Will glanced at the back seat, like Isaac could understand us, and lowered his voice. “It’s not a public hospital. It’s a private institution for people with mental conditions.”
“What on earth for? What is this place? Like a rehab or like you had her committed?” I screeched it so loud Isaac let out a worried cry.
Will reached a hand back to his son, patting him around the seat belt. “Keep your voice down. We don’t need the entire congregation knowing our business, Mae. I’m only telling you because you’re her best friend.” He shook his head. “I didn’t have her committed. She voluntarily checked in on the weekend.”
My brain mentally sorted through every conversation and interaction I’d had with my best friend over the last few months. I couldn’t come up with anything that warranted a stay in an institution. But I’d been so wrapped up in myself, and Jayela’s murder and getting Heath out of jail that I knew I hadn’t been a very good friend. A lump rose in my throat at the thought she might have needed me and I hadn’t been there for her because I was too distracted. “Why? Is it postpartum depression or something?”
Will scrubbed his hands over his face. When he turned back to me, his eyes were huge and full of pain.
I grabbed his hand, holding it tight.
“There’s things she’s done. They’re…” He swallowed hard. “Depraved.”
“What the hell? Depraved? Nothing can be that bad. Will, tell me!”
“God, I can’t do this.” He stared down at his trembling hands. His voice dropped to a whisper. “It all came to a head after Heath’s trial. I asked why Liam would think I was having an affair, and we got in an argument, she admitted things. Fuck, Mae, so many things…” He swiped angrily at a tear that spilled down his cheek.
I stared at him wide-eyed, partially because he’d cursed and Will never cursed. Not in all the years I’d known him, not even the day he fell while we were hiking and broke his arm. And partially because I couldn’t think of a single thing about Tori that would cause this level of anguish. I’d never seen Will so torn up in all the years I’d known him.
But then he gave it to me.
He laid it right out on the line, in black and white so there was no mistaking it.
“I think Tori killed Jayela.”
Saint Paul of God Private Hospital wasn’t anything fancy from the outside. It wasn’t all that far from our place in the woods, but if I hadn’t been searching for it, with careful directions from Will, I never would have known it was there. There were no signs posted on the road in that indicated a health facility, and it was tucked away behind the Saint Paul church, hidden from view of the public. Without Will’s instructions to drive past the main entrance, I would have assumed I was in the wrong place and turned around.
It was an ugly rectangular building, but the grass outside was neatly tended. I didn’t care about any of it. My lungs ached from forgetting to breathe, and my shoulders were knotted with stress. I parked crookedly at the front of the building and stormed inside, though my legs felt like giving out with every step.
Will’s accusation was a rush of noise in my head that hadn’t cleared with the drive over.
“I promised Tori when I checked her in that she would be the one to tell you. She knew you’d come looking eventually. Please don’t go to the police. Not until you’ve spoken to her.”
Will had plugged the address into the map app on my phone, and I’d driven straight here. I hadn’t wanted to hear any more from him anyway. Whatever Tori had done, I needed to hear it from her, with my own ears. As much as I wanted to uncover the truth about who’d murdered my sister, no part of me believed it was Tori, so going to the police wasn’t even on my radar.
She’d have to tell me herself if it were true. And even then, I’d ask for proof.
The doors to the center opened automatically, and a waft of hospital disinfectant hit me square in the face. The large room was stark, mostly bare white walls, though a vase of fresh flowers did add some washed-out color to the reception desk.
The woman behind it glanced up when I approached, her lips pressing into a line. Her face was free of makeup, and her ID tag hung around her neck on a string, resting on her scrubs-covered chest. “Can I help you?”
“I need to see Tori Dudgeon, please.”
“And you are?”
“Her best friend. Mae Donovan.”
The woman clucked her tongue and ran the tip of her pen lightly down a sheet of paper with a list of names and rooms and other symbols and letters I didn’t understand. I strained over the desk, trying to see Tori’s name, but the woman gave me the stink eye and pulled her clipboard away. “This is confidential information.”
I fought to keep my tone polite. “I just want to see my friend.” As an afterthought, I added on, “Please.”
The woman found Tori’s name and ran a finger across it, then shook her head. “Sorry. She isn’t allowed visitors at this point in her treatment.”
“Excuse me? Says who?”
The woman put her clipboard down on her desk and leveled me with a no-nonsense look. “Her doctors.”
Anger rose inside me, and I fought to tamp down on it. What kind of treatment program didn’t allow a woman to see her family and friends? Nothing felt right about this. “Who made them judge, jury, and executioner? Just tell her I’m here. She’ll want to see me.”
“Mrs. Dudgeon herself agreed to this treatment plan when she was admitted—”
“I don’t care!” I yelled, losing my battle with my patience. This place gave me the creeps. I stormed around her desk to the door behind and yanked on the handle. It did nothing, remaining firmly locked. A noise of frustration took hold of my throat, but it was better than yelling again.
“Ma’am, if you’d like to fill out a form, you can make a request to her doctors for an exemption—”
I whirled on her. “And how long will that take to be approved?”
“It depends. It could be up to ten business days.”