Page 55 of Smokescreen

He touched it. “Oh, this? I was being clumsy. I bent down to pick up something and scraped my head on the corner of the coffee table. I keep saying I’m going to get a new one, that the table will be the death of someone one day. Never thought I would be that someone.”

He was lying. He did it so convincingly. If Olive hadn’t heard that argument downstairs last night then she’d believe what he told her.

How did someone get that good at not telling the truth?

“So, about that pancake?” Her dad threw her a look. “I added some blueberries.”

Theydidsmell good. Despite herself, she said, “I’d love one.”

“Then one pancake coming right up.”

Olive twirled the end of her hair, knowing once she opened this can of worms that there was no putting those worms back.

But that didn’t stop her.

“Who were you arguing with down here last night?” she blurted.

Her dad froze as if her question had thrown him off. “What are you talking about?”

“I heard you. Talking to two men. It sounded heated.”

He broke from his stupor and chuckled. “I think you were dreaming, darling.”

He was lying to her again, and Olivehatedbeing lied to.

Did her dad think she didn’t know the truth? He was the one who’d taught her how to read people, to be a human lie detector. People who didn’t tell the truth often fidgeted, avoided eye contact, the pitch of their voice rose, they offered vague answers, and they repeated questions.

Her back muscles stiffened. “I wasn’t dreaming, and you won’t convince me otherwise.”

Her dad paused and turned toward her with the spatula in his hand. “Olive . . . you’re too much like me for your own good.”

When Olive was younger, she’d thought her dad walked on water. Thought he could do no wrong.

He was the life of the party. He made friends wherever he went and brought the fun with him. Everything they did together was an adventure.

But lately, Olive had been seeing through the cracks. Seeing who he really was.

However, did anyone really know who he was? Did her dad even know who he really was? How about her mom? What did she know about all of this? She always seemed passive and innocent, the ying to his yang.

“Don’t treat me like I’m a child,” Olive finally told him. “I know something’s going on, and I’m concerned.”

“Oh, sweetie . . .” Dad reached across the island and tucked one of her curls behind her ear. “Don’t you worry about it. It’s all adult stuff.”

“Again, I’m not a child, and I’m not stupid. I heard yelling and a crash. Now you have a cut on your forehead.”

Something in his gaze seemed to harden. “I told you that was from the coffee table. It’s really no big deal. That must have been the crash you heard. After I cut myself, I kicked the table. Not my best moment, I admit. And the arguing? I couldn’t sleep and was watching an action-adventure movie. It was probably the characters on the screen you heard. You were tired and probably not thinking clearly.”

Again, he was so convincing—the type of person people wanted to believe. He always sounded so sure of himself. He always had an answer. If all else failed, he had an easy smile and a caring demeanor.

“So you’re not in trouble?” Olive studied his face, looking for the signs of deception.

“No, honey. I’m not in trouble. And I’m sorry I woke you. I won’t let it happen again.”

But Olive knew there was entirely more to the story than her dad was letting on.

Somehow, she had to discover the truth. Her gut told her that her dad was in serious trouble . . . and that meant the rest of her family might be also.

CHAPTER 23