But then a woman with the biggest hair I’d ever seen came bursting around the corner and I leapt back in surprise.

“Oh!” She held a hand to her chest. “You scared the shit out of me, doll! I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here.”

“Are you … part of the help?” I asked. Was she the one who messed with my phone? Flutters of paranoia returned.

The woman looked at me with a confused expression and laughed. “I mean, I guess you could say that. I don’t work here, though. Mara Mattingly paid me to be here. I’m doing massages for the bridal party and my co-workers are coming to do the bride-to-be’s hair and makeup in a bit. I was setting up my tables… and then I ran into you! Are you by chance Miss Mara?”

I shook my head. “No, I’m sorry. I’m Georgia. I wasn’t feeling well, so I slept in late … I guess the others are gone?”

“I guess so. I’m Angie. Nice to meet you, Georgia. Such a peachy name, like that song!”

I swallowed, my throat still dry from all the heaving and gasping. “Yep. Like that song…”

“Well, if it’s okay with you, I’m going to go set up now. I won’t be in your way, will I? The massages are at two,” she said, in a pleasant, chirpy voice.

I shook my head. “No, that’s fine. And I’ll try to stay out of your way too.”

I wandered to the dining room. The long wooden table had been scrubbed and polished, nothing left behind to remind me of last night’s party. The kitchen, so full of staff last night, was now sterile and deserted.

I found a jug of milk in the fridge, poured myself a bowl of cheerios, and carried it through the kitchen and down the long dark hallway, letting myself out onto the private, semi-hidden courtyard behind the house.

Moments after settling in at one of the small wrought-iron tables, I heard a brush of movement through the archway, then the unmistakable splash of water. I stood and moved to the gate, surprised to see Elizabeth Beake swimming laps in the pool.

Her white hair was pulled back in a tight chignon and she wore a shimmery black one-piece bathing suit that somehow showed off her aging, yet trim and athletic figure.

She was moving gracefully from one side of the pool to the other, taking long and quick strokes. Her neck was smooth, swan-like. She had always been an elegant woman.

“I wish I had your energy,” I said, leaving my forgotten breakfast and taking a seat at one of the lounge chairs beside the pool.

Elizabeth swam over to the side, inches from my manicured toes, and propped herself up on her elbows at the edge. “Feeling better, then? Get some rest?”