Page 73 of The Wedding Party

“So you weren’t fighting over Brody?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Were you fighting at all?”

“I don’t have any idea what we would fight about,” she states, an evasive answer I don’t miss, but I can’t risk pushing the point and her clamming up on me. Not now, not this talk.

“Did you kill Oliver?” I ask, looking for a reaction.

“No. God, no,” she says again. “I loved him. I loved him so very much.” Her voice hitches. “I will do anything to help you catch the real killer. Anything.”

“Tell me about the box he received.”

Surprise flickers in her eyes and then interest. She leans forward. “Who told you about it?”

“Tell me about the box,” I counter.

“Do you know who sent it?” she pressed.

“Do you?”

“No,” she says easily. “Oliver said a groomsman sent it and that it was a crass gift that would make me hate that person. He didn’t want me to see it or know who sent it. I pushed. He was weird about it.”

“Weird how?” I ask.

“Secretive. He even went into his home office and locked the door. That was not normal at all.”

“Who did you think sent it?”

“Honestly, I got insecure. I thought he was cheating, but I went to his office when he was working late and surprised him with dinner. He was so happy to see me, and I just decided I was being that old insecure me.”

“Why are you insecure?”

“The curse of being an adopted child,” she says. “There’s always a little part of me that doesn’t belong. Oliver knew that. He really knew how to make me feel like I was where I belonged. And that was with him.”

Ms. Littleton appears in the doorway with a huge wet spot on her pants. “Tell me you aren’t talking.”

I take a bite of my Snickers.

Brody appears in the entryway, a smirk of satisfaction on his face. I don’t know what to make of him, but he and Carrie have a past. And he just keeps showing up in all the right places at the wrong time. Including the party, it seems.

Chapter Sixty-Three

My version of a chat is not the same as Eddie Castle’s, but it’s certainly more than ruminating about the weather. Despite lifting off a full two hours later than expected, there is never another opportunity to “chat” with Carrie. I do use my time wisely by allowing York to babysit Carrie and Ms. Littleton while I step into the outer waiting area and instruct my team to do some extra digging on Mr. “I’m your Huckleberry” Brody.

Once we’re finally cleared to take off, York is more than eager to wish me a farewell. He’s off and then we’re off. It’s a fast thirty-five-minute trip home, and we land at a small airstrip in Denver, where, thanks to my prior planning with Aiden, one of our field office agents, Marcus Lowry, is waiting on us. Marcus is a big, bald Black man who’s mastered a stone face that reads more like an assassin than an FBI agent. In true form, he offers that expression up today and intimidates Ms. Littleton into silence. I gotta love Lowry. I really, really do. Unfortunately, Brody isn’t quite as taken aback by Marcus, greeting him with, “Beast Master. You’re a weapon of mass destruction.”

He’s not wrong. Marcus really is a beast, and big isn’t just big; it’s really big. As in he likes the gym more than pizza. He’s a little crazy like that. He also ignores Brody, eyes me, and then motions the group of us—me, Carrie, and Ms. Littleton—toward a black SUV. We leave Brody in front of our arrival terminal.

But I’ll be seeing him again soon. I have questions for him.

Once Carrie and Ms. Littleton are loaded inside the car but we aren’t, Lowry makes his critical observation. “You’re really bad at taking time off. No wonder you have a shit love life,” he says as he throws all the bags in the trunk.

My love life, or lack thereof, gets far more attention than it should.

“Everyone isn’t as lucky as you, Lowry,” I say, referencing his wife and two adorable kids. He loves his family. He’d kill for his family. I’m not jealous. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love, and so does my father.

The ride to the treatment facility is short, and the silence is broken by Ms. Littleton chattering on the phone about some other case. I get the feeling she’s discouraging our conversations, which is fine by me. Carrie and I will talk again, and the next time will be on my terms. In the meantime, Whit keeps texting me and I keep ignoring him.