I guessed Tinsley had tucked me in and flipped the lights out, just like the old days.

I’d fallen asleep in the clothes I’d been wearing for dinner; they felt sweaty and stiff on my limbs, but I didn’t want to change. Instead, I opened my bedroom door and crept down the hall.

The door to Tinsley’s room was closed tight, as were Bri and Mara’s. I moved quietly, barely breathing, and stood in front of the slightly open doorway that led to Georgia’s room. I nudged it with my foot, revealing a perfectly made bed with Georgia’s fancy carry-on and matching suitcase still laid out on top. The lamp beside her bed shone brightly.

I couldn’t believe she wasn’t back from the hospital yet. I hoped that wasn’t a bad sign that her reaction was worse than I’d thought. The hospital had reported that she was stable though.

Next to Georgia’s room, Elizabeth’s door was closed. I knocked lightly and when no one answered, I turned the knob and let myself in. Like Georgia’s room, it was empty and well-lit; neither women had returned since leaving in the ambulance hours ago.

Good. I had time then.

Quietly, I moved back to Georgia’s room and slipped inside. I hesitated behind the thick wooden doorway, trying to decide if I should lock the door behind me, or not. They weren’t here, but I didn’t want one of the other ladies coming down the hallway to catch me snooping.

Decisively, I flicked the bolt on the door and moved to Georgia’s bedside. I flipped through the contents of her suitcase, the soft T-shirts and deliberately holey jeans, the summery dresses and slacks. Every piece of clothing had her scent on it—patchouli and jasmine.

Next, I sifted through her carry-on. Nothing suspicious there either: makeup and deodorant, a few tampons, a toothbrush, floss and birth control pills.

She was as boring and simple as she was pretty, I guess.

I’d been hoping for her cell phone, but it was possible she took it with her.

I hadn’t seen her with a purse, but her wallet had to be somewhere…

Opening the bedside drawers, I found nothing. But when I opened the closet, thick with dust, and pulled the light string to illuminate the space, I saw her wallet, a set of keys, and a black shiny cell phone resting on the top shelf.

I reached for the cell phone, breathlessly. If she was having an affair with my fiancé, the proof should be right here.

But as soon as I flipped the phone over, I caught a flash of a partial unread message on her screen. I gasped.

YOU DESERVE TO DIE FOR WHAT YOU DID, BITCH.

I tried to click on the message to read the rest but was instantly prompted to scan my fingerprint.