Chapter 21: The Rehearsal

The receipt came in at 3:15 on Friday afternoon, typed into the vendors chat by someone who just wanted to get paid.

I was at the Daily Grind with a notebook, because by now I couldn't work anywhere else.

【Sound company office (billing): Receipt #0447, for S. Pfeiffer.】

【Rental: 1 concealed wireless camera, live link to client's phone. Install: Dettmer guest cabin, bedroom, inside smoke detector.】

【Delivered and tested Thurs. Pickup Sat.】

【Florist: Same cabin, same Thursday. 3 dozen red roses, petals on the bed, 2 champagne flutes, 1 bottle. Signed for by B. Dettmer.】

【Florist: Note on the card: "9 pm. Make her come alone."】

I read it three times.

The Grind went on clinking around me.

【Sue: I am only a pedant. But is that a camera in the smoke detector of the room where it happened?】

【Pete: It is. It's the same room. They are rebuilding the crime scene.】

【Helen: Oh no. Oh, that poor girl. I mean Britta. I mean both. I don't know anymore.】

I understood it all at once.

If I went to the cabin alone, I would be filmed in the groom's bedroom the night before the wedding.

The footage would say I'd begged my way in.

If I stayed home, the empty bed would still be in the live shot.

I'd be the woman who wouldn't come, which was also fine with them.

Either way, Shayla would cry on camera, and the sponsors would come back.

I closed my notebook and went to find Dolly.

She was in the Auxiliary kitchen at the Legion, up to the elbows in pie crust, with six other women.

I laid it out.

Dolly listened with her hands in the flour, and she did not interrupt once.

"Say it again," she said when I finished. "The part with the smoke detector."

"It's a camera."

"In my guest cabin? In the Dettmer cabin?" She pointed a rolling pin at me. "That's a federal offense."

"It's a county ordinance, probably."

"I'll take it." She wiped her hands on her apron. "How many pies do we have?"

"Dolly."

"Four apple, two pumpkin, and a pecan that nobody's ready for."

"Rehearsal dinner dessert," said a woman at the sink, very sweetly, "is traditionally served at nine."

My text from Brock arrived at 7:48 that evening, right on schedule.

"Britt. I know I've got no right. I need to say sorry for real, with no one else there."

"Guest cabin, 9. Just you. I'll never ask for anything again."