Page 96 of The Wedding Party

We disconnect and I start pacing. I’m so close to the right answers but not quite there. If the ex is in pediatrics at the wrong hospital, he can’t be the one who told Carrie about the Elsa Ward murder. Unless he heard it from a friend. But how does Lana play into this? Did Lana find out her ex and Carrie met, and therefore plotted Oliver’s murder? Or did she come here to protect him? Was that why she was trying to get close to him at the hotel in the video footage? And he didn’t want to hear a warning from her? She did invite me to that weekend in Estes Park. Maybe she wanted me to help her protect him.

I text Hazel: Look for a connection between Lana’s ex and Carrie.

Right about then, my phone pings with a phone number, a name, and a short bio. Lana’s ex, Derrek Montgomery, has a scholarly and impressive medical background. He’s smart enough, and educated enough, to pull off an unsolvable crime, but I won’t let that happen. My finger hovers over his number to call him, but I decide better. If Lana is here to undermine a crime, I could put her at risk. If she is involved in that crime, working with Carrie and Derrek, or even just Carrie, Derrek might alert her I’m onto her.

My father returns and sits next to me, but he says nothing. He understands my process. He’ll talk when I’m ready to talk, which is not now. I punch in Lana’s number. She answers on the first ring. “Hey, Andi. How’d that lead go? Good, I hope?”

I play the role I need to play to handle this, whatever “this” is. “Oh gosh,” I say. “No work. I can’t do work right now. How about a drink? I need a break.”

“Sure. I’m always up for a drink. And I’m off tomorrow. Where?”

“How about Albert’s downtown? I’ll text you the address.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you in, say, an hour?”

“That works.”

We disconnect and I sit there a moment, digesting the idea of a friend being a killer, and I wish it were unfamiliar. But just last year one of the agents I’d consider a friend as well was stalking women, which escalated into murder. But Lana? I reject the idea and glance at my father. “She invited me to the party. It’s not her. Why would you invite an FBI agent if you were going to kill someone?”

“When I hurt someone, dear daughter of mine, it’s planned and I know when to stop.” He picks up a photo of Oliver’s damaged body. “This wasn’t planned. This was a crime of passion.”

“Unless it wasn’t,” I say. “Maybe that’s just what I’m supposed to believe. And maybe, just maybe, the killer, or killers, were smart enough to use my automatic assumptions about a crime against me.”

Chapter Eighty-Five

I don’t like Albert’s.

The patio is open and the smoke floats over the bar, the menu is limited, and the barstools have no backs.

But I didn’t choose it for the meeting with Lana because I enjoy visiting. I chose it because it’s a slow part of downtown Denver at this time of day, the bar is always empty, and I don’t want anywhere I like to be ruined by this little talk. Not that I make a habit of letting bad people ruin things for me. I am my father’s daughter. But when things get rowdy, people don’t tend to invite you back. Not that I plan on things getting rowdy, either, but you just never know, and I’m not unwilling to do what I have to do, should it become necessary. That’s not about being my father’s daughter. It’s about wearing my badge and living by the pledge to protect and serve.

I arrive early, sit at the end of the bar where I can see the door, and order a light beer with a dark bottle that I can nurse slowly without impairing my mind or body. Lana appears in the doorway fifteen minutes later, still in her scrubs. She waves and I wave back, and as she rushes toward me, I pray she isn’t involved in Oliver’s death. I consider myself a good judge of people, and nothing about her screams killer. But then, the best of the best never do. There’s a reason why people got in the car with Bundy. He was good-looking and charismatic.

Lana settles onto a seat next to me and says, “Good choice of bar. No crowd.”

“It’s not my favorite place, but it’s a good place to actually hear each other speak.”

“Points all around,” she says, flagging the bartender. “A lemon drop, please. Easy on the vodka.”

“Going easy, are you?” I ask.

“I have to drive home, and I’ve never been a big drinker, especially since I started working in the ER. I’ve seen too many DUI accidents.”

“How is the ER going?”

“Horrible. I hate the blood and misery.” The bartender sets her drink in front of her. “But I won’t have to do it long. Sadly, in some ways. I’m leaving.”

“Really?” I ask. “To where?”

“Nashville. When I first got married, my ex had a job there. I actually love it. The food, girl. It’s so damn good. And the cowboys. Gotta love a cowboy in those tight-fitting jeans. I applied months back, and they finally have an opening that allows me to get back to a world where women only scream while delivering the new love of their lives, their new babies.”

Instant red flag. Had a job there? I think. He’s still there. He still works in Nashville. And the talk about hating blood and gore. Maybe it’s true. Or maybe it’s a cover. My gut is telling me she’s not here to protect Oliver. “I’m sad you’re leaving,” I say. “We were just getting to know each other again.”

“I know, but you can come visit. You’ll love it. Have you ever been?”

“Once, years ago for a case, but it was a fly in and fly out the same day kind of thing. And I think I’ll be working on this case for the rest of my life, the way it’s going. I may never get another vacation.”

“That bad, huh?”