I was going to make a case.
PART 3
I did the flowers. All of them. Calmly, professionally, invisibly — a florist is furniture at a wedding, and no one, including Adrian, looked twice at the woman arranging centerpieces.
It gave me time. And access. And, most importantly, it gave me the chance to gather what I needed before I did anything at all.
I took photographs. Adrian, alive, in his wedding suit, at a venue, on a date three months after his own funeral. Adrian with Colleen, who’d wept at his graveside. The date, the place, the corsage I’d made for the mother of a groom who was supposed to be dead.
I photographed the program. The groom’s name was listed as “Adrian Parker.” He hadn’t even changed it. The arrogance of a man so certain no one from his old life would ever be at his new wedding that he used his real name at both his fake funeral and his real ceremony.
Then I stepped outside and made two calls.
