It took me a second to get my bearings after that revelation. There had been rumors of affairs, but not with Quint.
Oliver smiled wryly. “Don’t look surprised. Jessica got around, everybody knows that. And Quint hates Portia. Everybody knows that too. He can’t divorce her, though, or she’ll find out how much he’s ransacked their savings. And she can’t divorce him because that pre-nup she signed puts her on the streets wearing a paper bag, so they’re stuck with each other. Some days I think the only reason they get up in the morning is so they can hate each other even more.” He fished another cigarette from the pack with trembling fingers. “But killing Jessica got Quint’s attention, let me tell you. He straightened up and flew right after that. For a while.”
Outside I heard the lawnmower approaching. Oliver jerked, almost dropping his cigarette. He was on edge. So was Trey. But Trey was handling the interview, edging it closer to interrogation with every question out of his mouth. The mystery of who killed Jessica Talbot was being revealed right in front of him, piece by dirty piece. The emotional wallop must have been seismic.
“Did Nick know about the affair?” he said.
“No. I doubt he would have cared regardless. He was obsessed with Addison, still is. But if he knew why Jessica was killed…I don’t know what he would do. I wasn’t joking about his mental instability.” Oliver fired up his lighter, cupped his hands around the fresh cigarette. “Quint didn’t want Nicky to know that the same people who killed Jessica were also responsible for the bullet that almost killed him.”
Trey glared. “That’s why Quint has refused to go the authorities.”
“The police would have discovered everything. Quint decided the best place for Nicky was the institution. No one could get him there.”
I felt a flare of anger, and the words spilled out before I could stop them. “The missing cameras. Quint took them, not the Buckwild people. He needed to discredit Nick’s story, but those cameras proved that there really was a shot.”
Oliver stared at the burning tip of the cigarette. “Yes. So he hauled them to my place and bashed them to rubble with a baseball bat. Then he left the mess for me to clean up, the detestable bastard.”
“Is that what you and Quint were arguing about that night? At the Talbot house?”
“That was one thing. I was also very unhappy about Nick’s accident.” He looked down at his hands. “Quint used one of Portia’s herbal concoctions to drug Nicky. I’d told him this was a terrible idea, but—”
“He tried to kill his own brother?”
“Kill him?” Oliver looked at me in horror. “Of course not! He didn’t know Nicky would be driving that night. Addison always drove. No, he only wanted Nicky back in the institution, where he’d be safe.”
“He let his own brother think he was crazy—”
“Nicky is crazy! He needs to be institutionalized!”
“Which would conveniently allow Quint to retain control of his brother’s assets.”
Oliver shook his head. “There aren’t any assets, not anymore. But it would prevent anyone from discovering that unfortunate fact. All we had to do was postpone the conservatorship transfer and keep Portia through next season, and Moonshine would have filled the coffers and nobody would have been the wiser.” His eyes hardened. “Can we move to the part where I get protection now?”
I ignored his question. “What about the barn? Another scheme to make Nick look crazy?”
Oliver didn’t deny it. “Yes.”
“You left his cigarette butts to implicate him.”
“Quint’s idea. The acetone too. I was supposed to say that I saw Nicky hanging around there, but…” He closed his eyes. “I’d decided I’d had enough. I was leaving this fiasco and heading back to the city and then…hell, who knows what. I’m not constitutionally suited to go on the lam. But then those criminals came rolling up, and I had to shelter in the goddamn woods.”
“You left the barn door open. Why?”
“So the animals could escape. Why else?” He gave a rueful smile. “Remember that when there comes a recitation of my crimes and sins. I may have burned down a barn, but I couldn’t incinerate an innocent pony.”
I didn’t tell him his attempt had failed. Trey didn’t either. Instead, he motioned for me to follow him into the bathroom out of Oliver’s earshot. I did, positioning myself so that I could keep an eye on Oliver. He had resigned himself to our custody, it seemed. He sat on the edge of the armchair, legs crossed, staring out a window that had all the blinds drawn.
Trey got Jonathon on the radio. “Get Quint and Portia and put them in the check-in station. Keep them separate and do not let them leave until the authorities arrive. There have been developments. Restrain them if you must. Also, there is a group of men, three investors—”
“They’re gone, sir. They left last night, right before the altercation in the parking lot.”
Trey closed his eyes and rubbed his temple. “Unsurprising. How many guests remain?”
“Very few, sir.”
“Good. Lock the valet podium in the office. If anyone else wants to leave, hand deliver the keys and check IDs. But first, find Quint and Portia. They are your priority, and may be targets themselves, so adjust the protocol accordingly.”
Jonathon replied in the affirmative and signed off. Trey stood still, brow furrowed. Even if he didn’t have his cranial lie detector, he had an instinct for truth. And Oliver’s story was adding up in some places, but jarring in others.
“You’re thinking the same thing I’m thinking,” I said. “That bullet wasn’t meant for Nick, it was meant for Quint. And Quint knows it.”
“It’s a valid theory. The shot was fired as Nick approached the pool. He was in darkness until that moment, but the shooter didn’t wait for clear ID because there wasn’t supposed to be anyone else at the house.”
“Because the shooter knew Quint was there, but not Nick.”
“Correct. In the shadows, they looked alike.”
“Which explains
