Tessa lifted the note with trembling fingers.
“Call him. Cancel everything.”
“No.”
“Claire, she destroyed your mother’s dress.”
“I know.”
My voice sounded strangely calm.
I photographed the bathtub, the note, the hallway, the broken lock on the bridal suite, and the small security sensor above the service entrance.
Then I called hotel security.
The manager arrived looking pale.
“Mrs. Harrow requested that camera be disabled this morning,” he admitted.
Of course she had.
What Evelyn didn’t know was that I had installed my own battery-powered camera inside the dress case after someone searched my apartment two weeks earlier.
I opened the app.
There she was.
At 9:14 a.m., Evelyn entered the room, locked the door, poured three bottles of liquid over the gown, smiled toward the camera she believed was disabled, and pinned the note to the lace.
Then she made a phone call.
“Once she runs,” Evelyn said with a laugh, “Adrian will finally sign the amended trust papers.”
