about lockpicks?" I asked Dana.
"Hey, you learn stuff being a kick-butt crime fighter." She shot me a grin.
"Playing a crime fighter," I corrected.
She gave me a blank look. "Same diff."
I was such a good friend that I waited until she'd turned her attention back to Tina to roll my eyes.
I shifted from foot to foot, feeling distinctly exposed out in the open. Anyone passing by the studio would have an unobstructed view of Tina at the lock. "How long is this going to take?" I asked.
"Almost there?? Tina mumbled, her protruding tongue reminding me of a pug on a hot day.
Finally there was a soft click, and the door swung open.
Tina stood, a triumphant grin on her face. "Piece of cake." Then she practically skipped inside.
Dana eagerly followed a step behind.
I hesitated on the threshold. What if there were security cameras? What if someone caught us? What if that someone was my husband, who thought I was at home minding my own business?
"Are you coming?" Tina whispered at me. "I haven't got all day."
I did an eenie meenie miney moe. Finally I threw my hands up. "Fine!"
Let's face it, if there were cameras, I was already toast. Ditto if Tina and Dana got caught. Tom had seen us all come in together. Besides, I wasn't about to let Dana wear an orange jumpsuit on her own.
I quickly stepped inside the dark studio and shut the door behind me.
Tina turned on her phone's flashlight app and swung the beam around the interior. We were in the dining room portion of the show's set, where a large white farmhouse style table was set up against three walls decorated in wallpaper covered with tiny red roosters and framed black and white photos of someone's family. A chintz tablecloth and lace doilies completed the rustic look, making me feel like we were at Grandma's house on the farm and not tucked between LA high rises.
An archway separated the fake dining room from a kitchen full of stainless steel appliances, whitewashed cabinets, a farmhouse sink, and lots of copper pots hanging from the rafters. The double-door refrigerator and eight-burner stove were located at one end, and there was ample space available on the long marble countertops to make a seven-course meal.
While the layout was enough to make any chef drool, the shadows created by the dormant utensils and the stillness in the air gave the room a slightly creepy vibe. Almost sad. Even though Dog had only been dead a couple of days, the entire place had an air of abandonment about it, as if even the walls themselves knew the star would not be back.
"What's down there?" Tina asked, nodding to the right. I could see a hallway that ran along the back wall.
Dana shrugged. "Dressing rooms maybe?"
Tina led the way toward them, passing by a couple of doors marked as storage before finding one that had Aunty Mae's name on it, accompanied by a big gold star underneath. Next to Mae's door was another one that simply said Dog and had a picture of a Rottweiler next to it.
Tina rapped on the first door. "Hello, Aunty Mae?" she asked, not waiting for an answer before turning the knob in her hand and walking in.
Like the rest of the set, it was dark. Tina shut the door behind us and flipped on a light switch, the sudden onslaught of brightness hitting me.
As I blinked my eyes back into focus, I took in the room.
Every square inch of it was pink. Several different hues. It was like walking into a Pepto Bismol bottle. A bubblegum pink color covered the walls. Hot pink lace curtains framed a small mirror at a dressing table. Frilly doilies in rose colors covered the brass adorned side table. Aunty Mae's sofa was a bright fuchsia.
"Wow, someone likes pink," Dana mused.
Tina snorted as she moved to the vanity and started rummaging through drawers. "Didn't I tell you there was something off about her?"
"There's nothing wrong with liking a feminine color," I protested, looking down at my own pale pink top.
Tina shot me a look, her eyes going to my shirt. "Uh-huh."
I stuck my tongue out at her as she turned her back to me again, focused on the contents of Mae's vanity.
Dana wandered to the closet. "Even her clothes are pink," she said, pulling the doors open.
"Check this out," Tina said. "She's got her lipstick arranged according to height. A little OCD maybe?"
"Be careful," I whispered. "Don't mix them up or