The Last Lie Told (Finley O’Sullivan, #1)(39)

She tossed her cell into the passenger seat and braked outside the gate of the Inglewood home before easing onto the street. The revelation about Legard’s affair with Cherry was definitely a huge twist in the optics of this case. No question. But the idea that the darling Bethany Briggs, who’d graduated from Vanderbilt with her nursing degree so she could dedicate her life to helping others, had been such a wild teenager gave Finley inordinate satisfaction.

How many times had she heard DA Briggs boast about his only child and how brilliant she was? She was going to be a doctor—a surgeon no less. But then she’d spent a summer in some third world country volunteering with Doctors Without Borders and realized what the world really needed was more nurses.

Bethany this and Bethany that.

Finley had read Bethany’s engagement announcement in the Tennessean a couple of months ago. She hadn’t become a surgeon herself, but she’d snagged herself one for a fiancé. Finley felt certain the DA was immensely proud.

Since Briggs had so loved to brag, Finley knew exactly where to look for Bethany. She worked at Vanderbilt hospital, and she lived on Acklen Park Drive in one of the glamorous condos on the corner at Long Boulevard, mere walking distance from the hospital. Finley opted to try her residence first. Finding her at the hospital would be a little more complicated in light of the increasingly tight security measures. She mentally ran through the list of her contacts in the medical field, particularly anyone who worked at Vanderbilt, in the event going to the hospital was her only option.

By the time she reached the ultramodern building where Bethany lived, Finley had come up with three good contacts employed at Vanderbilt. If the former wild child was not home, Finley would call in some markers. A good lawyer—or investigator—was always happy to do favors. When people owed you one thing or another, they were easier to manipulate. Sounded illicit, but it was the nature of the beast. Information was power.

Thankfully there were only four units in the building. She started at the top, ringing buzzers.

“It’s me,” Finley said, using her jolliest tone. “I’m here!”

“Who is this?” came the stern response.

“Bethany?” Finley asked, going for puzzled.

No response.

On to the next buzzer.

“Hello?”

Older voice. Definitely not Bethany’s. Finley decided to go for a more direct approach this time. “Is Bethany home?”

Silence.

Well, hell.

“She is not. May I leave her a message?”

Didn’t really sound like Bethany’s mother. When Finley didn’t immediately respond, the woman tacked on, “I’m her housekeeper. I can leave her a note for you.”

Finley relaxed. She could work with this. “No need. I worked at her father’s office. I’ll just go catch her at the hospital.” She used the past tense because that made the statement true. She hoped the housekeeper didn’t notice. Finley was counting on her desire to be helpful.

“She’s off this afternoon,” the housekeeper explained. “Her wedding dress came in and she had to go to a fitting.”

Finley smiled. There were two wedding shops the young, rich, and famous of Nashville preferred. She opted to go with the older of the two. “I’ll catch her at Winnie’s,” Finley said.

“Yes, okay.”

The sear of anticipation rushing through her, Finley made the drive to Hillsboro Pike in record time. The parking area in front of the bridal shop was fairly empty. Not surprising since appointments were required. The moment she stepped into the shop, a fleeting sense of regret washed over her. She hadn’t bothered with a wedding dress or a chapel wedding. She’d grabbed something from the rack at her favorite shop, and off they’d gone to the justice of the peace. The only photos were the few on her phone a clerk had snapped.

The whole big-wedding thing was overrated, Finley had told herself. She shook off the nostalgia. An overpriced dress and a proper chapel wouldn’t have changed the way things had turned out.

The shop reminded Finley of New York with its urban style and harsh lines. All the silk and lace in various shades of white stood out against the heavy concrete floors, the background walls of wood and metal. Gave the space an unexpected appeal.

A well-dressed clerk appeared. Her smile warm. “Welcome to Winnie’s. Is there anything I can help you with? Perhaps you’d like to make an appointment with a consultant.”

“I have a delivery for Bethany Briggs.” Finley patted her messenger bag.

The woman nodded. “This way. She’s just finished her fitting.”

She guided Finley to a room filled with mirrors, doors, and racks of dresses. She walked to one of the doors and tapped. “Ms. Briggs, your delivery has arrived.”

“Thank you,” Finley said in dismissal.

The clerk nodded and disappeared.

“Come in!” came the gleeful response from the other side of the door.

Finley opened the door and stepped into the surprisingly large dressing room. Two walls were mirrored. There was a sofa, a bar, a rack holding what she suspected was Bethany’s wedding dress. Bethany stood at the dressing table studying her face in a mirror surrounded by Hollywood lights.

“I’m Finley O’Sullivan. I’m here to speak with you about the accusations Charles Holmes has made against Cecelia Legard.”