The Lucky Ones(54)

“He could have called her from his house, maybe?” Roland offered.

“True, but why try to get rid of me when he was already gone?” she asked, to him, to herself. “And even if he did call from his own house, he wouldn’t have been there the day that I fell.”

“Dad really mentioned Oliver by name?” Roland asked.

“He did. He said knowing what he knew about Oliver’s background...that was his theory.”

“Bizarre,” Roland said, shaking his head. “This is not good.”

“Because he lied to me?”

“Dad wouldn’t lie about something like that. What scares me is that he’s slipping. Mental confusion is a symptom of end-stage renal failure,” Roland said. “But...he hasn’t acted confused at all.”

“It was thirteen years ago. People forget things, get dates mixed up.” She thought of the conflicting stories from Thora and Deacon, realizing how hard it would be to determine whose version of events was closest to the truth.

“True,” Roland said. “I mean, maybe I’m the one remembering it wrong. But still...”

“Maybe we could talk to Oliver. Ask him what he remembers. He might ’fess up if we make it clear I’m not trying to get him arrested for something he did when he was a kid.”

Roland exhaled hard. “I have no idea where he is. We lost touch when his mother took him back. I think we got one letter from him and that was it. Parents don’t want their kids confused about what family they belong to.”

Allison understood that. Her aunt had been the same way.

“Do you remember his last name?” Allison asked. “Collins, I think?”

“Yeah, Oliver Collins.”

“Come on,” Allison said, turning to head back to the house.

“Where are we going?”

“To ask Mr. Internet where Oliver is.”

“What if Mr. Internet doesn’t know?” Roland asked as they walked as briskly as they could across the sand.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I have a backup plan.”





Chapter 17

Sadly, Mr. Internet didn’t seem to know anything useful about the Oregon “Oliver Collins.” Allison scrolled through pages and pages of results on her phone, but none of the Oliver Collinses that turned up was the right Oliver Collins. Too young. Too old. Wrong country. Wrong face.

“I hate when Google fails me,” Allison said with a sigh. They were back in her room, Roland on her bed and Allison in her wicker chair by the window. “Everyone should be on the internet. At least when I’m trying to find them.”

“You’re not,” Roland said. “I had a hell of a time trying to find you online.”

“McQueen likes his ladies to keep a low profile. I have a great Pinterest account, though. All book covers.”

“Of course,” he said. “You can’t find me online, either. No computers allowed in our cells.”

“It really was prison, wasn’t it?”

“Not at all. Prisoners get conjugal visits,” Roland said with a grin. He rolled onto his side facing her. “You said you had a backup plan to find Oliver?”

“I do, but you’re not going to like it.” Allison sat forward in the chair and tugged gently on a loose lock of Roland’s hair.

“If it involves digging through Dad’s medical records, I’m not going to do it,” Roland said. “I won’t stop you, but I won’t be part of it, either.”

“I doubt Oliver’s current address would be in your dad’s old files,” Allison said. “I’ve moved three times in thirteen years. I’m sure he’s moved at least once.”

“Good point. What’s the plan?”

“You maybe want to leave the room for this,” she said with a wary sigh.

Roland narrowed his eyes at her.

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

“The thing is... McQueen has a whole company that does venture capitalism. They find start-up companies to invest in. But you don’t invest in a company first without doing lots of background checks on the company founders. You don’t want to accidentally give money to a con man or a sex offender. So McQueen has a couple of women on his staff who do nothing but dig up people’s pasts.”

“You’re going to ask your ex...whatever to help us find Oliver?”

“I was thinking about it,” she said.

“Okay,” Roland said. “Call him, then. As long as his ladies on staff don’t do anything illegal.”

“Nah. They have all the databases that private detectives use. It won’t be a big deal to get a phone number or address. I’m calling. Are you staying?”

“I can handle it,” he said.

“All right. Here goes.”

Allison made the call.

McQueen answered after two rings.

“Allison? This is a quite a surprise,” he said.

“Hey,” she said. “Sorry to bother you.”

“No bother at all, sugar. What’s on your mind?”

Sugar? She did the mental math—it would be right about eleven in Louisville right now. Good chance he was already on his third drink of the night.