Page 128 of Another Girl Lost

I looked over my shoulder toward Margo’s apartment. It was two in the afternoon and the light was now on. “You’re real. I know it. Iknowit.”

Drawing in a breath, I left the painting and hurried out my front door, slamming it behind me. I crossed the street and buzzed the front door of her building. The doorman looked up as I pressed the intercom button. “I’m here for Margo Larsen. Scarlett Crosby. She’s expecting me.”

He picked up his phone, spoke for several seconds, and then buzzed the front door open. I pushed inside.

“She’s on the fifth floor,” he said.

“I know where she lives.” The elevator ride was quick, but the small space twisted and tightened my nerves. When the doors opened, the tension didn’t release as I moved heavy feet quickly toward Margo’s apartment. I knocked.

At first, only silence responded. I shifted my stance, checked the apartment door number to make sure I had the right one. And then steady footsteps moved toward the door. It opened in an easy, languid way. Margo was dressed in black pajamas that skimmed her body, and her blond hair was styled off her face. She wasn’t wearing makeup and looked younger.

Full lips broadened into a wide and seductive Della smile. “Scarlett. What a lovely surprise.”

“Margo. Sorry for the unexpected call.”

“Not at all. Nice to have the company. Come in.”

I stepped inside and saw the painting I’d left. It no longer leaned against the counter but hung on the wall.

“Quite the painting,” Margo said. “Very striking.”

Della didn’t run. She was bold. Daring. “I thought you might like it.”

“I do. Can’t take my eyes off it. It’ll go great with the other pieces I have.”

The apartment was empty, except for the air mattress, now neatly made with several blankets and white sheets. I thought about the mattress and blanket in the small basement room.

“What brings you home in the middle of the day?”

“I just attended Tiffany Patterson’s autopsy. I needed a minute.”

The image of a surgeon’s blade cutting into Tiffany was jarring. “I can’t imagine.”

“Probably far worse than anything you can dream up.” She moved toward her kitchen. “Can I make you a coffee? A little early for wine. And I need to get back to work.”

“How did Tiffany die?”

“I can’t discuss that until the investigation is concluded.” She set up the coffee machine and hitBrew. “Where were you in the last forty-eight hours?”

“I’m a suspect?”

Margo shrugged. “Everyone is at this point. The medical examiner has pulled hair fibers, so fingers crossed there’s DNA to be had. That’ll narrow the search.” Her words rang with the confidence of someone who already had answers.

I’d encountered that brand of self-assurance before. “Dawson came by my place this morning. More questions about Sandra. I smelled your perfume on him.”

“You did?”

I moved toward her as she set out two Styrofoam cups on the counter. “Are you doing your magic on him now?”

She chuckled. “Magic?”

I laid my hands on the counter. “Your first meeting with Dawson was random. You just happened by, right? Did you pull strings to get on the Taylor case?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Dawson and I are coworkers.”

“It’s more, isn’t it?”

“Are you worried about the good detective? He’s a big boy and capable of taking care of himself.”

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