Jeopardy in High Heels (High Heels #12) - Gemma Halliday Page 0,52

she'll know someone has been here."

"What exactly are we looking for?" Dana asked, sliding garments aside.

Tina flipped through an index box of recipe cards. "Anything that lends itself to a headline about Mae and Dog." She paused. "A jug of antifreeze would do nicely."

"I thought we were coming here to talk to Aunty Mae," I said. "Not go through her personal things."

Tina shrugged. "Mae's not here. I'm improvising."

"Like you improvised that story about Fernando this morning?" I said.

She looked up.

"Yeah, don't think I'm going to forgive you for that." I wagged a finger her way.

"What?" she asked, all wide-eyed innocence. "I didn't spill his secrets."

"But you certainly made it sound like he had some to spill," I pointed out.

She shrugged. "I kept it vague."

"Mae's got like fifteen aprons that are all exactly the same," Dana said from the closet. She pointed to a row of pink and white checkered aprons trimmed in lace.

Tina shook her head. "Yikes. One is ugly enough."

I shot her a look. "Combat boots. Just saying."

"Look, if you're going to insult my footwear," Tina shot back, "you could at least make yourself useful by looking through Mae's desk."

I threw my hands up in surrender. "Fine," I said, moving to the small oak writing desk in the corner.

Like the rest of the décor in Studio 8B, it looked like a throwback to a farmhouse in the distant past—except a past where everything was Hello Kitty colored. In the top drawer were pencils (arranged by height), pens (arranged by color), and paperclips (all neatly stacked in one corner). In the next one were piles of paper receipts. I glanced at a few but found nothing out of the ordinary. Ingredients, makeup, aprons, and Starbucks. Each pile was tied with a bright pink ribbon. Apparently Mae wanted to be sure to be reimbursed for everything. I wondered vaguely if her husband was as stingy with his money as he was with his praise.

"Look at this." Tina held out a floral-covered reusable water bottle. Inscribed on the side was, Aunty Mae does Cooking Right. "Take a whiff."

I wrinkled my nose when the powerful scent hit my nostrils. "That water smells more like vodka to me."

Dana inhaled the smell and instantly recoiled. "Straight vodka."

Tina grinned. "I knew it was impossible for anyone to be that naturally perky."

In the bottom drawer of the desk I found a floral makeup bag. Inside it were bottles of nail polish and a prescription bottle with Aunty Mae's name printed on the side. I squinted at the writing and then held up the bottle for Dana and Tina to see. "Antidepressants go well with vodka."

"Yikes," Dana said. "Poor Mae."

"Well, you've met her peach of a husband," Tina noted.

Dana shrugged her concession to that one.

"Find anything?" Tina asked her.

Dana held up a full pink and white floral skirt with a crinoline that looked like it belonged in a Southern wedding from the Civil War. "Anything interesting? Yes. But not entirely incriminating. Unless you're the fashion police."

"You?" Tina asked me.

I shook my head. "Sorry, no jugs of antifreeze."

"You know, sarcasm isn't flattering on you, Maddie," Tina told me.

One of my fingers might have extended itself her way, but she'd already turned her back to me, walking to the door.

She slowly opened it and peeked her head out.

Still dark.

Dana and I followed her out of the room, shutting the light off behind us, once again relying on our phones to light our way.

"Let's go," I suggested, my eyes darting down the empty hallway. "There's nothing to see here."

"Sure," Tina agreed. Then she took a step not toward the exit but toward the room next door. "But as long as we're here, let's check out Dog's dressing room real quick."

"Oh, good idea," Dana said.

I sighed. "Fine." No one would have listened to my protests anyway.

Tina pushed inside, and the two of us followed, flipping on the light as we shut the door behind us again.

While Aunty Mae's room was fastidiously tidy, Doggy Z's was the exact opposite. Clothes, papers, headphones, charging cords, and empty dishes littered every surface. The air smelled faintly of fast food and marijuana. Walls were covered with posters and album covers of Dog during his heyday. A sofa in black leather sat along one wall, and a variety of leather belts hung from his makeup table. I didn't want to think about what they might have been used for.

Dana wrinkled her nose. "It smells disgusting in here."

Food wrappers, half-used ketchup packets, old receipts, and empty Invigorate bottles