Behind her, the narrow coastal road was packed with SUVs, rental vans, and two catering trucks.
People in expensive linen outfits stood along the roadside holding beach bags and cases of champagne.
Brittany looked furious.
“You gave us the wrong gate code!”
“I didn’t give you a code.”
“Then open the gate!”
“I can’t.”
She froze.
“What do you mean you can’t?”
Before I could answer, flashing red and blue lights appeared behind her.
A deputy walked into view.
Then an older woman stepped through the gate carrying a folder.
She looked directly at Brittany.
“Which one of you is Claire?”
Brittany pointed toward the phone.
The woman’s eyes shifted to me on the screen.
Then she opened the folder.
My stomach dropped.
Because the document sitting on top was something I had never seen before.
Margaret Sloan held the paper toward the camera.
“This,” she said, “is an event lease supposedly signed by you.”
