Pretty Guilty Women

by Gina LaManna

  “Mom, can we get ice cream now?” she asked. “My sugar levels are low.”

  “Come on, sweetie,” Ginger said. “Let’s go. On the way, you can tell me what other sorts of things you want to do this vacation.”

  “Really?” Poppy frowned, looking skeptical. “I get to pick?”

  “You get to pick within reason,” Ginger amended. “And I promise I’ll listen.”

  * * *

  Detective Ramone: Thanks for meeting me here, Ms. Jones. Can you please state your name and job title for the record?

  Jenny Jones: My name is Jenny Jones. I work in hospitality, sir. I do whatever’s needed. Some nights I’m working the front desk and other times I’m restocking the minibars. I’ve called Ubers and escorts and 911 for our guests, Detective. No task is too big or too small for Serenity Spa & Resort.

  Detective Ramone: Thank you. Were you able to question the maids about the rooms on the list I sent over earlier this evening?

  Jenny Jones: Absolutely. As requested, I contacted all employees who went into the rooms listed on the document and asked if they’d found anything unusual.

  Detective Ramone: Let’s start with Kate Cross. Anything unusual in her room?

  Jenny Jones: Nothing, sir. The woman is neat as a pin.

  Detective Ramone: What about the room of Pierce Banks and Lulu Franc?

  Jenny Jones: Not much there either, sir. It’s very neat and barely lived in. There were several books left out, most of them on the subject of war, but that’s the extent of it.

  Detective Ramone: And Emily Brown?

  Jenny Jones: It appears she didn’t stay in her own room, sir. She stayed with a gentleman friend, and I had the maids check there as well. They didn’t find anything particularly unusual. There were a few…personal items as noted by the maid service in that room.

  Detective Ramone: Such as?

  Jenny Jones: Condom wrappers. Several of them scattered about. It appears he was intimate with someone last night, likely a woman.

  Detective Ramone: And Ginger Adler’s room?

  Jenny Jones: Well, sir, there was one thing.

  Detective Ramone: Yes?

  Jenny Jones: There was a condom wrapper in the trash.

  Twenty-Four

  Lulu carefully inserted her diamond earrings and took pleasure in inspecting the resulting shimmer. She basked in the brilliance of them. They were a gift from Pierce, of course, along with the ruby ring on her finger and the diamond wedding band that was upwards of three carats. Lulu didn’t apologize for liking expensive gifts, especially when the men she married could afford them.

  She had dressed in a gorgeous, over-the-top, gold ball gown that was probably “too much” for a rehearsal dinner of any variety, especially at her age, but Lulu didn’t care. It might be the last time Pierce laid eyes on her. She wanted—no, she needed—to feel confident for the conversation that loomed before them.

  Lulu hadn’t yet decided how to deal with the phone call from S. She was still in shock to discover her husband had a third phone in the first place. This was the sort of thing that happened in movies and books, the sort of underhanded shenanigans of criminals and adulterers and the like. Pierce wasn’t criminal. He was… Lulu hesitated. What was he? Did she even know her husband at all?

  After a dial tone met Lulu’s ear earlier that morning, she had carefully wiped the phone on her shirt (God knows why she was worried about fingerprints on her husband’s spare phone) before slipping it back into the suitcase pocket where she’d found it. She’d then eased out of the room and left her husband a note saying she’d gone on to breakfast for a bite to eat and not to wait around for her as she had a ladies’ day planned at the spa.

  Lulu had proceeded to spend the next few hours alternating between a state of speechless shock and the slow burn of a building rage. Just over an hour before returning to the room to get ready, Lulu had watched the lobby from a secluded corner—holding a trashy magazine over her face as camouflage—and waited until Pierce came downstairs to join his family for cocktail hour, as she knew he would.

  She had felt like Harriet the Spy. She knew it was petty and childish of her to watch her husband without his knowledge, but she also wasn’t yet ready to broach the subject of his secret phone. Frankly, she didn’t know what to say.

  So she had waited and watched as Pierce met up with two of his brothers at the bar. They clapped one another on the shoulder with the sort of enthusiasm that came from family ties that had existed long before Lulu had come around. And they would remain long after she’d gone.

  The groom’s father bought a round of drinks for the men, and Lulu watched as Pierce sipped his whiskey neat and clinked glasses with Arthur’s father, celebrating a happy time in their safe little circle of wealth. Lulu felt rage bubbling in her chest as she watched her husband enjoying his family. It didn’t look as if he’d had a second thought about Lulu’s whereabouts.

  In the past, Lulu had always appreciated the relationship Pierce had with his family—politely distant, in a few words. There was no nagging mother-in-law (she was long dead) and no demands from siblings that required Lulu and Pierce to uproot their lives to “help out” with family matters, aside from the occasional wedding or funeral. And when the Banks family did gather, it was often around delicious food and drink, easy topical conversation, and a thoughtful gift exchange at Christmas.

  It had been a family Lulu was happy to join. And one she would miss.

  While there was a tainted sort of thrill in watching her husband without his knowledge, Lulu realized she’d have to forfeit her post in order to get ready for dinner. Once she was certain Pierce was dressed for the evening and tucked into his whiskey, she’d pulled on her sunglasses and used the magazine as a fan to shield her face while stealthily returning to her room. She’d left herself half an hour to get ready before appetizers were served.

  As Lulu painted red across her lips, she tried (and failed) to fight off the agonizing sense of loss in her gut. She knew she had to speak with Pierce after dinner. She’d managed to avoid her husband for one day, but he’d become suspicious if she pulled the same stunt the next. With a trembling hand, Lulu dabbed at a smear of red she’d accidentally placed on her front tooth.

  As the hour rolled to a close and Lulu cemented waterproof mascara onto her lashes (Lulu had never cried during a divorce yet, but you could never be too careful), she slipped into a gorgeous pair of low pumps that lifted her glimmering gown a hint high enough off the floor so it wouldn’t drag. She looked at herself in the mirror and raised her chin with pride.

  Battling with the proud stance was a persistent pooling of moisture in her eyes that simply wouldn’t do. With a sniff and a bit of focus, Lulu found it easy enough to chase away the tears if only she let the pool of rage simmer until it boiled over and engulfed her sorrow.

  What is Pierce thinking? He was throwing away a perfectly good relationship. While Lulu had theorized there might be another woman in Pierce’s life, she’d never believed it. Not until she’d heard the woman’s voice. Then, it had all come crashing down, thrusting her into reality.

  With a pinch of regret, Lulu wondered if her past husbands had felt the very same things she was feeling now before she’d ended their marriages. But Lulu had to believe that couldn’t be the case. Since she’d married Pierce, she’d found herself coming around to the idea of soul mates, the spiritual notion of one true love. There was no way she would ache so badly if Pierce weren’t meant for her, if they didn’t belong together. It had never hurt like this before. Why couldn’t he see that?

  With one final dab at the corner of her eye, Lulu set off toward the elevator armed with an extra tissue in her clutch and a balloon of anger inflating her chest. She eyed the button for the penthouse suites as she stepped into the elevator. With a wry twist of her lips, Lulu thought that if she and Pierce were on better terms,
she would have gently suggested he upgrade their room to the highest floor so they could spend their evenings wrapped around each other as they watched the lights twinkle in the distance. Instead, she pressed the button for the ground level.

  Lulu stepped from the elevator and made her way down the hall, following several signs inlaid with a beautiful script that directed her toward an elegant ballroom. She passed underneath a dainty arch of roses and came to a stop before an exquisite table laden with white lace linens and glasses of a pinkish champagne bubbling merrily on a tray.

  A woman in stilettos moved with the authority of the president of the United States, barking into an earpiece for More appetizers, stat! and scurrying about with her elbows out like daggers. She wore a sleek, black dress that form-fitted her clearly starved body and a black choker necklace that looked vaguely sexual in nature.

  Miranda Rosales, Lulu mused. Then, she heard someone ask for her name and turned, unimpressed, as a man dressed in a suit smiled at her, introduced himself as Ralph, and repeated the question.

  “Lulu Franc,” she said, “though if you’re looking at the guest list, it might be under my husband’s name, Pierce Banks.”

  “Ah, yes,” Ralph said with a delicate clip to his voice. “He arrived about five minutes ago with a large Banks party. He mentioned you’d be along shortly—told me to look out for the beautiful young woman named Lulu.”

  Lulu rolled her eyes but felt a rush of validation as Ralph gave her a playful wink and passed her a glass of champagne. Damn this S! Lulu still loved Pierce. She loved the way he lavished her with gifts and attention and love. The way his formal manners dictated he call her beautiful whenever possible and open car doors whenever Lulu didn’t throw them wide with impatience first.

  Maybe she’d ask him for the other woman’s full name after confessing to Pierce that she’d found his secret phone and spoken with S. And then maybe Lulu would strangle her. (Probably not, as she’d heard strangling required a lot of strength, but the thought sounded somewhat appealing.)

  Lulu stepped through the doorway into the formal area that had been elegantly decorated for the rehearsal dinner. With a glance around the space, Lulu calculated the evening was costing the Banks family upwards of fifteen grand on the low end. Garlands of pearls and twinkling fairy lights decorated the vaulted ceiling, while white lamps resembling marshmallows gave off a romantic, puffy sort of glow.

  A live, seven-piece orchestra—the ladies and gents dressed in all white attire—played at the far end of the room before a vacant dance floor. Servers, also dressed in all white, bustled about with bite-sized nibbles of food that wouldn’t keep a squirrel fed.

  Lulu loved money. She loved weddings. She loved love, but this was spending for the sake of spending. If this were Lulu’s wedding, she’d ax the overbearing wedding planner and go with someone a bit more relaxed. For Christ’s sake, it was just a wedding. It was one day.

  She’d bring in a jazz quartet and get the dance floor occupied with guests. She’d flit about with her husband on her arm, greeting her guests, nibbling the nibbles, drinking the drinks. A wedding was a verb, something to be cherished and enjoyed. In her case, a number of times.

  Instead, the bride and groom sat demurely behind their chosen table, listening to the wedding planner in one ear and guests in the other. It appeared they weren’t allowed to eat, judging by their empty plates and the sheer tightness of the corset around Whitney’s torso. One bite of cheese, and Lulu had the feeling the poor bride’s buttons would pop right off.

  Before today, Lulu hadn’t spent more than a few minutes in the same room as Whitney DeBleu, though she’d run into her a time or two at large family gatherings. Lulu had interacted with her enough to feel qualified to say the bride seemed like a nice enough young lady—and that was the extent of it. Lulu did briefly wonder if it was Arthur’s idea or Whitney’s to have a budget the size of the national debt for their weeklong celebration.

  Beyond the heavily decorated (candles, chandeliers, confections, oh my!) dining area sat a sprawling patio closed off to the public. Lulu headed straight for it to get a breath of fresh air. Her timing was impeccable; as she turned, she caught one of Pierce’s brother’s beelining toward her and managed to deftly avoid running into him. She wasn’t in the mood for small talk.

  Lulu was here for one purpose: to put on a brave face until dessert was served, and then gently pry the truth from her husband’s lips. After that, well…she’d have to play things by ear.

  The air outside still held remnants from the harsh desert temps during the day, but with the setting of the sun, a chill had begun whipping up from beyond the edges of the patio. The neatly printed cement was surrounded by a hedge of Sansevieria trifasciata—a plant more commonly known as mother-in-law’s tongue, Lulu knew. A fitting name for the occasion. Lulu knew all about mothers-in-law. She’d had plenty of them.

  On the far end of the patio, just beyond a gleaming koi fish pond, sat a pretty, antique-looking white gate between a gap in the greenery. Beyond it stretched a walking path that led into a deeper darkness. Lulu strolled toward it, noting the wooden platform just on the other side of the hedge, which had been set up like a stage. Resort staff had been preparing all day for the looming nuptials, and evidence of their hard work was everywhere.

  Chairs tied with gauzy white ribbons sat beside tables covered in fresh linens, the fabrics blowing lightly in the breeze. The centerpieces hadn’t yet been placed, but Lulu spotted a rack of wine bottles needing to be unloaded near a tall pergola—the same custom bottles that had been provided to each of the attending guests in their welcome baskets.

  Lulu shivered against the painfully chill wind as she looked out at the abandoned courtyard that, at first light, would be transformed into a fantasyland most women could only dream of having on their wedding day. For now, however, there wasn’t another soul outside.

  “You look beautiful.”

  The voice made Lulu jump and rest her ruby-ringed hand to her chest. “Pierce! You startled me.”

  “You’ve been avoiding me all day.” His eyes were serious, melancholy against his otherwise handsome, tanned face. “Why?”

  “Please, let’s not discuss this now.” Lulu felt a sudden chill as she glanced at her husband’s stony features. She’d never noticed the hardness of his jaw, or the way his eyes glinted under the moonlight. “It’s almost time for dinner.”

  Pierce didn’t respond. Instead, he looked down at his hands and toyed with the wedding band around his fourth finger. Lulu felt her shoulders go tight, and suddenly, she wondered how she could have been so stupid. He knows.

  Of course Pierce knew. If he had been expecting a call from S, he would have eventually checked his phone. It would have taken two seconds to draw up the call log and see an incoming call had been answered. He’d know the phone had been found, and the only logical person who could have uncovered it was his wife.

  Lulu mentally berated herself—she’d thought to wipe her damn fingerprints from the phone, but she hadn’t erased the call log? And even if she had, it would only have been a matter of time before S called again, or before Pierce noticed the silence and called her first. It wouldn’t take the conniving pair more than a breath to put two and two together. The only question that remained was…what was Pierce planning to do about it?

  “Pierce,” Lulu said, urging herself to remain calm despite her racing heartbeat. “Please, can we discuss everything later? I don’t want to be all in a tizzy in front of your family. Let’s focus on getting through dinner, and then we can have a chat afterward in private.”

  “As you wish.” Pierce’s response was even, calculated. He stepped closer to Lulu, forcing her to edge back against the gate. He raised a hand, trailed a finger lightly down Lulu’s cheek.

  She wondered if he could feel her tremble.

  His voice came out in a whisper. “You really do look magni
ficent. I love your earrings.”

  Lulu touched a diamond, forcing her fingers to steady against the gems. “You chose them.”

  “I remember.” Pierce’s eyes flashed as he met her gaze. “They bring out your eyes.”

  As if on cue, bells began ringing from inside the dinner area. Lulu was surprised to find herself exhaling a sigh of relief as Pierce turned his intense gaze away from hers and directed it over his shoulder. Someone else had popped out on the patio for a smoke. Lulu had never been so relieved to have company.

  Pierce grasped Lulu’s hand firmly and led the way inside, stopping to greet a plethora of family members with painstaking caution, introducing Lulu with flattery and grace. He pulled out her chair. He whispered in her ear and rested a thoughtful hand on her thigh. He was the picture of a perfect husband.

  Lulu made it through the first round of appetizers before the panic set in. Those marshmallow, puffy lights seemed to be closing in, going dark around the corners. The room had grown packed and full, and the murmur of voices seemed deafening. A server asked if she wanted a refill, and Lulu winced, shook her head, and stepped back.

  “I need some air,” Lulu said suddenly to her husband. “I’m sorry. Don’t follow me. I’ll only be a minute.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Outside,” she said. “Wait here.”

  Pierce met her gaze. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  * * *

  Detective Ramone: Walk me through the rehearsal dinner.

  Lulu Franc: The decorations and food were quite extraordinary. I’m sure the family spent a fortune on it all. If I’d done the same for my weddings, I’d still be in debt, and I’ve married well, Detective.

  Detective Ramone: What happened after dinner? When did you return to the patio?

  Lulu Franc: I didn’t finish dinner. Halfway through, I went outside for a breath of fresh air, and that’s when everything went south.