by Gina LaManna
Mark Wilkes: That’s none of your business.
Defense: Can you tell me where your wife was the night of February 13?
Mark Wilkes: Out with her girlfriends. I didn’t know where. I don’t track my wife’s movements, because I trust her.
Defense: Maybe you don’t track her movements…but did you find out that she was tracking yours? How did that make you feel, Detective Wilkes?
THIRTEEN
Six Months Before
August 2018
Headlights flashed through the window of the Wilkes residence, startling Penny from her perch on the couch. She scanned the baby monitor, saw the little monsters were peacefully sleeping, and hurried into the kitchen.
The adults were home thirty minutes earlier than expected, and Penny hadn’t cleaned up her mess. Hastily, she tossed a sandwich into some plastic wrap and shoved the whole thing into her purse, along with a few granola bars from the pantry and a bag of chips that were nearing their expiration date. They probably wouldn’t be missed.
Flicking on the faucet, Penny held the Wilkeses’ bottle of vodka underneath, letting water cascade over the lip until it refilled to where it was when she’d started. Not that anyone would notice the missing Grey Goose, either, seeing as Penny had found it tucked in a shoebox in the back of Anne’s closet.
Which was a bonus because there’d be no danger of the water substitute freezing and giving away her tried-and-true high-school trick. And even if it did, Penny didn’t think that Anne would be publicly wondering about her private stash. Most women didn’t keep their liquor in a shoebox.
If Penny had learned one thing from her little hobby, it was to steal from people with secrets. People with secrets rarely reported a thief. It was too dangerous.
Breathing heavily, Penny jogged downstairs after sliding the vodka back into its safe cardboard house. Oddly enough, the front door still hadn’t opened, and Mark and Anne were nowhere in sight. Penny let out a sigh of relief, then frowned. Had she imagined the whole thing? They couldn’t have gotten lost from their driveway to their front door.
Feeling annoyed that she’d rushed for no reason, Penny peeped through the curtains and found her answer. Mark and Anne were twined around one another in plain sight. The floodlights from their driveway illuminated the sickly sweet couple as Mark—handsome, handsome Mark—pressed Anne against the minivan and slid a hand over her ass.
Penny should have given them privacy, but she couldn’t stop watching. How could such an average, normal couple be so in love after all those years? Anne and Mark had kids, responsibilities, an average home. Anne wasn’t gorgeous. Mark wasn’t sexy, but he was a cop, and that gave him immediate attractive points. They sizzled together like teenagers. Why couldn’t Penny find someone to look at her like that?
Without warning, Mark suddenly turned his head, scrunching his face to peer against the light at the windows. Penny dropped the blinds, holding her breath and hoping desperately that he hadn’t seen the twitch of the curtains. Stupid, stupid. She knew better than to push her boundaries.
A minute later, the front door opened. Both Anne’s and Mark’s faces were flushed, and private smiles fluttered just beyond reach. Penny wondered if they’d really eaten dinner at all or if they’d just gone straight to a motel. Not that Penny cared. If the love of her life ever noticed her, she would be doing the same thing. All in time, she told herself as she pasted a smile on her face.
“Your angels are sleeping,” Penny said. “They were just dolls tonight.”
Penny rattled off a list of bogus activities they’d accomplished, along with a few snacks she thought they’d eaten. She left out the part about how she’d yelled at Gretchen when the little beast wouldn’t put on her pajamas or how she’d hidden Samuel’s tablet in her backpack when he refused to take his eyes from the screen. Penny wasn’t a saint.
“Wonderful,” Anne said, forking over a fistful of cash. “Thank you so much, again, for being here. We really appreciate you helping us out lately.”
“Anytime,” Penny said. “I hope you two had a nice night. Couple of cocktails, little bit of romance? Just what the doctor ordered. You’re both glowing.”
“Yes on the romance,” Mark agreed. “But we’re not big drinkers.”
Ah, Penny thought. Hence his wife’s vodka in the shoebox. She’d tuck that little nugget away in case she ever needed it. Penny liked to have a pocketful of surprises at the ready. One never knew when they’d come in handy.
“Can Mark give you a ride home?” Anne asked. “I’d offer to do it myself, but I have to check on the kids.”
“Oh, I don’t want to be a bother. I can catch the bus.”
“It’s not a problem.” Mark flicked his keys around his palm. “I didn’t even pull the car into the garage.”
“Actually, I was going to meet a friend for a drink near Beverly Hills. If it’s not too much trouble, I would really appreciate a lift.”
“Gah, to be young and single again!” Anne gave a tittering laugh, then winked at her husband. “I’m kidding of course. Have a great time. Are we still on for Saturday, Penny?”
“Saturday it is,” Penny said. “Do you want me to bring anything?”
Anne waved a hand. “Just come over for breakfast, and if you don’t mind sitting outside, you and I can chat while the kids play at the park across the street.”
“It’s a date,” Penny said.
Mark gave a peck on the cheek to Anne, then gestured for Penny to follow him outside.
Penny hugged her purse against her side, wincing when the bag of chips crinkled audibly. Luckily, Anne was halfway up the stairs and Mark had one foot out the door, so neither of them noticed. She had to be more careful. She was slipping in her old age.
Once in the car, Penny and Mark managed polite small talk until halfway through the drive. Penny was content to stare out the window and let her thoughts on the evening percolate, but Mark wouldn’t leave well enough alone.
“I’m a little worried about Anne.”
“Oh?” Penny murmured.
“I know you’ve been spending some time with her and the kids lately, and I was wondering if you noticed anything different about her.”
“Noticed what exactly?”
“Oh, I don’t know. She just seems a little nervous or on edge. Maybe something’s bothering her? I thought maybe she’d confide in a girlfriend.”
“I’m honestly surprised to hear that. The two of you seemed pretty cozy tonight.”
“I love her more than anything,” Mark said. “She’s just a tricky one to pin down.”
Penny was again thrown for a loop by Mark’s comments. Anne seemed as easy to pin down as anyone. She was a mom to four kids with a squeaky-clean police officer husband. What possible skeletons could be in her closet? Besides the odd bottle of Grey Goose.
“She seems okay,” Penny said. “I guess she hasn’t told me anything to raise my hackles.”
“I’m sure I’m imagining it,” Mark said hastily. “Sorry to have asked.”
“No, it’s fine. Actually, this is good right here.”
Penny gestured to a random street corner in the heart of Beverly Hills. There were a few restaurants winking at her with their lights despite the lateness of the hour. Any one of them would do.
“Anne’s got friends who live over here,” Mark said easily. “I suppose you know them? Roman and Eliza?”
“They referred me to you,” Penny said. “Are you good friends with them?”
“Anne and Eliza are the real friends. I just tag along.”
“Do you know Roman?”
“Just peripherally. Interesting fellow. Why?”
“No reason. Anyway, thanks for the ride.”
“Sure,” Mark said. “Is your friend here? I can wait until you find him. Or her.”
“I see her inside,” Penny said. “Drive home safely. Good night to you and Anne.”
“Hey, Penny…” Mark cleared his throat. “Maybe don’t tell Anne I
asked about her? She gets a little touchy if she thinks I’m digging into her space.”
Vodka, vodka, vodka, Penny thought again. “No problem.”
Humming a ditty, sweet, naive Mark smiled and rolled up the window as Penny waved goodbye. She let herself into the first restaurant she passed and lied to the clerk about meeting someone so she could use the restroom. Once inside the bathroom, she bolted herself into a stall and pulled out her purse. She shuffled the pilfered food aside until she found the one souvenir that meant something to her.
It was a photo of Anne and Eliza together that she’d lifted from an album in Anne’s dresser drawer. But that wasn’t the important part. On either side of the women stood their husbands. Penny had been caught off guard when she’d seen Roman’s face this evening. She clutched the picture closer and studied him in painstaking detail.
Penny’s fingers trembled. If only he weren’t married. If only they’d met sooner. If only he were single…
Finally, Penny exited the restaurant and escaped into the fresh night air. It was cool enough that she hugged her sweater closer as she made her way down the block. She crossed the bustling Wilshire Boulevard and strolled up a gorgeous, palm tree–lined street that split, zippering into a residential neighborhood. Penny took the path on the right.
She’d memorized his address. How she’d gotten it wasn’t important, but if someone needed to know, she might tell them it was from the little address book in Anne’s vanity under the entry of Eliza Tate.
Penny’s feet slowed as she neared the house that belonged to him. The first pass, she sauntered by casually, hands shoved in her pockets as she pretended to be soaking in the picturesque scenery. She stole a glance down the driveway and caught sight of a few cars parked there. The lights were blazing from every orifice of the skeletal house, taunting Penny as she huddled deeper against her sweater as a brisk wind teased hair across her face.
The second time, Penny moved even slower as she passed his residence. She just wanted a glimpse. To see how the other side lived. To see what sort of woman made Roman Tate tick. What sort of woman had intrigued him enough to give up all others for a lifetime. Penny wondered what it would take to get him to notice her.
There was movement behind the window. A slim figure carried a tray of food into another room. The rustle of stolen chips triggered Penny’s annoyance as she watched the rich, the wealthy, as they chowed down on gourmet meals while she was stuck sneaking scraps from her employers.
Penny’s head ached. She’d had too much vodka. The kids had been so loud. She needed to go home, to get some rest. The last thing she wanted was to be caught standing outside the Tate residence. That would be one surefire way to get Roman thinking she was nutty. And Penny wasn’t nutty; she was dedicated.
“What are you doing here?”
Penny swiveled toward the voice. “Roman. You scared me.”
Roman stood sheathed in shadow by the front gate. In his hand, he carried a garbage bag that was only a quarter full. He tossed the bag into the trash can waiting at the end of the drive for the next morning’s maintenance. Probably his excuse for creeping out mid-dinner party, Penny surmised as Roman slid his hands into his pockets, looking almost mystical as the streetlamp kissed his high cheekbones. With his dark turtleneck and black jeans, he looked practically draconian in nature.
When it was clear Roman wasn’t going to speak (and really, why should he when it was Penny who needed to explain?), she cleared her throat. Raised her eyes to his.
“I, uh, was in the neighborhood,” Penny said. “Had a drink with a friend at a bar and went for a walk to clear my head after.”
“Lies.” Roman took one step closer to her.
“I did have a drink,” Penny revised. “And I was in the neighborhood.”
“Lies,” Roman said, taking another step.
“Not the drink.”
“No, not that.” Roman took a third step. He was near enough for Penny to smell the whiskey on his breath.
“Not that,” Penny chimed in a whisper.
“Why are you here?” he repeated finally. His eyes flicked toward the window as a wave of laughter sounded from inside. “This is my house.”
“I just—” Penny swallowed hard. “I don’t know.”
Roman’s eyebrow raised. More laughter from the inside. Ha-ha-ha, Penny thought, the sound getting on her nerves. Suddenly, nothing was funny. That hint of anger returned, her guilt at being outside Roman’s house taking a back seat to the injustice of it all. If anyone could rationalize their way out of a sticky situation, it was Penny Sands.
“Damn it, Roman.” She took a jagged breath. “What the hell is going on here? You kissed me in your office, and then…”
Roman raised a hand, pressed it over Penny’s mouth. “They’ll hear you.”
She smacked it away. “I don’t care! It’s the truth, isn’t it?”
“It’s complicated.” Another flick of his eyes. Flick, flick, flick.
“Then you shouldn’t have kissed me. I deserve better. Your wife deserves better.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain.”
“Roman, did you get lost out there?” Another titter of laughter followed as a woman’s voice trickled through a rectangle of light splicing the otherwise dark driveway. Roman must have left the door cracked.
“Be right in,” he called over his shoulder, keeping his gaze firmly moored on Penny’s. “I can’t talk now. Soon, I promise. I’ll explain everything.”
“But—”
Then, like the very ocean itself, Roman tugged Penny below the surface as his lips crashed against hers, and together, they swirled, topsy-turvy through uncharted waters. Her hands dug into his hair, and though she tried to stop, she couldn’t. When Roman finally released her from the kiss, Penny was left standing speechless on the sidewalk outside the Tate house, watching the man she loved return to his pretty little life.
TRANSCRIPT
Defense: When’s the last time you had a glass of wine, Mrs. Wilkes?
Anne Wilkes: A few days ago. I don’t know. I don’t keep track.
Defense: That’s interesting, isn’t it? Many recovering alcoholics know the date of their last drink.
Anne Wilkes: I’m not a recovering alcoholic.
Defense: Did you or did you not check yourself into a rehab facility three years ago? Your son Samuel would have been about a year old at the time.
Anne Wilkes: I checked myself in, and I checked myself right back out. I’m fine. Going to that center was a mistake. I had everything under control then, and I still do now.
Defense: Your husband testified yesterday that he’s been concerned about you. That you’re drinking again. Have you seen a doctor recently, Mrs. Wilkes?
Anne Wilkes: I’m sorry, how is this relevant to the case?
Defense: Your Honor, Mrs. Wilkes has a history of making rash, unstable, and downright dangerous decisions. She also had a reason to want the victim dead. I think Mrs. Wilkes’s precarious mental state is completely relevant to the case at hand.
The Court: Please answer the question, Mrs. Wilkes.
Anne Wilkes: My mental state isn’t precarious. It’s fine. I’m fine. I walked away from my kids once, and I don’t plan on doing it ever again. Not for him, at least. If I had killed him, I would have made damn sure I wasn’t caught. Whoever killed him was sloppy. That’s not how I work.
FOURTEEN
Six Months Before
August 2018
The launch party for Be Free is tonight, and I kept your name on the guest list in case you changed your mind about attending,” Eliza said. “You really should come. You’ll love Marguerite. Plus, you need to get out and talk with other adults. Keep your mind off things at home.”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, you know where to find me. It’s not every day you’re invited to the Pelican Hotel.”
Anne considered Eliza’s invitation. “I’d love to come, but the
kids…”
“What about that new sitter Roman sent your way?”
“Penny? She’s great. But I had her over twice last week to help, and we saw each other on the weekend… I can’t spring this on her short notice.”
“You have a husband, don’t you?”
“Mark? You think he’d offer to watch all four kids at bedtime?”
The pause told Anne that Eliza was having a hard time understanding the monumental task she’d be asking of her husband.
“Whatever. That’s not important,” Anne said on a sigh. “Tonight is about you. Your company is throwing a launch party for Marguerite Hill! How awesome is that? I have her book in my van.”
“The first one? I gave that to you ages ago. Have you finished it yet?”
“I’ve made good progress,” Anne hedged. “The kids have been sick for the last few weeks.”
“And the weeks before that?”
“I’m working on it!” Anne grinned across the phone line. “It’s not my fault. If you’d made it mandatory reading for a book club or something, maybe I would have finished it on time. You know I need deadlines, or I’ll procrastinate forever.”
“A book club.” Eliza sounded genuinely intrigued. “Not a bad idea actually. Anyway, I’ll see you tonight. I know you’ll make the right choice.”
The door opened downstairs, and Anne sighed yet again. “Speak of the devil, I’ve got to go. Time to feed the vultures.”
“We’re having catered appetizers tonight.” Eliza needled Anne with a tantalizing lilt to her voice. “Bacon-wrapped scallops for starters. There will be a nice bubbly champagne, chilled of course, and an ice wine tasting. And don’t forget the best part of all…”
“I’m already drooling. Don’t torture me.”
“You don’t have to cook, wash, or clean a single dish.”
“I think I just had an orgasm.”
“See you soon.”
Eliza hung up first, leaving Anne to stare at the silent phone. She blinked, considering the invitation while stifling the longing rising with it. Did she want to go? The answer was an easy, resounding yes. Should she go? That answer was a bit murkier. She had kids to feed, a husband to look after, a house to clean…
