Olivia Decoded

by Vivi Barnes

  “We already tried Jen,” Sam says, waving a hand toward the window. “Who else?”

  I take out my phone, hoping I don’t regret doing this. “Do you mind if we don’t go back to the house just yet? I have an idea.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  JACK

  I’ve never been hospitalized before and never want to be again. The nurses come in to administer pain medication like they’re doing me the biggest favor and that I should be happy. I can’t stay awake, and the fact that different people are in my room every time I open my eyes and that I never know what time it is is pissing me off. I can’t be groggy while someone’s trying to kill me. And Liv and Sam are scouting around. If something happens to them—

  “Oh just deal with it,” Nancy says when I try to convince her to talk to the doctors on my behalf. “They’re taking away the pain, so let them. Stop trying to be in control all the time and just focus on healing. You’re lucky you didn’t end up with a concussion. I’m going to run home for a bit. Want me to bring you back anything?”

  “My laptop.”

  She shakes her head. “You’d never sleep, then. We’ll take care of everything, okay?” Nancy’s lips press lightly against my forehead. She’s never kissed me before, so it feels weird. “Hit your call button if you need the nurse.”

  As soon as she leaves, one of the doctors comes in, followed by a group of interns. One of them—the blond one—catches my eye, shocking me so much my body jerks. The pain responds accordingly, but no one seems to notice. Even if it weren’t for the fact that he resembles me so closely, I’ve seen enough pictures of my half brother to recognize him immediately. The doctor examines my side and talks to the interns, but there is no flicker of recognition in Jeremy’s eyes as he looks at me. He’s not wondering who this guy is who looks so much like him. I’m just another patient. I start to laugh—what are the chances we would’ve ended up in the same room together? The laughter makes my side hurt so badly that I groan. Only one of the interns, not Jeremy, looks at me. Everyone else is tuned out.

  Two minutes later, Jeremy’s moved on with the group to another patient’s room, and my chance to say something has walked out with him. What now? Obviously, the two of us being in the same hospital at the same time is too big of a coincidence to blow off. I make a promise to myself to find him later and confront him about our father. He deserves to know the truth, for his sake.

  I ignore the twitch of guilt inside—it’s for my sake, too.

  I call Jim Rush again, this time getting through. Although he expresses concern that I’m in the hospital, he doesn’t say anything other than he’ll look into Frank. Says he’ll need evidence, since the guy has no record. I can’t be too mad. Staying off the grid is something the Monroe Street kids were trained to do, and now it’s coming back to kick me in the ass.

  As soon as I hang up with him, a text from Liv pings my phone.

  PI thinks Frank Jones is the stalker and is going after him. We are still investigating. My mouth drops at the smiling emoji in her message. Like this is just a fun afternoon game she and Sam are playing. I have no chance to respond before a soft knock sounds at the door. Maggie walks in, tears running down her cheeks as she looks at me in the bed. Great. Just what I need. She mouths an Oh my God.

  “I know you were here before, so don’t look so surprised,” I tell her. I reach over to grab my cup of water and wince at the responding jab in my ribs.

  “Are you okay?” she asks, coming quickly to my side. “Can I get you anything?” She tries to take my hand, but I pretend I need both hands to hold the cup. Another nurse hovering in the form of Maggie is not what I need.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. You don’t need to stay.” I realize when Maggie’s forehead scrunches how that sounded. “Sorry. Rudeness is a side effect of whatever drug they’re giving me,” I tell her, motioning to the IV drip.

  “I’m sorry this happened to you,” she says, her eyes glassy again.

  “Why? Did you do it?”

  “Of course not! I would never hurt you!”

  “I know.” I close my eyes, this time hoping Maggie gets the picture and leaves me to sleep. She doesn’t say anything for a while, and when I pop an eye open, she’s lifting up my sheet and staring at my ribs like I have a hole in them. I tug the sheet from her hands. “I’ll be okay, you know.”

  “Do you think whoever did it is the same person who stole from the house?” she asks, moving my phone to the side table so she can sit next to me on the bed.

  “Probably.”

  “I wonder…” Maggie puckers her bottom lip with her fingers, her eyes fixed on the IV drip.

  “Wonder what?”

  “Well, you said someone’s been giving your…um…Liv gifts, right?”

  “Yeah?”

  “And sending her roses and acting all like a stalker? Well, maybe he’s someone who’d be mad at you because she likes you.” She blushes as I stare at her. “Never mind, it’s probably a stupid idea.”

  “I’m sure it’s not stupid. Go on.”

  “Maybe it was an ex-boyfriend of hers. Or at least someone on her side who could have a motive. Something against her.”

  There’s no ex-boyfriend as far as I know. The only one who could possibly have an obsession with Liv is that shitty excuse for a foster father Derrick Carter. It’d be a long shot, though. The guy has no record other than the one Liv and I slapped him with after he attacked her. And he wouldn’t have access to my bank account or anyone else’s at Briarcreek. Still, I’m glad to see Maggie’s at least motivated to do something other than sitting around the house acting sorry for herself.

  “It’s possible,” I tell her. “Good idea, actually.”

  She smiles then, the lines in her forehead relaxing. I return the smile. Maybe we haven’t lost Maggie after all.

  “So do you want me to follow up on that?”

  Whoa. “No. I’ll take care of it.” I jerk up too fast, groaning as the pain cuts me in half.

  She shakes her head, pressing me back with a gentle hand. “With a broken rib? Don’t think so. You stay here and get better.” She kisses me on the forehead—as motherly as Nancy, weirdly.

  “Hold up,” I say as she turns to leave. “What are you going to do?”

  She smiles, and the steel of her smile scares me. “I’m going to take care of you.” Her voice is light, as if she’s talking about going downstairs to get ice cream.

  “Wait, come back!”

  She ignores my calls and leaves me chained by my injuries to the bed. Great. I text as many people as I can to keep an eye out for her. Maggie going rogue is not what we need right now.

  The nurse comes in then. “The young lady who was just here advised me that you’re in a lot of pain, young man.” She’s all smiles as she checks my IV drip, ignoring me as I tell her I’m fine. “It’s about time for your medicine anyway,” she says, looking at the chart.

  “I don’t want any medicine,” I tell her, which she ignores as she changes out the bag.

  It’s not long before I drift into sleep again, finding Maggie in the dreamworld, standing over Frank. “I’m taking care of you,” she whispers as she holds up the knife. “Always have, always will.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  LIV

  What the hell? “Great, now we have Maggie to worry about,” I tell Sam, reading the text from Jack. “She’s going all vigilante, apparently.”

  “She might have better luck than us. Trying to find Denise is like a needle in a haystack,” Sam grumbles, scrolling through her phone. We already drove to the house where I lived with the Carters, my previous foster parents, just to find out from the new homeowners that the Carters left months ago after getting a divorce. I thought it’d be easier to start with Denise. The idea of finding Derrick again gives me the chills.

  “You’d think in this town there’d be at least one Denise Carter.” We’ve already followed up on the two generic D. Carter listings, one of which was a single man, the ot
her, an elderly woman.

  “Maybe she dumped her last name when they got divorced?”

  I remember on the foster care paperwork there was a record of Denise’s past history. Her maiden name was on the form, but I can’t remember it. The only name on the form that I do remember is Alejandro Santos—the name of her husband who died with their little boy in a car accident. It was the first time I realized there might be reasons other than Derrick for Denise’s drinking problem.

  “Look up Denise Santos,” I tell Sam. She types into her phone and scrolls through the results.

  “There’s one Denise Santos in Richmond,” she says. “Lives on Victory Street.” She grins at me. “That’s only like a minute from here.”

  But when we get to the address, I groan. “It’s an apartment complex. How do we know which one she’s in?”

  “Okay, okay, no worries.” Sam closes her eyes for a moment to think. “Okay, so park at the main building. If it’s a guy in here, we’re good to go.”

  “He’s not going to give you her apartment number just because you’re cute, Sam.”

  She winks at me. “Wanna bet?”

  She’s right. As usual.

  The guy inside the sales office is young and good-looking and totally falls for Sam’s act. She should’ve been an actress, as good as she is about making up stories. She pretends like we’re Denise’s out-of-town college friends who are surprising her. Which is hilarious because although we could pass for college girls, if this guy saw Denise he’d see she’s clearly older than that. Watching Sam’s light-hearted, flirty manner as she talks to the guy reminds me of how she was Jack’s right-hand person to recruit lonely foster kids who had a knack for hacking. She did make me feel like I was special, cool, fun—everything a good recruiter should do. I know I should be past that, but the feeling is still a bitter knot in my gut.

  Denise’s apartment is within walking distance, just on the other side of the pool. The place is nice, with flowers lining the walkway and bright white iron gates surrounding the pool area. Quiet. Kind of has a retirement village feel and, considering Denise’s love of roosters and quilts and need for peace, it fits perfectly.

  Number 226 is on the second floor, overlooking the pool. I hope she didn’t notice me walking here, or she might not answer the door. Of course, she might not be home, either.

  Sam gestures grandly at the door, and I use the brass knocker. About a minute later, the door opens and Denise is standing there looking pretty much the same as she did when I lived with her—mousy brown hair, a passive, slightly put-out expression on her face. Her eyes widen when she sees me.

  “Olivia?” she asks. “What are you doing here?”

  I think it’s the most she’s ever said to me at one time. “I’m not here to bother you. I just wanted to ask you a couple questions.”

  “I don’t know…” She looks at Sam with a raised eyebrow.

  “This is my friend Sam. We’re looking for Derrick and hoped you could help us track him down.” I didn’t want to say it before she let us in, since I had a feeling she might close the door on our faces, but I have to take that chance.

  Her nostrils flare. “Why are you of all people looking for him?”

  Of all people? “Because I think he might be stalking me, and I need to know for sure.”

  Denise jerks the door all the way open and backs up. “Come on in,” she says, frowning.

  “Thanks.” Sam and I follow her to the couch in her small living room. I look around and notice the rooster décor from her house has made it here, too. Rooster pillows, clock, canisters on the kitchen counter. Even more roosters than before, or maybe it just appears that way in a smaller place. I guess an obsession is an obsession.

  Denise sits across from us in a formal-looking white armchair, her fingers interlaced across her lap. “How are you doing?” she asks, and I have a feeling it’s more out of politeness than real concern.

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  “Your new home okay?”

  I nod. She doesn’t know about my grandfather, and I want to keep it that way.

  “Good. I always wondered why you left, though I can probably guess. He was way too obsessed with you when you lived with us.” Her lips twist in disgust.

  “What do you know about it?” I ask her, trying to keep my voice even.

  “Mostly what I guessed. Found a camera setup installed over your room after you moved out, too. I’m sorry things didn’t go well at our house,” she says stiffly. “Derrick was…well, he wasn’t the person I knew in school. I guess I didn’t know him enough when we got married. When I noticed things he looked up online…”

  She shakes her head, not finishing that sentence. So not only did she not bother to look for me after I ran away, she ignored the warning signs from Derrick. I’ve never blamed Denise for anything, but at the moment, it’s all I can do to not jump up and scream at her for pretending to be oblivious to his creepiness while I lived there. Of course, now I remember the handwriting on the foster care paperwork wasn’t hers. She never wanted to be a foster parent in the first place.

  “Do you have any idea where he is now?” Sam asks.

  Denise shrugs. “He was fired from his job and is now working at some restaurant on the other side of town. The Burger Box, I think it’s called. I have his address around here somewhere,” she says, walking into the adjoining kitchen to get an address book. She writes something down on a yellow sticky note and hands it to me. “He’s probably living with one of the hookers he screwed around with. Oh yes, he did that, too.” She smirks at our stunned faces. “If I were you, I’d leave well enough alone and move on. Did you know he has a record? He can’t even hold down a regular job.” She huffs, scowling at the thought. I can’t stop my face from burning. It’s my fault he has a record, and for a weird, completely uncalled-for moment I actually feel guilty. I do not need to feel guilty about anything to do with Derrick Carter.

  “Thanks for the information,” Sam says, glancing at me with concern. She reaches over to squeeze my hand, which Denise sees and raises an eyebrow, clearly taking it the wrong way. Her head moves in a barely perceptible shake of disapproval. Obviously, nothing’s changed with Denise.

  “Liv, did you want to ask her anything else?” Sam asks.

  “No, that’s it,” I say, though I have a thousand questions. Not the least being why she allowed him to take me in if she knew he was a sleazebag in the first place.

  Sam and I stand and walk to the door, followed by Denise. I turn as we step outside. I don’t know what I expected. Definitely not a hug or anything, maybe just a sad look or a commiserating smile. But Denise has nothing but quiet disinterest on her face. It’s too much like the expression she had when she first opened the door to allow me into her home almost a year ago.

  “Take care of yourself,” she says, and I could be a pizza delivery girl for as much warmth as she puts into the words.

  “You, too,” I tell her. “I’m glad you’re doing okay. I’m glad you left him.”

  Her eyebrows twitch, and I swear the corners of her lips tug up slightly. She nods and closes the door.

  Sam breathes out loudly. “Damn. Still an Ice Queen. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” I’m not. Not really. But I don’t want to tell her that seeing Denise again released the demons in my head that I’d tried so hard to bury. It makes me childishly wish that if I had one superpower, I’d fly around rescuing all the kids in bad foster care situations.

  Sam and I look up Burger Box on our phones. It’s five o’clock, so the drive will be even longer across town. An incoming call rattles my phone. Shoot, it’s Grandfather.

  “Hi, Grandfather,” I answer casually.

  “Hello, sweetheart. When do you expect to be home?”

  “Sam and I are studying right now. I’ll text you and let you know when we’re done.”

  “Sam?”

  “I mean Emerson. Sorry, we’re in the middle of a history project. Did the PI find F
rank Jones?”

  “He’s sitting in front of his house right now. The neighbor said he was around earlier, so he probably just went out for a bit. Sounds like he’s still in Richmond, though. How about I come pick you up and we have an early dinner?”

  I swallow hard. “I can’t right now. But I’ll call you when I’m on my way home, okay?”

  “I’d really like to pick you up, just in case Frank decided to make another trip to Norfolk.”

  “It’s okay, really. I have to go. I’ll call you soon.”

  “But—”

  I hang up. “Worst granddaughter ever.”

  “What’s wrong?” Sam asks.

  “I absolutely hate lying. Hate it.”

  “Me, too.” I glance sharply at her—is she kidding me? “I’m serious,” she says. “I do a lot of things—steal, cheat, whatever. But not lie. Think about it. Didn’t I tell you when I was recruiting you that the company I worked at was going to offer you a job?”

  “Monroe Street wasn’t exactly a company, Sam.”

  “I didn’t say I don’t flex my truths a bit.”

  I glance at the clock on the dash. “I need to get back to Norfolk before my grandfather catches on. Let’s go.”

  It doesn’t take long to get to the Burger Box, and it’s not until I see the building in front of me and realize Derrick Carter might be inside that I start to panic. Sam touches my shoulder. “Do you want me to go scope it out?”

  I shake my head. I don’t want her to go in and be exposed to that creep. And I definitely don’t want to be sitting in Emerson’s nice car, in this bad part of town, waiting for Derrick to walk up and recognize me. Sam waits patiently for me to get my tongue working again.

  “Wait till he comes out.” I manage to say.

  “Are you sure? That could take forever.”

  I nod. I don’t care. I can’t go in and face him. He’d just lie, anyway, and then he’d be so mad we showed up here, jeopardizing his job, that he might try to kill me next time. Or even if he didn’t stalk me before, he might start.