Page 72 of The Wedding Party

“Stop. If you have some vigilante idea about getting back at Carrie—”

“I’m not Eddie Castle,” he comments, and when my jaw clenches, he says, “I can google. I know who you are. Do I want to make her uncomfortable? Sure. I’ll enjoy that. She cheated on him and killed him.”

“We don’t know that.”

“I do,” he says. “And she’s in cuffs. Obviously, you know something or you wouldn’t be arresting her.”

“We’re escorting her to the hospital, not arresting her,” I counter. “Once we’ve formally questioned her and examined the evidence, we’ll make that decision.”

“I get it now. That bitch of an attorney of hers isn’t letting you question her and now they’re stashing her away in a hospital. Fuck.” He scrubs his jaw. “Am I allowed to ride with you?”

I should say no, but I’m interested in how Carrie reacts to stress. “If you behave.”

He grins. “Behave is almost my middle name. Sometimes. Almost never, but today it’s my almost middle name. As a bonus, I’ll be useful. You want to talk to her. Don’t you worry, I’ll make it happen. I’m your Huckleberry.”

He starts to turn and I say, “Stop.”

He doesn’t listen. He walks back to the break room.

I sigh and follow him, ready to go kick him to the curb. I find him at the coffeepot, pouring himself a cup. York arches a brow, and Carrie’s attention is on me. “He’s staying?” she demands.

“Once we’re in the air, he won’t be able to run his big mouth,” I say.

“My mouth is far more popular than any of you give credit,” Brody chimes in.

Ms. Littleton stands up. “Can we talk, Agent Castle?”

York, proving he’s smarter than the average bear, stands up. “I’m the local lead. You can talk to me.” He motions to the door.

Brody sits down at Carrie and Ms. Littleton’s table. “If you want to leave her with me and Agent Castle, that is.”

“This is harassment,” Ms. Littleton complains.

Brody pats the table. “I promise to be gentle. Sit.” He eyes Carrie and adds, “Tell her I’m gentle.”

I expect Carrie to react with a push of some sort, but she doesn’t. She just looks at him, her expression unreadable. I walk to the machine again and grab another Snickers, irritated at myself for wasting the last one. By the time I’m sitting, so is Ms. Littleton, and I have just enough time to take a bite before Brody has spilled his coffee in her lap.

She jumps to her feet, yelping, and snaps at Brody. “You fool!”

“Holy balls,” Brody exclaims, standing as well. “Let me get you some paper towels.”

“I have to go to the bathroom,” she says, eyeing Carrie. “Don’t speak to anyone,” she orders, before pointing at me. “She has a right to counsel.” With that, she walks around the table toward the door.

“I’ll help,” Brody offers, and he’s gone, on her heels, but not before tossing me a quick wink and motioning to the front of his I’M YOUR HUCKLEBERRY shirt.

York follows in their wake, giving me and Carrie one-on-one time.

I don’t get up. I don’t move to her table. I just sit there and take another bite of my Snickers. Carrie said she wants to talk. Let’s see if she does. And true to her word, she doesn’t make me work for what comes next.

“Yes, I slept with Brody,” she says, “but I had no idea who he was at the time. And Oliver and I were new and on a break. It was just before we got really serious. I was shocked to discover he was a friend of Oliver’s.”

The story matches what Brody told me, and I don’t have time to press for many more details. I home in on what might be important. “Did Oliver ever find out?”

“No,” she says tightly. “God, no. It would have devastated him.”

“Could Brody have told him?” I ask.

“I’d have known,” she insists. “Oliver would never have been able to hide that kind of hurt from me.”