Read Online Unspeakable by Kevin O'Brien - Free Book Online Page A

khaki shorts and red polo shirt. He had a healthy tan and his dark blond hair was sun-kissed flaxen. “Can I get you anything?”
    â€œNo, thanks,” she said, working up a smile. “How long have you been here?”
    â€œAbout forty-five minutes.” He turned to look up at the TV. “Who’s winning?”
    â€œI have no idea.” She didn’t even know who was playing.
    He swiped his cap off the chair and sat down. “Feeling a little better?”
    She just nodded.
    â€œWell, the home phone was ringing off the hook today,” he said, taking a swig of his Frappuccino. “Liz Noll called this morning from Seattle. She and Tom send their love. Also your friend, Nancy—um, Nancy What’sher-name from your old job with Group Health . . .”
    â€œNancy Abbe,” Olivia said.
    He nodded. “I gave her your number here. Also Margaret and Bev left messages.”
    Olivia nodded again. “That’s sweet.” Margaret and Bev were work friends—and for just a second, Olivia wondered why Winnie hadn’t called, too.
    Then she remembered, and her shoulder started to hurt again.
    â€œYou sure I can’t get you anything?” Clay asked.
    â€œNo, thanks, honey.” She looked toward the window and sighed. “I—I keep thinking ‘what if?’ I mean, if I’d stayed with Layne, maybe I could have stopped him somehow.”
    â€œAnd maybe he would have shot you dead—and then shot a lot more people on your floor before killing himself. We’ve been through this before, sweetheart. No one blames you. You want to blame anyone? Blame him—or maybe blame the douche bag who sold a gun to a crazy person.” He set down his Frappuccino. “I mean, hell, didn’t the guy have a record?”
    Before she could answer, the telephone on her nightstand rang.
    â€œStay put. I’ll grab it,” Clay said, getting to his feet. He snatched up the receiver. “Hello? Who ?” He covered the mouthpiece and looked at her with one eyebrow raised. “You want to talk to a Debi Donahue?”
    Debi was another coworker. It had been Debi’s voice Olivia had heard in the corridor just as she’d blacked out.
    â€œOf course, I’ll talk to her,” Olivia said, reaching out with her good hand. “You know who Debi is, silly. She was the first one on the scene. It was in all the news stories, honey. . . .”
    Clay shrugged apologetically. “Hi, yeah,” he said into the phone. “You can put her through.” He handed Olivia the receiver.
    Olivia sat up a little. “Hello, Debi?” she said into the phone.
    There was silence. She wondered if the operator had lost the connection.
    â€œDeb?”
    â€œIs this Olivia Barker Bischoff?” asked the woman on the other end of the line. It wasn’t Debi’s voice.
    â€œYes. Who is this?”
    â€œYou evil bitch,” the woman whispered.
    â€œWhat?” It suddenly occurred to Olivia that anyone could have gotten Debi’s name out of the newspaper. “Who is this?”
    â€œLayne was fine until you started in on him with all your analyzing and headshrinking. You caused it. You’re going to pay for what you did to my son. . . .”
    â€œWhat’s going on?” Clay asked. “Honey, are you okay? Who is it?”
    Olivia listened to the line go dead.
    Clay grabbed the phone from her. “Hello? Who’s there? Goddamn it, who is this?”
    Olivia turned her head away from him and started to cry.
    She didn’t think the pain in her shoulder would ever go away.

C HAPTER F OUR
    Poulsbo, Washington—Tuesday, July 24, 11:25 a.m.
    â€œH oney, are you going out?”
    Collin hesitated by the door leading out to the garage. He glanced back at his grandmother at the breakfast table in their gourmet kitchen. At sixty-seven, she still had a buxom figure and a pale, creamy complexion—though,