Page 59 of Done Dirty

“205 are The Instagrammers,” Derby said. “Perfect couple online. Domestic calls on both parties.”

“But their vacation pictures look amazing,” Margot said.

“206 is The Merry Widow,” Doug said. “Quiet, travels constantly. She’s buried three husbands.”

“Yikes,” Jack said.

“Third floor,” Derby said. “301 is The Gambler. The wife is a Realtor. Technically both of them are, but she’s more successful. He has a gambling problem.” Derby pulled up a snippet from the security feed. “And it’s got to be some kind of crime having sex in the mailroom.”

He pulled up the feed from the mailroom, showing The Gambler and a dark-haired woman in what could only be called a compromising position.

“I take it that’s not his wife,” I said.

“Look closer,” Jack said.

“I’d rather not,” I muttered, but did what he said. And then gasped. “That’s Jessica.” I narrowed my eyes. “I told you I didn’t like her.”

“We caught her in the gym and the conference table too,” Derby said.

“302 are The Empty Nesters,” Margot said. “Boor-ing.”

“303 is The Mysterious Woman,” Derby said. “She’s only come to the condo twice in the last thirty days, and only stays for a few hours.”

“304 is The Bachelor,” Doug said. “Works on Capitol Hill. Living well above his means.” He glanced at Derby.

“He’s been in The Merry Widow’s unit twice,” Derby said. “And Jessica’s office three times after hours.”

“Jessica again,” I said. “She gets around. I guess she wasn’t too broken hearted over Wade’s rejection.”

Doug continued. “305 is The Golden Couple. Both are very committed to plastic surgery and dinner parties. 306 is The Novelist. Of the bestselling variety. She’s gone up to the fourth floor six times in the last thirty days.”

“Wade?” I asked.

“That’s what I thought,” Derby said. “But the guy in 402, we call him The Athlete, rides the elevator back down with her after an extended period of time and kisses her when she gets off on her floor. He’s a pro golfer who keeps the condo so his wife doesn’t find out about his sidepieces.”

“Which brings us to the fourth floor,” Doug said. “401 is Jessica Contreras. And this is where things get good.”

“Really?” I asked. “I can’t imagine what else could make this more salacious.”

“I call it the Tuesday lunch special,” Margot said. “Every week at noon on the dot Brett Callum and Jessica Contreras go up to the fourth floor, assuming her condo, and stay almost the whole hour.”

“Maybe they’re just having lunch,” I said.

“I don’t think so,” Derby said, pulling up a video segment.

It was of Jessica coming out of her office, tapping Brett on the shoulder, and then her checking to see if he had tonsilitis with her tongue. Her legs wrapped around him and then they disappeared back into her office.

I burst into tears.

Everyone looked at me.

“He said his wife is pregnant,” I said, which did not help because I started crying harder. “It’s the hormones. I’m not crying.”

Nobody said anything. Jack patted me on the shoulder.

“I hate him,” I said, taking the tissue Jack handed me so I could blow my nose. “Sorry.

“Don’t stop on my account,” I said. “I’m over it.”