“Looking for my damned clothes.” She flung open the door of the locker and found a large plastic baggie containing her belongings. She opened the bag and fished out her cut-off yoga pants, sliding them up beneath the gown. The T-shirt was next, but it was spattered with still-damp vomit.

“Eew. Gross.” She dropped the shirt onto the floor of the locker. When she glanced over at her father, he was staring at her, momentarily speechless.

“Shoes, Dad!” she said, impatiently snapping her fingers. “Where are my shoes?”

“You’re not leaving here,” Brice said. “The doctor said they’ll probably admit you, as soon as a bed opens up.”

“Nope.” She fished her bra out of the bag, turned her back to her father and proceeded to don it.

“I’m not checking in, I’m checking out,” she announced.

“To do what, exactly?” he asked. “You can’t even stand up straight. You came here by ambulance, Drue. Five hours ago you were found unconscious in a pool of your own vomit. You practically flat-lined.”

“I’m not near death. I’m a little groggy, is all.” She pushed past him and poked her head out of the curtain. “I know Corey and Jonah are the ones who found me and called nine-one-one. Where are they?”

“I sent them home,” Brice said. “They wanted to stay, but I convinced them to go. Frankly, I think they were relieved because they didn’t want to be here when I confronted you about your drug use.”

He paused. “They found the pill bottle in your purse, Drue. Your friend Corey went looking, so he could tell the EMTs what you’d overdosed on.”

Drue was so angry she was shaking. “Why is it so damned hard for you to believe that I am not a pill freak? I already told you, I don’t do drugs. Didn’t I pass your stupid drug test? As for that pill bottle, I’m sure Ben planted that in my purse so that when you found my body, you’d come to the conclusion you are so eager to reach.”

Brice looked stricken. “I want to believe you, but this story of yours is just not credible. Listen to yourself, Drue. You’re telling me that Ben tried to kill you with a smoothie? Where’s the smoothie?”

She closed her eyes and tried to find an elusive sense of calm.

“He came back,” she said, remembering one of the last moments before she passed out the first time. “I started getting really woozy after I’d drunk about half the smoothie. He didn’t have the balls to hang around and watch me die. I’d crawled into the bathroom, and I heard the front door open, and then footsteps. I tried to call out to him for help. I didn’t realize he’d deliberately poisoned me. I bet he came back to collect the evidence—the smoothie.”