The Last Lie Told (Finley O’Sullivan, #1)(45)
Rather than give in to those weaker emotions, she steadied herself and said, “That new detective dropped by to see me.”
“Was he nice to you?” her friend asked as they reached her door.
Only Matt would ask that question. “He was nice, but . . .”
She started to tell him what the detective had said. Somehow she couldn’t bring herself to repeat the words. Matt was her best friend, but she couldn’t abide him thinking negatively of Derrick. She needed to figure this out first.
“But?” he prodded.
“Maybe he was too nice.”
Matt laughed. “Poor guy. You’ll eat him alive.”
Finley mustered a grin. “I’ll give him hell for sure.”
“Okay.” Matt set the bag down on the sofa. “We need a Phillips-head screwdriver. I’m certain Derrick has one in his toolbox.”
“I’ll get it.”
“I’ll change the locks, and then we’ll both sleep better tonight.”
She nodded, drew in a big breath. “Be right back.”
Derrick’s tools were in the garage. She felt bad for not telling Matt what Houser had said. Matt was a good and loyal friend.
The guy’s in love with you. You do know that, don’t you?
Finley paused at the garage door and pressed her forehead there. Derrick had teasingly made that statement to her more than once. She’d always laughed and reminded him that she and Matt were just friends. Never had been anything more and never would be.
Matt was just Matt.
16
Saturday, July 9
7:55 a.m.
The Murder House
Shelby Avenue
Nashville
Finley finished blow-drying her hair, then rounded up her favorite jeans and a tee that sported the Music City logo. Unfortunately, the new locks Matt had installed hadn’t helped her sleep any better.
Houser’s parting remarks kept replaying in her head. There had to be some mix-up. Maybe Derrick leased the house for a while before buying it. The whole idea was completely un-Derrick-like. He was far too nice and laid back to approach some property owner with such an aggressive offer.
I just had a feeling I could make this place a good home.
She remembered him surveying the kitchen as he said those words.
The place hadn’t been taken care of in a long time.
Her chest tightened. Transforming this house had meant something to him. It wasn’t just a flip for profit.
Houser had to be wrong.
Somewhere in the living room her cell rang.
She slid her feet into sandals and went in search of the annoying sound. It stopped ringing and promptly started again before she found it between the cushions of the sofa. The low-battery warning flashed on the screen.
What else was new?
“O’Sullivan,” she said in greeting to the caller not registered in her contact list. California number, so she figured it was Olivia.
“I need to talk to you.”
Yep. “Is everything all right, Olivia?”
“I’m worried about . . .” A sigh hissed over the line. “I’m very concerned about my sister. Can we meet somewhere? I really don’t want to do this on the phone.”
“Sure. Your hotel?” Where was her bag? Finley surveyed the room, instantly ticking off all the stuff that needed to be done. Vacuuming. Dusting.
Like that was going to happen.
“I think somewhere else.” She hesitated. “I feel like I’m being watched here.”
Finley stilled. “Have you actually seen someone, or is this just a feeling?”
“Just a feeling, I suppose. But I can’t shake it.”
“How about the Frothy Monkey on Twelfth? Do you know the place?”
“I do. What time works for you?”
“I’ll meet you there in half an hour.” She wanted to check on Jack. Give him an update.
“Thank you. I really appreciate being able to call you like this.”
Finley assured her it was no problem and ended the call. She tapped Jack’s name in her contact list. He answered immediately. A good sign.
“Good morning,” he announced. “I am alive and sober. Thank you for checking.”
Finley rolled her eyes and locked the front door on her way out. “You’re a grown man, Jack. Why would I be checking on you?” she lied. “I just called to let you know I’m meeting with Olivia this morning. She has some concerns about her sister.”
“Sounds like she trusts you. Make the most of it, Fin. One or all of these ladies is keeping secrets. We need to know what those secrets are.”
“I’ll work on the daughters,” Finley said as she climbed into her car. Even this early in the morning, the heat inside was stifling. She powered the windows down and started the engine. Hot air blasted from the vents.
“I’ll talk to Sophia today. See what she has to say.”
“No face-to-face meeting with her without me,” Finley reminded him. “A phone call will be sufficient. You got that, Jack?” Finley backed out of her driveway, noted the older lady across the street watering her plants. The woman was always watching.
She’s a little nosy, but she’s just lonely.
Derrick said this whenever Finley grumbled about the lady. He had made it a point to always greet her when he saw her outside. He was too nice. Nicer than Finley for sure.