by Gina LaManna
“She’s wonderful. Penny’s with the kids now actually,” Anne said. “Lifesaver.”
“What happened to Olivia?”
“She got too nosy.”
Eliza looked at Anne’s purse with a calculated stare. As Anne glanced down, she saw the flash of metal from the flask that she’d forgotten to tuck underneath her scarf.
“Ah,” Eliza said. “Is everything okay?”
Anne’s face heated as she shoved her purse to the end of the bench. “I’m fine. It’s fine.”
“Well, my ass is not stuck to this seat for the fun of it,” Eliza said sweetly. “Something’s not fine, and I need a distraction. I had the night from hell, so distract me already and spill. Something. Anything. Except beer,” she added, giving a dark glance at Joe before studying the damage to her shoes in depth.
“It’s about Mark.”
Eliza narrowed her eyes. She had dark, shiny hair wrapped in a chignon at the nape of her neck and eyelashes that extended for miles. Her skin was perfect. Anne suspected that Eliza was immune even to the inevitable layer of grease that descended on patrons of Garbanzo’s. Anne would be breaking out in acne for a week thanks to one lonely plate of cheese curds.
Eliza reached for a curd, took a sip of beer. “Well? Don’t just stare. Distract me already.”
“It’s embarrassing,” Anne admitted. “But I suppose since I took you away from your fancy dinner, I owe you an explanation. I think Mark is having an affair.”
“You think? Or you know?”
Anne breathed a sigh of relief. Eliza had barely flinched at the mention of the affair. Anne knew she’d called Eliza for a reason, and this was it. She’d know exactly what to do.
“Some combination of the two. It all started a few months ago.”
The story poured forth then, every last detail—from the first time Anne had left the children to spy on her husband to a few weeks back when she’d toted the twins with her on a stakeout after firing nosy, nosy Olivia. Anne mentioned her crumbling resolve and the way she’d failed to confront her husband when the opportunity had been within reach.
“You’ve got to stop doing this to yourself.” Eliza shook her head, and her eyes filled with sympathy despite words that were clipped and even. “You can’t go to that apartment anymore.”
“I know.”
“Your brain knows, but your heart doesn’t. You will ruin yourself if you keep doing this. You have to let it go.”
“Let it go?”
“Men.” Eliza dunked a cheese curd in ketchup. “It’s wrong, but they stray. Women do it too. I’m not saying our gender is never at fault. But for now, let’s focus on men.”
“I don’t understand. It’s not…” Anne shook her head, bewildered. “It’s not acceptable.”
“No, it’s not. So you need to decide your tolerance level. You’re going to have to confront Mark sooner or later, and you have to be ready for all the scenarios.”
“That’s so…cold.”
“It’s how I work.” Eliza’s posture gave off an easygoing, laissezfaire demeanor. Her eyes, however, glittered. “How do you think I made my money? Not by asking politely. Especially when men are involved.”
Anne felt sudden moisture in the corners of her eyes. The first tears she’d cried (aside from the torrents of them on her bed pillows) since she’d discovered Mark’s extracurricular activities.
“Sweetie…” Eliza reached across the table and rested her hand on Anne’s.
She let it sit there without speaking. It was just what Anne needed.
After a few minutes and several curious looks from Joe, Anne sniffed and wiped her eyes. No sooner had she tossed the napkin into the growing pile in the corner of the table than Uncle Joe appeared with two shots of vodka.
He plunked them down, grunted “On the house,” and left.
He’d been doing that for years, every time the girls had one of those nights at the bar. Some things never changed, and in a sea of change, the steadfastness of Uncle Joe struck Anne as an incredible relief. She dissolved into tears all over again.
Eliza tugged both shots toward herself. “I don’t think—”
“It’s fine,” Anne repeated. “I’m fine. One shot won’t kill me.”
“Anne—”
“It’s no big deal,” Anne said, reaching for the shot. “I need to relax.”
“If you say so.”
Both women downed their drinks.
“Feel better?” Eliza asked.
Anne licked her lips, reached for a fork, and stabbed an olive from her beer. “A lot better.”
“You’re just trying to be strong for your kids and your family,” Eliza said. “You and Mark have four children. That makes things complicated. Have you thought about how you’ll talk to Mark about everything?”
“I don’t know what good it would do, honestly. I can’t leave him.”
Eliza nodded along. “Would you leave him if you could?”
Anne considered. She gave the only answer she could. “I don’t know. I love him.”
“If you want my advice, talk to Mark. This is eating you alive, and if you don’t do something about it…” Eliza’s eyes flitted toward Anne’s purse like it was a sordid little goody bag. “Things won’t end well.”
“What do I say?”
“That’s why you need a plan,” Eliza said. “I suggest you talk to him sooner rather than later, but you need to be prepared. What if he tells you he’s in love with this woman, and he’s planning to leave you and the kids and shack up with her?”
Anne felt her body go rigid. Her veins prickled with ice, and her legs felt shackled to the sticky surface of the booth. She’d never considered the fact that it might not be her choice. It might be Mark’s choice to leave, and in that case, she wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it.
“You never considered that aspect,” Eliza murmured. “I’m sorry to be crass. I just think you need to be prepared for whatever the outcome when you do confront him.”
Anne nodded dully. “I never truly thought it might be serious between them.”
“I’m sure it’s not, which is why you need to talk to him before you drive yourself insane.” Eliza shrugged. “Whenever I have doubts about Roman, I meet them head-on.”
“How?”
“I—” Eliza stopped, took a swig of her drink, then ran French-tipped nails across her bottom lip to wipe away a stray bead of beer. “Well, I hired a private investigator. Roman still doesn’t know that part.”
“I want his name,” Anne said quickly.
“He’s expensive.”
“I’ve saved up some money.”
“Are you sure you want to go down that route?” Eliza asked delicately. “I’m not claiming it’s admirable.”
“You did it.”
“You shouldn’t live your life like me. It will only get you in trouble.”
“I want to be sure. I don’t want any gory pics of them doing the deed or anything, just a name on the apartment. Maybe some background on the girl. How soon can we meet with him?”
Eliza pulled her clutch toward her, opened it, removed thirty bucks, and tossed them on the table. It covered their nine-dollar bill and then some. “I’ll take care of it.”
TRANSCRIPT
Prosecution: Mrs. Tate, please describe your relationship with your husband and how it’s been over the past year.
Eliza Tate: It was a typical marriage. We had good times and bad.
Prosecution: Did you love him?
Eliza Tate: He was my husband.
Prosecution: Noting for the jury that Mrs. Tate hasn’t answered the question, though I think it says enough. How did you feel when you discovered that Roman had a mistress?
Eliza Tate: If you’re talking about his relation ship with Penny, that was hardly his first affair.
Prosecution: Your husband’s affairs don’t bother you?
Eliza Tate: You can’t possibly understand our relationship. I knew Roman was flawed when w
e married, but our love goes deeper than that.
Prosecution: Are you saying you’d do anything for your husband?
Eliza Tate: I didn’t murder anyone, if that’s what you’re asking. And if you actually wanted to find out who did, then I’d look to someone with real motive. The woman he knocked up and left for broke has a pretty good reason to want him dead.
NINE
Seven Months Before
July 2018
What a night, Eliza thought, reminiscing first about her evening at the country club with the Tates, then her impromptu nightcap with Anne as she pulled her convertible into the driveway. Eliza parked, frowning at the blue vintage Corvette taking up her spot. She was too tired to entertain. All she wanted to do was climb in bed and sleep and then hope tomorrow dawned sunny.
“There’s my sweetheart.” Roman sounded chipper as he greeted Eliza in the entryway. Too chipper. “I got the message you’d be late.”
“Sorry for the short notice,” Eliza said. “I hadn’t planned on meeting Anne tonight, but she said it was urgent. By the way, Anne was thrilled with the babysitter you sent her way.”
“No problem. Penny’s a nice girl, and she needed the work.”
“Win-win.”
“Certainly is,” Roman said. “Anyway, I have a little something for you.”
Roman changed the subject, dipping out of sight and retrieving something from the kitchen. When he returned, he had a bouquet of flowers in hand.
Eliza looked down, bewildered. “What are these for?”
Roman slid an arm around Eliza’s waist and drew her close. He placed a kiss on her forehead, then inched his way down until his lips were on her neck and Eliza’s body was seamlessly pressed against his. “I wanted to apologize for last night. I don’t know why we always get so heated talking about money. I’m sorry we argued.”
Eliza untangled herself. “You know I hate flowers,” she said, mentally adding the cost of the lush bouquet of Stargazer lilies in his hands and tacking it on to their mounting bills. “They’ll just die in a week.”
“Eliza.” Roman gave a playful tsk. “You’re worth it. You’re my wife.”
“Well, thank you.” She plucked the flowers from his hands and desperately tried to ignore her aching head. She hadn’t had hard liquor in ages. “Do you have company?”
“No, why?”
“There’s a car in the driveway.”
“The car’s mine.”
“You bought…” She cleared her throat. “A car? Without talking to me first?”
“It’s an investment. The value will only go up over time.” When Eliza still didn’t seem convinced, Roman’s eyes shifted from the flowers and back to her. “It’s just money. We discussed this last night. I need to have some freedom and not feel like you’re breathing down my neck with every expense.”
“How much was it?”
“I paid fifty, but it’s easily worth seventy-five.”
“Grand?”
“Of course grand.”
“Does it even run?”
“I drove it home.”
Eliza leveled her chin, looked into her husband’s eyes. “You have your G-Class, and now you have your Corvette. Pick one, please, and sell the other. There’s no sense in you having two cars.”
“I can’t use the Corvette as my daily driver.”
“Then sell it,” she said abruptly, feeling edgy, pushing the needle. He’d chosen the wrong day to be impulsive.
“No.”
“You must.” Eliza’s fists clenched as she stared down her husband. “We can’t afford it.”
“We just fought about this last night, Eliza. You’ve got to stop nagging me about money.”
“This isn’t nagging; this is it, Roman. Our bank accounts are dangerously close to empty.” Eliza let the flowers fall from her grasp as she balled her hands into fists. Immediately, she wished she’d kept her mouth shut, but she’d spoken the truth, and she could no longer ignore it. “We are broke.”
Roman’s gaze settled on her. A new expression appeared on his face, a satisfaction that caught Eliza off guard. Almost victorious.
“I know,” he said.
“You know what?”
“I know everything.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know you’ve been funneling money into my checking account,” Roman said. “Quietly, as if I’m stupid enough to ignore the fact that the numbers on our bank account are dwindling.”
“This was a test?” Eliza’s lips parted as she sucked in a sharp breath. “You knew this whole time, yet you went and bought a car?”
“There was money in my checking account,” he said pointedly, a righteous anger sizzling below his brown eyes. “Why were you trying to keep our finances from me?”
“I—I wasn’t.”
“Honey.” Roman’s voice took on a sweet, soft tone. “I’ve asked you not to lie to me.”
“I tried to tell you that we didn’t have much—”
“You didn’t try hard enough,” Roman said. “You wanted me to think we were doing just fine. Why was that, Eliza? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
Eliza froze and found herself wondering that very same thing. But she knew why. She hadn’t told him sooner because money was the one aspect of their marriage that she could control. She brought home the cash. Roman didn’t make diddly-squat teaching acting classes. It was Eliza who kept him fueled, made this lifestyle possible.
It was the one thing she brought to the table in their relationship. Eliza owed Roman a good life after what he’d done for her, and she could no longer deliver it. And that broke her heart.
“I understand if you’re upset,” Eliza said. “But I will fix this. I’ve already started.”
Roman seemed to sense he was being led into a trap, and he didn’t know the way out. “You’ve started to fix it? How?”
“I asked your parents for a loan.”
“You did what?”
“Tonight, before I met with Anne, I had dinner with your parents at the country club and asked them for money. It’s a business investment.”
“Without telling me.”
“It is my problem, my loan, my favor to ask of them.”
Roman shook his head. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Roman—”
“I mean it.” He backed away, his eyes taking on a new look that Eliza had never seen before. “You shouldn’t have done that, Eliza.”
TRANSCRIPT
Defense: We’ve been talking about motive, Ms. Sands, so I’d like to further discuss the restraining order the victim took out on you a few months before his death. What pushed him to do that?
Penny Sands: I don’t know. He was a psychopath. Why did he do any of it?
Defense: If I recall, that’s what he said about you when he spoke with the police.
Penny Sands: Then it’s my word against his, and he’s dead. I guess that means I win by default.
Defense: He stated that you continually tried to contact him, even after he asked you to stay away. Is that true?
Penny Sands: I had a pretty good reason to want to talk to him.
Defense: It’s noted here from the victim’s personal files that you had begun taking things that belonged to him. He recorded in a journal that you stole several items. Is this also true?
Penny Sands: I borrowed, like, a pen. It wasn’t a big deal.
Defense: Why did you take it at all?
Penny Sands: It was an accident. It’s not like he deserved any of his nice things.
Defense: Did he deserve to die?
Penny Sands: Someone thought so. Why don’t you ask the other woman he was sleeping with? I don’t think she was happy when she found out about me.
TEN
Six Months Before
August 2018
God, baby—yes!”
Penny winced as he pounded into her, rattling the bed frame. Her hands reached up, clasped the rails as the headboard banged a
gainst the wall.
“You are so damn beautiful.” He lowered his head to her neck, hot breath tickling the skin beneath her chin. “I’ve had my eye on you since the first day you walked into class. I saw you, and I thought to myself—”
“How about we don’t talk?” Penny murmured. Then she added quickly, “It’s sexier when you leave a little to the imagination.”
“Ah.” He grinned, then resumed the stupid thrusting motion he’d been doing with his hips for the last two minutes. “I see. So you like it when—”
Penny pressed her lips to his in a sloppy kiss. It was her last resort, but she was willing to try anything for a moment of silence. Her efforts were rewarded for a few precious seconds before the blissful silence was shattered by a deep groan. He leaned against her, panting.
“Do you have a condom?” he murmured. “I think I forgot mine in the car. I should have—”
“It’s fine,” Penny mumbled. “I’m on birth control. Let’s just—”
She stopped herself before she added get this over with.
Even Ryan Anderson, idiot that he was, would recognize that for an insult. Poor Ryan whose script Penny had borrowed. He’d then bought her dinner three nights running in a series of lackluster dates. Finally, Penny had allowed him into her apartment and beneath her sheets out of sheer sympathy.
Ever since the day Roman had kissed Penny, she’d been unable to banish him from her thoughts, though she’d tried. She’d tried and she’d tried and she’d tried every trick in the book to rid her mind of him, but she’d failed.
Roman was there—always there, front and center, every waking moment. He hovered in her thoughts when she ate and exercised and watched television. When she showered, shopped, walked the streets. She woke up drenched in sweat, sheets twisted around her in a dramatic mess after explicit dreams that were ten times more erotic than whatever Ryan was doing down below.
Penny closed her eyes, wishing for her mistake to finish so she could go back to her lonely existence. This was all her fault, not Ryan’s. She’d accepted not one but three dates with him. Even after the first had been beyond boring and the second not much better, she’d agreed to a third. Not because the third time was a charm but because she was desperate to fill her mind with anything—anyone— that wasn’t Roman Tate.
