Finley was next to her now. “You didn’t mean to do it,” she assured the younger woman as she reached for her arm. “It was a mistake.”
Cecelia nodded. The hand with the gun fell to her side. “If Olivia hadn’t come back, she would still be living happily in California and no one would know.” She smiled sadly. “But she wouldn’t go away until she showed everyone what I had done.”
“Olivia doesn’t have to come back anymore,” Finley promised her. She reached for the gun. “We don’t need this anymore.”
When Cecelia didn’t resist and Finley had the gun in her hand, relief gushed through her, weakening her knees.
Cherry collapsed against the wall. “Jesus Christ, I thought I was dead.”
Cecelia reached down and picked up the blonde wig from the floor, then tugged it on. “Can I go home now? I’m very tired.”
Finley tucked the gun into her waistband. “Sure.” She pulled Olivia close to her. “Let’s get out of here.”
The corridors seemed twice as long as they had been when Finley passed through them coming in. Her lungs felt as if she couldn’t get enough air. Claustrophobia, she decided. This place would make anyone uncomfortable.
Cherry trailed after them, sobbing softly.
Olivia leaned close, pressing her forehead against Finley’s temple. “Don’t trust her,” she murmured.
Finley glanced back. Cherry trudged along, head hung low, arms hugged around herself.
“Okay,” she whispered back to Olivia.
“I told Cecelia over and over that it wasn’t me. It was someone else she saw.”
The words were spoken so quietly Finley barely comprehended what she was saying. She nodded, the other woman’s head still nudged against hers.
“That was the night Mother went to one of her charity auctions and I sneaked out to Paradise because Cecelia was home sick. I wasn’t even home when my father disappeared. Cecelia was the only one there.”
Finley’s heart started that rapid staccato again. She reminded herself she couldn’t trust anything this woman was saying. Hell, she couldn’t even be sure who she was. But she could listen, and she could prompt her to keep talking.
“You think Cecelia killed him?”
Olivia paused, turned her gaze to Finley’s, their faces almost touching. “How could she kill him and be watching at the same time?”
Valid point. Finley ushered her forward, hoped she would keep talking. “But if it wasn’t you . . . ,” Finley murmured, leaving the suggestion hanging.
Olivia paused again, stared directly into Finley’s eyes. “It was someone who looked like me.”
“Why are you just standing there?” Cherry snapped. “We have to get out of here. I want to get home to my son.”
Cold seeped into Finley’s skin. She turned to the other woman. “Sorry. Olivia needed a break.”
Cherry stared at her, shook her head. “How the fuck do you know which one she is?” She shuddered, more tears spilling down her cheeks. “Please just get us out of here.”
A new possibility building inside Finley, she urged Olivia forward once more. They reached the final corridor that would lead to the stairs, and Olivia suddenly removed the wig and tossed it on the floor. She pulled free of Finley and turned to Cherry.
“It was you.” The accusation echoed in the long corridor.
Finley readied to make a move to stop whatever was about to happen.
Cherry drew up short. Looked from Olivia to Finley. “What the hell is she talking about?”
Finley thought of how badly Cherry had needed to escape Lance’s obsession. How she’d disappeared . . .
Was she the woman who had visited Holmes every month? Her long-lost brother. The realization swept through Finley’s veins like a fire tearing through dry woods.
“I thought it was my sister,” Cecelia said, taking another step toward Cherry. “But it was you. I only saw you from behind. I was several yards away . . . I just assumed since it was our garage . . . our home . . .” Cecelia moved her head side to side. “I was wrong. It was you.”
“She really is insane.” Cherry threw up her hands and backed away. “I’m not having this conversation.”
Finley thought of the photo of Cherry all hugged up with Charles Holmes. Olivia had said Cherry hung out with Charlie—like an old married couple . . . people who had a connection. Holy shit.
“How did Charlie figure out you were his sister?” Finley asked, sidestepping to put herself in front of Cecelia. “Had you figured it out, or did he?”