Page 48 of Pay the Price

“Well,” he said when he reached me, “I finally get to talk to my daughter, and it only took a mandatory work event to make it happen.”

I glared at him. “Sorry for not rushing to return your texts after youkidnapped meandheld me prisonerfor ten days.”

He looked around nervously, then looked at me likeIwas the crazy one. “What on earth are you talking about?” He lifted his chin. “I did no such thing.”

“Right,” I said. “I guess Calvin just decided to have a little fun, complete with an army of guards and a menu at Hotel Prisoner that looked a lot like the one you’ve been feeding Ruth and me for years.”

“What is the matter with you?” He lowered his voice, obviously trying not to be overheard by the crowd streaming toward the tent where champagne and hors d’oeuvres were being served. Then he scowled. “I knew it was a mistake for you to live with those…criminals.”

“This has nothing to do with them. You’d made your point by canceling my credit cards and kicking me out of the house.”

“If I remember correctly, you’re the one who left.”

“And then you sent all my stuff to Mom’s house. No, you hadCalvinbring it, just like you have him do all your dirty work.”

“Calvin works for me, doing the things I need done, whatever they may be,” he said. “I’m a busy man. I can’t indulge your every whim myself, and truthfully, I’m beginning to think you need some help.”

I shook my head. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re talking nonsense, rambling about being kidnapped, by your father no less.” He studied me. “Perhaps some time away is in order. Some professional help. Mental illness runs in the Mercer family after all.”

I gaped at him. “You’re using Mom to justify this… this… whatever this is?!”

One of the stragglers heading to the tent glanced at me before averting their gaze. And yeah, I was getting a little loud, but who could blame me?

“I’m only speaking the truth, Daisy. You were too young to know before your…” He took a deep breath, like the thought still pained him. “… before your mother died. After, well, I wasn’t eager to tell you that part of your family history. I was hoping itwould be irrelevant, but you’ve had a lot in common with your mother. Perhaps I should have been more vigilant.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” I said. “You don’t have to throw Mom under the bus. You could just apologize for what you did.”

“You’re being dramatic.” He looked around as the last of the attendees moved past us to the tent. “And so could you. We were worried about you while you were gone.”

I folded my arms over my chest. “Right. Real worried. That’s why you didn’t even issue a press release or file a missing persons report. The Be— ” I cut myself short when I realized I was about to refer to my brother’s killers while talking to my dad. “Someone else had to do that.”

His gaze turned cold, like he knew who I was referring to. “That kind of publicity is bad for business. I didn’t want to jump the gun if you’d simply decided to take some time like your mother.”

“What do you mean?” All this talk of my mom mixed with talk of the Beasts and my dad’s gaslighting was starting to make me confused.

“It was something your mother did from time to time,” my dad said. “And that’s what she called it —taking some time. She would disappear for a few days — or a few weeks — and return unharmed, even refreshed. Most of the time.”

“Most of the time?”

A shadow passed over his gray eyes. “On one occasion, her…illnesswas worse when she came home. She spent some time at Oak Hill. It did her a world of good.”

“Oak Hill?” It was a psychiatric hospital, a place people went — or were sent — when their mental health problems were too big for therapy.

“It’s a wonderful facility,” he said. “Perhaps we should consider it.”

I shrank back from him. “I’m notsick.”

He did a good job of looking sad, and I realized he was an expert at playing this part: the concerned family member, at wit’s end. “That’s exactly what your mother used to say.”

A chill traveled up my spine. A new picture of my parents’ marriage was beginning to form in my mind, one where they hadn’t just been opposites who’d somehow attracted but where my dad had married my mom for her money, then had her committed to Oak Hill to convince everyone — maybe even including her — that she was mentally ill.

I glared at him. “Maybe because it was true.”

He put a hand on my shoulder. “Come home, Daisy. I can keep an eye on you there, get you the help you need if it comes to that.”

I shook off his shoulder and took a step away from him, toward the tent and the after-party.

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