Page 92 of The Wedding Party

“You want me to hyperfocus on Carrie?”

“As much as I want to say yes, that’s a bad investigative move. Tennessee is sending you the case files. Look at everyone who was in that hotel. And look for any and all connections to the place, people, crimes. But speed this up by looking at Carrie and the rest of the wedding party. Don’t leave Oliver’s family out of the mix.”

“Still worried about Oliver’s sister?”

“Not really, but she had a lot to gain by his death. We’d be fools not to look at her again.”

When I’ve sent Hazel off to do her magic, I trade my coffee for wine. I’m way past coffee and sit down to read the data sent over by Boone, because the truth is, no matter how much I want what I want, this kind of search on this many people takes time.

An hour later, I haven’t even touched the wine. I’m engrossed in the Tennessee case file, which to me reads like a well-wrapped book. Boone is good at his job. He covered every investigative base. But is this a copycat case? I won’t know until we connect dots, and somewhere there is a dot that connects.

My cellphone rings on the table next to me. I grab it and find Hazel’s number, trying not to get excited about the quick callback that could mean good news or no news at all. “What do you have for me?”

“I’m not sure I’d call this good news.”

“Okay. Well, hit me with it.”

“Carrie went to a medical conference in Nashville.”

My spine goes ramrod stiff. “Why is this not good news?”

“The entire cigar club also went to Nashville two weeks before her conference, Oliver included.”

I throw my pen in the air. “Oh my God. Could this get any more complicated?” I don’t wait for an answer. “Any connections to the hospital where the Tennessee victim was taken?”

“The only one I see, and this is a quick glance, is Carrie. Elsa Ward was taken to a Nashville hospital, and a huge portion of the staff can be assumed to have been at that convention. I haven’t had time to check except for one person. I checked the attending doctor for Ward.”

“And? Was he there?”

“No. He was not.”

Chapter Eighty-Two

CARRIE

I must be a killer. My father’s a killer. I write that in my journal over and over. When my mother, my adoptive mother, calls, I decline to talk to her. I decline to talk to Dr. Thompson. She allows me a short break, an evening to myself.

Then she comes to my room.

I’m standing at the window when she enters. I can feel her energy. That’s another reason I’m a good nurse. I can read people’s energy. I know when they’re going to freak out. I know when they’re living in a tunnel of darkness. Maybe I know those things for all the wrong reasons. Maybe I even enjoy all the blood and pain the ER produces. Maybe I need it.

Of course, I’ve never thought any of these things in my life, but my God. My father is a killer.

“Carrie.”

I turn at Dr. Thompson’s voice and face her. She’s in her white jacket, and she motions to the chairs. “Let’s sit.”

I nod and reluctantly sit. Sitting is just too calm right now. My thoughts go crazy.

“Listen to me and listen to me now. You are not him,” she declares. “Stop doing this to yourself.”

“Doing what?”

“Turning yourself into a killer. Clearly you were set up. Someone used your father against you. Don’t demonize yourself. Fight back. Let’s get busy remembering. Then you can give Oliver justice. You can tell the police who killed him and hurt you.”

“What about genetics?” I ask. “I have his genes in my body.”

“You have your mother’s, too.”