Three Single Wives: The devilishly twisty, breathlessly addictive must-read thriller

by Gina LaManna

“Relax. It’s not like we’re doing anything wrong,” Penny said, then blushed. “I mean, it’s embarrassing, but it’s not the end of the world. We’re both adults, both single. I love you, Roman.”

  “Now is really not the time to have that discussion.”

  “I’m not pushing you to say it back to me. I’m just being honest with you.”

  “Oh, Penny.” Roman shook his head. “Try to be realistic. It’s too soon for that. I can’t exactly marry you; I’m not even divorced yet.” The knock on the door sounded again, more persistently. Roman’s gaze flicked over her shoulder. “We’ll talk about this later. I have an important meeting.”

  “We’ll talk about us later.” Penny didn’t mean to ask the question, but her voice lilted at the last moment, giving away her insecurities. “Are we still on for drinks—”

  “Tonight won’t work. I’m sorry. This might take a while.”

  “Call me then, when you decide what you want.”

  Roman gave a quick smile. “Of course.”

  Head down, Penny shoved the carcass of her torn panties out of sight. She’d skipped lunch earlier in the week and had spent the saved money on special undies to surprise Roman. Now, they were a mangled mess, tucked into the elastic band of her skirt. Much like Penny’s feelings.

  Her cheeks warmed as she yanked the door to Roman’s office open, wondering if his next visitor would be able to smell sex clinging to the air. She was so painfully self-conscious that she could hardly glance at the middle-aged woman waiting on the other side. But the tapping of the woman’s toe against tile drew her gaze as Penny wondered with an air of annoyance what was so important it hadn’t been able to wait.

  Penny stilled, however, as she caught sight of the woman’s face. “Anne?”

  “Penny?” Anne Wilkes hesitated. “What are you doing here? God, you’re a student. I completely forgot.”

  “Taking classes?” Penny joked, her palms clammy as her mind worked in overdrive. “I didn’t know you were an actress in your spare time.”

  Anne. Eliza. Eliza’s husband. There was no way word of Penny’s dalliance with Roman wasn’t getting back to Eliza. Big mistake. Even if the two were separated, Roman was still married. It wasn’t right what Penny was doing; she just couldn’t seem to stop herself.

  “Not me. I don’t act.” Anne was so distracted, she’d missed the joke, her cheeks a ghostly pale. “I was just dropping something off… er…for Eliza.”

  “Ah, of course,” Penny said. “Well, I’ll see you this weekend.”

  “This weekend?”

  “Brunch. Saturday, your place? I’m bringing fruit?”

  “Yeah, yes. I mean, of course. See you.”

  “Anne, come in,” Roman called casually from his office. “Sorry about the wait.”

  Blindsided by both Roman and Anne, Penny wheeled away from the acting studio and shuffled back toward her car. There was no way she would sit through class tonight. She couldn’t stare at Roman all evening and wonder what the hell they were doing together for the zillionth time. Some days, he was so sweet with her, and other days, it was like he wanted to pretend she didn’t exist.

  When Penny returned to her car, her night progressively got worse. A thoughtful cop had slipped a dismal parking ticket under her wiper. She plucked it off and noted the expired meter.

  “Fuck!” she snarled.

  Her phone beeped. She looked down, hoping against hope it was Roman, apologizing for his stupid attitude and asking her to come back.

  She blew out a disappointed breath to discover it wasn’t him.

  Ryan Anderson: Hey, you ok? Where’d you go?

  Then she got into her car, hating the peeling paint and rundown interior, and sped toward home. Once there, she found another message from Ryan waiting on her phone.

  Ryan Anderson: Hope you’re ok. Give me a holler sometime.

  Penny threw her phone across the room and watched as it bounced once on the couch, then landed on the floor. When her mother called at their scheduled time several hours later, she curled tighter under her blanket and watched as it went to voicemail. Her mother called a second time an hour later, and Penny shut her eyes as the phone beeped, signaling a message.

  Penny dragged herself off the couch around midnight. It was only once she’d showered, brushed her teeth, and made a cup of chamomile tea that she finally picked up her phone. On it, aside from the missed messages from Ryan and the mystified voicemails from her mother, was an email notification.

  Penny blinked, then blinked again when she read the name in the address bar. Surely, it couldn’t be. It made no sense. Unless…

  No. That was impossible.

  As her stomach cramped with dread, Penny touched the Delete button on the screen of her phone. Two minutes later, she pulled up the Trash folder and retrieved the message.

  Finally, she couldn’t take the suspense a second longer. The message would haunt her every waking moment until she bit the bullet, faced the music, paid the piper. It was time.

  Address: eliza.tate@gmail.com

  Subject: Urgent Request

  TRANSCRIPT

  Prosecution: Mrs. Tate, you say you have no idea how your fingerprints got on the knife?

  Eliza Tate: No. I mean yes, I have no idea.

  Prosecution: Are you implying that you were somehow framed for murder?

  Eliza Tate: I’m not implying anything. I’m saying I have no clue how my fingerprints ended up on the weapon.

  Prosecution: The knife was from your kitchen. Who else had access to it?

  Eliza Tate: Any number of people. I’ve hosted plenty of parties, and I couldn’t tell you when it went missing.

  Prosecution: Did Anne Wilkes have access to your home?

  Eliza Tate: Anne is a good friend of mine. She’s been in my home many times. Are you suggesting that Anne and I worked together to get rid of my husband?

  Prosecution: Isn’t it possible? You both had a reason to want the victim dead.

  Eliza Tate: Well, I suppose anything’s possible. But if you can’t prove it, does it matter?

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Four Months Before

  October 2018

  Eliza ran a duster over the living room bookshelf one last time. The house was already spotless. This is what happens when a woman’s life is falling apart, she thought dryly. She had nowhere to release her tension except on the poor dust bunnies cowering beneath her overpriced couch. She was really beginning to hate that couch.

  Roman had picked it out, along with most of the overpriced furniture in the place. Years ago, Eliza had said he’d had an eye for interior design, but now she found herself wondering if he’d just had an eye for the interior designer—a leggy blond who, in retrospect, had spent a lot more time than was necessary sizing up their house for furniture.

  Her life was beginning to spiral. She wasn’t sure where she stood in her marriage. Her husband was likely having an affair. Her only client was falling for her husband. Her company hadn’t earned a dime. She still owed a sizeable sum of money to her in-laws.

  Not knowing what else to do, Eliza pressed on, forcing herself to go about her business as usual. September melted into October, the last of the fall heat wave rearing its scorching head as the palm trees waved, oblivious to the change in seasons. Eliza wiped her brow with her sleeve and took one last look at the living room. It was good enough. Clean enough. Practically sterile.

  The last thing Eliza wanted to do these days was entertain, but she’d offered to start a book club for Marguerite’s work, and she refused to renege on her promises. She’d scheduled the first official meeting for one afternoon in October, a small get-together to kick things off. She’d follow it up with a larger event early in the new year once early copies of Be Free were available.

  With an hour to spare before her friends arrived, Eliza opted for a quick shower and a change of clothes. The simple routine made her feel much better, much closer to her former self, though at this point, Eliza wasn’
t sure that was a good thing. She wasn’t sure she remembered how to be her former self. Everything—and nothing—had changed.

  She puttered around in the kitchen, fiddling with the canapés as she waited for her guests. A crystal decanter held a lush red wine that would accompany the appetizers. Bottles of water, cans of Diet Coke, and pitchers of lemonade sat chilling in a quaint galvanized metal tub propped against one end of the long counter. Her clean copy of Marguerite’s book sat waiting to be opened.

  The doorbell rang, spurring Eliza into action. She made her way to the front entrance and glued on her best welcoming expression. She opened the door to reveal her first guest waiting on the steps.

  “Hello,” Penny said after a slight hesitation. “I realize I’m early, once again. Ridiculously early. It’s a bad habit of mine. Shall I come back in twenty minutes?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Everything’s ready, and the wine won’t drink itself.”

  Eliza ushered the young woman inside, hiding an amused twitch of her lips as she noted the car parked out front. Penny drove a beat-up Cadillac that looked like it belonged in Compton, not the upper end of Beverly Hills. Eliza admired the girl for driving it anyway.

  Penny practically tiptoed into the kitchen. Eliza watched the young woman’s careful movements with curiosity and wondered again why she’d accepted the invitation. Then again, Eliza herself wasn’t innocent in the matter. One of the reasons she’d extended the book club invitation to Penny in the first place was because she’d wanted to get closer to the woman sleeping with her husband.

  “What a beautiful house!” Penny gaped at the long marble island. “Oh my stars. It is just gorgeous. I thought this sort of place only existed in movies.”

  I’ll bet you did, Eliza thought wryly. Judging by the piece of junk parked at her curb, Eliza suspected the young woman’s apartment wasn’t much better than her vehicle. She briefly wondered if Roman took her to nice places—fancy hotels, spas, fine dining—or if they screwed in back alleys and dirty motels because it upped the stakes. Then she brushed the thought away and went for the canapés.

  “Can I tempt you into a glass of wine?” Eliza raised the decanter.

  “Oh, no.” Penny rested a hand on her stomach and made a face. “I’m feeling a little under the weather. Not, you know, contagious or anything. Bit of an upset stomach.”

  “This is very good wine,” Eliza encouraged. “Plus, alcohol kills the bad bacteria. It’s actually good for you.”

  “I shouldn’t really.”

  “It’s just not book club without wine.” Eliza pulled down two glasses. “I hope you don’t mind if I pour some for myself.”

  “Please, go ahead.”

  Eliza went ahead and took a sip. “How are you adjusting to life in the city? You said you’re from the Midwest?”

  “I’m adjusting.” Penny’s affirmative words were belittled by the furrowing of her brow. “It can be hard some days. Are you from the area?”

  “I came over from Beijing to study at UCLA, so I understand what you’re going through. It’s lonely without family. Especially out here. Something about this city wrings it out of you.”

  “Yes!” Penny’s eyes widened with agreement. “You just can’t understand unless you’ve been through it. Sometimes I feel so stupid for giving up my life back home—where I had everything—to come out here where I have nothing.”

  Against all the odds, Eliza found herself softening further toward this young woman. Two lost souls felled before the same dark knight. Was Penny really all that different than Eliza had been when she’d first arrived in Los Angeles? Innocent, hopeful, a promising transplant to a starry-eyed city who had fallen in love with Roman’s charms?

  “I don’t think you’re stupid,” Eliza said. “If you don’t try, you’ll never know if you could have succeeded. I’d rather die trying.”

  “Me too. I can’t imagine how it feels to be at the top. I mean, look at you. It’s all worth it, huh? All the hard work?”

  Eliza pressed the wineglass hard against her bottom lip to keep from giving her honest answer. Because the honest answer wasn’t pretty, just like her life. Her hard work had earned her a husband who strayed and finances that were in ruins. It had earned her a constant state of anxiety that droned endlessly in the background, the buzz, buzz, buzz of a persistent bee.

  But she couldn’t say any of that. Penny was so desperately starved for hope that it was almost pathetic. She’d opened to Eliza like a flower to the sun, leaning hungrily toward her in search of friendship. Eliza couldn’t destroy the last vestiges of naive hope. If Penny wilted, it would be of her own doing.

  “Everything in life comes at a cost.” Eliza compromised with the gray line between truth and lies. “There are always consequences.”

  Blinking, Penny leaned against the counter. Eliza wondered if she was thinking of her affair with Roman and sizing up what Eliza knew. Consequences, consequences.

  Not for the first time, Eliza wondered why she had invited Penny into her home. The emailed invitation had been crafted late at night and accompanied by a heady dose of wine-fueled confidence. The next morning, when Eliza had woken up with a headache and a response in her inbox, it had been too late to back out.

  She’d spent days trying to justify her actions. The saintly side of Eliza chirped that the spontaneous invite had been an act of kindness, a way of looking out for the young girl who’d been swooped under her husband’s dark wing. She was keeping an eye on Penny, watching to see how the fallout would go.

  The ambivalent side of Eliza barked that it was curiosity—and nothing more—that had prompted the invitation. Who was the other woman? The younger, prettier, sweeter, kinder woman who’d stolen her husband’s eye. Had it been Penny who’d gone after Roman, or had it been the other way around?

  But the truly honest part of Eliza wondered if it was from a place of hurt. If the tiny vestiges of vulnerability that were left of Eliza, the part buried so deep, it took half a bottle of red to tease them out, had spurred her to act. In a way, Eliza was proud that a sensitive part of her still existed, proud that Roman hadn’t taken that, too. Beneath Eliza’s hardened, calloused outer layers, there was still a rawness left inside her—deep down maybe, but it was there. And that raw, hopeful young woman had once loved Roman Tate.

  Fortunately for Penny, she was saved from an awkward conversation by another knock. Eliza excused herself and made her way to the front entrance. She opened the door to find a familiar face smiling back at her. Familiar but different.

  Speaking of wilted, Eliza thought with one glance at her friend. Poor Anne.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Anne said robotically. “Kids.”

  “We haven’t started yet. Are you feeling okay? You look a little peaked.”

  “Lots going on,” Anne said with the glimmer of a long-lost smile. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’d just ruin the night for everyone. Do you have wine?”

  “I do…if you’re sure that will help?” Eliza led Anne through the hallway and into the kitchen.

  In answer, Anne reached for the bottle of wine and poured herself a glass. To the tippy, tippy top.

  “Well, book club is a safe space to discuss your problems,” Eliza said. “Especially since we’re among friends. Obviously, no introductions are needed, since the two of you already know each other, so let’s get started.”

  Penny already had a canapé in her mouth. “It’s good to see you, Anne. How’d Gretchen do on her history test this week?”

  “Aced it,” Anne said with a weak smile. “Thanks to you of course.”

  Penny waved Anne off like it was nothing.

  “Are you sure I can’t get you wine, Penny?” Eliza asked, politely ignoring Anne’s empty glass. “We have a little left.”

  “I’ll take her portion if she’s abstaining.” Anne extended her glass. “I guess I was thirsty.”

  “It’s yours.” Penny nodded toward Anne. “I’m not feeling well. Bit of a stomach bug.”


  Anne’s eyes followed Penny’s hand as it went to her belly. “Are you pregnant?”

  Penny’s mouth popped open in shock.

  “Oh God!” Anne’s face went red with embarrassment. “That’s the wine talking. I’m such an idiot, and it’s none of my business. Forget I said anything. It’s just…you told me you were seeing that guy, and—”

  “You’re seeing someone?” Eliza’s grip tightened. “Is it new? How exciting. Come on, spill. We need the details.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” Penny said. “Really, it’s stupid.”

  “I’m the stupid one,” Anne said. “I can’t believe I said that. Seriously, it’s the wine. I haven’t had a drink in ages.”

  Eliza knew that to be a lie. She wondered if Penny was lying, too. Were they all lying?

  “No, you’re right,” Penny said. “I was seeing a guy, but things sort of petered out.”

  “Then it’s a good thing you aren’t pregnant, isn’t it?” Anne chuckled nervously and sipped more wine. “Anyhoo, enough of that. Take it away, Eliza. How does book club work?”

  “Well, as you know, I invited you all here to discuss Marguerite’s New York Times bestseller, Take Charge. Her next book is coming out in a few months, so I thought we could have that be our second read.”

  “Works for me,” Anne said, her words beginning to slur ever so slightly. “Even though I only read the first half of the book. Okay, that’s a lie. I skimmed it. Nope, I read the chapter headings. I have four kids. I don’t have time to read!”

  “Just read the next one,” Eliza said. “That’s the important bit anyway. Now bring your glasses and follow me.”

  The three women took their books into the sitting room. Eliza and Anne carried their wineglasses with them. Penny asked for a coaster for her sparkling water. Each of them pulled out her book; Penny’s was worn and ragged, Anne’s was unopened but had a splatter of something that looked like ketchup on the outside, and Eliza’s looked brand new.

  “Thanks for coming, ladies,” Eliza said. “Let’s start by—”

  “I’m pregnant,” Penny blurted. “Anne was right. I am pregnant.”