Ashworth’s estate, because — because ‘the old hag was ready for an asylum.'”
“Shut your mouth, you pathetic little nobody!” Portia screamed.
That outburst was her confession.
Then the hotel’s general manager entered through the main doors, carrying a small velvet box.
“Mrs.
Ashworth.
Our housekeeping staff found this in the bridal suite, tucked inside the bride’s handbag.”
Rosalind opened it.
Inside lay her pearls — her grandmother’s antique pearls, the ones Portia had called something from a funeral home.
Rosalind lifted her eyes to her son.