26
“You shoot p**n on the side?” Anna sidestepped a gilded column sprouting from the marble floor and shoved Maurice on a cream-colored sofa. His place looked like a p**n set from the eighties. Estrella flopped down next to him, TV clicking on as Anna padded to the kitchen. Her finger squeaked across the onyx slab of countertop, and she yanked open a drawer. Knives clanged. Boring. She flipped open cabinets and stuck her head under the sink. Dish soap and a pair of rubber gloves.
“What are you looking for?” Art asked.
“I’ll know it when I see it.” She strolled down the hallway, stopping at a side table, and picked up a gaudy picture frame. Maurice was on a boat, multiple bikini-clad women dangling off him. She picked up another photo. Maurice at a party with an entirely different set o
