Page 63 of The Wedding Party

“Rosewood is a resort-style rehabilitation facility. Heck, I went to one of those places after my ex-husband started seeing his secretary. I needed the emotional support. It’s not about drugs. And as the Phoenixes pointed out, this keeps you away from the press. As a bonus, it keeps you away from law enforcement. You’ll have a solid week of solitude while I work my magic on the outside.”

I’m about to ask why the Phoenixes would protect me if they want me arrested, but a cold sensation fills me with realization. “The will states that if I’m declared insane, or incapable of caring for myself, Oliver’s family will manage my money.” I shove a hand at her, pushing away the very idea. “I don’t want the money. They do. Just give them the money.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Danielle chides. “You’re not giving them the money. You need to pay for your defense.”

“How much money are we talking about?” my father asks.

“It’s a lot of money, Dad,” I say, and leave it at that, focused on Danielle. “The money makes me look guilty. I wanted him, not his money. I didn’t do this. Give them the money.”

Her refusal is instant. “No. And yes, before you even say it, I’m sure the Phoenixes plan to have someone in the facility rule you incompetent. But I have a plan to protect you. The most important thing right now is for you to meet with the psychologist Dr. Mendez has lined up. I’ll handle the rest. Agreed?”

“Do I really have a choice?” I ask.

“You always have a choice, honey,” Danielle says. “But this is what is best for you.” She eyes my parents. “Carrie and I need to talk one-on-one.”

“Can we have a moment with her, please?” my father asks.

“I’m fine, Dad,” I quickly say. “Let me do what I have to and then we can talk.”

He gives a stiff nod. My mother hugs me, scoffing at the cuff that restrains my movement before turning and presenting a plea to Danielle. “Can you do something about this?”

“Let’s not press Agent Castle until I have all the legwork in place,” Danielle replies. “Then we’ll get the cuff off.”

My mother’s expression twists in disapproval, but she nods her acceptance. She kisses me and then joins my father where he stands. He holds his ground, with no attempt to kiss me. I don’t want him to kiss me anyway, but I hate the jolt of emotions inside me that defies this truth.

“We’ll be close,” he says simply, before guiding my mother toward the exit.

Once the door opens and shuts and I’m alone with Danielle, she pins me in a stare. “You now have attorney/client privilege. Tell me what I’m dealing with. Did you kill Oliver?”

I go cold inside again, bitterly cold, so this time I’m withdrawn, a bit like I am forced to be in the ER at times. “I did not kill Oliver.” I enunciate the words precisely.

“Then tell me,” she says. “Who did?”

Chapter Fifty-Four

ANDI

I hang out in the waiting room of the hospital, where I’ve apparently taken up residence, while Carrie is evaluated, cramming down food one of the nurses brought me. I’m proving myself to be my father’s daughter by going all in, elbows deep in an egg salad sandwich, when Dr. Penny Norton, the psychologist doing the evaluation, appears in the doorway.

Wonderful. I look like a heathen, not that I really care. Impressing someone with my eating habits is not why I’m here. Catching killers is my game, and I play it well. I toss the last of the sandwich in the trash, clean up, and meet Dr. Norton in the middle of the room. She’s fortysomething, brunette, with soft features and a hard attitude.

“She’s traumatized,” she states, her voice stern. “Whatever happened in that room that forced her to hide in that attic has a strong hold on her.”

“‘Forced’ is a strong word,” I observe, sipping my Mr. Pibb all the way to the slurp-worthy bottom and with a purpose, as my father’s words play in my head: “If someone has a stick in their ass, stick it further on up there. It’ll get them to talk. Or not, and that tells you something about ’em, too.” My father can be crass, but if you look beneath the roughness, there’s a lot of working strategy to be had.

And as expected, Dr. Norton bristles. “Please,” she says. “Do you have to do that?”

I act completely baffled by her request. “Do what?”

“Slurp your drink.”

“I’m a real big advocate of no waste,” I say. “And time lost is waste. I feel like that’s where we’re going.”

She ignores that comment and circles back to the prior topic. “I chose a strong word, Agent Castle, as is appropriate. Carrie’s suppressing the events of last night to protect herself from the extreme duress, which is not uncommon. The mind is a miraculous thing.”

“So her mind is coddling her,” I follow along, adding my own observation. “I thought that was her mother?”

She charges onward to defend her position. “I could list study after study that supports Carrie’s mental impairment.”