Dottie cleared her throat.
“Mrs.
Whitaker called Magnolia Linen this afternoon about an invoice she found.
I pulled the work order and the items we removed from the house.”
She opened the box.
Inside were my cream towels.
My mother’s towels.
The ones with the small blue C stitched near the hem.
Under them were the guest robes, folded napkins, and hand towels that had disappeared from the closets that morning.
For the first time all evening, I felt something close to grief.
Not because they had nearly been thrown away.
Because I remembered my mother standing in this same house years before, touching those towels and laughing that she had spent far too much money on linen nobody would appreciate.
I had appreciated it.
Sloane apparently had not.
Dottie removed a plastic work sleeve from the box.
“The instructions were to remove the existing monogrammed linen before the wife arrived and replace it with the rush order.”
Preston’s chair scraped backward.
“Who wrote that?”
Nobody answered immediately.
I took the invoice from beside my plate and unfolded it.
“That’s what I was wondering.”
I slid it toward Sloane.
She did not touch it.
Evelyn did.
She read the note at the bottom.
Remove wife’s initials before she arrives.
Her eyes moved to Sloane.
Then, astonishingly, she looked at me as if I had created the sentence myself.
“This is petty,” she said.
Dottie stiffened.
“Ma’am, that note came through with the rush order.
We keep copies of custom instructions.”
Miles took another sheet from his folder.
“And the payment record?”
Dottie nodded.
“That’s why I came personally.”
Preston’s expression hardened.
I watched him understand the next problem before anyone said it aloud.
The invoice had not been paid from Preston’s private account.
It had been charged to the household card linked to the account from which lake-house expenses were paid.
An account funded from my family trust distributions.
For years, I had allowed Preston to carry a card for ordinary household purchases.
Groceries.
Repairs.
Fuel for the boat.
Things connected to the property.
He had apparently decided that replacing my belongings with his mistress’s monogram counted as maintenance.
Miles placed the account authorization on top of the deed.
“The card was issued for property-related household expenses,” he said.
“Claire is the account holder.
Preston is an authorized user.”
Sloane finally spoke.
“I didn’t know that.”
Her voice was softer now.
Preston looked at her sharply.
She continued, “You told me it was your account.”
