Page 36 of The Bridesmaid

‘OK. That’s kind of … strange,’ says Fitzwilliam. ‘Trinity.’ He hesitates as if uncertain to tell me.

I glance across, too thick with memories and questions about Simone.

‘I don’t know who Trinity is,’ I tell him.

‘OK,’ says Fitzwilliam. ‘So, “Trinity” was the police nickname for Adrianna’s kidnapper, based on her account of her time in captivity. It was never released to laypeople.’

Carefully, I reach inside the envelope, my sleeve still covering my hand.

Inside is an ancient-looking ring, bearing a crest of an oak and ravens. It’s large and bulky, made of old gold. It has an ‘S’ inscribed discreetly on one side.

‘It’s a signet ring,’ says Fitzwilliam.

For a moment I can’t speak. ‘It’s Simone’s,’ I whisper. ‘She always wore it.’ I frown. ‘But I don’t understand. I’m sure I saw Georgia wearing it. Just a moment ago.’

‘More than one ring, I guess,’ says Fitzwilliam. ‘Simone wore a ring with a crest on it?’

I nod. ‘She never took it off.’

I look closer at the ring. ‘The shadowed oak and ravens has a motto underneath:Mors Aeterna. That’s Latin for eternal death.’

‘That’s the Kensington ancestral motto,’ says Fitzwilliam. ‘Private education,’ he adds. ‘I had an English history teacher who made us learn the old society families.’

I ponder this. Simone wore a ring with the Kensington crest. Why? I park it as another disturbing mystery about my former boss, and concentrate on the issue at hand. Now I see the ring up close, I notice something I couldn’t see when it was on Simone’s finger.

‘The bulky shape could mean it’s a poison ring,’ I say. ‘They were a thing in medieval times. A poison ring has a secret compartment to hold the poison. Medieval assassinations are kind of a hobby of mine,’ I admit.

‘You’re a weird girl, you know that?’

I ignore him, turning the ring over. ‘If I’m right,’ I say, ‘this part should pop open. Or maybe this part …’ I’m turning it, trying to figure it out.

Fitzwilliam takes it smoothly out of my hand and with a singlemovement, slides back the front panel to reveal a tiny concealed compartment, no bigger than a fingernail.

‘How did you …?’

‘NYPD,’ he deadpans. ‘We may not know a whole bunch about medieval times, but modern-day kids use slider rings like these for drug stashes.’

At first glance, it looks packed with a loose brown powder.

‘Heroin?’ suggests Fitzwilliam. ‘Let’s bag it,’ he decides. ‘Take a closer look later.’

We’re interrupted by the noise of the doors sliding open.

Adrianna Kensington’s blue eyes come into view. They widen, taking in me, Fitzwilliam, and the ring held guiltily in my hand.

‘Are you the new lawyer?’ she asks, staring at what I’m holding in my hand. Her eyes zero in on the ‘S’ etched into the gold. ‘What are you doing with Simone’s school ring?’

Chapter Twenty-Eight

HOLLY

I’m gazing mutely at Adrianna. Her signature mane of glossy brown hair is even more vibrant in real life, framing a face contoured in dewy perfection. The full lips are the lightest lipsticked pink, and the famous sapphire-blue eyes are framed by thick black lashes and an artfully layered sweep of nude make-up.

But it’s not so much her appearance as her manner that is captivating. If Georgia exuded confidence, then Adrianna beams it like a thousand-watt bulb. The way she walks and holds herself is mesmerizing. I feel my mouth go dry. The ring is still clamped guiltily in my sleeve.

Standing behind her are two of the most beautiful women I have seen in real life. One I recognize: Petra Morka. White-blonde hair, cropped short in a way that would only flatter a woman with her cheekbones. Next to her is a deep-green jumpsuited woman, every inch of whom screams ‘wealthy creative’. Her livid orange hair is faded to light blonde tips, in a feat of hairdressing that must be as expert as it is expensive.

‘This … is a school ring?’ I manage. My eyes land back on the crest.