Chapter 13 Maggie #2
“In real life,” she explained like a teenager exasperated with aging parents.
“We have plenty of time, but we should be outside the office building early or we can sit in the lobby. Whatever. We’ll case the joint, find our target, and follow her as long as we can.
And we’ll bring Oscar. He’s amazing, isn’t he? ”
Maggie lifted the yellow book, feeling as dumb as the “Dummies” it was written for. “At least he didn’t suggest we limp.”
Jo Ellen shot a brow. “If we follow, we limp. That’s the rule.”
Maggie closed her eyes. “I hate you.”
“Inconspicuous? Does the word mean nothing to you?” Maggie waved the scarf that Jo Ellen had produced from her bag, watching in horror as she pulled out giant sunglasses. “It’s late afternoon—”
“In the summer, sun’s still out.” Jo Ellen slid hers on. “Fab, huh?”
“I’m not wearing sunglasses or a scarf.”
“Maggie, you have short silver hair, high cheekbones, and a very distinctive look,” Jo Ellen insisted. “It’s entirely possible that Anthony has a picture of you on his desk at work.”
“Unlikely.”
“Impossible?”
She conceded with a tip of her head, but she doubted it.
“What if he sees us?” Jo Ellen continued, wrapping the scarf around her head. “How do we explain why we’re gallivanting around Buckhead? We need to blend in.”
“You think he won’t notice me in…this?” Maggie flicked the silk.
“I gave you the Hermes,” Jo said on a sigh. “And I took the one I bought with Artie in Hawaii.” She tied her scarf, which covered her hair with a splash of bright pink hibiscus. Maggie’s was a much more subtle navy blue with the signature chain design.
It really was Hermes, which was sweet, and slightly more acceptable. Maggie took it, and the sunglasses.
“Ridiculous,” she muttered, turning to the ten-story building with a bank on the ground floor.
“His office is on the fifth floor, as I recall, and the only way to get out of this building is through this lobby and out those doors. Now, once she does that, she could go to one of three parking garages, so what do we do?”
“We follow on foot or by car.” Jo Ellen looked up and down Lenox Road.
“She could go into either of these giant malls. And there are a bunch of restaurants down that street. I just really don’t want to give up this parking spot, since it took us an hour to get it.
But who knows? She could drive off to some motel and—”
“Stop.” Maggie pulled the scarf on with force. “He’s not cheating on her.”
“Oh, you’re back on Team Anthony?”
“I’ve never been off his team,” Maggie insisted. “I was miffed about my roses, but since we sneaked over there the other day and did some pruning, I feel better. He’s busy. Crista’s pregnant. And Nolie’s a kid. Bottom line? They’re my roses and he’s got no one to help with them.”
“I love when you have a forgiving heart, Mags.”
“Don’t count on it.” Maggie slid the silly sunglasses on and squinted through them at the bustling shops and offices of Buckhead, half-regretting this fool’s errand.
“Maggie!” Jo Ellen grabbed her hand. “Look. Is that her?”
She peered at a young woman in skinny dark trousers, high heels, and a yellow and black top.
“She looks like a bumble bee,” Maggie muttered. “But, yes, with that hair? It could be her.”
“Are we sure?” Jo Ellen leaned forward, a hand on Maggie’s arm. “We have to be ready—to walk or drive. Are you?”
“Just watch her. She’s coming closer.”
The woman strolled, pulled out her phone, read it, and slowed her step to tap the screen.
“This feels so…” Maggie made a face. “Intrusive.”
“Do you want to catch him or not?” Jo pressed.
“Not,” Maggie answered.
Jo Ellen stared at her. “You don’t?”
“I want him to be innocent, Jo. I don’t want him to be having an affair with her.”
They both stared at the woman in question, who dropped her phone in her bag, and strolled to the crosswalk, pausing to wait for the light.
“She’s walking!” Jo Ellen announced like Maggie was blind. “Bumble Bee is on the move.”
“Bumble Bee?”
“Code name,” Jo Ellen explained as she gathered her bag and opened the T-Bird’s door. “You know, we’re like the Secret Service and the CIA.”
“Just,” Maggie said dryly, slamming her door as she stepped onto the sidewalk. “You’ve lost your mind.”
“Just don’t lose Bumble Bee,” she said, giving Maggie a nudge toward their target. “She’s a fast walker, even in those shoes.”
“And we’ve got a combined age of over one hundred and fifty, so if you don’t want to be taking a detour to the ER, slow down, Jo Ellen Wylie.”
“Okay, okay.” She slid her arm under Maggie’s. “I got you.”
“You’re as old as I am,” Maggie muttered.
“Just move and don’t lose sight of her.”
“As if I could in that screaming yellow top.”
The young woman turned on the next street, making Maggie hope she was headed for the closest restaurant. She passed a sushi place—thank you, Lord. Maggie hated the smell of the stuff—and an eyeglass store, a jewelry store, and a café.
“Where is she going?” Jo Ellen whined.
Finally, she paused, turned on a side street, and disappeared.
“Faster, Mags! We don’t want to lose her.”
Maggie picked up the pace, considered swearing under her breath, and squeezed Jo’s arm.
“Southern ladies do not run in public, Jo Ellen.”
“Well, we Yankee girls can make time. Move it, Mama.”
They whipped around the corner, catching sight of the Bee disappearing into a store. Reaching it, they both paused as they looked at the sign.
“Second Skin?” Jo Ellen read. “What is…oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” Maggie bit her lip and peered into the pink-hued display window where three faceless mannequins wore…not much. Something black, something pink, something…that could bring a married man to his knees.
“Buying an outfit for after dinner?” Jo Ellen mused while Maggie grunted. “Come on, Mags, let’s go in.”
“And do what? Shop?”
“Spy!” She yanked the heavy glass door open and stepped into a surprisingly large boutique. Instantly, the outside world disappeared.
The air seemed hushed inside, as if all the silk, satin, and sin absorbed the noise. Wide-plank pale oak floors felt warm underneath low lighting designed to flatter every skin tone.
They spotted Bumble Bee toward the back, perusing a display of underwear that could also function as shoelaces. They hovered behind a rack of silk camisoles in colors that looked like Easter candy.
Ready to be…nibbled.
“Act casual,” Jo Ellen murmured, sliding the hangers as if she fully intended to pick a camisole to wear.
Bumble Bee moved to a bra display, lifting a scrap of white lace with padding, examining it with interest. Maggie squinted.
“A Kleenex would be cheaper,” she whispered. “And cover more.”
“Hush,” Jo Ellen said. “She’s talking.”
A young sales associate had drifted up to Bumble Bee and smiled. “That one’s one of our most popular styles,” the woman said warmly. “Very minimal, but incredibly comfortable.”
Minimal was one word for it.
“Do you have it in a thirty-two B?” Bumble Bee asked.
Maggie’s eyes widened. “Thirty-two?” she mouthed.
Jo Ellen slapped her arm.
“We do,” the associate said. “And if you’re looking for something special, we also have the absolutely most delectable matching thong for a set.”
Bumble Bee tilted her head, considering the suggestion. “I do have a…hot date tonight.”
Maggie felt the words like a stab in the heart.
“Well, then,” the associate said, smiling conspiratorially, “you’ll definitely want something that feels good all night.”
Jo Ellen leaned closer. “Did you hear that? All night.”
“I heard it,” Maggie said. “I’m not deaf, I’m just old.”
The associate gestured toward the fitting rooms. “If you’d like to try it on, I can set you up in one of our larger rooms.”
“Yes, let’s do that,” Bumble Bee said. “I want to be comfortable. And confident.”
Maggie closed her eyes. “Well,” she said quietly, “good for her.”
“That’s it?” Jo Ellen hissed. “That’s all you’ve got?”
“What would you like me to say, Jo Ellen? That I hope she chafes?”
Jo Ellen considered that. “A little.”
They shuffled sideways as Bumble Bee disappeared behind a curtain. Jo Ellen craned her neck.
“Can we move closer without looking suspicious?” Jo Ellen asked.
“Pretty sure that ship has sailed, Jo.”
They repositioned near a display of robes—blessedly opaque—and pretended to examine the fabric.
“Hot date,” Jo Ellen whispered again. “That seals it.”
Maggie couldn’t argue.
The fitting room curtain rustled. Bumble Bee stepped out, fully dressed again, holding a small stack of items. The associate followed her toward the register.
“I’ll take these,” Bumble Bee said. “And, oh, use this card.” She laughed softly and handed over a silver card. “He’s paying.”
Jo Ellen gulped noisily. And all Maggie could think about was…the new secret debit card that Crista mentioned.
As the sales associate rang everything up, Bumble Bee stared at her phone, unaware her every move was being tracked.
“Have a wonderful evening,” the clerk said when she finished.
“Oh, I plan to,” Bumble Bee replied with a laugh. She turned, looking down, and walked straight into Maggie.
“Oh! I’m so sorry,” Bumble Bee said, stepping back. “My bad.”
Yes, you are bad, Maggie thought as she gave a death stare, looking right into her overly-made-up green eyes and down to her black soul.
The young woman returned a shaky smile, clearly intimidated. “Excuse me,” she whispered, sidestepping Maggie. “My car is here.”
As she sailed by and out the door, the words registered—her car?
Sharing a quick look, Maggie and Jo Ellen went straight after her, stepping outside just as the woman climbed into the backseat of a dark sedan.
“It’s an Uber,” Jo Ellen said. “We’ll never follow her now.”
“But do we have to? She didn’t look exactly like that picture. What if it wasn’t her?”
On a frustrated sigh, they retraced their steps to the T-bird, neither saying a word about their abject failure to gain concrete evidence that could save Anthony.
“Let’s just go home,” Maggie said as she fished out her keys
“Okay. We can—” Jo Ellen went silent and froze. “Maggie. Look.”
She followed her friend’s gaze and landed on…a completely different honey-blonde coming out of the building where her son-in-law worked. She wore a simple cream sundress and carried a tote bag, looking far more professional than the first girl.
“Could that be Pamela?” Jo Ellen asked.
Of course it could be.
The woman dashed to a cab, climbed in, and off she went too fast for them to possibly follow.
“We could have been following the wrong girl,” Jo Ellen said as they pulled on their seatbelts to drive home. “Sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” Maggie assured her. “These blonde Gen-whatevers all look alike. I want to get home before it’s dark. I’m exhausted.”
Six hours later, Maggie was still exhausted. She was sick of talking about the two girls, sick of worrying about her daughter’s marriage, and beyond sick of staying in a stranger’s house.
Still, she couldn’t sleep because she watched the street constantly and never saw Anthony’s car. Did that mean he hadn’t come home?
She didn’t know but wanted to.
At four in the morning, she lost the battle. She slipped into sneakers and stepped into the dark of night, doing a little of her own sleuthing without the resident expert. No code name, no disguises, no limping.
She had to know if that lingerie was making an appearance in Crista’s bedroom or if Anthony was MIA. She had to.
Crista’s house was pitch-black inside, but Maggie was determined. She walked up the driveway and peered into the window of the side door, which gave her a perfect view into the garage.
The empty garage.
Anthony hadn’t come home.