Chapter 11: Who Paid

I left Sullivan asleep with one arm flung across my side of the bed.

On the pillow I wrote on hotel stationery: Back by eight. Don't tell anybody anything.

Then I dressed in the dark and took the stairs, because I didn't trust my face in a mirror.

The Marlowe Hotel lobby was nearly empty at six.

A single clerk stood behind the long marble desk, a young man with a name tag and sleepy eyes.

"Room 412," I said. "I stayed there the night of the Tattnall engagement party."

"Yes, ma'am. I think I remember you."

"I need to know when it was booked."

He looked at me, polite and wary.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, that's confidential. Only the person on the reservation can..."

"My sister is the person on the reservation."

"Then your sister can ask."

"My sister texted me at three in the morning to ask me to ask you."

I held up my phone with Corinna's message on it.

He read it.

Then he did what hotel clerks do when they decide something is above their pay grade. He shrugged and turned to his screen.

"Four-twelve," he muttered. "Candler, C. Booked by card, Visa, ending in..."

"Never mind the card. The date."

He typed.

His eyebrows rose.

"Twenty-three days before the party."

I stood very still.

"Say that again."

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