Ladies' Night Andrews, Kay (great novels .txt) 📖

fun. Like old times, right, Cammie? Remember that time we snuck onto the grounds at Doral so you could try to interview Tiger Woods?”

“And you distracted the security guards with a phony wardrobe malfunction? How could I ever forget that?” Camryn asked, shaking her head at the memory. “Does LeDarion know you’ve flashed boob to half the men in South Florida, just to get exclusive interviews?”

“How do you think we met in the first place?” Marissa laughed. “Of course, he thinks he’s the only one who ever got a sneak peek. And we’re gonna keep it that way, right?”

“Just between us girls,” Camryn said. She glanced at Grace. “Are you ready?”

Grace let out a long, shaky breath. “As ready as I’m gonna be. I want this over with. Marissa, are you sure the coast is clear? Ben has a standing golf game at the club Saturday mornings, but you just never know…”

“I’ve been watching the place since eight. He left about eight thirty, and his little girlfriend left maybe fifteen minutes after that.” Marissa rolled her eyes. “What a skank! You know she sunbathes nude most of the time, right? Every pool guy and maintenance man in the neighborhood has had a look at her goodies.”

“Let’s do it,” Camryn said.

*   *   *

After Marissa dropped them off in the golf cart, promising to return as soon as they texted her, Grace and Camryn walked briskly to the rear of the house, where Grace unlocked the kitchen door.

“Wowsers,” Camryn said, eyeing the gleaming expanse of black granite countertops, the stainless steel commercial stove, and the glass-front refrigerator. “This kitchen is immaculate. She’s a pretty good housekeeper.”

Grace glared.

“For a skank, that is,” Camryn added.

“Oh, please. J’Aimee doesn’t know how to cook,” Grace said. “They probably eat at the club every night—or order out for pizza or Chinese.”

She went into the dining room and pulled open the top drawer of the mahogany Empire buffet, pausing to run an appreciative finger over her sterling flatware. “Looks like it’s all here,” she said, after doing a quick count. Grace trotted out to the laundry room and came back with a king-sized pillowcase, into which she unceremoniously dumped all the silver.

“Let’s stack everything by the back door,” Camryn said, holding up a heavily decorated silver teapot. “That’s what professional burglars do. So they can make a quick getaway.”

“We’re not burglars,” Grace said sharply. She took the teapot from Camryn’s hand and set it back on the top of the buffet. “I’m not taking anything that isn’t mine. The tea service was Ben’s grandmother’s. The flatware is mine.”

When she’d loaded in all the silver, Camryn placed it in the kitchen, near the door.

Grace walked quickly up the back staircase with Camryn following close behind. “How many bedrooms?” Camryn asked.

“Um, six, but we only had furniture in three of them,” Grace said. She breezed down the second floor hallway toward the master wing, while Camryn opened every door they passed to gaze inside.

“Enough with the sightseeing,” Grace urged. “I don’t want to stick around here any longer than absolutely necessary. Let’s just get the rest of my stuff and go, okay?”

She pushed open the door to the master bedroom. The king-sized bed was unmade, and clothes and shoes and towels littered nearly every flat surface.

“Uh-huh.” Camryn nodded, taking in the disarray. “Now we see the girl’s true colors.”

“Ironic,” Grace said. “Ben is a total neat nut. He even colorizes his sock drawer.”

“You could put my whole downstairs in this bedroom,” Camryn said, slowly doing a 360-degree turn to take it all in. She sat on the bed and fingered the rumpled top sheet. “Are these Pratesi?”

“Yup,” Grace said. “We did a giveaway with them.”

“Think the skank would notice if I borrowed a set of ’em?”

“In here.” Grace jerked her head in the direction of her home office. She opened one of the custom cabinets and began loading her photographic equipment into a black duffel bag she’d brought along for that purpose. Her Nikon camera bodies, her lenses—all of it went into the bag. She scanned the bookshelves holding the hundreds of design books she’d lovingly collected and cataloged over the years, pulling out her favorites and adding them to the duffel bag.

She dragged the duffel bag into the bedroom and dumped it before heading into her dressing room, where Camryn stood, looking bug-eyed at the clothing. She held out the sleeve of a gaudy tie-dyed dress. “This doesn’t look like your style.”

Grace wrinkled her nose. “None of this stuff is mine. It’s all hers.” She opened one of the drawers in the built-in center cupboard and, with her pinkie, held up a hot-pink scrap of lace. “Totally not mine.”

She continued rifling through the clothing in the closet. “Damn! This is all J’Aimee’s crap. If she threw my clothes out…”

“Hey!” Camryn stood in the doorway. “I think I found your stuff. It’s in the room next door.”

*   *   *

Nearly every item of clothing Grace owned had been dumped on the bedroom floor. Dresses and blouses still on hangers, folding clothes, shoes, handbags—all of it tossed in the corner. Grace stood with her hands on her hips, looking around the room, a lump rising in her throat.

“What a pretty room,” Camryn said, looking around.

Grace had spent weeks choosing just the right shade of pale seafoam green for the walls of the bedroom. She’d chosen a natural linen fabric for drapes with a narrow turquoise ribbon trim. The dresser was an old one she’d found at an estate sale in Bradenton, a battered oak chest of drawers that she’d painted a soft white, distressed, then waxed. The only other furniture in the room was an antique wicker rocking chair. She’d reupholstered it herself with a turquoise gingham cushion.

“Where’s the bed?” Camryn asked.

“Never got around to buying one,” Grace said. Her smile was tight. “This was going to be the nursery.”

“Oh.” Camryn put an arm around Grace’s shoulder. “You wanted kids?”

“Yeah. I had started taking fertility meds, but then…” She shrugged. “So it’s just as well. I