Alice Radstone, the notorious bride accused of murdering her first husband on their wedding night, was seen checking into the Amber Palace Hotel & Casino late this afternoon. She was accompanied by a new husband, Owen March, an ancestry consultant.
Longtime readers will recall that ten months ago, Ms. Radstone was committed to a private para-psych hospital after the mysterious death of husband number one, Travis Poole. Mr. Poole was a member of the Kelbrook family, owners of the closely held Kelbrook Industries.
When asked for a comment, Ms. Radstone said she had video evidence that she did not push her first husband off the roof of theHotel of Dreams on their wedding night. She insists she was abducted by unknown parties for unknown reasons and that Travis Poole was complicit in the kidnapping.
Ms. Radstone claims that she was rescued from the Serenity Gardens Para-Psych Hospital for the Insane by her new husband, who discovered the evidence of her innocence. Readers can click “Nightmare Wedding Night” below to link to the video. Journalists from this newspaper have reviewed the recording and believe it to be genuine.
The video raises many questions, such as who wanted the unconscious bride carried away in the middle of the night? Why was she abducted? And what really happened to her groom? Did Travis Poole jump off the roof of the hotel or was he pushed? Regardless, the video offers clear evidence that his death occurred after Ms. Radstone was abducted, making it impossible for her to have been the killer.
Rest assured, theCurtain’s journalists are now investigating.
Mr. March and Ms. Radstone were recently wed in a Marriage of Convenience and are celebrating their honeymoon at the Amber Palace. When asked if he had any qualms about marrying the woman known as the Deranged Bride, Mr. March appeared amused. “We’re in Illusion Town and I’m feeling lucky,” he said.
“People are staring,” Alice said in low tones.
She had abandoned the black-framed glasses that she had worn in public for the past seven months, and she felt exposed. She tried to ignore the glances—some discreet, some not—that she and Owen and Sebastian were drawing as they walked along the main aisle of the gaming floor of the lavishly decorated casino. Of the three of them, she seemed to be the only one who was uneasy about the attention. Owen appeared oblivious—a happy groom enjoying his honeymoon. Sebastian was riding on hisshoulder, evidently preferring the view from there. His sunglasses glinted on top of his head. He was clearly thrilled with the glamorous glitter and sparkle that surrounded them.
It was nearly midnight and the Amber Palace was crowded. The card tables were busy; slot machines pinged, buzzed, and clanged; roulette wheels spun. The atmosphere reeked of the energy that pulsed in any space where humans gathered to gamble. There was a reason they called it a fever, Alice thought.
“Attracting attention is pretty much the point of this exercise, remember?” Owen said.
“I know, but it feels weird.”
“If it helps, you look amazing in that dress.”
She felt the heat rise in her face. For a moment she wondered if she was going to faint or break out in a cold sweat. It finally dawned on her that she was flushing because of the compliment. Ridiculous.Get a grip, woman. This was what happened when you hadn’t been out on a date in ten months and couldn’t remember the last one anyway, because you’d been drugged and/or hypnotized. You lost your relationship skills.
Not that she’d ever had a lot of them. Flirting had not been covered in the curriculum at the Ballantine Academy. The lessons there had focused on social skills for people stuck with talents that made others uneasy or, worse, frightened them. Core Principle Number Eight:Do not attract attention.
She glanced down at the front of the sleek midnight-blue gown. The lustrous fabric was cut on the bias so that it flowed over the curves of her body all the way to her ankles. Tiny cap sleeves left her arms bare. She did not have a lot of cleavage, but what there was of it was on display, thanks to an uncomfortably snug undergarment that the saleswoman had insisted she buy.
So much for Core Principle Number Eight.
True, the dress—and the body wearing it—were both decidedlymodest by Illusion Town standards, but the gown was the most glamorous thing she had ever worn. It took some getting used to.
She had purchased a few other things during the shopping expedition—underwear, black pants, a couple of pullover tops, and pajamas. She’d insisted on paying for the clothes, even though Owen had offered to cover them as a “business expense.”
The shopping expedition had put a large dent in the stash of cash she kept in the go bag, but she refused to consider Owen’s offer. Allowing him to buy her a new wardrobe and underwear would have made her even more uncomfortable about their Marriage of Convenience than she was already.
During the time she had lived in Illusion Town, she had walked into a few of the casinos during the daytime and looked around, curious about the business that fueled the city, but she had never entered one at night on the arm of a man.
And Owen was not just any man. Owen March was her husband, at least for a while.
“Thank you,” she said. “You look very nice, too.”
“What?” Owen startled her with a quick, wicked grin. “This old thing?”
She laughed, surprising herself. The reality was that he did look good. The tux was a rental, but he wore it well. The classic power suit emphasized his broad shoulders and the masculine grace with which he moved.
She savored the little rush she got from his energy field. Everything about him stirred her senses in unfamiliar but thrilling ways. It was as if there was an intimate bond between them. The result of the danger they were facing together, no doubt. Still. It was exciting. She had never experienced such a sensation during the weeks she and Randolph Draper had been seeing each other, and she had no memory of being aware of anything close to this with Travis Poole.
What she was experiencing with Owen was probably simple physical attraction, she decided. Okay, maybe notsimple, but perfectly normal. Except that her intuition insisted it was so much more. Or was that impulse talking?
“Over here, Ms. Radstone.”
She flinched at the sound of her real name. How long was it going to take to remember that she was no longer Alice Smith?
Owen tightened his grip on her arm, silently reassuring her. She turned and saw the woman who had called her name rushing toward her, camera firing off a string of photos.
