Anton refused to let me go alone.
So did Malcolm.
The problem was that the person texting me knew enough about the layout to see who entered the barrel hall from the main corridor.
Paige solved it.
“There’s a service entrance behind the kitchen,” she said. “I can bring security through there. Clara can walk in from the guest side. We’ll be twenty feet away.”
Anton hated the plan.
I did too.
But whoever had my purse and the room key had already been inside our wedding all night. Hiding did not make me safer.
The barrel hall was one of the oldest parts of the estate, a long stone room lined with decorative oak casks and dim wall lamps. During cocktail hour it had held a tasting station. Now it was empty except for folded high-top tables and the smell of wine soaked into wood.
I entered alone.
My shoes clicked against the floor.
“Hello?”
A woman stepped out from behind a row of barrels.
I recognized her immediately.
Mid-thirties. Dark hair in a low ponytail. Black server uniform. Thin silver bracelet.
She was holding my evening bag.
“I’m Elena Park,” she said.
“Do you work here?”
“Temp staffing company.”
“Did Carmela hire you?”
Elena’s mouth tightened. “Not the way that sounds.”
“You have my purse.”
“I know how it sounds.”
I kept several feet between us.
“Then tell me quickly.”
She looked toward the guest entrance.
“No police?”
“Security is nearby.”
Her shoulders dropped slightly.
“That’s fair.”
She held out the purse.
I did not take it.
“What did she ask you to do?”
Elena set it on a barrel instead.
“Three days ago, a woman called the staffing company asking for a server by name. Me. I had worked a charity dinner here last winter. She remembered me because I helped her when she spilled red wine on her coat.”
“Carmela.”
“Yes.”
“She asked you to steal from me?”
“She called it a wedding prank. She said the bride and groom had this running joke about jealous friends. She wanted a staged hotel room for a video that would be shown privately after the reception.”
My stomach turned.
“What did you move?”
“Your veil. The earrings from the bridal suite. Julian’s jacket from the groom’s room. Your phone.”
“Why my phone?”
“She said she needed it for a fake text in the video.”
“You knew my passcode?”
“She gave it to me.”
That hit harder than expected.
Carmela had known my passcode.
I used Anton’s birthday.
The same four digits for almost a year.
Carmela had watched me enter it often enough to remember.
Elena continued. “I took the phone to her. She sent the messages herself. I moved the props. That was all I was supposed to do.”
“And the key?”
She produced a plastic hotel card from her pocket.
“Master utility key. She got it from Gabriel after he set the camera.”
“Why did you keep it?”
“Because when she collapsed, I realized the prank wasn’t a prank.”
Elena looked at me directly.
“I saw her near your champagne before the toast.”
My pulse quickened.
“Did you see what she did?”
“Not clearly. I saw her hand over the glass. Then she drank, collapsed, and everybody started talking about poisoning. I went upstairs to undo the room before anyone found it. Security was already there.”
“So you took my purse and ran?”
“I took the purse because it still had the list.”
“What list?”
She reached inside and pulled out a folded piece of hotel stationery.
My body tightened when she opened it.
Not a contract.
Not a legal plan.
A handwritten checklist.
Veil — bed.
Pearls — pillow.
Julian jacket — chair.
Phone — message 8:40.
Camera — ON before toast.
C.P. upstairs by 8:45.
I stared at the initials.
“C.P.?”
“Your maiden name is Clara Porter, right?”
“Yes.”
“She told me someone would escort you upstairs if you got tired.”
I swallowed.
“Who?”
Elena shook her head. “I don’t know. I thought it would be a bridesmaid.”
A movement sounded behind the service door.
Elena startled.
“It’s security,” I said.
“Wait.”
She lowered her voice.
“There’s something else. She changed the plan tonight.”
“How?”
“After Lydia arrived.”
My breathing slowed.
“She knew Lydia was here?”
“She saw her by the guest book. Carmela pulled me aside and told me to move the blue dress from her car into Room 214.”
“What blue dress?”
“The one she wanted Lydia to wear.”
Elena looked ashamed.
“I never moved it. That was when I knew this wasn’t a harmless joke. She wanted two women’s things in the same room. Your veil and somebody else’s dress.”
The door opened.
Anton entered with Malcolm and Paige.
Elena raised both hands.
“I’m done lying,” she said.
Anton saw the list on the barrel.
He read it once, face tightening.
Then he looked at Elena.
“My mother paid you?”
“She gave me five hundred dollars in advance and said another five hundred after the reception.”
“Did she tell you Clara would be drugged?”
“No.”
“Did she tell you Lydia would be here?”
“Not until after she arrived.”
Anton rubbed his mouth with one hand.
The picture was changing again.
Carmela had planned to stage me with Julian.
But Lydia’s appearance gave her a second opportunity.
A blue dress from the old engagement night.
A room full of props.
A camera.
Carmela did not need one coherent story.
She needed confusion.
Enough conflicting images that Anton would stop asking questions and retreat to the one person who always told him what they meant.
His mother.
Elena handed Malcolm the key and the list.
“I’ll give a statement,” she said. “I’m not asking for immunity or whatever. I just don’t want her telling people I invented this.”
Malcolm nodded.
Anton looked at me.
“Are you okay?”
It was the first time he had asked since learning about the glass.
I wanted to say yes.
Instead I said, “No.”
He nodded as if that answer made sense.
Elena stepped toward the service exit, then stopped.
“One more thing.”
We turned.
“She kept saying this wasn’t about Clara.”
Anton’s face changed.
“What did she say it was about?”
Elena hesitated.
“She said, ‘My son has spent his whole life choosing people who leave. I’m making sure he finally learns before it’s too late.’”
Anton stared at the handwritten list.
The anger went out of his face.
What replaced it looked like grief.
Then Paige’s radio erupted with frantic voices.
“The mother of the groom is in the ballroom.”
Paige grabbed her earpiece.
“What do you mean? She was supposed to stay in the lounge.”
“She took the microphone.”
A distant cheer rose through the stone walls.
Then Carmela’s amplified voice carried faintly down the corridor.
“Before my son cuts his wedding cake,” she said, “there is something his bride needs to admit.”
Anton was already running.
