A Wedding to Die For

by Leann Sweeney

  Next I called Kate at her office. With Megan’s mother making an appearance, it was time to tell my client what I had learned. That DNA results I’d been so eager to get didn’t even matter anymore, but Kate’s presence when I spoke to Megan did. The receptionist said Kate would be free for lunch at eleven thirty, which gave me an hour to get my act together and make it to the Medical Center. I also needed to find out what had become of Roxanne the Confessor, and once I was on the road, I called Megan to find out.

  But she didn’t answer. Travis did.

  “Hi, Travis. So what happened with Roxanne’s confession last night?”

  “When we got home and told Sylvia what Roxanne had done, all three of us went down to the police station. Roxanne refused to see us. Fielder told us Roxanne is not under arrest, but she decided to keep her overnight as a material witness.”

  “No arrest. Obviously Fielder wasn’t convinced by this confession—at least not yet.”

  “Yeah. Not yet.”

  “Fielder’s probably being careful this time after what happened when she hauled you in. Does Roxanne have a lawyer?”

  “Apparently she refused legal help, too. Megan’s hoping Fielder will let her out in time for Graham’s visitation tonight. Sylvia’s decided he should be buried next to his brother—which I don’t get since they weren’t exactly best buddies—but I’m not making those decisions.”

  “How’s Megan today? I’m concerned about her. She looked so tired and pale last night.”

  “I’m pretty concerned myself. I wanted to talk to you about—” He paused. “Hang on. I hear her coming down the stairs.” A second later Travis said, “Hey, Meg. It’s Abby.”

  Megan got on the line. “Did Travis tell you they kept Roxanne overnight?”

  “He did, but maybe Fielder wanted to give Roxanne some time to rethink her confession.” I’d reached the Medical Center and had to pay attention to traffic or get myself killed. “If it would make you feel better, I’ll swing by the Seacliff Police Station later and see if I can find out anything.”

  “Abby, you’ve helped so much already and—”

  “Consider it done. I’ll see you at the funeral home this evening and give you a full report.” Megan gave me the time and location—the same as her father’s services—and I clicked off the phone and plugged it into the recharger.

  Maybe tonight I could get Travis alone. Get his opinion on when I should tell Megan everything I’d learned. Would she be happy to know she’d been adopted by her biological father or angry he hadn’t told her the truth? And would she be happy to know her birth mother was alive or disgusted the woman was a fugitive? I had no way of knowing.

  Finding a spot in the parking garage of Kate’s building proved as challenging as always, and after my fifth trip around winding narrow lanes and concrete pillars, I slipped into a spot meant for a “compact” car. Absurd. Ninety-nine percent of the vehicles in Houston are SUVs or trucks.

  Kate was waiting in the reception room when I arrived in her tenth floor office. She wore blue today, a pale cashmere sweater and navy wool slacks. The colors complemented her creamy skin and dark hair, and I decided it felt good to see a rested, happy female for once. Rather than go out for lunch, she suggested we order Chinese, and we went to the family therapy room after she called King Food.

  I love the therapy room. It’s the most comfortable, homey place imaginable. The lighting casts a pink glow over the spacious area—according to Kate pink is the most calming color. Two sofas and four armchairs surrounded an oval coffee table, and classical music played in the background today rather than Kate’s usual favorite, Jazz. Me? I would have opted for Dave Matthews if I came for a head shrinking. His music is about as real as it gets.

  We sat in the “big chairs” as I call them, two huge overstuffed cranberry chairs you could get lost in. I removed my shoes and tucked my feet up.

  Kate said, “I see you’ve been using the arnica gel. Your face looks so much better.”

  “You were right about that stuff. Worked like a charm. Wish I had a magic fix for this case. Yesterday was chock-full of surprises.”

  I brought her up to snuff and had just finished when the receptionist brought in the food.

  After she was gone, I said, “Kate, I could use your support when I sit Megan down and tell her all this.”

  “I planned on being there.” She pushed her rice around with her chopsticks. “But I have another concern for now. This confession of Roxanne’s. That girl is unstable, Abby.”

  “My guess is she’s not guilty of anything besides being as nutty as a bag of ballpark peanuts.”

  “You think she’s protecting Travis with this confession?” Kate asked.

  “I don’t know what’s going on in her mind, but she did confess right after she found out Travis had been brought in for questioning.”

  “So maybe she is protecting him?”

  “One thing I know for sure about Roxanne is how much she cares for Megan and Courtney. If that means protecting Megan’s relationship with Travis by going to jail, I think she’d be more than willing to take the fall.”

  “If she does get arrested, I’m worried how Courtney will handle it. Emotionally, she’s very fragile right now,” said Kate.

  “Fragile? That’s an adjective I never would have chosen for Courtney.” I was eating with a good old fork, a far more sensible utensil than chopsticks. I speared a piece of sweet-and-sour pork and loaded it up with the yummy pink sauce before putting it in my mouth.

  “I talked to Courtney late last night, and believe me, she’s not the same girl you met. I’m visiting her this afternoon, by the way.”

  “She’s lucid?” I said.

  “Lucid and depressed. But that’s what I expected at this point.”

  I planted my fork in my untasted glob of white rice and left it there. “You know what? Roxanne’s confession came on the heels of Travis’s episode with Fielder, but it also came soon after she visited her sister yesterday. Maybe it’s not Travis she’s protecting.”

  Kate offered an “I don’t think so” look. “What could Courtney have said that would send Roxanne off to martyr herself?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m fresh out of ways to find out who killed James and Graham. If she’s got any ideas. I’d love to hear them. Mind if I tag along?”

  Kate frowned, seeming none too thrilled with this request. She finally said, “Courtney would have to agree to see you. And if she starts to decompensate—she’ll be experiencing plenty of ups and downs in the next few days—you’ll have to leave the room right away.”

  “Yes, ma’am, Dr. Rose. You have my promise.”

  We drove in separate cars since the private psychiatric facility was about halfway to Seacliff. I planned on visiting the funeral home this evening and I wouldn’t have time to make two trips back and forth to Houston.

  The psych hospital was a sprawling redbrick building surrounded by live oaks and plenty of shrubbery. And the obligatory ten-foot-high chain-link fence. The only thing missing was razor wire.

  “Who’s paying for this? Sylvia?” I asked as we walked a concrete path toward a set of double glass doors.

  “Believe it or not, Courtney has medical insurance,” Kate said.

  “She has a job?” I said, surprised.

  “No, she told me her father paid for her coverage.”

  “I know for certain he didn’t have a job. Wonder how he afforded it.”

  “Maybe you can ask Courtney,” Kate said, reaching for the door.

  My sister was greeted by the staff with smiles and hugs, and there were introductions all around. I was provided with one of those stick-on visitor badges and then we walked down a long corridor to Courtney’s room.

  Stopping outside number 120, Kate said, “Let me ask her if she wants to see you . . . and at some point I will need time alone with her.”

  “Why don’t you do that now? I see some chairs down the hall where I can park it until you two are done talki
ng.”

  “You sure?” Kate looked amused.

  “You think I can’t handle a few crazy people?” Kate glanced around and whispered, “Keep your voice down. I’ll come and get you if Courtney okays a visit.”

  “Gotcha,” I answered.

  She knocked on Courtney’s door, cracked it an inch, then slipped inside.

  I headed for the chairs stacked outside what turned out to be a game room. The place was empty, so I went to a card table and sat down in front of a deck of cards. I started shuffling, but before I could lay out a round of solitaire, a heavy woman with red cheeks and a serious wheeze sat across from me.

  “You new?” she asked.

  “Oh, I’m not a patient,” I said.

  Her hair was thinning, and she wore a purple and gold LSU T-shirt. “Then I’m not, either.” Her thick drawl wasn’t Texan—more like the deep south.

  “Really, I’m not a patient. I’m waiting to visit someone.”

  “Who? Bill?”

  “No.” I dealt my hand, hoping she’d leave. Her scent reminded me of a perfumed poodle and her heavy breathing made me nervous. I sure hoped they had medical doctors here, too, if she wheezed herself unconscious.

  “Bill has wife issues, and I thought you might be the girlfriend. I’m Amelia, by the way.” She extended a plump hand.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Abby.” We shook hands, and it was all I could do to not pull back too quickly. Her flesh was, well . . . squishy.

  “The Abby. Courtney’s Abby?” Her eyes bulged with interest.

  I wasn’t sure it was a good idea to admit I was the Abby, but she had my attention. “You know Courtney?”

  “Honey, we all know each other in this place. She was hoppin’ mad at you when she was admitted the other day. Screaming and hollerin’ to beat the band once the drugs started to clear her system. You put her in here, right?”

  “I think she put herself in,” I answered.

  “She has father issues,” Amelia said, nodding.

  “What does that mean?” I flipped three cards to start my game.

  “Her father got murdered and that poor girl is thinking it’s all her fault. I don’t usually feel sorry for the druggies, but I do for her. Puny thing, too. Needs a big pot of red beans and some boudain.”

  “She said her father’s death was her fault?” I asked.

  Amelia coughed a few times, then pulled a tissue from her sleeve and spit into it. “Damn asthma. Anyway, Courtney is sorta like Owen—he was here last time I was in. Owen was a druggie with father issues just like Courtney. But I didn’t feel the least bit sorry for him. Especially not after he punched me.”

  The last time? And he punched her? Maybe this wasn’t the right person to be talking to.

  I was considering wandering back toward Courtney’s room, but Amelia reached across the table and poked me in the chest. “I can tell what you’re thinkin’, and you can just quit passin’ judgment, girl. I have a lithium regulation problem. That’s why I have to be admitted here more than most other folks.”

  I stood. “Sure. I understand. And now I think I’ll go see about Courtney.”

  “Guilt issues?” she said.

  “You mean Courtney?” I said.

  “No. You.” She raised her nearly nonexistent eyebrows knowingly.

  Now how in hell did she peg me as the guilt-ridden type? I didn’t want to know, so I started down the hall.

  “I’ll tell you about Courtney if you’ll sit with me for a spell,” she called.

  I stopped.

  “Please? I don’t get many visitors.”

  I reluctantly returned to the table. Though she might not have reliable information, she obviously paid attention to the patients here. Maybe she knew something.

  Amelia gathered up the cards and placed a protective hand over the deck. “Courtney talked plenty yesterday. Cried a lot too—but not that gulpin’, outta-control kinda crying like most first timers. She just needed to talk. She was missing her father, wishing she could have prevented his death. Once the drugs wore off, it’d finally sunk in she’d never see him again.”

  “She probably hasn’t been herself for months,” I said, “and I imagine it was pretty tough when she woke up in the real world and had to deal with his murder.”

  Amelia smiled. “You ever consider becoming a therapist, girl?”

  “No, ma’am. We already have one of those in our family. So tell me your other insights into Courtney.” Her information might not be helpful, but it was sure interesting.

  “Things changed when that oddball sister showed up. Courtney got all sad and stoic. You talk about cryin’? That sister was one big whiney, sniveling baby. Sometimes I wonder how I land in here time after time and someone like her gets to walk around like she’s actually normal.”

  “She did just lose her father,” I said, wondering why I felt the need to defend Roxanne.

  “You’re right. I was being insensitive. See, that’s why people are put off by me. Anyway, I did hear Courtney tell her sister not to do it when the sister was leavin’.”

  “Not to do what?”

  “I don’t know. Courtney just said, ‘We’ve caused enough trouble, so don’t do it.’ ”

  We’ve caused trouble? What did that refer to?

  Just then I heard Kate call my name, and a second later she peeked around the corner of the game room. “Hi, Amelia,” she said.

  Amelia beamed. “Hi, Dr. Rose. You look so fine today, but then you look fine every time I see you.”

  Kate thanked her and then addressed me. “You can see her now. She’s doing pretty well.”

  I stood. “Thanks for your help, Amelia.”

  She nodded and picked up the cards while I followed Kate.

  All the blinds were pulled down in the room, and only one lamp provided light. Courtney sat on the edge of her twin bed, arms wrapped around herself, her gaunt face actually looking healthier than the last time I saw her. Her party-colored hair was clipped back. Gone were the earrings, dark eyeshadow, and heavy makeup. Gone, too, was the wild-eyed mania. She looked younger and sadder.

  “Hey,” she said when I entered. She wore blue jeans and a checkered shirt with a lace collar that had Roxanne’s taste in clothing written all over it.

  “Hey,” I replied. “Tough couple days, huh?”

  She nodded, her gaze focused on her lap.

  “Kate said you wouldn’t mind if I talked to you.”

  “I’ll talk to you, but not about my sister. I don’t want her to get in trouble.”

  “Seems she’s done that all by herself,” I said.

  Kate had taken a seat on the empty bed across from Courtney, and I did the same.

  “Okay, in any more trouble,” Courtney replied, shades of her old contrary self surfacing.

  “I only want to help you—you and your family. A little honesty is required first, though.”

  She lifted her head and looked at me for the first time. Her eyes were red rimmed and her nose was running. “You lied, so why I should I trust you?”

  “I lied?”

  “I know why you and Megan are tight, so you can quit acting like you’re her best friend.”

  I looked over at Kate, eyebrows raised.

  “Can you please explain, Courtney?” Kate said.

  “Why should I? We’re all fucked anyway.” Courtney crossed her leg and her tennis-shoed foot began to bounce. She wiped her nose with one bony hand.

  Kate said, “This might be the way out of the mess you’ve made. Abby is pretty good at what she does, and when she says she wants to help, she’s being sincere.”

  Courtney stared at Kate for a second. “You mean she’s a good PI?”

  “That’s exactly right,” said Kate.

  “Both of you are good at your jobs, aren’t you?” Courtney said. “So fucking perfect. And then there’s Roxanne and me. Weirdos. Misfits. That’s who we are.”

  “We went over this earlier,” Kate said softly. “No one is perfect
. And even if you were, your being perfect will never change anyone else. It wouldn’t have made your father love you any more than he was capable of, and it won’t bring your parents back from their graves.”

  If Courtney didn’t start crying I just might. This was heavy stuff. So I focused on what Courtney had said. She knew I was a PI. Had Kate told her? “Did my sister explain about my professional relationship with Megan?”

  “No.” A short, sullen no at that.

  But I pressed on. “So how did you find out?”

  “Roxanne.”

  “Okay. And how did she know?”

  “When we came down for the wedding a couple weeks ago, she overheard Megan talking about you to Travis. About how she wanted to find her real mother.”

  “You both knew who I was the first time we met?”

  “Yeah.” More foot wagging. She looked at Kate. “When’s the next medicine? Because I’m getting pretty shaky again.”

  “Dr. Wagner does your meds, but I’d guess you’re on an every-four-hours schedule,” Kate said.

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  “Three,” I answered.

  “Shit. Another hour. Are you about done? ’Cause I need to walk around or something.”

  “I’ll walk with you,” I said softly.

  “Yeah, right. So you can pump me for more info and then get the hell out of here? Everyone takes what they want and leaves.”

  “You don’t have to talk to me,” I answered.

  We locked eyes for an uncomfortably long time.

  “You can do what the hell you want, but I’ve gotta move before I crawl out of my skin,” she finally said.

  “I need to make notes on Courtney’s chart,” said Kate. “You can meet me at the front, Abby.”

  “Write something that will get me out of here, okay?” Courtney asked, almost smiling.

  “When you’re ready,” Kate replied. “And we both know that’s not today.”