Ladies' Night by Andrews, Kay (find a book to read TXT) 📗

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. “But 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