Crista’s voice had been so steady when she’d said it.I feel it, Mama. Something is wrong.
Maggie had dismissed it. Hormones. Anxiety. Pregnancy. She’d defended Anthony fiercely.
And yet…the debit card. The deleted texts. The password. Who was he talking to on the phone so often? Staying out all night, once, she reminded herself.
“All right,” Maggie said, peering at the street sign and cursing Atlanta traffic. “One more time.”
“One more lunchtime observation,” Jo Ellen agreed. “If he walks out alone and eats a sad sandwich by himself, we go home victorious. If he leaves with a woman…” She lifted a shoulder. “Then we won’t clear his name to Crista.”
And, really, that was all Maggie had ever wanted.
They parked two blocks from Anthony’s office building just before noon, the T-bird well hidden, their stupid scarves tied on, sunglasses firmly in place.
The Lenox Road area hummed with weekday energy all around as Maggie adjusted her scarf. “I look ridiculous.”
“You look incognito,” Jo Ellen corrected.
“I look like I’m about to rob a bank in Palm Beach.”
Jo Ellen patted her hand. “Focus.”
They sat on a bench in front of the building, pretending to scroll through their phones while actually staring at the entrance like two extremely obvious spies.
At twelve fifteen, the doors swung open, shocking them both when Anthony stepped out. And right beside him, a brunette. Not either of the women they thought might be Pamela, but a whole different one.
Who was this?
Maggie’s stomach dropped so abruptly she felt it in her knees.
“Well,” Jo Ellen breathed. “There’s your canoodling candidate.”
Not exactly. They were walking briskly, side by side, talking, laughing, nodding to each other. A business meeting? A paramour?
“Wherever they’re going, it’s on foot,” Jo Ellen said, sitting up. “Let’s follow but stay back.”
“And if he sees us?” Maggie slid a look to Jo. “We limp.”
Snorting a laugh, they fell into step half a block behind Anthony and the woman, doing their very best to appear casual, but probably sticking out like seventy-eight-year-old sore thumbs in the middle of this upscale, urban, youthful environment.
Suddenly, Anthony fooled them by turning and jaywalking across the street.
“Oh, dear. We’re not doing that,” Maggie said.
“Just keep him in your sights, Mags, and hustle to the light. It’s green.”
“Hustle?” Maggie rolled her eyes. “The last time Ihustledwas in college dancing—and I was three vodka tonics to the wind and still had my original hips.”
Somehow, they caught up across the street, watching as Anthony paused at another massive office building. He lookeddown at the woman next to him, who gazed right back up at him, and for one horrifying second, she thought they were going to kiss.
But they shook hands, burst out laughing, then hugged.
“Canoodling?” Jo Ellen asked.
“Not quite,” Maggie declared.
Together, they walked through the building’s large glass doors. Maggie and Jo Ellen exchanged a look, a nod, and followed.
“It’s not a hotel,” Jo Ellen whispered as they stepped inside the sleek marble lobby. “That’s a blessing.”
