Page 84 of The Wedding Party

Brody has no idea what the key is, either. Nobody does. I spend a week hunting for the secret locker. So does my father. Interviews get us nowhere. We still can’t find the weapon used to kill Oliver. DNA will take months to come back, and no one can be completely sure whether Carrie’s stomach wound was or was not self-inflicted. That could spell trouble with a jury. Bottom line, Carrie comes off as a sweet, heartbroken fiancée. A woman who lost the man she loved. A woman traumatized. A meeting with the DA’s office has them on the fence right along with me. We agree we need to take our time and charge appropriately and be well armed with evidence.

When Lana checks in, an idea flares. I decide to get creative. I don’t text back. I show up at the hospital and surprise her at work.

“What the heck are you doing here?” Lana asks, smiling when she sees me, only to frown. “Is this about Oliver?”

It’s not an unusual response. This is Carrie’s workplace and my first time on-site, but I wave that off.

“I’m feeling guilty about deserting you in Estes Park. I thought I’d just check in.”

“We both know that’s not why you’re here, but hey, if you want to eat crappy cafeteria food, let’s go.”

I end up at a table with a group of nurses, and once they find out who I am, they don’t clam up. Everyone tells me how wonderful Carrie is, how devastated she must be. Two nurses wonder if it was a patient who’d become obsessed with her, the first time I’ve heard of this.

Once Lana and I are alone at the table, I ask about this man. “He wasn’t obsessed. That’s silly, but I can get you his details and text them. I’m not supposed to, but I will.”

A few minutes later, she sneaks me the info and says, “Did you find the box? I can’t help it. I’m dying to know what was inside.”

“Of course, you know I can’t tell you most things. But no, we haven’t found it. Any idea where it might be?”

At that moment, a doctor approaches. Lana is on instant alert. “Something I can help with, Dr. Cryder?”

“Lana, Mrs. Knight will not take her meds from anyone but you. And she needs to get them down her.”

She sighs. “All right, then. I’m off to help Mrs. Knight. Sorry, Andi. Call me if I can help with anything else.”

“I guess ER nurses are nurturing creatures,” I comment. “Unlike the likes of us FBI agents.”

“I don’t know about that,” the doctor says, unfazed by me being an FBI agent. “Lana isn’t an ER nurse by trade. She’s a pediatric nurse forced to work ER while waiting for a transfer. You almost have to find a cold place inside to survive the horrors of this place. I know I’m a coldhearted bastard. Or so all the women in my life tell me.”

“Do you know Carrie Reynolds?”

“She’s good at her job. That’s all I have to say.”

Someone calls his name, and he doesn’t bother saying another word. He just turns and leaves.

How very cold of him.

Chapter Seventy-Five

CARRIE

I sit in my room, staring out at the mountains, drinking coffee. Real coffee now, with caffeine. The hospital wants to see if stimulation changes me or impacts how I react to grief. That also means over the next week I’ll be allowed visitors. Even Agent Castle, who I’ve never really believed to be my friend. My attorney agrees. That must make it true.

As for Dr. Thompson’s decision to allow Agent Castle any access to me at all, it’s an example of her dictation over my well-being.

Dr. Thompson and I have never connected.

Only one of us knows that fact.

It’s not that I don’t want to remember what happened to Oliver, which she has told me is her primary goal—to help me do what I’ve told her I want to do: remember. And of course, I do, so very much, but I can’t shake this feeling that anything I say will be held against me, no matter how much Dr. Thompson claims patient confidentiality.

With that feeling driving me, over the course of the next seven days, I eat my fluffy croissants, run on the treadmill, and meet with Dr. Thompson daily, sometimes twice a day. I don’t socialize. I trust no one enough to chat beyond the weather. I also keep a journal at Dr. Thompson’s prescription. I’m allowed to write anything I want to write about on an assigned subject. The first assignment is my brother. An easy assignment, considering I’ve been down this path. I know what she wants to hear.

The day Eric died was the worst day of my life, until another worst day of my life stripped away the man I love. Eric was the best big brother I could ever want. He was funny, and sweet, and even when we fought, there was this bond between us. I knew that he could pick on me, but no one else could. He’d protect me.

I leave out the part where he teased me about being adopted and told me Mom and Dad loved him more. Oh, and the fat jokes. I didn’t like the fat jokes.

The next assignment is about my parents. Another familiar assignment. My entry includes the following: