Page 61 of Backwater Justice

“Food!” Maggie yelped.

“Maybe that’s why she didn’t remember. She’s ravenous,” Kathryn teased.

“She’s always ravenous,” Isabelle chimed in.

“Ah, but look.” Maggie held up her hands. “See? I’m not chewing on my nails anymore.”

“Ew. Gross.” Isabelle grimaced.

“Well, I didn’t eat them! Give me credit for trying to eliminate some of my perceived bad habits.”

“Perceived? That is to laugh!” And everyone did. Once again, Maggie, the junk-food junkie, sometimes nail-biting firecracker, was the brunt of the joke.

CHAPTERNINETEEN

On the Move

Early the following morning, Isabelle and Kat brought their personal items to the apartment at the Spangler complex. They entered via the exterior door, since they were the first to arrive. Someone had to unlock the interior access door, which Isabelle assumed would be Jessica, George, or Oliver.

“What if I want to start work early?” Isabelle mused.

“Ask Oliver for a key. Tell him you’re an early riser.”

“Do you think he’ll go for it?” Isabelle asked.

“Worth a try,” Kat responded.

They climbed the flight of stairs that led to the spacious guest apartment. They both stopped short as they entered. “Do you smell that?” Isabelle asked.

“Aftershave?” Kat answered.

“Cologne. I smelled it yesterday. Oliver. Eros by Versace. But it’s much stronger now.”

“So someone came up here overnight?” Kat speculated.

“Or early this morning. Smells kind of fresh. Something is definitely up between those two.”

“Dickie and Oliver?”

“Yes. Did you notice how nervous Dickie was when we were up here? His eyes kept darting all over the place.”

“Let’s take a look around.”

“You don’t suppose whoever came in is still here?” Isabelle cautioned.

Kat looked at her. “Don’t worry, sweet cheeks. I’ll protect you.” She grinned.

Isabelle walked over to the wall with the French doors that concealed the built-in desk. She leaned over and noticed a smidgen of white powder. “Take a look at this.” She motioned to Kat.

Kat dabbed a finger on the remnants of powder and then on the tip of her tongue. It was bitter. She looked at Isabelle. “Maybe cocaine.”

“But didn’t Vanessa say she saw pills?” Isabelle recounted Vanessa’s story.

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean old Dickie boy and Oliver aren’t into other types of recreational drugs.”

“Oh, boy. This is getting very complicated.”

“You got that right, sista.”