Then I followed my son toward a quiet conference room beside the ballroom.
Sabrina came behind us.
She was no longer smiling.
Michael shut the conference-room door.
“Mom, tell me exactly what happened.”
I sat down carefully.
“I went to bed at around eleven last night. When I woke this morning, my hair was gone.”
“Did someone break into your house?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Sabrina stood near the window.
“Maybe you did something in your sleep.”
Michael turned toward her.
“What?”
“People do strange things when they’re taking medication.”
I stared at her.
“How do you know I take medication at night?”
She hesitated.
“You’ve mentioned having trouble sleeping.”
That was true.
Since my husband’s death, I had occasionally used a prescribed sleep aid. My doctor knew about it, and I followed the instructions carefully.
But Sabrina knew far more about my routine than I’d realized.
She’d spent the previous evening at my house, where several members of the wedding party had gathered before the ceremony.
After dinner, most of them left.
Sabrina stayed in the guest suite because the church was closer to my home than to her apartment.
Michael had spent the night with his groomsmen at a hotel.
I’d gone upstairs alone.
I remembered hearing Sabrina moving around downstairs before I fell asleep.
Then nothing until morning.
“I didn’t shave my own head,” I said.
Sabrina folded her arms.
