Butterfly Cove by Christina Skye Page B

investigator.”
    “To find what? My father wasn’t a criminal. He was the mayor for two terms. His real estate business was in solid shape and he paid all his bills on time. What would an investigator do to help me?”
    “An investigator might find details of accounts that we cannot trace. He might locate the transfer and/or sale of any items that are missing. He might determine business partners that your father never mentioned or other people who had access to your father’s account. As I understand it, your father was fairly disorganized at the end of his life. His records appear to be incomplete.”
    Disorganized? Olivia knew now that her father had been in the early stages of dementia. He had good days that could fool her and all his friends, but in the end his decline had come with shocking speed. If only he had asked Olivia for help...
    But of course that was out of the question. Sawyer Sullivan would never stoop to ask for help from his daughter.
    Olivia refocused her thoughts with an effort. “So how much money is left?”
    The lawyer cleared his throat again. “There is one account. Its balance is thirty-four dollars.”
    “That’s all? Everything else is...gone?”
    “I’m afraid so.”
    “This won’t even pay your own bill.” Olivia felt angry. Even worse, she felt helpless. “Thank you for your help. I will pay your bill in installments, if that is acceptable. As you know, my finances are very thin right now,” she said stiffly.
    “I’m certain we can work out a delayed-payment plan. I’ll have someone from our accounting department call you.”
    Olivia’s face reddened. She hated to be in anyone’s debt. Growing up, she had always known her father was highly respected, a key figure in Summer Island’s hierarchy. No important decision was made on Summer Island without his participation.
    How had he left her this kind of financial disaster?
    She hung up and then said nothing, crossing to pour herself a glass of water. Leaning against the counter, she drank it slowly.
    “You look white, Livie. What is it?”
    “Nothing. Everything’s fine.” But the words came as a rush, too fast and too flat. Olivia looked through the window, watching the flow of cars and bikes and kids and families headed to the Harvest Fair.
    In the distance she could see blue cruisers pull into the police station and wondered if Rafe was driving one of them.
    “Now try telling me the truth,” Jilly said quietly.
    “Okay. You may as well know. I didn’t get a vacation—I was fired.” Tears backed up, burning her eyes. “And now I find my father took all his money and most of mine, but we can’t find any of the accounts. So I’m broke.” Olivia closed her eyes, fighting her embarrassment and anger, but somehow relieved to share the truth with her friend. “Everything is gone. All except for thirty-four dollars.”
    Jilly just stared at her in shock. “That’s all?”
    “Afraid so. Aren’t you going to tell me it was my bad management or my decadent lifestyle?” Olivia gave a hoarse laugh. “I guess it was all those trips I made to Ibiza and Monte Carlo and that month I spent in Paris.”
    Except Olivia had done none of those things. She had never taken a break beyond a long-dreamed of trip to Italy. Beyond that, her life had been pure work. Architecture school. Internship and then two high-pressure jobs in Oregon. She had loved architecture—right up to the day she had been fired without preamble or explanation.
    She didn’t regret the long years of graduate study and the internships, but she hated that she couldn’t pull her weight now, when the Harbor House was so close to opening.
    “Livie, I don’t understand. We all assumed that you and your father were in good financial shape. I mean, this house has to be worth a lot. And he always had great cars. Everything new for Sawyer Sullivan.”
    Olivia gave a grim laugh. “Yes, he always loved a grand lifestyle. And the house should be worth a good