I nodded slowly. “Yeah, the whole Valcourt family seems to have good genes,” I murmured.
“Anyway, I guess I’ve always been pretty perceptive about people. Especially guys,” Cherry went on. She hesitated, briefly shaking her head. “I don’t know how to explain it, but once I spent a little more time with him, I could tell something was wrong with him. Something was just…off.Even though he didn’t really say or do anything wrong on the date. You know what I mean?”
“Yeah. Some people can see straight through superficial charm, and I guess you’re one of them,” I said. “What ended up happening?”
“I declined a second date, and thankfully, he didn’t push it,” she said, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “Now I know I dodged a major bullet.”
“Why didn’t you warn Cal about him when you suspected she was seeing him?” I asked, brows furrowing.
“I did,” she replied. “At least, Itriedto. I didn’t want to make it super obvious that we all knew she was seeing him, because she clearly wanted to keep it secret, and I didn’t want her to think we’d all been gossiping behind her back. So I just told everyone that story about Roman when we were talking about bad dates one day. Like, as a general warning sort of thing. I was hoping she’d pick up on it and eventually cut him off.”
“How did she react?”
“She didn’t say anything, so I didn’t push it.” Cherry paused, sucking in a deep breath. “Of course, I had no idea what was coming. I mean, I knew Roman wasn’t a good guy, but not like that. I thought he might lie, cheat, or break her heart in some other way. I never thought he’dkillher.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not blaming you in any way,” I said, lifting a palm. “I know you had no idea how far he’d go.”
She was quiet for a moment. Then she wearily shook her head. “Youshouldblame me,” she muttered. “I should’ve sat her down and bluntly said:‘Cal, I know you’re seeing Roman Valcourt, and it has to stop. He’s a bad guy. Block him and never speak to him’.But I never did. I was too concerned about being seen as a bad friend.”
“You have to stop blaming yourself,” I said, shaking my head. “You couldn’t have predicted what would happen.”
“I know that logically,” she said, voice low. “But emotionally? It’s just impossible to stop feeling like it’s my fault. The othersfeel the same way. We all keep thinking about what we could’ve done differently. Like, if we’d done more to warn Cal away from him. Or if we’d just stayed at the motel that night instead of leaving her there alone…”
Her voice broke, and I reached over, squeezing her shoulder. “It’s really not your fault, Cherry,” I said softly. “And honestly, we better stop talking about this now, or else wewillbe redoing all this makeup.”
“Good point.” She cleared her throat and inhaled deeply. “Save the tears for later.”
I nodded, forcing a shaky smile before I turned to look out the window. A sign on the edge of the road informed us that Lakeside Psychiatric Center was only five miles away now.
The road curved through a stretch of dense woods before opening up to reveal a sprawling complex of gray stone buildings set back from the highway. A wrought-iron fence enclosed the property, and as Cherry turned into the long driveway, I caught sight of the name carved into a granite marker: LAKESIDE PSYCHIATRIC CENTER - EST. 1962.
“Well, this looks cheerful,” Cherry muttered as we pulled into the visitor parking lot.
The main building loomed ahead; three stories of weathered stone with narrow windows. A few sparse trees dotted the lawn, their branches bare. The whole place had an institutional grimness that made my skin crawl.
I climbed out of the Jeep, tugging my jacket tighter against the cold wind that swept across the parking lot. Cherry grabbed her purse, and we made our way toward the main entrance.
The automatic doors slid open with a pneumatic hiss, and we stepped into a lobby that smelled of industrial cleaner and stale coffee.
“Reception's over there,” Cherry murmured, nodding toward a desk on the far side of the lobby.
We crossed the linoleum floor, our footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. Behind the desk sat a woman in her fifties with reading glasses perched on her nose and gray hair pulled back in a severe bun. Her name tag read MARGARET PERKINS - INTAKE COORDINATOR.
She looked up as we approached, her expression professionally neutral. “Can I help you?”
“Hi,” Cherry said, her voice taking on a friendly brightness. “We're here to visit Jennifer Albright. We have an appointment at four o'clock.”
Margaret's fingers flew across her keyboard. “Names?”
“I’m Caroline Albright,” Cherry said smoothly, then gestured to me. “And this is Charlotte Albright. We're Jennifer's cousins.”
Margaret’s eyes flicked up to us, taking in our similar hair, makeup, and the 'C' necklaces glinting at our throats.
“I'll just need to see some ID,” she said.
Cherry pulled the fake driver's license from her purse and slid it across the desk. Margaret studied it for what felt like an eternity before setting it down and turning to me. “And yours?”
My stomach dropped. “I, uh…” I fumbled for my purse, mind racing. “Sorry, just give me a second.”
