Page 95 of The Wedding Party

I think back to my meeting with Carrie two days ago. “Carrie did say she feels like she should have saved Oliver. She can’t remember what happened, but that feeling won’t let her go.”

“Hell, I still feel that way about your mother.” He gives me a sad smile. “Remember how she used to crinkle her nose? Cutest damn thing.”

“I actually don’t remember. I can’t remember her face. I hate it.”

“I know, Andi baby. And I feel guilty as shit for that.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“That’s my point,” he counters. “Guilt—and that feeling of ‘I should have done more’—is normal. Carrie feeling it is normal. But that feeling means nothing about what happened that night.”

“Unless it does,” I argue, clearing my food away and grabbing my computer. “Let’s find out.” I stick one of four data drives he’s brought me into the side of my MacBook.

He stuffs what seems like half a burger in his mouth and grabs his own MacBook and we get to work.

Two hours later, I’m seeing double. We’ve both watched so much worthless video footage I want to scream. I get up, stretch, make a pot of coffee, and it’s not long until we finish it off. I’ve now had to go pee three times. “No more coffee,” I say, after I go to the bathroom time number four.

Three hours in, my dad hands me a bowl of dry Cap’n Crunch cereal. “The crunch keeps you alert.” He winks. “And it’s good. Try it. Dad knows best.”

He’s correct, at least about the cereal. The crunch does help. So much so that I eat way too much cereal. Finally, four hours into our little project, something on the film finally catches my eye. I frown and sit up straighter. I pause the film and rewind. I play it again. “I think . . . I think I have a situation,” I say. “No. A problem. A very unexpected problem.”

My dad moves to the couch cushion behind me. “What are we looking at?”

I play the video for him of the woman who crosses paths with Oliver in a hallway outside the main party room. They talk and then she snuggles up close to him. He sets her away from him, clearly declining her advances.

“You’re looking for a woman,” he comments. “And she looks like a woman who might be scorned. And you know what they say about a woman scorned. Who is she?”

“My friend who invited me to the party. Lana.”

Instinct kicks in, and I grab my phone and dial Hazel. “What’s up?”

“Did you check out my friend Lana? I don’t remember seeing her in the notes, now that I think about it.”

“I didn’t,” she admits. “I guess I should have, but she was with you and . . . I’m sorry. I was so hyperfocused on the wedding party. I’ll do it now.”

“Yes. Do it now and call me back.”

I lower my phone and sit there thinking. I can’t blame Hazel for not prioritizing Lana. I didn’t, either. I should have ruled her out in the beginning.

“What’s going on?”

I glance over at my father. “I think I might know why I’ve been feeling like I’m missing what was in front of me.” I push to my feet and start pacing, waiting for Hazel’s callback. “And right now, I need to think.”

“Understood,” he says. “I’m here if you need to talk it out, baby girl.” He stands up and walks out of the room, and in this moment I respect his experience. Because that’s why he respects my need to silently process.

My cellphone rings and my stomach twists in knots. Hazel wouldn’t call this fast if she didn’t have something for me. I answer the call. “She has a connection,” I say.

“She worked at a Nashville children’s hospital before she went to Boston. Her ex still does. He’s in pediatrics.”

Which fits perfectly considering Lana told me she prefers working in pediatrics. “The hospital where Elsa Ward was taken?”

“No.”

“What else?”

“He was at the same conference as Carrie. Lana was not.”

I digest that with a rush of adrenaline. “Get me everything you have on him plus his number and keep digging.”