Jo moaned as she walked out of the Ritz bright and early Thursday morning. “That’s going to do wonders for my hair.” “Umbrellas up,” Caylin said, clicking hers open. As Theresa followed suit she spied a woman without an umbrella standing at the café across the street. “Check out that chick getting drenched over there!” she observed. “Wait—is that—?” The short brown hair, the lean frame—where did Theresa know her from? Staring at her a moment longer, Theresa gasped as it clicked. It was her—the woman from the elevator. The shiny cap of hair was a dead giveaway. Without a word Theresa fished her lipstick camera out of her purse. She removed the cap, twisted up the red lipstick “lens,” and hit the button on the bottom of the tube, which activated the shutter. “Check it—it’s her,” Theresa whispered, clicking the lipstick cam as quickly as she could. “That creepy woman—over there.” But by the time Jo and Caylin looked up, the mystery woman was nowhere in sight.
