Page 52 of The Wedding Party

He groans. “Of course it is. Carrie Reynolds killed him.”

“You have your opinion, and that’s all it is until we have facts. I’ll reserve mine until those facts arrive.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“My father said the same to me when I was fifteen,” I tell him. “We were sitting at the kitchen table, eating pizza, going through one of his case files for a double homicide when I—”

“Holy mother of God. Your father let you look at a double homicide file?”

“I had a regular Beaver Cleaver kind of family life, but aside from that, my point. I’d just told him he was screwing up his facts.”

“I hear he doesn’t like to be told he’s a screwup. Did he beat your ass?”

“He only beats asses of criminals, and assholes,” I assure him and quickly add, “Not that I’m defending him. I’m not.”

“Good thing,” he says. “From what I hear, he’s a real bull in a china shop, and everything gets broken.”

Protectiveness bristles. That’s the thing about me and my father. I have a lot of feelings where he’s concerned, too many feelings. Sometimes I want to punch him, but I don’t because I’m not him. But damn it, he’s my dad. No one else can punch him, either, literally or figuratively.

I bite back an improper response and say, “Right. Well, the story has a point. He’d assumed the teenage son innocent of the crime of killing his parents, but as I told him, he was assuming kids think like adults, and they do not. Which of course, I knew, because I wasn’t an adult. And I’d been right. The teenage son had been the killer.”

York smirks and sips his coffee. “And he told everyone he solved the case, I bet.”

“He solved the case. I just gave him an idea. But no, he didn’t take credit for it. He, in fact, told everybody I’d solved the case and bought me a Beretta I couldn’t even hold in my hand to celebrate, but again, we’re off track. Finally, to my point, everything isn’t always as it seems. I know you know this, but your eagerness to solve the case is getting in your way.” Otherwise known as retirement fog, I think, before I add, “We can’t be sure Carrie Reynolds did this. Not yet.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters.

Again with this, I think and say, “‘You can’t be serious’ means the same as ‘you’ve got to be kidding me.’ You know that, right? And the answer is yes, I’m serious, and no, I’m not kidding.”

“She was covered in his blood.”

“Her stomach was sliced and she was hiding, afraid for her life.”

“Is that what you really believe?” he challenges.

“Is that the only way you can counter what I just said? Because that’s what her attorney is going to tell the DA and a jury if it gets that far.”

York grimaces. “Point made. There are no shortcuts.”

Right, I think. Point made. And don’t be throwing punches at Eddie Castle.

My dad.

Chapter Forty-Four

York’s phone buzzes with a text, and he glances at the message and sighs. “Someone needs me. The story of my life. I cannot wait for sandy beaches and no one but my wife making demands. And she will make demands, but soon my hearing will go. I’m sure of it.”

I manage a laugh because, you know, I don’t hold a grudge, though Eddie Castle would. But I’m also not sorry when York pushes to his feet and heads to the door. He exits the room and I’ve already moved on. I’m about to begin my next interview when my cellphone rings. I glance at the caller ID to find my tech lead, Hazel—otherwise known as “the supreme master of the internet”—calling. Hazel is petite, with a giant attitude, an Asian mom, and a Russian father. It’s a combination that delivers a whole lot of attitude and sass in three languages.

For now, she smacks gum in my ear and greets me with, “Hello, Agent Castle. Beat any asses today?”

Of course, she knows I hate the reference to my father, which is why I say, “No, but if you were here, that might change.”

She snorts. “Whatever. You ain’t your father. He’s more, shall we say, colorful than you are. He reminds me of a guy I dated. He was such a rebel he wouldn’t even put the toilet paper on the holder. I bet your daddy shreds it before he uses it.”

“Actually, he doesn’t shred it or put it on the holder at all. I grew up with him, remember? And it has to be the softest kind they make because his ass is delicate.” With that, I move on. “Outside of discussing my father’s toilet paper habits, what else have you got for me?”

She laughs. “God, I love your attitude about your father, but I actually called with that info you wanted.” She gets right to the point. “Carrie was adopted when she was two.”