Page 17 of Wicked Little Secret
“You’ll find nothing’s off limits, Miss Oliver. Not in this world,” he says, his voice thicker. “My advice? Avoid him if you can but make sure to go for the knee-to-the-groin move if you have to. It’s an oldie but goodie.”
It’s the end of our little moment as he grips the door handles and pushes open the French doors, stepping out onto the terrace.
I’m still warm seconds after he’s left my side. Sips from my sparkling water don’t help. Neither does taking in a couple fresh breaths.
Professor Adler simply has a visceral effect on me.
Around him, I’m no better than a silly schoolgirl with a crush.
Eventually, I make my way from the parlor, preparing to leave the funeral service altogether since I can’t find Heather anywhere and no one else has seen her either. I set down my empty glass once filled with sparkling water on a credenza table and start down the entrance hall.
“Nyssa… hic… Nyssa… that you, darling?”
I place the slurred words immediately.
Mrs. Driscoll’s calling out to me from the ajar door that’s a guest bathroom. Any fuzzy feelings about ProfessorAdler fade away for the determination I have any other time. This could be a moment used to my advantage…
“Yes, Mrs. Driscoll?” I poke my head through the door.
She’s collapsed on the floor with a wine bottle, her dress ridden up. The toilet’s filled with red-tinted bile that emits a foul sour stench in the small room.
“I… don’t…” she slurs from the floor. “The wine… might’ve had…”
She can’t even complete a sentence.
Holly Driscoll is a pathetic lush who can’t even speak or stand. I’d feel sorry for her if she weren’t everything wrong with this community personified. If she hadn’t stabbed Mom in the back so many years ago…
“Mrs. Driscoll, you need help,” I say, stepping into the room. I snap shut the door for discretion and kneel at her side. “How about we get you some water and take you upstairs?”
“My… my… hic… the others…”
“They won’t have to know. No one will.”
The first thing I do when I make it home is kick off my heels and hug and snuggle Peaches. My ginger girl purrs softly from within my arms and paws gently at my cheek in her own version of stroking my face.
The second thing I do when I make it home is dig out my Composition Notebook from under the mattress of my bed and turn to the correct page. My pen drifts down the lined page filled with a dozen plus names listed, then I cross off the latest update.
Kane Driscoll
Holly Bunton Driscoll
Heather Driscoll
Right below her husband but right above her stepdaughter, Heather.
The progress fills me with satisfaction. Their community is imploding with barely a nudge from me. They’re destroying themselves and barely even recognize that they are.
Mom calls as if sensing the update. “Baby girl, how’d it go?”
“Surprisingly better than I thought.”
“Love to hear it. Anything new?”
I’m pressing the phone into my ear as I wander into my kitchen in only my bra and panties. “You were right about Holly Driscoll. She’s a mess.”
“Always has been. Always will be.”
“Something tells me she’ll be getting the help she needs.”