Page 10 of Enigma
“It’s possible. But Olive, you need to be careful. If someone was willing to kill Lloyd to keep him quiet, they might be willing to do the same to you if they think you’re getting too close to the truth.”
The warning sent a chill down Olive’s spine, but his words didn’t surprise her. She’d been in dangerous situations before, though usually not because of her own impulsive decisions.
“I know. I just . . . I need answers, Tom. About my father, about what really happened to my family. Lloyd is the only lead I have.” They’d talked about this before. The FBI had investigated the murder of her family, after all.
And Olive had always suspected there were things Tom never shared with her.
“I understand,” Tom said. “But promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I will.”
After she ended her call with Tom, Olive settled back into the uncomfortable waiting room chair and watched the clock on the wall tick away the minutes.
The automatic doors at the front of the emergency department slid open with a soft whoosh, and Olive’s head snapped up. She expected to see Jason—even though she knew it was too early.
Instead, it was another family dealing with their own crisis.
Disappointment—and a measure of relief—swept through her.
Two and a half more hours, she told herself. Two and a half hours to figure out how to apologize.
CHAPTER 6
The October heat continued to build as Olive made her way up the concrete walkway to Lloyd’s neighborhood. She’d told the hospital she was stepping out for lunch, though she had no intention of eating.
Six hours of sitting in a waiting room felt like torture when she could be doing something useful—something like investigating.
She started with the house directly across from Lloyd’s, where an elderly woman was watering plants on her front porch. The woman looked up as Olive approached, her expression cautious but not unfriendly.
“Excuse me,” Olive began.
The woman turned off her hose. “Are you here about Lloyd? I saw all the emergency vehicles earlier.”
“Yes, I’m the one who found him,” Olive said. “I’m trying to understand what happened. I wondered if you noticed anything unusual around his house recently? Anyone who didn’t belong in the neighborhood?”
The woman set down her hose and studied Olive more carefully. “You’re not police.”
“No, I’m a private investigator. Lloyd’s son asked me to look into this.” It wasn’t exactly true, but it wasn’t entirely false either.
“Well . . .” The woman glanced around as if someone might be listening. “Since you asked . . . Lloydhasbeen acting strange lately. More nervous than usual.”
“How so?”
“He was always looking over his shoulder when he walked to his car. Checking his mailbox three or four times a day like he was expecting something important. About a week ago, he asked me if I’d seen anyone watching the neighborhood or taking pictures of houses.”
Olive’s pulse quickened. “What did you tell him?”
“That I hadn’t seen anything like that. But he seemed . . .” The woman paused, searching for the right word. “Disappointed, maybe? Like he was hoping I’d confirm something he already suspected.”
“Did he say why he was concerned?”
“Just that he’d been getting some strange phone calls and wanted to make sure everyone was being careful.” She lowered her voice. “Between you and me, I think Lloyd was scared of something. Or someone.”
As the neighbor spoke, Olive became aware of a prickling sensation between her shoulder blades, the familiar feeling of being watched.
She kept her expression neutral while continuing the conversation, but her peripheral vision caught movement from a car parked about half a block down the street. Out of an abundance of caution, she would keep her eye on the vehicle—just in case.
“Did you see anyone at his place earlier today?” Olive asked. “Before the emergency vehicles came?”
