Page 54 of The Wedding Party

Avoiding the bad subject of me being at the party he’s just introduced once again, I move on. “Can I ask why you were in Carrie’s room?”

“I needed to hear what she has to say,” Mrs. Phoenix explains, folding her arms in front of her chest, a protective stance. “I needed to know if I believed she did this.”

“Do you?” I query.

“Do you?” she counters. “Is it Carrie? I mean, who runs naked through a hotel, covered in blood, and wounded? It’s illogical. Is she crazy, or is our son’s killer still on the loose? Do you even know?”

Her voice has lifted, her hands cutting through the air.

I don’t find her anger and frustration inducing the same in me. I was young when my mother died, but I remember the pain. Sometimes I remember it more than I do her, which is never a happy realization.

This is exactly why my response is calm and honest. “Our job is to not only get you an arrest but to get you a conviction. I need you to remember that. An arrest, especially a premature arrest, does not equal a conviction. I don’t promise to be fast, but I promise to get the job done right.”

“In other words, you don’t know who killed our son,” Mrs. Phoenix ascertains.

“What is obvious is not always the answer,” York states, playing on our earlier conversation. “If it was, our jobs wouldn’t exist.”

“You can’t hold her long without an arrest,” Mr. Phoenix states. “What is it? Seventy-two hours? You have to have a plan. What is it?”

He’s correct, of course. I’ll be pressured to arrest her before we’ve collected proper evidence. That turns out badly more often than the general public recognizes, but right now, I turn the tables on the Phoenixes, and do so looking for additional motives for their visit with Carrie. “Have you talked to Natalie?”

“We have,” Mrs. Phoenix replies. “And I’m aware of her inappropriate behavior. Carrie has vowed not to press charges.”

And there it is. The reason they cornered Carrie in her room. They want to protect Natalie, which I understand. They’ve now lost a son. They want to shelter their last living child. And yet, the meeting with Carrie still sits oddly in my gut.

“What did Carrie tell you happened?” I ask.

“I’m Carrie Reynolds’s attorney,” a female voice indicates. “I need to speak to her immediately.”

I can almost hear the door slam in my face.

Talking to Carrie, at least without extreme supervision, is over.

Chapter Forty-Six

I turn to find a petite, pretty blonde in a smart black dress and heels, talking to the woman I know to be head nurse on this floor.

What comes next is not what I expect.

Mr. Phoenix steps around me and heads straight for the woman who’s just announced herself as Carrie’s attorney. The nurse is dismissed, and Mr. Phoenix and the attorney speak to each other in low, hushed voices. This conversation lasts about sixty seconds, before Mr. Phoenix waves at his wife, and she hurries to his side. She speaks to Carrie’s attorney, says something short and fast, and then Mr. and Mrs. Phoenix walk away.

“All right, then,” York queries. “What just happened?”

“What indeed,” I concur. “Catch the Phoenixes and confirm our meeting. See what else you can get from them. I’ll handle the newcomer on the scene.”

“Yeah, well, I get the feeling that one is trouble,” he comments. “Don’t get your throat torn out.”

“I’m a Castle,” I comment. “Much like my father, I’m not easily cut.” It’s a reminder to him that I might not be my father, but I am still his daughter.

He smirks. “You gonna beat her with a bat like your papa would?”

“My father doesn’t beat people with bats,” I say and then add for effect, “usually. There was that one time, but that story has been blown out of proportion because my father wanted it to be blown out of proportion. You underappreciate the simplicity of his motivations.” I don’t give York time to accuse me of being one big contradiction about my father. He wouldn’t be wrong, but then, as Eddie Castle’s only child, that’s my God-given right. I step around York.

I focus solely on Carrie’s attorney, who’s oozing enough Eddie Castle–style attitude to be my long-lost sister. I stop in front of her, and she reaches for control by saying, “You must be Agent Castle.”

“And you’d assume that why?” I ask.

“You look like your father.”