Pink Balloons and Other Deadly Things (Mystery Series - Book One) by Nancy Tesler Page A

constitutional.
    “You'll have to go up by yourself,” Meg said.
    “Wouldn’t it be quicker if we both--?”
    “I’ve got to keep the doorman’s eyes off the elevator TV. Don’t make me do it for longer than fifteen or twenty minutes.”
    “That won’t give me enough time.”
    “Make it enough. We don’t know where Dot’s gone. She could come home any minute. Know her apartment number?”
    I did. Fourteen K. I’d been there only once, when Dot first moved in several years ago. She threw a party for herself celebrating her tenth year with the company. Rich groused and grumbled all the way over in the car, but once there, he was charm personified.
    The doorman was a dark-skinned, Middle Eastern guy wearing a snappy blue uniform with gold buttons and a mustache that took up half his face.
    I loitered among the rhododendron bushes watching in awe as Meg spun her web.
    “Hi,” I heard her say in a tone I hardly recognized. Would you know if there are any apartments coming available in this building?”
    “You must call real estate agency,” the man replied. “I cannot give out this information.”
    “Oh.” Meg looked forlorn, Cinderella barred from the ball. “It’s just I’m in such a mess.” Tears rolled out of those gorgeous eyes and trickled down her cheeks.
    I was fascinated. How does she do that on cue?
    “I just broke up with my boyfriend,” Meg sniffled. “It’s his apartment, and he’s got a new girlfriend. She’s moving in next week. I’ve got to find something right away.”
    “I give you number to call.” The man started towards his little office with Meg following.
    “Not supposed to give out information, but seven N told me they find bigger place. Maybe you able to sublet.”
    “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your going to all this trouble for somebody you don’t even know.” Meg’s smile would have defrosted Putin.
    The doorman's answering smile became a leer. “Must be very strange man, your boyfriend, not want a beautiful lady like you.”
    I didn’t hear how Meg dealt with that; they had moved out of earshot
    Good goin’, Meggie, I thought as I made my way to the elevator bank.
    My next thought, as I wiped my sweaty hands on my pants, was how I’d hate to have to do this for a living. Pressing fourteen, my finger almost slipped off the button. Suddenly my nervousness went to my bladder. I jiggled from one foot to the other as the elevator stopped at the eighth floor. A woman with pure white hair and a disagreeable expression, pushing a loaded laundry cart, got on and frowned at me as we continued our ascent.
    “Isn't this going down?”
    “No,” I mumbled, averting my face. “Up. Sorry.”
    The door opened, and I slipped past her. I didn't move toward Dot’s apartment until I heard the elevator door shut behind me. She could be someone Dot knew. If they ever got to talking...
    Paranoid. There was no way Dot could ever find out I’d been here.
    Responding to a faint wisp of memory, I turned left down the hallway, glanced at the letters on the doors. H, I, J, K. K for kept woman...
    I rang the bell just to be sure. Waited. Rang again, the key ring clutched so tightly in my hand it left an imprint. What if Dot asked who was there and how I’d gotten up without the doorman ringing her? I hadn’t prepared a script. What if she called Security? Seconds that seemed like hours passed. Meg had advised me to stay no more than fifteen minutes, and I’d already used up at least a third of my allotment.
    The first key I tried slid into the lock, but the door swung inward before I’d turned the knob. Trembling, I located a light switch by the hall mirror and flipped it on. What could have been the sitting area of a motel suite sprang into focus.
    Off-white walls, matching walnut veneer tables, mattress-ticking-striped couch and lounge chair covered in plastic, arranged in an L. Pathologically neat, impersonal, unimaginative. I had no memory of the decor from the