Chapter 5: The Dressing Suite Drawer
The officer with the clipboard didn't look at the champagne flute anymore. He looked at Vivian.
"Ma'am, with your consent we can take a look at your private suite. Just to rule things out," he said. His tone was flat, professional, but I heard what he was really asking. He wanted a reason for the lorazepam we were all pretending might be in that glass.
Vivian's hands were still clasped tight against the lace of her gown. She didn't look at me. She looked past me toward the cream-paneled doors where two venue security guys stood with their arms crossed, keeping the guests in.
"My dressing suite? There's nothing in there," she said. Her voice was thin. "It's just my things. My clutch."
"Then you won't mind if we take a quick look," the second officer said. He was younger, his hand resting near his radio. "We need consent. It helps you."
I watched her jaw work. The tiara had slipped a fraction to the left. She gave a short nod.
"Fine. Yes. Go look. Get it over with."
Nora hadn't moved from the edge of our circle. She kept her navy wrap dress pulled close, her eyes on Vivian the whole time. When Vivian said yes, Nora exhaled once through her nose.
We walked the short hall to the bridal dressing suite together, me, Vivian, Nora two steps behind, and the two patrol officers. The Whitmore called it a suite but it was a large dressing room with a vanity ringed in bulbs, a rack of garment bags, a couch with Vivian's white silk robe folded over the arm, and a wall of mirrors. It smelled like hairspray and lilies. The air was too warm.
On the vanity sat Vivian's small white beaded clutch, the one she'd carried down the aisle. Beside it was a half-drunk bottle of water and a scattered set of bobby pins. The older officer pulled on latex gloves with a snap and asked Vivian again, "Is this yours? Do you consent to us opening it?"
"Yes," she said. She was standing by the door, her arms crossed now, holding herself. "I told you."
He unclasped the clutch. It was tight and overstuffed. He tipped it gently onto the vanity. Out came a lipstick, a folded tissue, a small silver compact, a few folded twenties, and then a small amber prescription bottle that rolled once before he stopped it with his gloved finger.
He held it up to the light. The label was white with black print.
Lorazepam 2mg. Prescribed to Vivian Croft. Dr. Alisha Grant. Thirty tablets. Date filled, two weeks ago.
I could see through the plastic. It was about half empty.
Nora made a small sound behind me. I didn't turn.
The officer didn't open it. He lowered it into a clear evidence bag his partner held out. He sealed it and wrote on the label with a marker. Vivian stared at the bag like she didn't understand what it was.
"That's just my prescription," she said quickly. "For sleep. For anxiety, with the wedding. You can ask my doctor."
The younger officer didn't answer. He just zipped the bag closed. The sound was loud in the quiet room.
Nora stepped forward then. She wasn't looking at the bottle anymore. She was looking at me.
"Daniel, tell them about the will," she said. Her voice was low, like she didn't want the officers to be the audience but knew they had to be. "Tell them what you did Thursday."
I felt every eye shift to me. My collar was tight against my neck.
"What about the will?" the older officer asked.
Vivian's head turned sharply toward Nora. "What are you talking about?"
Nora didn't flinch. "He changed his company beneficiary and his personal will. After you both got the marriage license. He added you. Primary beneficiary, a hundred percent. He told me to file it because I'm still listed as his assistant on the paperwork."
She was right. I'd gone to my lawyer Thursday afternoon, before the rehearsal dinner. I'd signed the amendment because Vivian had sat on the couch in my apartment and cried about how her mother had nothing if something ever happened to me. I'd wanted her to feel secure. The lawyer had said the change became effective upon filing the signed certificate after the ceremony.
I hadn't told anyone but Nora. I'd had her scan and send the executed copy.
"We were supposed to file it Monday," I said. My voice sounded rough. "It was meant to be... it was for after the wedding."
The older officer wrote something down without looking up. "And the insurance?"
That word hit a different nerve. I remembered last Tuesday night. Vivian and I were in the kitchen of the apartment, eating takeout out of cartons. She'd been scrolling on her phone and asked, casual, like she was reading an article.
"How long does a life insurance payout usually take? Like, if something happened, would the spouse get it right away or does it take months?"
I'd laughed at the time. I'd said I thought it was thirty to sixty days and asked why she was thinking about that before our honeymoon. She'd shrugged and said her cousin was dealing with probate and it got her wondering. I'd forgotten about it until now.
I didn't say any of that out loud yet. I just stared at the evidence bag with the amber bottle inside it, the pills shifting when the officer moved his hand.
Vivian's eyes were suddenly wet. "Daniel, that's not... I have a prescription. That doesn't mean I put anything in your drink."
The officer held the bag up a little higher, away from her.
"We're not confirming what was in the glass, ma'am," he said, his voice even. "This is just being secured as a potential source pending lab. The glass and this bottle go to county together. Don't explain it here. You'll have a chance to give a statement."
He looked at me then. "You remember your wife asking about that timing?"
May you like
I nodded once. I couldn't get the words out clean.
Nora's hand hovered near my elbow but didn't touch me. The suite felt smaller, the mirrors reflecting all of us back at each other, the bagged bottle in the center of it like the only real thing in the room.
