The Last Lie Told (Finley O’Sullivan, #1)(19)

“Skipping class at school. Sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night. Going to clubs.” She sighed. “To say she was a wild one would be putting it mildly.”

“She kept her grades up,” Finley noted. “Graduated with honors.”

“I did her homework. Took the big tests for her. The teachers were never able to tell us apart. I had no social life, so I didn’t mind. I was happier at home or at a library with my head stuck in a book.”

The good daughter. “Were your parents aware of Cecelia’s adventures?”

“Father was onto her constantly. Mother pretended not to notice. In her eyes, Cecelia could never do anything wrong. She still protects her. Coddles her rather than getting her the help she needs.”

“Sounds as if Cecelia and your father didn’t get along,” Jack suggested gently.

“Not at all.”

“Is that why she wanted him out of the way?” Jack asked, not so gently.

He was particularly good at shifting gears and even sides at just the right juncture. Pouncing like a cat on an unsuspecting mouse.

For one long moment, Olivia stared directly at Jack. Then she blinked. “If you’re asking me if Cecelia was glad when he was gone, I suppose on some level she was. Mother let her get away with anything. Without him to run interference, you can imagine Cecelia was much happier.”

“Except she turned into someone else.” Finley set her water glass aside, waiting for the other woman to meet her gaze. “She withdrew from life. Stopped leaving the house. She was suddenly free to do as she pleased, and she chose not to have a life.”

“I left. I have no idea what my sister does or doesn’t do.” Olivia poured creamer into her coffee and stirred. “It’s better that way.”

“Did you know or have any interactions with Charles Holmes before your father’s murder?” Finley asked.

“I had never heard of him. Certainly never met him.”

Unlike her sister, Olivia maintained steady eye contact. No flinches, no winces. Not even a twitch.

Finley pursed her lips a moment. “Why do you suppose Holmes came up with this story about Cecelia?”

Olivia lifted her cup. “Maybe he’s telling the truth.” She shrugged. “How would I know what makes a psychopath do what he does?” She tasted her coffee, then placed her cup back into its saucer.

Finley couldn’t argue the last point. The man wasn’t a psychopath, but he was a sociopath. No question.

“Do you think he read about the two of you?” Jack asked. “Watched you on the news? Did some sort of eeny, meeny, miney, mo? Something like that for picking one of you to blame?”

“It’s possible, I suppose. There was a lot of coverage about us after what happened. It’s conceivable he somehow learned about Cecelia’s escapades, but I believe there’s more to it than some game of ‘which daughter shall I pick.’” She made a face. “I just don’t understand why he waited until now.”

This was the part that made the least sense in all of this. “You were closer to your father. Is it possible he knew Holmes in some capacity? Is it possible Holmes worked with one of the label’s artists? Or maybe one of your father’s associates was involved with Holmes somehow.” It certainly sounded as if Olivia believed someone close to her father knew him.

“None of the Legard Records artists would have been involved with the likes of Charles Holmes. If my father was involved with him, it was to help him. His companies made it a priority to help people who wanted to better themselves.” She rolled her eyes. “Mother put a stop to that outreach when she took over. My father was a good, kind man, Finley. He loved helping others.”

“What about his associates? Investors? Close friends? Was there anyone with a reason to want to hurt your father?” Jack asked, drawing her attention to himself once more.

“On the numerous occasions that I visited my father’s office, it was abundantly clear that everyone loved him. I honestly do not believe he had a single enemy.” She gave an adamant shake of her head. “I can’t believe he did.”

Finley was reasonably confident at this point that the man had at least one.

“Your mother feels one of his associates may have been involved,” Jack pointed out.

“I’m sure she does.” Olivia sipped her coffee again, leaving a red lipstick smudge on the rim this time. “Anything would be better than the truth.”

Finley studied her for a moment. Like her mother, Olivia was quite adept at keeping her face clear of emotion. “What truth?”

“The truth about Cecelia. I can’t prove it, but I’m convinced he—Charles Holmes—is telling the truth. Cecelia must have hooked up with him somehow. As I look back, it makes complete sense. She virtually hated our father. She was running wild. She could have met Holmes, and we would never have known.”

“You have no doubt Cecelia was capable of this sort of thing?” Finley was surprised the woman would throw her sister under the bus so early in the game.

“None at all.”

“Like you,” Jack challenged, “Cecelia says she never met him. Didn’t know him.”

“There’s something you should know about my sister, Mr. Finnegan.”

“What would that be?” he asked.