Page 83 of The Wedding Party

“Are the lockboxes at the bank key operated? Or do they use a combination?”

“I think most safe-deposit boxes are double keyed for safety, but I can’t be sure. I keep my valuables in a safe.”

“All right. Thanks. Oh, just one more thing. How was Oliver that night? What was his mood?”

“A little off because of the Brody thing, but after they talked, he was great.”

“And he and Carrie?”

“Normal.”

“Okay, then, I’ll be in touch if I need anything.”

We disconnect and I dial Brody. He doesn’t answer. I’m about to leave when Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds exit the back offices, bristling with the sight of me.

“Good morning,” I greet them. “This is well timed. I was hoping to chat with you about Carrie and Oliver.”

“We’ve been instructed by our attorney not to talk to you,” Mr. Reynolds states.

“It’s just a few casual questions. If it helps, I’m not fully convinced Carrie is our killer. Your help will allow me to redirect my focus.”

Mrs. Reynolds looks up at her husband, a silent question in her eyes. “No,” he says to her and then meets my stare and repeats the word. “No.”

“Then can we set up an appointment with Ms. Littleton present?” I ask.

“She said you’d ask that,” he replies. “The answer is still no.” He maneuvers himself and his wife around me and they exit the building.

I turn and watch the door shut behind them and in my face.

There’s something they don’t want me to know.

They’ve certainly driven home the point that what appears as obvious sometimes really is obvious. Carrie might just be our killer.

Chapter Seventy-Three

CARRIE

I’m in my sitting room on one of the most comfortable couches I’ve ever sat on, waiting for my new therapist—or technically, I believe, psychiatrist—to join me. I imagine Dr. Thompson will be an older man, with a depth of experience, and kind but judgmental eyes. I imagine he’ll start where they all start and ask about my childhood. They all want to talk about my childhood. About me being adopted. And if they’ve spoken with my parents, they’ll most certainly ask me about Eric.

Time ticks on, and I’m once again wondering if there are cameras in the room. Maybe the cameras are why Oliver’s parents sent me here. They want to catch me saying something that might be used against me. Of course, my privacy and doctor-patient privilege are in play, but there are ways around that, sneaky, dark ways around just about everything.

Suddenly parched, I stand and walk to the water dispenser in the corner, filling a glass and drinking. I reach for my phone, but they’ve taken it. Their desire for me to feel at home obviously has limits. I walk back to the couch and sit down. There’s a book on the coffee table called Own Your Stress. I own my stress. That’s why I’m such a good ER nurse. The minute I find the page on yoga, I put the book down. Like yoga is going to help me cope with a double amputee in the ER.

The door opens and a stunning Black woman with perfect skin and a perfect body enters. She’s in a cream-colored dress that only makes her perfect body all the more perfect. She’s maybe thirty-five. No. Thirty-six. I’m very good at guessing ages.

“Hi, Carrie,” she says. “I’m Dr. Thompson.” My heart sinks. She’s my doctor? This woman represents every insecurity I’ve ever owned in my life. It’s as if Oliver’s parents knew this and rather than sending me here to protect me, they’ve sent me here to torture me. But they can’t know my insecurities. Only Oliver knew those innermost, personal thoughts of mine. Unless he told his parents? Surely not. Or—did he?

Dr. Thompson sits down in the chair across from me and slides a pair of delicate glasses onto her delicate face with her perfectly sculpted jaw. “Where do you want to start?” she asks. “I’d like to let you choose.”

She’s too perfect.

I now know that Oliver betrayed me. He told my secrets.

And that changes everything.

Chapter Seventy-Four

ANDI