Chapter 6: What Michael Almost Said
I called him back immediately.
It rang six times and went to voicemail.
I tried again.
Same result.
"He's with her," Ellen said.
She wasn't guessing.
She said it the way you say something you already know.
I sent a text: *Call me back.
Now.*
Three minutes passed.
Then: *Can't talk right now.
Later tonight.*
I put the phone face-down on the table.
Ellen said, "He started to tell you something and then she stopped him."
"You don't know that."
She looked at me.
I picked the phone back up and called Daniel Marsh at the number Patricia had given me.
He answered on the third ring, sounded young, slightly wary.
"Mr.
Marsh.
My name is Robert Whitaker.
I believe you were the photographer's assistant at the Aldermoor Estate last Saturday."
"...Yes."
"I'm the father of the groom.
I need to ask you something directly, and I need you to be honest with me."
A pause.
"Okay."
"Were you in the bridal corridor at approximately four-fifteen in the afternoon?"
Longer pause.
"Yes," he said.
"Did you see what happened there?"
The silence that followed told me everything before he spoke.
"I saw some of it," he said carefully.
"I was at the end of the hall.
I had my back turned at first.
When I looked up—" He stopped.
"Look, I don't want to get involved in anything.
I have a contract with the agency and if I—"
"I'm not asking you to testify in court.
I'm asking what you saw."
Another pause.
Then, quietly: "I saw a woman on the floor.
And I saw the groom and bride walking away from her.
I didn't see how she got there." A beat.
"But I heard it."
"What did you hear?"
"I heard the sound." He said it simply, like he didn't want to describe it further.
"And I heard the groom say something to the bride as they walked away."
My grip tightened on the phone.
"What did he say?"
"He said, 'She'll be fine.
Let's go.'"
I set the phone on the counter and stood there for a moment with my hand still resting on it.
Ellen was watching me from the table.
"He said she'd be fine," I told her.
"And they left."
Ellen absorbed that.
She didn't react visibly.
Just gave one small nod, the kind that meant she was filing it away somewhere deep.
My phone lit up.
Michael.
I answered.
"Dad.
I'm sorry about the voicemail.
Cassandra was—" He stopped.
"I'm outside.
I needed to step out."
"What were you going to tell me?"
A long breath.
"Cassandra has been — she's not well.
Mentally.
She's been seeing someone, a therapist, for about a year.
She has these episodes where she loses control and then she doesn't fully remember what she did.
She's told me things she's done and genuinely couldn't recall them afterward." His voice was strained.
"I'm not saying that excuses anything.
I'm saying I've been trying to manage it.
I thought the wedding stress was making it worse and I thought if I just kept things calm—"
"Michael." My voice came out flat.
"Stop."
He stopped.
"You knew she was capable of this."
Silence.
"You brought your mother into a situation you knew was volatile, and when it went wrong, you didn't protect her.
You participated."
"Dad, I panicked—"
"You said 'she'll be fine' and you walked away."
The silence that followed was different from the others.
It was the silence of someone who has just realized the full shape of what they did.
"Who told you that?" he said, very quietly.
"Someone who was there."
Another silence.
Then Michael said something that made me go very still.
May you like
"Cassandra knows there was a witness.
She's already called the venue."
