The Last Lie Told (Finley O’Sullivan, #1)(62)

Good thing Jack had a lot of friends in this city. Other than the Judge and the trinity, most people liked him, which was immensely useful in situations like this one.

Olivia unlocked the door, and they entered together. Finley checked the room. All clear. “You need to stay in your room. Get room service when you need something. Call me or Jack if you have any trouble or feel you need someone to talk to. It would be best if you didn’t talk to anyone else.”

“I won’t. I don’t have any friends left here, so there’s no one to talk to. Unless Cecelia calls.”

“If Cecelia calls, talk to her,” Finley amended. “Don’t scare her off—just try to get her location. We need to find her.”

Olivia nodded.

“If the police come, don’t say a word until Jack or I get here.”

Another nod.

“Call me if you need me.”

Finley hurried back to her car and got away without being followed by anyone who showed an interest in her vehicle. She put through a call to Jack. “You back home?”

“Yeah.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” He knew what she was asking.

“If that status changes, I want to hear from you.”

“Don’t worry, I’m okay.”

“I had Olivia call the security company. The alarm was deactivated at nine this morning, then reactivated at nine forty-five. It wasn’t deactivated again until two this afternoon, which would seem to confirm Olivia’s story.”

“Sophia never struck me as one to sleep in,” he countered. “Why would she be in bed until nine?”

“It’s Sunday. She’s older now, and she’s been under a lot of stress,” Finley offered.

“Maybe.”

Finley inhaled a long, deep breath. “Look, I asked Olivia about the roommate, and she assured me there was a mistake. She spouted off another name without the slightest hesitation. Maybe . . .” It was possible, Finley had to admit.

“I’m listening,” Jack prodded.

“Maybe Holly Thompson was a clerical error.” There, she’d said it.

“Your gut is telling you,” he countered, “that you should still check it out.”

“Yeah.”

“Do it, Fin. At this point, I’m not banking on anything being what it appears to be on this one.”

“You’re right. I’ll call you later.” Finley ended the call without telling him she would be making an in-person contact tonight to be sure he was okay.

Turning onto her street, she spotted a vehicle parked at the curb in front of her house. What now? She’d had more unexpected visitors in the past two days than she’d had all year.

As she rolled closer, she recognized the car.

The Judge.

“What the hell?”

Finley parked in her drive and took a long, deep breath. Her mother had never been to this house before, at least not to Finley’s knowledge. Being in the neighborhood at all would likely have the Judge in hives. For a minute or so Finley sat right where she was. Getting out would set off a chain reaction that couldn’t possibly end well.

Her mother broke before she did. The driver’s side door opened, and the Judge herself popped out and headed up the walk. She still wore the rose dress from her party. Finley exhaled a long breath and then did what she had to do. She got out of her car and faced the woman who gave birth to her.

This was as good a time as any to ask her about the photograph.

“Did you get bored with your party?” Finley hadn’t meant to sound like a smart-ass, but there it was.

“We need to talk.”

Finley walked to the porch, unlocked the door, and went inside. The Judge followed. The next fifteen or twenty seconds elapsed with the Judge surveying the shabby living room with its stained and cracked ceiling and worn-out furniture.

“Why are you here?” Finley asked at last. And where was Dad? The only way he wouldn’t have come with her was if she hadn’t told him her destination.

The Judge’s attention settled on Finley. “Why on earth are you still living in this place?”

“Well, Mother, this is my home.”

She made a face. “Your condo is your home. This is . . .” She glanced around again. “Some sort of penance.”

Finley wasn’t wasting another second with whatever this was. “Why didn’t you disclose that you and Sophia Legard are friends?” The Judge obviously had not heard about the murder. Finley would hold on to that news for a minute.

The Judge looked taken aback. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“The photo on the stairs,” Finley clarified. “One of your precious preservation committees. You and Sophia are standing arm in arm and all smiles for the camera.”

The Judge considered her accusation for a moment, then frowned. “I know who she is, and we have served on various committees together over the years, but I wouldn’t call her a friend. More like an acquaintance.”

Whatever. It wasn’t like Finley could ask Sophia. “She’s dead,” she said bluntly. “Murdered. I just left the scene.”

If she’d expected her mother to show some sort of emotion, Finley had been kidding herself.

“When we’re finished here,” the Judge announced, “I’ll call Chief Lawrence in regard to your somber news.”