Leann Sweeney - A Wedding To Die For

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 talking.”

“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.