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I took a step into the room. "John gave me a card ..." The door to the walk-in closet on the other side of the bed was ajar. So I assumed she was somewhere inside, slipping into something more expensive for the reception, and raised my voice a little. "You see, I have this book ..." I gave a short, nervous laugh. "You must hear that all the time. I mean it's so cliche isn't it? Miss Rose, I have this book." I knew I was babbling, but she didn't call for security to throw me out, so I told myself this was good and walked softly across the Persian carpet to the bed. "I can tell you about it," I said, and started into my blurb again. "Facing the hangman's noose ..." The words tumbled out faster and faster as I rounded the bed. "... then the courier du bois takes the nun captive and ..." I stopped just back from the door and shut my mouth at last. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and ventured to ask, "What do you think so far?" She didn't say a word. Was that good? Had I knocked her over with an idea so revolutionary she was speechless? Or was she just too furious to speak? "Miss Rose?" I nudged the closet open a little more. She was there all right. Lying face down in a nest of crumpled satin and lace. "Miss Rose?" I knelt down and turned her over. Her face was swollen, her mouth a livid red. I laid my fingers on her throat, then snapped my hand back and swallowed hard. The bride wasn't laughing or angry, or playing prima donna. The bride was dead.
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