The Last Lie Told (Finley O’Sullivan, #1)(81)

Was she with Cecelia and/or Olivia?

Not if she was lucky.

Jack’s clients were looking less and less like victims of Charles Holmes’s delusions and more and more like clever perpetrators of something Finley feared was bad for all involved.

Finley thought of the mud on Olivia’s shoes and how it had rained the night after her mother’s body was discovered. That was the night Cecelia had disappeared from Finley’s house.

Images of digging around in her backyard whizzed one after the other through Finley’s mind.

What had Cecelia been wearing that night? Sneakers? Maybe the same ones Finley had spotted in Olivia’s closet at the hotel? Were the sneakers an attempt to frame her sister?

Who the hell knew?

Finley burst out the main entrance. Before she had time to consider what the hell else the twins were up to, Detective Eric Houser was walking toward her.

“I’m supposed to give you a ride home.”

A setup. Finley wasn’t surprised. Cops were the same as lawyers when it came to getting what they wanted. They weren’t above a little out-of-the-box ingenuity.

“I appreciate it.” She did. Mostly.

He led the way to his car. “I started the engine to cool the interior.”

She was grateful, because even at eleven in the morning it was hot as hell. She settled into the passenger seat. He slid into the driver’s seat and fastened his seat belt. She should do a background search on the guy. He was new to Metro. Where had he transferred in from? Married? Her gaze flitted to his hands on the steering wheel. No ring. Couldn’t be older than midthirties.

He exited the parking lot and merged into traffic. “I’m hearing all sorts of stories about how people are disappearing in the Legard case.”

Finley made a noncommittal sound in response.

“I’m glad I’m not working that one.”

To this she said nothing. His nonchalant tone and happy-go-lucky “I’m just driving you home” attitude had already warned her where this was going.

Silence stretched for a few blocks. He was hoping she would ask him something about Derrick’s case. When she didn’t, he had to figure out how to kick off the conversation himself.

“Did you look into when your husband bought the house?”

She hated being right all the time. At least he hadn’t leaped ahead of where she was with his allegations. “I did, and you were correct. I must have misunderstood the timeline.”

“You talked to the previous owner?”

He knew she had, or he wouldn’t have asked. “I did.”

“He told you how Reed said he was buying the place for his wife, and the two of you hadn’t married yet.”

“He did.”

More silence. One block. Two. Then three.

“Had you seen the house at that point?”

She hadn’t met Derrick at that point, which was where he planned to take the conversation. He was as easy to read as a flashing neon sign.

“No.”

“Had you ever been in the neighborhood?”

“I’ve lived in Nashville my whole life. It’s possible.”

“You hadn’t even met Reed at that point, had you?”

“No.”

Another turn, and the murder house came into view. Home sweet home.

“Do you believe this is some indication that Reed had targeted you for some reason we don’t know as of yet?”

He was the first to test those waters . . . except for her, of course. In the past twenty-four or so hours, the idea had crept into the back of her mind. Not going there yet.

He glanced at her, expecting an answer.

What did she believe about Derrick?

She believed Derrick had loved her. Who could fake it that well?

She believed the short time they’d had together was the most amazing time of her life.

She believed her husband was murdered by someone related to Carson Dempsey in payback for her putting away his son, which had prompted his untimely death.

She believed she didn’t know the whole story of Derrick’s past.

That was as far as she had allowed herself to go.

“No,” she said in response to his question.

Houser pulled to the curb in front of her house. He turned to her. “Come on, Ms. O’Sullivan. You have to see that what I’m suggesting is the most likely scenario.”

“Derrick got a great deal on the house.” She met Houser’s intent gaze. “He may have been attempting to get a better deal by weaving a story about his wife being in love with the house. Since at the time I had no knowledge of the house, why would his story have had anything to do with me?” She shrugged. “Think about it, Detective. There’s no connection between me and the property. Why would purchasing that particular property have anything at all to do with me?”

While he floundered for a comeback, Finley took the opportunity to make her exit. “Thanks for the ride.”

She rounded the hood and walked to her house. Houser drove away. She’d just unlocked her door when her cell vibrated.

Jack.

“Hey,” she said, pushing the door inward and tossing her bag on the sofa.

“I’m at the office. Detectives Barry and Tanner are here to question me about Inglewood and the twins.”

“At least you weren’t hauled in for your questioning.” She gave him a quick rundown of the questions they’d asked and her responses before moving on to her plan for the day. “I’m heading to Francisco, Alabama, to see if I can track down anyone who knew Holmes and his bio parents. We’re missing something, Jack. I’m starting back at the beginning to try and find whatever the hell it is.”