Nightingale - (Bigtime #4) Page 0,1

your big night—the only engagement party you’re ever going to have.”

Probably.

“If you say so, Abby.”

I checked my watch. Six minutes, thirty seconds. “I say so. Now take the pill.” I pulled out a small bottle of water from the side of my vest and handed it to her. Olivia swallowed the pill, washing it down with the water.

Really, the pill wasn’t all that potent, only having the effect of one good, stiff drink, but just the act of taking it helped most people, including Olivia.

Her tight face relaxed, and her brown eyes softened. The nervous edge melted away. She’d be all right now.

I gave it another thirty seconds just to be on the safe side, then moved toward the door. “Are you ready? Paul is waiting for you.” Olivia stood, smoothing the wrinkles out of her dress. “I’m ready.”

I opened the door.

Octavia O’Hara, Olivia’s sister, paced outside, while Olivia’s fiancé, Paul Potter, slouched in a chair. With black hair, deep brown eyes, and crimson lips, Octavia was a slightly older, sultrier version of her sister. Paul wore square glasses, and his pale, thinning, blond hair flopped over his forehead, no matter how many times he pushed it off his face.

“Is she okay?” Octavia asked. “Has she finally decided to come out? Or do I need to remind her how much money we’ve spent on this?” I nodded. “Olivia’s fine now. She just needed someone to calm her down. You know how jittery brides-to-be can be.” Well, she probably didn’t. Octavia ran Oomph and was one of the most respected busi-nesswomen in the city. I’d never seen her get jittery, nervous, or upset about anything, even when her father, Otto, died last year in a boating accident on Bigtime Bay. I’d planned his funeral, and Octavia had been the proverbial rock. I hadn’t even seen her cry—not once. Olivia, on the other hand, had been a hysterical, weeping basket case.

Octavia nodded. “Thank you, Abby. I’m glad you were able to get the door open and we didn’t have to resort to more extreme measures.” I gave her a modest smile. “That’s what I’m here for. To see to these little crises.” Olivia had only locked the door. All I had to do was dig through my vest pockets until I found the master key to the convention center, which I kept handy for just such emergencies. If Olivia had done something more difficult, like move a dresser in front of the door, I would have had to get some of the custodians to help me break it down, creating another headache. Morris Muzicale, the director of the Bigtime Symphony Orchestra, hated it when I broke something in his auditorium.

Olivia stepped into the hallway, fiddling with her engagement ring. Octavia hurried to her sister’s side, and I was immediately forgotten, as usual.

I checked my watch again. Four minutes, three seconds.

I looked over at Paul. “Are you ready? It’s almost time.”

Paul continued to slump in the chair, staring at nothing in particular. I had to repeat myself, putting more bite into my words, before he looked at me, sighed, and heaved himself to his feet.

Octavia kissed her sister’s cheek, smoothed back Olivia’s hair, and murmured into her ear.

“What were you thinking? Pull yourself together.

Right now.”

Though she spoke in a harsh whisper, I heard Octavia loud and clear, thanks to my superhearing.

“It will all be over soon,” Octavia continued, “and you can go back to your incessant shopping and partying and pretend like everything is fine.”

Olivia dropped her gaze and didn’t look at Octavia.

Those weren’t the kindest or most reassur-ing words to say to your sister, but who was I to judge? I’d learned a long time ago that spouting sunshine rarely got the job done. This wasn’t the first dysfunctional family dynamic I’d seen, and it wouldn’t be the last. This whole incident was rather tame in comparison to some of the things I’d witnessed. Bitch slaps, hair pulling, stabbings, the occasional shooting. I even had one bride take a hot curling iron to her mother’s face because she found mommy dearest screwing her intended. Yeah, the O’Haras ranked pretty low on the Richter scale when it came to family feuds.

Octavia patted Olivia’s cheek and stepped aside, so Paul could squeeze into the picture. He offered Olivia his arm. She gave him an uncertain smile and took it, her brown eyes a bit glassy. Olivia was feeling no pain now. Ah, relaxidon, the anti-anxiety wonder drug.

I pulled my cell phone out from another