Seventy-Three Thousand Dollars in Phony Medical Bills, Paid for a Pregnant Replacement

We can be civil about this.” Then she turned to Brooke and slipped into the voice that carries.

“The caterer confirmed for six thirty.

You’ve got time to do your hair.”

Trent didn’t budge from the newel post.

“I’ll get them on Sunday,” he said.

“Leave the keys, and I’ll put it all in a bag out on the porch.”

“Sunday,” I repeated.

“Or Monday.