Sweet Little Lies
Page 1
Also By Bianca Sloane
Live and Let Die
Coming Soon
Every Breath You Take
Sweet Little Lies
Bianca Sloane
Text Copyright © 2013 Bianca Sloane
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, places, dialogue and plot are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Cover Design by Torrie Cooney
torriecooney.blogspot.com
Formatting By 52 Novels
52novels.com
Visit the Author’s website:
biancasloane.com
Acknowledgments
To my sister, Kathryn, for being my first reader and giving me her insights—good, bad and ugly. Don’t ever change.
My sister, Murriel, for her great ideas.
To my wonderful critique partner, Emily McDaid. Thank you so much for your keen observations, spot-on suggestions, and willingness to “talk shop” with me. You’re a gem!
To my father for answering my legal questions. Oh, and being my dad.
To Stephanie Lott and Jessica Meigs for your proofreading time and talent.
I had the assistance of some great experts while writing this book; all the mistakes are my own:
Many thanks to Jon Donley and Alex Oliver for giving me the lay of the land in New Orleans, especially the bar scene.
To criminal defense attorney Michael J. Petro for the criminal defense expertise.
Big thank you to Officer Jim Doherty of the Zion Police Department for answering my questions about crime scenes, police procedure, and investigations.
And of course, thank you to Torrie Cooney for another beautiful cover.
Table Of Contents
Spring 2005
The Confrontation
The End
Flight
Hidden
Discovery
The Other Woman
Earlier That Evening
More Questions
The Plan
This Can't Be Right
Sam
What's Done In The Dark
Will Always Come To Light
The Search Begins
And The Questions Continue
Damn
Bad News
Stood Up
The Hunt Continues
Happy Wife
Son Of A Bitch
Monday Morning
You Dropped A Bomb On Me
Getting Even
Cherie
What About Her
Harvey
Insanity
People You Think You Know
Mrs. Mark Monroe
Not Even A Picture
Next
The Chase
Never Again
Nowhere To Be Found
Payback's A Bitch
Matter Of Time
Plans Change
Score One
Where Is She?
Tuesday Morning
Dirty Little Secrets
Do Your Worst
In Preparation
Escape
Tricked Again
Two Days Later
Two Days Earlier
All True
The Search
I Just Try To Forget
What Tim Told Kelly
The Woman From Last Night
It Wasn't That Hard
Fear
What Happened Was This
Denial
Not So Fast
The Road To Hell
No Way Out
The Truth Doesn't Always Set You Free
Exit Strategy
So Long
Sometimes, They Come Back
Nightmares
Bundle Of Joy
Threats
Trust
The Day Kelly Killed Her Husband
The Dance They Do
An Unfortunate Turn Of Events
Final Hours
Sealed Fate
One More Piece Of Business
The Two Mrs. Monroes
The People We Love
The People We Hate
In The End
Upcoming Release
About The Author
Praise For Live And Let Die
Synopsis
What would you do if you found out your husband had been unfaithful?
Divorce him? Take him back?
Kill him?
Mark Monroe becomes the victim of option “C” after his wife, Kelly, discovers evidence of an illicit affair and stabs him to death. In a panic, she flees, deciding she will turn herself in the next day.
But before she can, Kelly learns devastating secrets about her husband, and starts a frantic mission to unravel the mystery of the man she married and murdered – all while trying to stay one step ahead of a dogged police detective determined to bring her to justice.
Spring 2005…
The day Kelly Ross killed her husband, she went to the nail salon for a fill and a pedicure, then met her girlfriend, Shelia, at Tavern on Rush for lunch. Afterward, she and Shelia meandered around Oak Street for a few hours, shopping its exclusive boutiques and enjoying the eighty-degree spring day. Kelly thought that when she got home, she’d sit outside on her balcony and wade through the stack of magazines that had been piling up on her coffee table over the past few days. Later, the two friends said their goodbyes and promised to meet mid-week for drinks. As she enjoyed the balmy Saturday afternoon breezes rolling off Lake Michigan, Kelly swung two shopping bags alongside her as she walked the few blocks home to her condo in the Gold Coast, the tony Chicago neighborhood that glittered with mansions and luxury high-rises and was one of the most desirable addresses in the city.
She didn’t recognize the doorman who opened the door for her—must have been one of the temporary guys they paraded in and out on the weekends. She checked the mail before taking the elevator up to the fifty-third floor. Bills, bills, bills. Wasn’t that a Destiny’s Child song from a few years back?
Kelly let out a contented sigh as she opened her door and set the mail and keys down on the occasional table immediately to the right of the entrance. She reached into her purse for her cell phone to see if she’d missed any calls. Seeing that she hadn’t, Kelly put her phone down on the table next to her keys and, gripping her shopping bags, meandered through the spacious living room towards the bedroom. She began to whistle, something she usually did when she was in a good mood. Her husband, Mark, hated it. Of course, he hummed, so she figured that made them even. Speaking of…Kelly checked her watch. Three-fifteen. He’d gone to the office after she left for the salon and said he’d be back around five. She’d call him in a few minutes to see if he wanted to meet somewhere for dinner, preferably al fresco.
She reached into her bag, wanting to try on her purchases one more time before hanging them in the closet. When she hit the doorway, she did a double take. Mark had made the bed. He usually left that chore to her or their twice-weekly cleaning lady.
“Huh. That’s weird,” Kelly mumbled, shaking her head. “Must have left the toilet seat up.” Whenever Mark did something unexpected around the house, she knew it was usually because he’d done something stupid somewhere else in the house. Like load and run the dishwasher after leaving an empty milk carton in the refrigerator. She walked over to the bed and took a peek, running her hand down the smooth expanse of the sumptuous beige silk duvet. Plumped pillows and fresh sheets with the spritz of lavender linen water he knew she liked. She was impressed. Kelly turned and saw that last week’s swirled ivory sheets hadn’t quite made it into the hamper. Sh
e chuckled to herself as she walked over to pick up the ball of sheets lying on the floor. Sometimes he was such a man.
Kelly snatched up the pile and felt something cool land on her foot. She frowned and looked down, her eyes wide, her heart racing. Shaking, she dropped the sheets and knelt to the floor for a closer look.
A condom.
They’d made love that morning but hadn’t used condoms since they got married three years ago and she’d gone on the pill.
A condom.
“That son of a bitch,” she said, hot tears stinging her eyes. Wiping the snot starting to run out of her nose with the back of her hand, Kelly fumbled toward the bathroom for a tissue. She looked at herself in the mirror. What the hell was he thinking? She’d been a goddamned supermodel for chrissakes. You didn’t cheat on goddamned supermodels! Regular Pilates classes and jogging a few days a week, coupled with good genes, kept her 5’9” frame trim and toned. With her hazel eyes, long, light brown hair, full pink lips, and champagne complexion, people sometimes mistook her for Vanessa Williams. She was a great wife. Wasn’t he always telling her what a wonderful wife she was? How lucky he was?
Unable to look at herself any longer, Kelly turned to leave, and her eye fell on the wedding photo sitting on Mark’s nightstand. Slowly, she walked over and picked it up. Mark, a handsome and successful partner with one of the city’s most prestigious law firms, single-handedly building its booming sports practice; she, one of those ubiquitous ‘90s supermodels who’d left the business and launched a thriving cosmetics company. Their wedding had gotten major press, including a short article in People, the New York tabloids, Jet, all the Chicago columns, and every gossip site on the Internet. A fresh wave of rage tore through her veins. She hurled the glass-framed photo in the direction of the bathroom mirror. Both the frame and the mirror shattered as they collided with each other. For some reason, that made Kelly cry even more.
She was heaving now, tears spilling out of her eyes like water gushing from a faucet. She felt sick. How could he do this? How? Didn’t they have the perfect marriage? Didn’t Mark’s friends marvel at how he’d landed her? Didn’t her friends look at her with a twinge of jealousy whenever Mark sent her flowers for no reason or bought her a beautiful, touching gift commemorating some anniversary or just because?
Of course. It was guilt. She’d always assumed it was because he was such a loving, thoughtful, and wonderful husband. Bitter laughter escaped her lips. Well, now she knew he was a lying sack of shit. Kelly started to sink down on the bed before she bolted upright, as though she’d sat on a hot stove. He’d brought his tramp here to their bed.
Kelly began to pace. What should she do? Pack up her things and leave? No, screw that. She’d found this place and made it into a showplace for friends, family…Mark’s clients. He could leave. She’d get a quickie divorce. She didn’t need or want anything from him. Simple and painless.
She looked at her watch. It was now three-twenty five; Mark would be home at five. Didn’t matter. He wouldn’t be staying long.
Kelly stalked over to his closet, yanked it open, and pulled down one of his suitcases. In a blind rage, she jerked shirts, pants, and suits off their hangers and launched them into the suitcase. His carefully assembled shelves of clothing and shoes were dismantled in seconds as Kelly continued to toss Mark’s belongings into their new home. She filled the suitcases until no more were left and then dragged everything out into the living room. As she turned to walk back to the bedroom, she saw pictures. There were pictures of them everywhere—vacations, parties, family gatherings. Kelly marched into the kitchen, grabbed a trash bag from underneath the sink, and began to throw every picture she saw of the two of them into it.
She went back into the bathroom. There were tiny shards of glass scattered across the ceramic tile floor and marble countertop from where she’d smashed their wedding photo. She grabbed a towel from the rack next to the door and picked up the frame from where it had fallen on the floor. She placed it in the trash bag and began to make a mental list of every gift Mark had ever given her. Mostly jewelry, some books, lingerie, a music box she’d spotted in a shop in Madrid a few years back—things like that. Kelly grabbed whatever she could think of, and into the trash bag it went.
By the time she was through, there were five huge garbage bags full of memories stacked next to Mark’s suitcases. She looked at her watch. Four-thirty. What would she say to him? She hadn’t gotten that far yet. The need to get him out of the house had superseded any confrontations they were going to have. Kelly was standing in the middle of the bedroom when she saw it.
The condom.
In the middle of everything else, she’d forgotten the condom. She walked over to it and bent down. Thank God for long acrylic nails. Wincing, she picked up the slimy piece of rubber and held it out in front of her as she scurried into the living room and dropped it on top of the pile of suitcases and trash bags. Let him take it with him when he left. Kelly stood there staring at everything, feeling numb. She was restless, ready to fight, yet still in shock over what had happened. She wrung her hands as though they were wet dishtowels and let out a deep breath. She needed a drink to calm her nerves.
With an agitated gait, she went to the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator door. There was still a half bottle of Shiraz they’d had with the dinner she’d made for him last night. He’d raved about it—roast chicken, garlic green beans, whipped potatoes, an apple tart for dessert. How could she have known that would be their last meal together? Kelly clamped her hand around the bottle and shut the door. She placed it on the counter and stood for a moment with her eyes closed, her hand wrapped around the slippery coolness of the wine bottle. She opened her eyes, then methodically took down a wine glass and poured herself a drink. She took a hearty gulp, welcoming the familiar warmth as it filled her insides. She put the glass down and stared unseeing at the butcher-block table in the middle of the room, her eyes filling with tears once more.
The Confrontation…
She heard the door open. Slowly, her lids lifted as she waited for Mark. He closed the door, and she heard him drop his keys.
“Kelly! Kelly, baby, where are you?”
She continued to sip her wine, not saying anything. He came running into the kitchen, sweaty panic smeared across his face. When he appeared, her heart stopped. She could never get over how fine he was. All caramel-colored goodness with deep, chocolate brown eyes, perfect white teeth, and a lean, taut body. And he always smelled amazing, a sensual combination of Ivory soap, the cocoa butter he’d used religiously for years, and the faintest hint of Obsession cologne.
Be strong, girl. This is no time to get caught up.
“Baby, it’s not what you think—”
“Don’t bother, Mark,” she said as she picked up her wine glass. “I already know. You’ve been fucking some skank behind my back.”
“It’s not like that. Just let me explain.”
She looked up at him. “Don’t. Don’t say one goddamned word. You can tell everything to my lawyer.”
“Kelly, please look at me,” Mark said, pleading. She took a long swallow from her wine glass. She put the glass back down and looked at him.
“As you can see, I’ve already packed your things. I would appreciate it if you would get out of my house. Now.”
“Baby, this is our house—”
“The minute you brought your dirty business into our bedroom, this stopped being our house. Now leave.”
He shook his head. “Not until you let me explain—”
She cut him off. “I told you, I don’t want to know who she is, or how long—I don’t even know why you brought your dirty ass trick up into my house and fucked her in my bed.” Kelly’s hand dropped down on the table. “No, all I want is for you to get the hell out of my house—and make no mistake, Mark—this is my house, and I want you out of it.”
She picked up the wine glass again, wanting to drink this whole thing away. Mark licked his lips.
“Explain what? ‘Oh, baby, she doesn’t mean anything to me—’” Kelly stopped. “It is a she, isn’t it?”
He shrank back, stunned. “Oh, my God, Kelly. I can’t believe you would say that.”
She plunked the wine glass down so fast the liquid sloshed over the rim, angry as she was it seemed. “Don’t say what? That you’re a disgusting liar? A pig? That I’m sorry I wasted three years being married to you?”
His eyes glittered with tears. “You don’t mean that.”
She put her hand on her temple and closed her eyes. “You know what, Mark? Shut up. Just shut up.” She opened her eyes and looked up at him. “There’s nothing you can say. It’s over.”
He shook his head emphatically. “No, no, no. It will never be over with us. We belong together.”
She snorted. “Please, Mark. I don’t mean shit to you, you’ve shown me that.”
“Kelly—”
She picked up her wine glass and took another long swallow.
“Come on, Kel, talk to me.”
“Shut up, Mark.”
“I swear, if you’ll just let me explain—” he tried again.
She could take it no more. She slammed the wine glass onto the ceramic tile floor. Mark jumped back as bits of glass jumped up and went flying everywhere.
“Don’t you fucking explain anything to me! Our whole life together has been a lie!” She felt the tears again and struggled to stop from shaking.
“How could you do this?” she whispered, looking him square in the eye. “How could you be with some other woman and then come home and tell me how happy I make you, how I mean the world to you, then make love to me?” Kelly couldn’t stop the torrent of words from tumbling out of her mouth, and now her head was starting to hurt. Why wouldn’t he just leave?
“Was it just one woman, Mark? Multiple women? Just in Chicago, or do you have a woman in every city? God knows you travel enough. How many times in our bed?”
Mark held out his hand. “Please, let’s go talk in the living room so you don’t hurt yourself. There’s glass everywhere. Come on.”