Ladies' Night

by Andrews, Mary Kay

  “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 see the crap Wyatt is going through with his ex, and, well, a divorce is tough enough for grown-ups without putting a little kid through all that.”

  Grace picked out a few items of clothing, a couple pair of jeans, her favorite little black dress, and a battered leather bomber jacket she’d owned since high school days. “Let’s go,” she said, turning toward the door.

  “That’s all you’re taking?” Camryn gestured at the mound of clothes and accessories. “You’re just going to leave all this stuff here?” She picked up a hot-pink linen dress. “Girl, this is Tory Burch.” She added a black-and-white striped patent leather purse. “And this is Kate Spade. You don’t walk away from Kate and Tory.”

  “Take them if you want,” Grace said. She looked around the room, searching for an empty suitcase, but found only a lumpy black plastic trash bag. She dumped the contents of the bag onto the floor.

  But this clothing wasn’t hers. There was a pair of denim shorts, two sizes smaller than Grace wore, a sleeveless black T-shirt, and a pair of new-looking tennis shoes. Everything in the bag was spattered with paint. Bright orange paint. The same memorable hue that had been splashed across the walls at Mandevilla Manor.

  “I knew it,” Grace said softly, picking up the T-shirt and holding it out for Camryn to see. “I knew it was her.”

  She heard footsteps on the stairs and froze. A moment later, Ben walked into the room. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  * * *

  The two women stared at him. Ben’s face was already tanned, but now it was flushed red with anger.

  Camryn looked at her in a state of panic. Grace swallowed hard, and then she recalled her mission, and her motive.

  “I came to pick up some of my belongings,” she said.

  “You’re burglarizing my home,” Ben said. He held up his cell phone. “Sheldon spotted you when you came through the gate, and he called me to ask if I knew you were in the neighborhood. I’ve got to remember to tip him better at Christmas this year.”

  “It’s still my home, too,” Grace said, glaring at him. “And I’m not taking anything that doesn’t belong to me.”

  He pointed at the duffel bag at her feet. “What’s in there?”

  “My cameras, some of my design books. Nothing of yours.”

  “I should call the cops on you,” Ben said. He picked up the duffel bag and withdrew her macro lens. “This doesn’t belong to you.”

  She snatched it out of his hands. “My dad gave me this for my birthday the last year he was alive. And I’ll be damned if I’ll let the two of you have it.”

  “Take it and get out then,” Ben said. He glanced at Camryn. “I know you. Camryn Nobles, News Four You. Does your station manager know you’re in the habit of breaking and entering?”

  Grace shook the paint-spattered T-shirt at Ben. “Do your blog advertisers know you and the slut are in the habit of breaking and entering and vandalizing private property?”

  Ben looked at the T-shirt with disinterest. “What’s that supposed to be?”

  “Your girlfriend was wearing this the other night when she trashed the house I’ve been working on over on Mandevilla. And don’t even try to deny it. This is the same orange paint she splashed all over the kitchen walls. She read my blog posts on TrueGrace, saw that I had a new project, and decided to ruin it for me.”

  “Ridiculous,” Ben said. But he suddenly looked uncomfortable.

  “Were you there, too?” Grace asked, her voice rising. “Did you help her break in? I bet you did.”

  “You’re crazy,” Ben said. “J’Aimee doesn’t even know where that house is.”

  “Sure she does. Anybody who reads my blog would know it’s on Mandevilla. J’Aimee showed up there just last week. To warn me that if I contacted any more of your advertisers, she’d get even with me. And that’s just what she did.”

  “I’m telling you you’re wrong. J’Aimee wouldn’t do anything like that,” Ben insisted.

  Grace shoved the T-shirt in his face. “She did it, Ben! And here’s the proof. Orange paint. She got it all over her clothes.”

  He pushed her hand away.

  “You really didn’t know what she was up to, Ben, did you? She was hiding this stuff from you.”

  “Take your crap and get out,” Ben said, sounding weary.

  They heard a door slam from downstairs, and then footsteps.

  “Ben?” J’Aimee’s voice was shrill, panicky. “Where are you? Call the police! We’ve been robbed.” She was practically running up the stairs.

  “I’m in here,” Ben called. “And it’s not burglars. It’s Grace.”

  59

  “What’s she doing here?” J’Aimee looked from Ben to Grace, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

  “Picking up some of my belongings,” Grace said. She held up the black T-shirt. “B
ut I think you mixed up some of your stuff with mine.”

  J’Aimee pushed a strand of black hair behind one ear. She was dressed in chic lime-green cropped Lululemon yoga pants and a midriff-baring sports bra, and she was barefoot. She flicked the fabric of the T-shirt. “That’s not mine.” She gestured around the room. “All this crap is yours. You might as well take the rest of it when you go, because I’m getting ready to redecorate in here.”

  A shadow passed briefly over Grace’s face. J’Aimee knew she’d been planning on using this room as a nursery. She’d even volunteered to help paint it, not even six months ago, shortly after she’d become Grace’s assistant.

  She swallowed her grief over what might have been and channeled it into anger over what had actually occurred.

  “These clothes are yours and you know it,” Grace said. She dropped the T-shirt and picked up the paint-spotted sneakers. “These shoes are a size six. And I wear an eight. Notice the paint? It’s the exact same color as the orange you tossed all over the house on Mandevilla.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” J’Aimee said, turning to leave. “Ben? I’m gonna hit the shower. Could you make sure she doesn’t take anything of mine?”

  Grace reached out and snagged the stretchy shoulder strap of J’Aimee’s top. The younger woman tried to tug loose of Grace’s grip, but she held tight.

  “Oh, don’t go just yet, J’Aimee. Don’t you want to tell Ben about the rest of the sweet stunts you pulled at that house? I mean, besides the paint? Don’t you want to brag about how you actually pooped in the bathtub, and then wrote obscenities on the wall with your own excrement?”

  “Classy,” Camryn muttered.

  Ben’s face registered revulsion. “Come on, Grace.”

  “I’m betting you didn’t share that happy little story,” Grace said. “Fortunately, I’ve got pictures to prove it,” She reached for her cell phone. She didn’t, actually, but she knew Ben wouldn’t look at them, even if she did have pictures.

  “Gross,” J’Aimee said, trying to inch away. But Grace pulled her back, keeping a firm hold on J’Aimee’s top.

  “You should know,” Grace retorted. “How about the fire? Did you tell Ben you also set a fire in the living room? If it hadn’t been for the neighbor, who saw the flames shortly after you tried to torch the place, it probably would have burned to the ground.”

  “I didn’t!” J’Aimee said stubbornly. She grabbed Grace’s hands and wrenched herself loose.

  Camryn had been standing quietly on the sidelines, but now she stepped forward. She took one of the sneakers and sniffed it delicately.

  “Yup,” she said succinctly. “Lighter fluid.” She carefully placed both shoes in her oversized pocketbook. “The fire marshall is going to want to take a look at these.” She glanced over at Grace. “Let’s take the shirt and pants, too. I’ll bet they’ve got traces of lighter fluid, too. It doesn’t even take a crime lab.”

  “Who the hell are you?” J’Aimee demanded.

  “Just a friend,” Camryn said lightly. “Who happens to be an investigative reporter.”

  “She’s from channel four,” Ben said, sounding uneasy. “The same reporter who snuck in after Grace left.”

  “How did they get in here today?” J’Aimee demanded. “I thought you left instructions at the gate.”

  Camryn struck a pose and held up the sneaker like an imaginary microphone, saying sotto voce, “News Four You has learned that a local lifestyles blogger, J’Aimee…”

  She turned to Grace. “What’s her last name?”

  “Scoggins,” Grace said.

  “Lifestyle blogger J’Aimee Scoggins is under investigation for breaking and entering, destruction of private property, and arson after she allegedly broke into a residence on Anna Maria Island being redecorated by rival blogger Grace Davenport. Davenport, thirty-four…”

  “I’m actually thirty-eight,” Grace corrected.

  “Davenport, thirty-eight, is the estranged wife of local businessman Ben Stanton. Sources tell me that J’Aimee Scoggins and Stanton are romantically involved,” Camryn said.

  “Very funny,” Ben said. He pointed toward the door. “Now, leave. Or I will call the cops.”

  Grace gathered up the rest of the paint-spattered clothing and slid it into the plastic sack, which she gripped tightly.

  “You still haven’t asked her if she did it,” she said. “But maybe you already know the answer.”

  Ben turned suddenly and stared at J’Aimee. “Tell me you didn’t do any of this. Please.”

  J’Aimee took a step backward. “She’s bluffing. She can’t prove those clothes are mine. She probably put them here herself.”

  “J’Aimee?” Ben’s deep voice was chilly. “Yes or no?”

  “Yes! Okay?” J’Aimee said defiantly. “It was just a little joke. God! You people need to lighten up. I didn’t mean to break the glass. I was opening the window, which was unlocked, and it just cracked. You can’t break into a place that isn’t even really locked up.”

  “What about the paint?” Ben asked.

  “Big deal. A little orange paint. The place is a dump. Anyway, she had it coming, writing to my advertisers, telling them I was stealing from her … We lost our Kohler ads because of her.”

  Ben swore softly, under his breath. “And what she said? About the bathroom? Dear God, tell me you didn’t actually…”

  “It was just a joke!” J’Aimee exclaimed. “Okay, maybe it did get a little out of hand. I took a bunch of empty beer cans over there, to make it look like it was kids, and I had a couple of wine coolers of my own, so maybe that wasn’t really a cool thing to do.” She glanced at Grace. “I’m sorry, okay? Is that what you want to hear?”

  “No,” Grace snapped. “Sorry doesn’t cut it anymore. You could have burned that house to the ground. It belongs to a sweet old man who was getting ready to rent it to me. But after you vandalized the place, he just wants to sell it and be done with it. You and I both know you weren’t joking around when you went over there the other night. You wanted to send me a message. Well, you did that, all right. I got the message loud and clear.”

  Ben was shaking his head. “I can’t believe you pulled a stupid stunt like this. Arson! Really? They put people in jail for that, J’Aimee.”

  “I’m sorry! I told you I was sorry,” J’Aimee said, her voice pleading. “Ben…”

  “Go take your shower,” Ben said wearily. “I can’t deal with you right now.”

  J’Aimee turned and slunk out of the room. A moment later, they heard the bedroom door slam.

  Camryn edged toward the door, too. “I’ll just, uh, be waiting outside. Whenever you’re ready.”

  Ben watched her go. He sighed loudly. “Look, Grace, you have to believe me. I did not put J’Aimee up to this. I would never … I mean, we’ve had our differences.” He swallowed and looked away. “The stuff with Gracenotes, that’s business. It’s not personal.”

  “It’s very personal to me,” Grace said. “You and J’Aimee have done your best to put me out of business. You say it wasn’t your idea to have her vandalize that house, but you and I both know J’Aimee’s never had an original idea in her life. She took her cues from you. Maybe you didn’t light that fire, but you sure as hell showed her where the matches were.”

  He rubbed his jaw. “You’re not serious about going to the police with this, are you? J’Aimee’s just a kid. Yeah, she did it to get back at you. Because you intimidate her. No matter what, in a weird way, you’re still her idol. You heard her. As far as she knew, this was just a prank that got out of hand.”

  “I’m her idol? That’s a laugh.”

  “It’s true,” Ben insisted. “She reads every word you write, goes back over your old posts, trying to copy your style. I keep trying to tell her, she’s got her own style, which she should develop, but for some reason she’s fixated on you, on being bigger, better than you. I guess maybe I should have seen the potential for what happened, shoul
d have reined her in before it came to this.”

  “Ya think?” Grace shot back.

  “I’m asking you, please. Don’t make a federal case out of this. I’ll have a serious talk with J’Aimee. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right. I’ll pay for all the damages, reimburse you for your lost time. I’ll fix it. I promise.”

  “You’ll fix it,” Grace said, laughing bitterly. “There’s that expression of yours again. You just love the idea of covering things up, of pretending they never happened, don’t you, Ben?”

  “I’m a pragmatist. A businessman,” he said calmly. “So, do we have a deal?”

  She crossed her arms and gave him a long, hard look. “It’s not up to me. It’s Arthur’s house. I’ll tell him about your offer.”

  “And you’ll suggest we settle this without the police getting involved?” he persisted.

  Grace saw an opening, and she went for it. “I’ll suggest he accept your offer. On one condition.”

  Ben rolled his eyes. “Here it comes. The blackmail.”

  “You can call it whatever you like,” Grace said. “Here’s the deal. You tell your lawyer that you want to settle things fairly with me. I’m not looking to gouge you, Ben. But it’s totally unfair that I should have to walk away from this marriage with not a dime to my name. We built a business together, and by rights half of the proceeds from it should be mine. That’s what I want. No more, no less.”

  “And if I don’t give you what you want?”

  Grace held the garbage bag aloft. “There’s always this. And remember, Camryn was standing right here when J’Aimee confessed. I wouldn’t put it past her to have recorded the whole thing. You know how sneaky these journalism types are.”

  60

  By the time Grace emerged from the house, Marissa and Camryn were waiting for her in the golf cart. Camryn held the pillowcase with the wedding silver in her lap. Grace placed the duffel bag with her books and camera equipment on the floor of the backseat and climbed onto the seat, tightly clutching the black garbage bag.

  “Let’s go,” Grace said, glancing back toward the house, half expecting J’Aimee to follow in hot pursuit.