Page 97 of The Wedding Party

“Carrie’s in a rehab center, which is good and bad,” I say. “It allows me time to build my case against her, but she’s also been out of reach. She can at least have visitors now.”

“I never pegged her as unstable,” Lana says. “Just the opposite. She’s always the calm one when the emergencies come through the door. Oh. Did you find the box?”

“We did, actually.”

“Really? Well, was he cheating like she thought?”

“You know I can’t tell you details,” I say, tipping back my beer and pretending to drink.

“Right. Sorry.” She sips her drink. “I get it. It’s the law and all.”

We sit and chat about random things, and I let us slip into a comfortable conversation for a good forty minutes before I sigh. “You know, I wish I knew Oliver’s state of mind that night. Sorry. I just went right back into work mode.”

“Well, when he was giving his speech with Carrie, they seemed happy. She certainly was.”

“That’s the kind of response everyone gives me. I need thoughts from someone who actually spoke to him one-on-one. You didn’t, right? Please tell me you did.”

“No. Sorry. I didn’t see him at all—well, from afar, like I said, when he was giving that speech.”

Another lie. I grab my phone and glance at my messages, pretending to read a message that doesn’t exist. “Oh. Great.” I glance over at her. “Interesting and unexpected good news.” I set my cell aside. “A ghost-hunting group had cameras all over the place in the hotel. They caught almost every location the hotel cameras did not. Now we have blanket coverage. Maybe I’ll find more of Oliver on the feed. Of course I will.” I toast with my beer. “To my job just getting easier.”

“Well, there you go.” She cuts her gaze and downs part of her drink, her hand shaking slightly. “I need to pee,” she announces, and she slides off her seat and heads for the bathroom. I text Aiden, who I got involved right after setting up the drink meetup: She’s about to leave. And she’s guilty, I’m just not sure of what just yet.

I’m ready to follow, he replies.

Lana returns and doesn’t sit down. “They just called me back to work. See why I want to move?” She grabs her purse.

“Oh no,” I say. “That sucks. When do you move?”

“Two weeks.” She calls out to the bartender, “Check, please.”

“I got it,” I say. “You go work, but let’s have lunch before you leave.”

“Yes. Great. I’d love that.”

“Before you go, I just received a text message from my team, when you were in the bathroom. Did you know Carrie and your ex were at the same medical convention?”

She laughs, a choked, nervous laugh. “I didn’t know my ex was on your radar.”

“It’s my job. I look at all links.”

“Meaning me?” she challenges, a crack in her voice.

“Everyone has to be ruled out,” I reply.

You think I killed Oliver?”

“I just want you to tell me about your ex and that medical convention. That’s all.”

“Those events are massive,” she replies dismissively. “That really doesn’t even seem strange to me.”

“You aren’t going to ask me what conference and in what city?”

She sips her drink through a straw rather than picking up her glass again with her trembling hand. “They’re held all over the country. Actually, the world.”

I wait for her to look at me, but when she refuses, I say, “Nashville.”

She shrugs, flicking me a fleeting look before staring at the TV above the bar. “Nashville is a popular convention spot. But the medical community is a small world.” She points to some car insurance advertisement being played. “I’m obsessed with the ostrich on those commercials now.”