She carefully widened the opening, trying not to damage the main fabric of the dress. Her fingers were trembling so badly she had to stop and put down the scissors to compose herself. Then she took up the task again.
The slit grew larger. And suddenly something white spilled out of it. Fine powder, like flour or cornstarch, dusted the dark bedspread.
Liv froze, unable to believe her eyes. The powder kept spilling—just a little, a pinch, maybe a teaspoon. White.
Fine-grained. Odorless. What is this?
Why? She recoiled from the bed, dropping the dress. Her breathing turned shallow.
A pounding began in her temples. This couldn’t be an accident. Someone had deliberately sewn this inside the lining.
Mark. Mark had done this—or he had ordered the seamstress to do it. But why?
What was this powder? Liv walked to the nightstand, picked up her phone with shaking hands, and dialed her friend’s number. Iris was a chemist who worked in a hospital lab.
If anyone could help her understand, it was Iris. “Iris… hey.” Her own voice sounded foreign, scared. “Can you talk right now?”
“Liv?
What happened? You sound strange,” Iris said, instantly alert. “I—I need your help immediately.”
“Is something wrong?
Where are you?”
“Home.” Liv swallowed. “Iris, I found some white powder in the dress. It was sewn into the lining.
I don’t know what it is, but I’m really scared.”
Silence hung on the line. Then Iris asked softly, “Which dress?”
“The one Mark ordered for my birthday.”
Another pause, longer this time. “Liv, listen to me carefully,” Iris said.
Her voice turned harsh, professional. “Don’t touch that powder anymore. Don’t touch it at all.
If you touched it with your hands, go immediately and wash them with soap several times. Put the dress in a plastic bag and seal it. And collect a small amount of the powder into a separate bag, but do it with gloves on.
Understood? Do you have gloves at home?”
“Yes. Rubber gloves for washing dishes.”
“Those will work.
Collect a sample and bring it to the lab. I’m at work now. Come as soon as you can.”
“Iris, you’re scaring me.”
“I don’t want to scare you, but this could be anything—from harmless talc to something very dangerous.
We just need to check. Get dressed quickly and come here.”
Liv hung up. Her hands were shaking even harder.
She went to the bathroom, soaped her hands, and began scrubbing them under hot water. She soaped, rinsed, soaped again. Her skin turned red, but she kept washing, as if trying to wash away not just the powder, but the terror that had seized her.
Then she returned to the bedroom, retrieved rubber gloves and plastic bags from the kitchen, pulled on the gloves, took a small resealable baggie, and carefully collected a pinch of the white powder from the bedspread. She sealed it and put it in her jacket pocket. She carefully folded the dress, trying not to scatter the remaining powder, and packed it into a large trash bag.
She tied it shut and hid it in the closet. Then she took off the gloves, washed her hands again, got dressed, and rushed out of the house. On the way to the lab, she tried not to think about what was happening.
She turned on the radio to drown out the voices in her head, but the music irritated her, and she soon turned it off. She silently watched the road, the traffic lights, the pedestrians. Everything seemed unreal, as if she were watching a movie about someone else’s life.
Iris met her at the entrance to the lab building. She was in a white coat, her hair pulled back, her face serious. “Give it here,” she said, taking the baggie with the powder.
“Wait right here. I’ll do a quick preliminary analysis.”
Liv remained standing in the corridor, leaning against the cold wall. Time stretched out agonizingly slowly—ten minutes, twenty, then half an hour.
She was about to knock on the lab door when it opened and Iris stepped out. Her face was pale. “Let’s go talk in my office,” she said quietly.
They went into a small office at the end of the corridor. Iris closed the door, sat down at the table, and gestured for Liv to sit across from her. “Liv, this isn’t talc or cornstarch,” she began.
“This is a very dangerous substance.”
“What?” Liv whispered. “I ran an express test, and it indicated the presence of toxic compounds. To determine exactly what it is, we need a full analysis.
But I can tell you with certainty—it’s poison.”
The word hung in the air like a blow. “A poison that is activated upon contact with moisture and heat,” Iris continued. “Meaning when a person sweats.
If you had worn that dress and spent several hours in it, especially moving, dancing, getting excited—that is, during a party—your skin would have secreted sweat and the poison would have started to absorb.”
“What… what would have happened then?” Liv asked. “First weakness, dizziness, then nausea, rapid heartbeat—and then, depending on the dose and exposure time, a cardiac arrest could have occurred,” Iris said. “It would have looked like a natural death from heart failure, especially in a fifty-year-old woman at a celebratory event where she’s excited, drinking wine, experiencing emotions.”
Liv covered her face with her hands.
This couldn’t be real. This had to be a nightmare. Another dream from which she would soon wake up.
“Liv, listen to me.” Iris moved closer, taking her hands. “I understand this is a shock, but we need to act. You have to go to the police immediately.”
“The police?” Liv raised her head, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Iris, that’s Mark. My husband. We’ve been together for twenty years.
How could he—”
“I don’t know how or why,” Iris interrupted gently, “but the fact remains: someone wanted to kill you and make it look like an accident. He ordered the dress, right?”
“Yes… but maybe the seamstress,” Liv said desperately. “Maybe it was her.”
“Why would the seamstress kill you?
Does she even know you?”
Liv fell silent. Of course she didn’t. Ms.
Reed was just a seamstress recommended by Nikki. They had no reason for enmity. “Liv, you have to go to the police,” Iris repeated firmly.
“I’ll give you an official report on the composition of this substance. I have a detective friend—a good man. Call him, meet with him.”
Liv nodded, unable to speak.
Iris dialed a number, spoke to someone, then handed Liv a slip of paper with a phone number on it. “His name is Detective Leonard Hayes. I explained everything to him.
He’s waiting for your call.”
Liv took the paper with trembling fingers, stood up, and left the office. In the corridor, she stopped, leaned against the wall, and tried to gather her thoughts. Mark wanted to kill her.
Her husband, the father of her child, the man she had spent the better part of her life with. How was this possible? She dialed the detective’s number.
After a few rings, a man’s voice answered. “Leonard Hayes speaking.”
“Hello.” Her voice trembled. “My name is Olivia Sutton.
Iris gave me your number.”
“Yes, I know, Mrs. Sutton,” he said. “I understand how difficult this is for you right now, but I need to meet with you as soon as possible.
“Near the medical lab on Maple Street.”
“All right, I’ll be there in about twenty minutes. Wait for me by the entrance, and don’t go anywhere.”
Liv went outside and sat on a bench by the entrance. Her legs wouldn’t hold her.
Her head felt foggy. People walked by. Cars drove along the road.
Everything seemed so distant, so alien. Twenty minutes later, a dark, unmarked car pulled up. A man in his fifties got out wearing a dark jacket, with a tired but attentive face.
“Mrs. Sutton?” he asked, extending a hand. “Detective Leonard Hayes.
Let’s go talk.”
They went into the building lobby and sat on a sofa in the corner. The detective took out a notebook and a pen. “Tell me everything from the beginning,” he said.
“Take your time, but try to remember all the details.”
Liv began to tell him about the dream, about her father, about the dress Mark had given her, about how she’d ripped open the lining and found the powder. Her voice broke, tears flowed, but she kept talking. Detective Hayes listened silently, occasionally taking notes.
When she finished, he closed his notebook and nodded. “Mrs. Sutton, I have something to tell you,” he said seriously.
“Your husband, Mark Sutton, has been under surveillance for some time. We’ve been conducting an investigation into major financial fraud. He has serious debts to certain individuals.
Very serious debts.”
Liv wiped her tears with the back of her hand. “What debts? He works.
We have a stable income.”
“He was involved in illegal real estate
