Page 46 of No Lies No Promises

“From us? Not hardly.” Her disapproving sniff suggests it’s a tactic she’s employed for years and expects it to work.

Sitting, I cross my legs, my best saccharine smile glued to my face. “No one ever wants a lawsuit. So messy. So unnecessary. So crass. We only want to understand how Simone was allowed to leave.”

“Allowed?” She harrumphs, still standing. “She was a guest, not a prisoner. She came and went as she pleased.”

Without missing a beat, I fire off my next question. “Sooo, what? She called an Uber?”

“Heavens, no. Her brother picked her up. Took her to lunch. She wandered off in the city.” She peers down her nose at us. “But you already knew this.”

An unruffled Sean jots down a note. “Of course. We’re confirming the details.”

“Well, we had nothing to do with her unfortunate demise. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Ms. Cudworth strides toward the door.

Voice firm, Sean leans back in the Windsor chair. “I’d like the surveillance video from the day she checked out.”

“It’s gone.” A faint blush creeps into her cheeks. “I gave it to the police.”

“Do you use sign-out sheets?” I pull an iPad from my bag. “Or is everything online?”

Lips pursed, she hesitates. “My assistant, Marissa, will have it waiting for you on your way out. I don’t see what else…”

“Sit.” Sean waits for a moment. When she doesn’t move, he removes his pistol and places it on his thighs where she can see it. “It wasn’t a question.”

Paling, Cudworth lowers herself behind her desk, folding her hands atop the wood. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

After glancing down at my list of questions, I focus on her. “Miss Hart had schizophrenia. Meds are quite effective. People can live normal lives outside an institution. Why here?”

The gray-haired woman looks at her watch, then sighs theatrically. “She didn’t like taking them. Said they made her tired. Disconnected. She preferred her hallucinations. Here, she lived safely inside her illusions. Her choice.”

“Was she depressed?”

I didn’t think it was possible, but her scowl deepens. “We don’t give out personal information, but in general, one could say that someone who commits suicide is not happy, wouldn’t you agree?”

Ignoring the sarcasm, Sean tries a different tack. “Did she have friends we can speak to?”

“No.” Both palms on the desk, she rises. “Now, unless you intend on shooting me, I have work to attend to. My assistant will see you out.”

Cudworth sticks her head out the door. “Marissa, you can come in now.”

A woman in her thirties wearing sailboat-print scrubs steps inside the office. She carries an 8-by-10-inch brown, wire-bound notebook.

As she makes a beeline for Sean, he slips his weapon behind his back.

Smiling seductively, fingers near his cock, she sets the records on his lap. Closer still, her lips meet his ear. “Don’t mind my boss. She’s protective of her charges.”

You want to see protective? I will give you protective.

Grinning at my bitch face, Sean stands, tossing me the sign-in logs. “Here, babe. Take a gander.”

Marissa forgotten, I thumb through entries until I reach the date Simone went missing.

Woah. The leftward slant? The strange gaps in front of every lowercase e? Backward loops in the fs and gs? I’ve seen the signature before.

Pulse kicking in, I snap a picture. The room grows silent as I scroll through my search results.

Once I find a photo of Jeff Pearson, I walk over to Marissa and hold the image under her nose. “Is this Simone’s brother? The one who signed her out?”

“Sorry. I never saw him.” The tops of her cheeks redden.