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Aaron takes her hand and caresses her knuckles. “It’s late, Holly. You’re traumatized. Stay here tonight. Tomorrow, everything will be clearer.”
She squeezes his hand. “I’m not going anywhere. I want to be with you tonight.”
Her loving stare accentuates the gold flecks of her irises, and he smiles. “Good.”
She lets go of his hand. “But tomorrow, I’m going to go speak to the police.”
He fights off a sigh. Oh, my love, will you ever learn to leave well enough alone?
CHAPTER 32
Friday, April 19
Holly wakes up early and slips out of bed, grateful that Aaron is such a heavy sleeper. Her mind is made up, and she doesn’t want to give him an opportunity to change it. She grabs her clothes and steals downstairs, hoping that Graham isn’t lying in wait for her again.
All is quiet on the main floor, and she’s relieved to make it out to her car without incident.
Though Holly has begun to question her own judgment of late, she recognizes that she desperately needs distraction. Something to shield herself from any more guilt or self-blame—and sadness—over two lives cut brutally short. Such a waste.
Holly is also desperate to regain some control. For too long now, she has merely reacted to each mounting catastrophe without a plan or strategy. She needs to follow the advice she would give any of her clients in a similar predicament: Be proactive. Advocate for yourself.
As soon as she gets into her car, Holly calls the Newport Beach Police. Once she explains who she is and how she’s connected to the victim, she gets an appointment straightaway for an interview with the detective attached to JJ’s case.
Within minutes of checking in at the Newport Beach police station’s main desk, Holly is greeted by a thirtyish Black man in a well-cut gray suit who introduces himself as Detective Rivers and leads her into a small interview room. Having lived in Southern California for her whole life, Holly is used to meeting aspiring models and actors who work in the service industry. She almost expects to be served by gorgeous baristas and servers. But not cops. With piercing almond-brown eyes, chiseled cheeks, and flawless complexion, Detective Rivers is distractingly good-looking. She also can’t help noticing that he doesn’t wear a wedding band.
He leans an elbow on the desk that separates them as he scribbles in a notebook. “How long were you Ms. Jang’s psychiatrist, Dr. Danvers?”
“A little over three months,” Holly says. “But that’s not how I would’ve described our professional relationship.”
“You’re not a psychiatrist?”
“I am, yes.” Holly hesitates, still not entirely comfortable where to draw the lines of patient-therapist confidentiality when it comes to the dead. “But with JJ—Ms. Jang—I was treating her specifically for addiction.”
“Addiction to?”
She hesitates. “Alcohol.”
As the detective jots down another note, Holly notices that his expensive-looking pen is the same color as his suit.
“But JJ had been sober for the past two months,” she adds.
His pen stills. “Sober? Are you sure?”
“Yes. Why?”
“We won’t have the toxicology report back for a few days, but we found two empty bottles on her kitchen counter. One vodka, the other wine.”
The words hit her like a slap. “JJ was drinking again?”
“We can’t know for sure without blood tests,” he says, though his eyes show little doubt.
Holly feels ashamed—as if she had failed JJ, as if she were the one who had downed the bottles—but refuses to let it deter her. “Are you certain she jumped, Detective?”
“No. I’m not certain of anything yet. Why do you ask, Dr. Danvers?”
“I just… Did she happen to leave a suicide note?”
“No. But more often than not, victims don’t. Especially when alcohol is involved.” Rivers lifts his pen off the page. “I don’t need to tell you, Dr. Danvers, that suicide tends to be a more impulsive decision among the intoxicated.”
