The Last Lie Told (Finley O’Sullivan, #1)(46)

“Got it,” he promised.

Finley waggled her fingers at the lady as she drove away. She didn’t wave back, just stood there with her water hose in hand, watching. So much for trying to be friendly.

“Good. We’ll talk later,” she said, ending the call.

On the way to the coffee shop, Finley called a friend who worked in the Nashville Driver’s License Division. He promised to see what he could find on an Alisha Arrington. Anything would be more than she’d discovered. The only Alisha Arrington she’d found in the Nashville area was a newly graduated high schooler headed for Lipscomb this fall. She also called Holly Thompson and left a message. Nita had listed the number as the former roommate’s cell. Hopefully she would call back.

Olivia was waiting at a table as deep in a corner as was possible in the small café. She’d ordered two coffees. Finley was grateful for more caffeine.

“Cecelia is out of control,” Olivia said, getting straight down to business. “She’s behaving erratically and ranting like a crazy person.” Her shoulders sagged. “Honestly, I think she is mentally unstable. I’m certain Mother is not safe in the same house with her.”

“They’ve been living together all this time while you were away without any trouble that was reported. Do you think it’s because of what Holmes is doing? Opening up the case again?”

Olivia searched Finley’s eyes, her own filled with urgency. “Yes. I think this whole thing has pushed her over the edge. I am truly worried about Mother.”

“Did your mother share this information with you? It’s my understanding you’re not visiting the house. How do you know what’s going on there?”

Olivia pushed her cell phone across the table. “Cecelia sends me bizarre text messages constantly, and she’s left several ranting voice mails. Mother keeps calling to say everything is fine, but I don’t believe her.”

Finley skimmed the text messages from Cecelia. Most were accusations about how Olivia was the one who had worked with Holmes. Others were warnings that she’d better stay away. The voice mails were vague threats about Olivia not getting away with it this time. And Olivia was right—Cecelia sounded unstable. Disturbed.

“You should keep these in the event this comes up later,” Finley advised. “Most of what she’s saying seems aimed at you. Why do you believe your mother is in danger?”

“Because she tries to keep Cecelia calm and under control. I’ve seen my sister become violent with her before . . . when I lived at home.”

Jack had mentioned Sophia felt mentally abused by her husband and her daughters, but that was five years ago. She certainly hadn’t said anything along that line this go around.

“Why don’t I drop by the house and check on your mother and your sister. If you’d like, I can talk to them about your concerns.”

“That would make me feel a lot better.” Olivia closed her eyes a moment. “I’ve worried all night.”

“I’ll go straight there when we’re finished here.”

“Thank you so much.”

Finley studied the younger woman for a moment. She had been pegged as the quiet one, the homebody. Was that still true? Or had she, like Cecelia, changed over the past five years? Was she the good daughter? Or was she only putting up a good show for Finley’s benefit? She chose not to bring up the roommate. Finley wanted to speak with Holly Thompson before giving Olivia a heads-up of her intention. The goal was to obtain straight answers from the roommate.

Bearing that in mind, Finley stuck with the subject at hand. “Olivia, why would Cecelia accuse you of having been involved with Holmes?”

Olivia pressed a hand to her chest. “I can only assume she’s lost her mind, or maybe she’s covering for what she did. I just don’t know anymore.”

Someone knew, and Finley would bet money that the mother was well aware of what had happened five years ago. Even as worried as Olivia appeared at the moment, she only allowed her emotions to show so much. She kept a tight hold beyond a certain point. When a person worked that hard to keep their deeper feelings concealed, there was a very strong motive.

The one thing Finley had pretty much concluded so far was that no one in the Legard family was completely innocent.



Legard Residence

Lealand Lane

Nashville, 10:00 a.m.

Finley had been buzzed through the gate, but so far she’d had no luck getting anyone to the door. Had to be someone in there. She pressed the bell again.

“It’s Finley O’Sullivan,” she called out. “Is anyone home?”

Another stretch of silence had Finley considering checking windows and doors for alternative avenues of entrance.

“Only me.”

The words were barely audible, but they seemed to come from just the other side of the door.

“Cecelia, is that you?”

Extended pause, then, “Yes.”

“Is your mother home?”

“No.”

“May I come in? I’d really like to speak with you.”

“I . . . I can’t open the door.”

Finley considered their options. “I understand. How about you unlock the door, then go into another room. Maybe the same room where we talked the other day. I’ll join you there.”