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“It’s no trouble, dear. You know I like to help.”
And she did. All day, Beatrice had been “helping.” Straightening flowers. Correcting seating cards. Moving gifts. Giving instructions to people who hadn’t asked for them.
I didn’t know she was stealing.
Later that evening, I went upstairs to the guest room we were using as a bridal suite. I only wanted a quiet minute to breathe.
Beatrice stood beside the bed.
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