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  Giuliano stomped his foot in frustration as he yelled, “Just tell me where she is!”

  Caroline took a step back from him. “You need to calm down,” she said in full voice.

  “I know you know,” he said, pointing a finger in her face.

  “Nadia is gone. You need to accept that,” Caroline said, not backing down. For such a thin and proper woman, Moe had to give her credit. She had some fight in her. Moe snapped more pictures with her phone.

  Giuliano reached for her again, but Caroline was ready this time. She took another step back before he could reach her. “Don’t! I’ll call her. You know I will,” she said, holding a finger up.

  Giuliano withered, shoving his hands back in his pockets.

  “Let it go,” Caroline said. Checking her skirt to make sure she hadn’t spilled any coffee on herself, she took her keys from her purse, clicked a button on the keychain, and a car at the end of the block roared to life. With determined strides, she walked toward it.

  Giuliano kicked at a crack in the sidewalk, refusing to watch her leave.

  “Well, who do you think Nadia is?” Stacie said.

  “I don’t know, but you better believe we’re going to find out,” Moe said.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Giuliano took off down the street, walking at a quick pace.

  “We’re on the move,” Moe said, walking away from the market and down the street after Giuliano. Stacie dropped the banana she was still pretending to look at and followed Moe down the street.

  Giuliano retraced his path home, moving far quicker this time. When he arrived at the block his house was located on, he took a left and walk another three blocks north. He only slowed his pace when he arrived at a large park.

  Riverside Park filled twelve city blocks and sat on a hill that crested on the north side and bottomed out on the south. By Baltimore standards, it was well taken care of and unknown, in comparison to other parks in the city of similar size. A large white gazebo stood at the top of the hill. It was known as “the Hotel” to locals due to the homeless people who slept in it every night. The south end of the park was home to a public swimming pool that was always brimming with children. The middle of the park was filled with trees, paved twisting paths for walking, seemingly randomly placed flower beds, and a playground contained within a black fence.

  Ignoring the winding paths and cutting across the grass, Giuliano made his way to the playground. His pace considerably slower, he seemed to be looking for someone, as he walked. Moe and Stacie, in contrast, walked casually to a tree on the north side of the playground and took a seat underneath it. Moe was happy with the spot because it allowed her to look down on the playground while being far enough away to not raise alarms that there was an adult with no children watching kids play.

  Stacie took a seat under the tree and said, “I knew it was a nanny. Like they say, it’s always the nanny.”

  “I’ve heard of the butler did it, but I’ve never heard ‘it’s always the nanny.’ I don’t think that’s a thing.” Moe said.

  “It’s totally a thing. Every TV show has a plot about the husband flirting with the hot nanny,” Stacie said.

  “I don’t think so,” Moe said.

  “Just trust me. It’s a thing,” Stacie said with a coy smile that left Moe wondering if Stacie was being serious or not.

  “We’ll see,” Moe said with a laugh. She pulled her phone out of her back pocket and started taking pictures of the playground. After taking a good look at the scene, Moe added, “Anything look weird to you down there?”

  “Oh? I don’t know,” Stacie said, examining the playground for the first time.

  Kids ran and played on the equipment as they would on any playground. What stood out to Moe were the adults watching them. There were eight women on the playground. Seven of them were dressed exactly the same: black sneakers, a loose-fitting blue skirt that went to their mid-calf, and a light-blue blouse with a small crest on the breast pocket. All of these women wore their hair in ponytails, and they were all young. Moe would guess in their early twenties. They stood around the perimeter, spaced far enough apart that talking to one another would be difficult. The eighth woman was older, likely in her fifties or early sixties. She wore a similar blue blouse, but her skirt was black.

  When Giuliano arrived at the playground, two little girls who had been chasing each other on the playground equipment screamed, “Daddy!” and ran over to meet him. Giuliano knelt down and caught them in an embrace.

  “See, he’s not here for the nanny,” Moe said, snapping pictures.

  “Not yet,” Stacie said with mock defiance.

  After a brief chat with the girls, Giuliano rubbed their heads and sent them off to play. The girls’ gleeful returned to their game of chase. Once they were gone, Giuliano stood and made his way to the older woman. His conversation with her was quick and one-sided. The woman did not speak, she only gave an indifferent nod.

  “I told you. It’s always the nanny. He’s probably just asking for permission,” Stacie said. Then, imitating a man’s voice, she said, “May I select one of these young women and have sex with them tonight. My wife is out of town, and I am a pig-man who must sleep with the hot nanny.”

  Moe continued to snap pictures. “I’m so glad you came with me. Your insights into the male psyche are invaluable,” she said.

  “You’re welcome,” Stacie replied.

  After speaking with the older woman, Giuliano walked over to one of the younger women. As he approached, she looked down at the ground and crossed her arms. Moe zoomed in on her face with her cellphone camera. The young woman looked afraid.

  “I wish we could hear what they were saying,” Stacie said, suddenly serious, at the sight of the terrified young woman.

  Giuliano stood next to the woman. They both leaned against the fence, but neither of them looked at the other. Giuliano leaned toward her and said something. The young woman shook her head no. Giuliano leaned closer to her and said something else. Again the young woman shook her head no, more vigorously this time.

  “I don’t like this. Something’s wrong,” Stacie said.

  “Agreed,” Moe said, taking more pictures.

  Giuliano clenched his fists, stomped his foot, and leaned even closer, as he spoke again. His eyebrows were knit together with rage. The younger woman looked like she might cry. For a third time, she shook her head no, but this time, she said something back to him.

  “This isn’t normal, right?” Stacie asked. There was fear in her voice.

  “No, it’s not,” Moe said.

  The older woman calmly moved toward the pair. Seeing her approach, Giuliano turned to face the young woman. Looming over her, he spoke again. The young woman began to cry. Still shaking her head no, she said something back to him. Before the older woman arrived, Giuliano stormed off. To Moe’s surprise, the older woman didn’t chase him. She just stood quietly next to the young woman. They didn’t speak, but the young woman began to compose herself. It seemed the presence of the older woman made her feel safe.

  Moe took another picture or two and turned to find Giuliano. He was heading to the north end of the park. “Come on,” Moe said.

  They walked slowly down the path, keeping an eye on Giuliano, while trying not to get too close. Thankfully, he was too consumed with his phone to notice anything happening around him. He seemed to be typing something as he walked, occasionally looking up toward the road.

  “Who do you think he’s texting?” Stacie asked.

  The possibility of his next move hit Moe. “I think I know,” she said, as she took out her phone too, and opened her Lyft app. She called for a car, indicating a destination north of the city, knowing the upper-class area would be likely to attract a tip-hungry driver. Her request was picked up almost immediately.

  Giuliano put his phone back in his pocket and began watching the street. After a few minutes, a black sedan pulled up to pick him up.

  “Oh, crap,” Stacie said. �
��What are we going to do now?”

  A moment later, a gold Honda Accord whipped into the spot the sedan had just vacated. Moe and Stacie ran to it. The passenger side window rolled down and a young man in his twenties poked his head out and said, “You call for a ride?”

  “Nicely done,” Stacie said, smiling at Moe.

  “I need you to follow that car,” Moe said. She pulled a wad of cash from her pocket and waved it at him. “I’ll cancel the ride and pay you in cash. Just don’t lose him and don’t let him see you.”

  The driver’s eyes grew wide. “You got it, lady,” he said.

  CHAPTER NINE

  They followed the sedan, as it wove through downtown. They passed the Inner Harbor, a walkable stretch of shops and restaurants that wrapped around the once working port. They traveled south on President Street, toward the giant hotels that sat on the waterfront. Taking a left, they headed into the Fells Point area. Now a popular hangout for college students, bar hoppers, and upper-class city dwellers, the area was once where sailors caroused after long stints at sea. The sedan only began to slow when it hit the cobblestones of Thames Street which ran along the east-side of Baltimore’s harbor.

  Giuliano’s car came to a stop at the recently renovated Sagamore Hotel. The exquisitely renovated space sat on the historic Recreation Pier. The building, originally erected in the 1870s, was first the home of immigrants arriving in the city. Later is served as a gathering place for residents of different ethnicities. After being left vacant for a decade, it was given new life as the set of a popular TV show. And now, it had once again been resurrected as a gorgeous getaway for those who could afford it.

  “Crap,” Moneta said, as she watched Giuliano step from the car and hustle into the hotel.

  “What? This should be good. If he’s meeting a mistress, this is the place to do it,” Stacie said.

  “Yeah, but I’m going to stick out,” Moneta said.

  “Why?” Stacie asked.

  “Because, I’ll be the only young black person not on staff,” Moneta said.

  Stacie bit her bottom lip. “Maybe not?” she offered.

  Moneta’s look dared her to challenge the assertion a second time.

  “Well, you’re in luck. Because you are the guest of Stacie Howe. I’m a Baltimore celebrity. Just stick with me,” Stacie said.

  As they pulled up in front of the hotel, doormen dressed in black opened the car doors for them and escorted them to the front door, where they were greeted by a concierge. “Hello again Ms. Howe, I didn’t know we were expecting you today,” he said, holding the door for them.

  “My friend and I are just here for lunch, Scott,” Stacie said, which confused Moe, because the man’s nametag said Andre.

  “If you will allow me, Ma’am, I’ll call the dining room and let them know you are coming,” he said as he picked up a small phone hidden behind his small stand. He began speaking in hushed tones to someone on the other line.

  “Thank you, Scott,” Stacie called as she walked past him into the entry hall.

  The front door led to a long hallway filled with beautiful artwork. As they walked, Moe said, “You do know his name wasn’t Scott, right?”

  “Never call them by the right name, dear. They may start to think they’re your equal,” Stacie said with false pretension.

  Moneta laughed. “I have so much to learn from you, Muffy.” Wrapping her arm through Stacie’s, she added, “Please teach me the ways of the rich white woman.”

  “Well, Buffy,” Stacie said, ramping up the pretension in her voice. “What good is money, if it doesn’t make you better than everyone else?”

  The dining room was unlike anything Moe had ever seen. The red brick walls were segmented by two-story velvet curtains. The bar was lit so the hundreds of bottles of liquor seemed to glow. There were two types of seating; round white booths and square tables, each with leather cushioned chairs. The tables were mostly empty. A thin woman in an outfit, surprisingly similar to Stacie’s, sat in a booth and worked on a laptop. An older couple, dressed like they were on vacation, were finishing up a late breakfast. Giuliano sat in a booth alone, reading a newspaper.

  Moneta couldn’t help but look at the floor. She focused on her hot pink shoelaces. Growing up firmly middle class, this kind of place had always been out of her reach, and she couldn’t help but feel like she didn’t belong.

  “Hello again, Ms. Howe,” a young woman in black uniform said. She stood by the entrance of the dining room with her hands clasped behind her back as if she were standing at attention.

  “I assume we can sit anywhere,” Stacie said.

  “Yes, ma’am. Feel free to choose your table. James will be your server today,” the young woman said. “Is there anything I can get started for you?”

  “We’re going to have a slow lunch today. We’d like to start with two coffees please,” Stacie said.

  “Excellent, ma’am. I’ll bring those right out,” the young woman said, as she scampered away.

  “How often do you come here?” Moe said with another laugh.

  “Too much, evidently. Pick your seat,” Stacie said, motioning her had across the dining room.

  Moe chose a square table that positioned them behind Giuliano, but still allowed them to see the front door. Taking up a menu, Moe said, “Muffy, whatever does one order in this establishment.”

  “Well, Buffy,” Stacie said, taking up her menu with accentuated drama. “The key is to pick something complicated, and then, send it back. When it returns, take only a few bites and demand to see the chef. When he arrives, tell him how amazing it all was.”

  “Muffy, thank you for sharing your great wisdom with me,” Moe said.

  The young woman arrived with a silver tray that held two white coffee mugs on saucers, a French press pitcher that was still steeping, a porcelain dish filled with various sugars, and a small silver pitcher of cream. She gracefully transferred the contents of the tray to their table and then gently pressed the coffee. “How do you take your coffee, ma’am,” she asked Moe.

  “Simple and black, like me,” Moe said with a grin.

  “Buffy, we need to work on your coffee order,” Stacie said, as the young woman poured Moe’s cup. The woman did not acknowledge what Stacie had said.

  “And you, ma’am?” the young woman asked Stacie.

  “One-third cream with two sugars,” Stacie said.

  The young woman fixed Stacie’s coffee for her and then said, “James will be with you momentarily.”

  “So,” Stacie said, while she stirred her coffee, “Think if you walked by him and brushed his arm you could relive his affair and maybe give us a head start?”

  “Tempting, but I don’t want to risk it. Things get bad when I take memories people don’t want me to have,” Moe said.

  “I haven’t seen that before,” Stacie said, leaning in. “What happens?”

  “They can get stuck in it,” Moe said.

  “Forever?” Stacie said.

  “No. But they just keep reliving it. It’s cruel. So I stick to willing participants or dead people,” Moe said.

  “Hello, ladies,” a tall man said from behind them. He wore the same uniform as the hostess. “My name is James, and I’ll be your server today. Have you had a chance to review the menu?”

  “I think we’re just going to enjoy our coffee for a while. We’ll call you over when we decide to order,” she said.

  “Just wave if you need me,” James said with a smile.

  “I’m gonna order me some James,” Stacie said watching the man leave.

  “Behave, Muffy,” Moe said.

  As they laughed, a woman crossed the room toward Giuliano. She was tall and fit. Even in her professional black suit and white blouse, she still looked sexy. Giuliano rose to greet her and she took a seat.

  “Not what I expected,” Stacie said.

  Moe pretended to take a selfie as she snapped pictures of the woman sitting with Giuliano. She got pictures of Giuliano sha
king the woman’s hand and then, sitting down at the table. “I don’t’ think this is a booty call. It’s really formal,” Moe said.

  “Maybe she’s a working girl?” Stacie suggested.

  James walked over to Giuliano’s table to take the woman’s order, but he was politely denied with a smile and a wave. The woman leaned in and she and Giuliano began talking in hushed tones. Moe snapped more pictures.

  “What do you think they’re talking about?” Stacie asked, sipping her coffee.

  “I really wish I knew,” Moe said. She put her phone down and took a drink from her coffee.

  “Maybe she’s his divorce lawyer?” Stacie suggested.

  “I really want to forget about catching Giuliano and tail her when she leaves,” Moe said.

  “We should totally do that,” Stacie said, getting excited.

  “That’s not what we’re being paid for. Follow the husband. Take the pictures. Stupid two jobs,” Moe sighed.

  The woman reached into her briefcase and retrieved a manila envelope. She passed it to Giuliano. He opened it and began reading.

  “Divorce papers?” Stacie asked.

  Moe took more pictures. She pulled one up and zoomed in on what Giuliano was holding. She’d gotten the papers at a good angle. She showed the picture to Stacie. “What’s that?” Moe asked Stacie, referring to a seal at the top of the page she couldn’t make out.

  “Huh,” Stacie said, squinting at the picture. “It looks like a government seal. I think that’s a shield on it.”

  Moe took the phone back and stared at the picture, trying to make it out. “It doesn’t look like a Maryland seal.”

  “My lawyer never puts seals at the top of the stuff he makes me sign,” Stacie said.

  Moe looked up from the camera. “You’ve signed divorce papers before?” she asked. She’d only known Stacie for a few years, but she’d never heard Stacie mention an ex-husband before.