house, isn’t it?”
Her father looked up, surprise flashing briefly across his face before settling into something more neutral. “I acquired these pieces legitimately, Olive.”
“Did you break in?”
“I never said I was working for Zoe’s grandmother, did I?” he countered, sounding annoyed now. “You made that assumption.”
“But you asked me about where she lived and what was in her house.” She didn’t want her accusations to be true. But how could they not be?
Olive knew how her dad operated. Once, he’d had her pretend to be sick and ask for money. She hadn’t liked doing it, but he’d convinced her that it was normal for kids to help pay the family’s bills.
However, nothing about it was normal, and Olive had vowed never to be that person again.
So why did she feel as if she’d just done something similar?
He closed the lid on the small wooden crate. “I asked because I was curious about your friend’s life. That’s what fathers do—take an interest.” He met her eyes. “Did I ever ask you to lie to Zoe? To find out when the house would be empty? To tell me about the security system?”
Olive shook her head slowly.
“Exactly. You just shared things about your day, like any child would.” He stood and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I’ve never asked you to do anything wrong, Ollie. Remember that.”
She nodded, but the cold feeling remained.
That night, she lay awake thinking about Zoe’s grandmother, wondering if her father was right. She wondered if she were truly innocent because she hadn’t known how he’d use the information she provided.
Her conscience told her no.