Page 12 of Birdie by the Bay (Wynn Harbor Inn #2)

Aunt Birdie fired off a brief text to Harlow. We’re going in.

Harlow: Going in where?

Birdie: Your apartment. Do we need a code?

Harlow: You’ll need to get past the doorman. Renaldo should be on duty this time of the day.

Birdie: We might need a little assistance.

Harlow: Is Robert around?

Birdie: I have no idea. We’re about to find out. Standby.

“Let me do the talking.” With Eryn by her side, Harlow’s aunt strolled into the lobby of the prestigious Central Park Skyline apartment building and approached the security guard’s desk. “Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon.”

Aunt Birdie introduced herself and Eryn. “We’re here to pick up something from Harlow Wynn’s apartment. I’m her aunt.”

The man eyed them suspiciously and began flipping through his clipboard. “I don’t see either of your names on the list of approved visitors. I can’t let you beyond this point.”

“Is Mr. Barbetz, Harlow’s husband here? Perhaps you can ask him.”

“He left a few hours ago.”

Eryn glanced at the man’s nametag, Renaldo. “Renaldo. Harlow speaks very highly of you.”

“She does?” The security guard’s tone softened. “Ms. Harlow is a sweetheart. I heard about her accident. How is she doing?”

“She’s healing.” Aunt Birdie scrolled through the screen and showed Renaldo the picture she’d taken at the Happy Camper during dinner the previous night. “She’s in physical therapy and should be back on her feet soon.”

“Please…tell her I have been thinking about her and keeping her in my prayers,” he said.

“We certainly will.” Aunt Birdie shifted her feet. “About the special item Harlow needs. It should only take a minute for us to run up to her place and grab it.”

“What is it?”

“It’s…uh…a manuscript for an upcoming project she’s considering signing on for,” Eryn stammered. “She left the hard copy here and needs it.”

“She cannot get a copy from the studio?” Renaldo asked.

“I have no idea. Maybe the studio execs have some sort of policy about handing out scripts willy-nilly. All I know is she was hoping to work on it while recovering…to take her mind off her injuries.”

Aunt Birdie could see he was waffling. So close. They almost had one foot in the door. “Maybe if you talk to Harlow on the phone and she gives you her verbal approval,” she suggested.

“I have her number.” Renaldo tapped the keyboard. He reached for the desk phone and began dialing. “Hello. Is this Harlow Wynn?”

Birdie could only hear the security guard’s side of the conversation. Him asking about her health. Him wishing her well. “I have two women, one who is your aunt…”

“Aunt Birdie,” Birdie whispered.

“Your Aunt Birdie is standing in front of me. She’s here to get something from your apartment. Robert? No. He left early this morning.”

Renaldo answered a few more questions and ended the call. “Harlow has given you permission to enter her unit and retrieve what you need.”

“So…how does this work?” Aunt Birdie leaned her elbow on the counter. “You escort us up to her apartment?”

“I’m not allowed to leave my post. Ms. Wynn’s unit is on the fifteenth floor. Unit 1512. You will need to take the center set of elevators.” Renaldo pointed in the general direction. “Once you reach her floor, I’ll buzz you in.”

“Fifteen twelve. Got it. Although Harlow told us where she thinks she left the manuscript, it might take a few minutes for us to track it down.” She grabbed Eryn’s arm, whisking her toward the gleaming brass and glass bank of elevators.

Pressing the “up” button, Eryn gave Renaldo a friendly wave and stepped inside. She waited for the doors to close and swiped her brow. “For a minute there, it was touch and go.”

“He was going to let us in. All we had to do was convince him to call Harlow.” Birdie’s expression grew mischievous. “Can you imagine the look on Robert’s face if Renaldo had let us in and we waltzed right into the apartment while he was here?”

“Something tells me he’d be livid. What would be even better is to catch him and his assistant together.”

“He’s no dummy. I hate to say it, but if he’s already canceling Harlow’s credit cards and emptying bank accounts, I can only imagine what else he has up his sleeve.”

“Which is why Harlow needs to get ahead of this.”

The women reached the fifteenth floor. Turning left, they strolled down the spacious corridor and stopped in front of her unit.

Eryn let out a low whistle. “Even the door looks expensive.”

Click.

As if by magic, the door unlocked.

“Something tells me we’re being watched.” Aunt Birdie grasped the handle and led the way inside the spacious marble foyer. “Let’s split up.”

“What are we looking for?” Eryn asked.

“Proof that Robert is the snake we know he is or proof he’s messing around with his assistant. Hopefully, we’ll find both.”

Splitting up, Aunt Birdie started on one side of the apartment while Eryn began searching the other. They tore through drawers and dug through closets, searching every nook and cranny.

Eryn was the first to finish. “The place is clean.”

Birdie gave a thumbs down. “Cleaner than a whistle. This might be tougher than I thought.”

“Check out the view.” Eryn slid the curtains aside, gazing out onto Central Park and the New York skyline. “I wonder how much an apartment like this costs.”

“A pretty penny to buy, to maintain, to furnish.” Aunt Birdie walked in a slow circle. “Maybe I don’t know my niece as well as I thought I did, but this doesn’t look like a place Harlow would call home.”

“I was thinking the same thing. This is too…” Eryn struggled to find the right description. “It’s too much.”

“Over the top.” Aunt Birdie opened the entertainment center door and peered inside. “Ten bucks says this apartment was Robert’s idea. I’ve visited Harlow but never been inside her homes. I wonder what her other places look like.”

“The Palm Beach condo is very nice. Her unit has a balcony overlooking the ocean, with white, sandy beaches only steps from her door. It’s beautiful.

The Malibu home is stunning, but a little too fancy and formal for my tastes.

” Eryn picked up a swirly blue vase and tipped it over.

“Renaldo is going to wonder what happened to us.”

“The clock is ticking. I’m not ready to give up yet. There must be something.” Aunt Birdie snapped her fingers. “I haven’t checked the main bathroom.”

Eryn finished sifting through the living room bookcase and caught up with her. “What are you looking for?”

“Women’s toiletries. Check it out. La Cler.” Birdie grabbed a bottle of expensive looking facial moisturizer. “I bet Harlow is particular about her moisturizers.”

“She is,” Eryn confirmed. “All of those makeup sessions she endures means she’s picky about the products. Off the top of my head, I can’t remember the brand name but this isn’t it.”

“I’m almost positive these aren’t hers.” Birdie pulled her phone from her purse. She snapped a photo of the bottle before dropping it into her bag.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking it to the hotel and dumping it in the trash. This little gem right here is five hundred bucks an ounce all day long.” She dumped the rest of the women’s cosmetics and creams inside. “Poor little Jillian is going to have to restock her skincare essentials.”

With a quick check to make sure there weren’t any other clues hinting at a woman’s presence, they swung by the kitchen.

The cupboards were bare except for an assortment of instant oatmeal packets and an unopened bag of expired rice cakes. The fridge was empty except for a six-pack of beer and a case of Diet Coke. A chilled bottle of Dom Perignon sat next to the sodas.

Birdie snagged it off the shelf and handed it to Eryn.

“We’re taking the champagne?”

“Sure. Why not? I want Robert to know someone was here. In fact, I hope Renaldo tells him we were inside the apartment. Maybe he’ll start sweating a little.”

Backtracking, Birdie and Eryn headed to the elevator. Reaching the main level, they stopped by the security desk to let the guard know they were on their way out.

“You did not find what you needed?”

“I…uh. We had trouble finding the script. We called Harlow and wouldn’t you know it? She remembers leaving it at her home in Malibu,” Eryn fibbed.

Renaldo’s eyes grew round as saucers. “You will be traveling all the way to California to pick up the manuscript?”

Aunt Birdie glanced at her watch. “Maybe. I mean, the West Coast is three hours behind us. We could make it by early evening if we time it right.”

The security guard shook his head in disbelief. “These actors and actresses. To me, this is crazy.”

The women thanked him for letting them in and casually strolled out of the building. Finding the women’s skincare products in the main bathroom might not have been a slam dunk, but at least they were on the right track.