by Gina LaManna
“Don’t worry, ma’am. It’s in safe hands.”
Is it? Eliza wondered dryly as she returned to her vehicle. She sat in the driver’s seat and pulled out her phone, looking for a message from Penny. It wasn’t there. Not entirely surprising, since the two women had had an entire car ride to discuss things such as lost rings.
No matter, Eliza mused. Penny could easily have forgotten she’d grabbed the ring, considering the rigmarole with Anne and Mark. A simple misunderstanding—that was all it was.
Dialing, Eliza ignored the impatient valet as Penny answered.
“Hey, hon,” Eliza said. “Any chance you found my ring at dinner?”
There was a beat of silence as Penny paused.
“I was wearing this black ring,” Eliza said. “You probably didn’t even notice. It wasn’t expensive, just a little sentimental. Roman bought it for me in Italy is all. Anyway, I thought I’d call both you and Anne to see if it’d turned up.”
“Gosh,” Penny said finally. “I haven’t seen it. I’d try Anne if I were you.”
“Will do,” Eliza said. “I’m sure she’ll have it.”
To the valet’s relief, Eliza hung up and drove away from the restaurant for the second time that evening. She headed home, her mind occupied with intriguing new thoughts.
Had Penny stolen her ring? Eliza’s knuckles gripped the steering wheel tighter. Why in the world would Penny steal her ring? It wasn’t as if there was a huge diamond on it that she could pawn off for lunch money. It made no sense.
As she drove, Eliza found herself doubting everything. She’d assumed Penny had been the one taken under by Roman’s charms, but what if it was the other way around? What if Penny took what she wanted, stealing freely, then played the innocent card? Was it possible she’d latched her pretty nails into Roman and gone in for the kill? Had she tried to get pregnant?
Preposterous, Eliza assured herself. That was ridiculous. No sane woman would go that far, ever. Full stop. And Penny wasn’t insane. Over the last few months, as Eliza had gotten to know Penny, she’d determined that the young woman meant well; she was just a little lost. Now, she wasn’t so sure.
Eliza was halfway to Beverly Hills when she reached for a water bottle and caught sight of a darkened glint against it in the cup holder.
Look at that, Eliza thought. Her ring had found its way home.
But Eliza wasn’t foolish enough to think Penny had softened between her theft at dinner and her apparent change of heart on the car ride to her apartment. Why hadn’t she just told Eliza about the ring? What was Eliza missing?
Feeling more befuddled than ever, Eliza decided she’d have to be a little less careless around Penny moving forward, and a little more attentive. Something about Penny Sands wasn’t quite right, and Eliza wasn’t going to be fooled…again.
Fool me once, shame on you.
Fool me twice…
TRANSCRIPT
Prosecution: Ms. Sands, it was established during Mrs. Wilkes’s testimony that you have what you call a “little hobby” of stealing things from others.
Penny Sands: I wouldn’t say it’s stealing. It’s… it’s adopting certain items that other people no longer need.
Prosecution: That’s stealing. Taking something from another without permission.
Penny Sands: Technically, that might be correct. But I never hurt anyone. And I mostly took stuff that didn’t matter to other people.
Prosecution: Like an anniversary set of utensils? As previously mentioned, Mrs. Wilkes testified that she found several items in your apartment that didn’t belong to you. A photo you’d taken from her house. A knife and spoon with Eliza’s and Roman Tate’s initials on it. How did those artifacts end up in your care?
Penny Sands: The picture was stupid. I was babysitting Anne’s kids and saw Roman, and I just… I don’t know. I took it. There’s no real monetary value to a photograph.
Prosecution: And the utensils? That’s what we’re interested in, Ms. Sands. The knife.
Penny Sands: It was the day I told Anne and Eliza that I was pregnant back in October. I was just so mad at Roman. So upset with him that I wanted to hurt him, just a little. Plus, it’s not like he needed an anniversary set anymore. He had an affair and got me pregnant. Eliza would never have stayed with him once she found out.
Prosecution: When were you planning to tell Mrs. Tate that her husband was the father of your child?
Penny Sands: I wasn’t.
Prosecution: Why not?
Penny Sands: Because I’m not entirely sure he is.
Prosecution: We’ll come back to that later. For now, I want to focus on the knife. How did you acquire it?
Penny Sands: How does anyone acquire anything? I picked it up and put it in my purse. Not exactly rocket science. It was in their kitchen drawer, just sitting there.
Prosecution: Interesting, Ms. Sands. Interesting how the murder weapon ended up in your apartment just a few months before Mr. Tate ended up dead.
Penny Sands: I didn’t have it when he was murdered.
Prosecution: Who did?
Penny Sands: I don’t know, but it was stolen from me.
Prosecution: When did you realize it was stolen?
Penny Sands: When it was entered into evidence as a murder weapon.
THIRTY
The Day Of
February 14, 2019
Eliza shuffled appetizers and finger foods onto platters. For the first time in many months, she had splurged. Instead of warming frozen appetizers and pretending the food was homemade, she’d had food catered for the evening. She was expecting over twenty industry guests at the book club event, so it was easy to justify as a business expense.
While Eliza hadn’t yet repaid the loan from Roman’s parents, she was finally starting to see promise in her company thanks to the imminent launch of Marguerite’s new book and the paychecks coming in from her client. If all continued as projected, Eliza would be free and clear of debt within six months. It wouldn’t make her life perfect, but it would be a step in the right direction.
Eliza popped a delicious gruyere-and-spinach quiche into her mouth and glanced at the clock. The ambiance was set with half an hour to spare. The attendees would be here soon enough, along with Marguerite Hill—guest of honor. Eliza studied the wine, the appetizers, the hint of elegant décor and was pleased with how everything had come together.
All that was left was for Eliza to shower and change into something nicer. Marguerite was thoroughly prepared for the event, thanks to the afternoon’s trial run in which Eliza, Anne, and Penny had grilled her on the content of Be Free. She had acceptably answered all their questions…until their discussion had turned to the subject of murder. That one had stumped the author.
It had stumped Eliza, too. And Penny and Anne. It must have been the wine Eliza had served or the fact that most of the men in their lives were acting unreasonably at the moment. Something had been in the air, and a little vent session had been in order.
That’s all it was, Eliza reminded herself, shaking off the creeping feeling of guilt. It was healthy actually. Good to air out their problems in the trusted company of friends. It was only the four of them after all. Who would they tell?
Anne and Penny had long since gone home but would be back shortly. Their task for the evening ahead was to pepper Marguerite with softball questions she could hit out of the park to impress the social media influencers in the audience. Also in attendance would be several booksellers and a few librarians—whoever Eliza could lure into her home with the promise of a meet and greet with the author and a complimentary glass of wine. And a photographer of course. Marguerite’s choice.
The author had left Eliza’s home after their earlier session to spend her day at a nearby salon getting her hair touched up, her mani and pedi refreshed, and a facial that would leave her natural complexion glowing. It’d cost as much as the catering.
Eliza headed upstairs to shower, but when she reached the landing, she
paused. Something was wrong; she just couldn’t put her finger on what. A sizzle in the air? Her closed bedroom door? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d closed her door. Eliza and Roman lived alone. They had no need for privacy.
She moved closer, listening. Her shoulders tensed at a shuffle from inside.
Eliza had just raised a hand to turn the knob when she heard it—distinct, this time. A low groan, then a female voice. Nothing muffled about it. There was a woman in Eliza’s bedroom, and she wasn’t alone.
Eliza’s first inclination was to back away. She hesitated, took a quiet step toward the staircase. But she stopped as a wave of indignation crashed over her. She refused to be intimidated out of her own bedroom. With a stubborn twist of the handle, Eliza threw the door open.
Deep down, Eliza knew the gist of what she’d find. She’d been preparing for this moment for a long time, she realized as she gathered her wits in the hallway. Now that it was actually happening and she was confronted with an affair in the flesh, Eliza expected to feel many things as she stepped through the door. She just hadn’t expected to be rendered speechless.
“Eliza!” Roman’s voice rolled off his tongue, smooth and buttery, the moment he saw her. “We didn’t expect you home so soon.”
“We.” Eliza coughed, struggling to recover her wits. “We?”
She gave a shake of her head, her tongue feeling heavy, leaden. Her body sank into numbness, complete from head to toe. She was a dead weight. If someone threw her into the ocean, she’d sink straight to the bottom. She’d be dead before she even thought about swimming.
“I’m surprised we didn’t know I’d be home,” Eliza said, fighting to regain some semblance of calmness, “seeing as we were scheduled to be downstairs in twenty minutes.”
A set of long, thin legs were wrapped around her husband’s bare torso, the splash of frizzy hair against the pillow all too familiar. Eliza caught sight of bare breasts and refused to avert her eyes. Spaghetti-thin straps of lace swirled around the smooth skin of the woman’s stomach, a touch of expensive, classy lingerie in an unclassy setting.
“Marguerite.” Eliza addressed her client crisply. “I don’t think it’s necessary for you to attend book club tonight. In fact, the event is canceled. Unfortunately, you came down with a nasty, nasty stomach bug.”
“But—”
“Also, our contract is terminated. I won’t utter a word of this little indiscretion to anyone in the industry so long as you pay me in full for the agreed-upon campaign. Our professional relationship is over.”
“It’s not like that!” Marguerite scrambled to sit up in bed. “Roman said you were separated.”
Eliza blinked, raised a hand, and flashed her wedding band. “Does it look like we’re separated?”
Marguerite pulled away from Roman, casting him an uncertain look. “You’ve been saying the divorce papers were just waiting for a signature.”
“I see.” Eliza blinked with understanding. “That’s how you get away with it. Is that what you told the others, too?”
“You knew about the others?” Marguerite’s voice rose, and she swiveled her head between Roman and Eliza. “And you didn’t do anything about it?”
“You’re the first fling he’s brought to our home,” Eliza said. “So that’s something. Congratulations. I have to say, though, I’m surprised. I always thought you hated Roman. Wanted me to leave him. Now I see why. You just wanted him for yourself.”
“It’s not like that.” Marguerite’s hands twisted around the sheets. “This was all… I was doing this to help you, Eliza.”
“To help me?”
“You never seemed happy in your marriage! Roman was holding you back. I told you that, but you never did anything about it. I was just forcing you to take control of your life.”
“What was your grand plan? Flirt with my husband in front of me? Or did you plan on going the whole nine yards from the very start?”
“Things got out of hand.”
“I’ll say.”
“Roman told me—”
“He lies, Marguerite,” Eliza said. “That’s what you were trying to prove to me. And you sure accomplished that.”
“So why haven’t you left him already?”
“Because I’m married to him. And it’s none of your business.”
“It wasn’t supposed to end this way,” Marguerite said. “You were supposed to see that Roman doesn’t deserve you. Except—”
“Except instead of screwing him over,” Eliza said, “you just screwed him.”
Through their whole exchange, Roman watched the two women quizzically. As if he wasn’t quite sure what was happening. Almost as if he was wondering if he’d gotten away with the whole thing.
“I also happen to suspect that he got one of his students pregnant,” Eliza continued. “Did he mention anything about that? Nice girl, too. Penny. Pretty Penny. You sat in the same room with her earlier this afternoon. In fact, if my math is accurate, your launch party might be the very night they conceived this poor child. Am I correct, Roman, or was that another time?”
“Pregnant?” Marguerite’s voice was a feeble whimper.
The faint echo of the doorbell resounded downstairs. Eliza tilted her head to listen, then thumbed over her shoulder. “As a matter of fact, that’s probably Penny. I asked her to come early to help set up.”
“You have to listen to me,” Marguerite pleaded.
“I don’t have to do much of anything.” Eliza shrugged, feeling a great weight lift from her shoulders. “But my offer stands. I don’t think the self-help world would appreciate a story about their beloved guru found sleeping with a man who was not only married but who had recently knocked up one of his students.”
“Please, I’ll do anything. Don’t ruin me.”
“This isn’t about you,” Eliza said. “This has never been about you. All I want is the money we agreed upon for the entire year. That’s it. Then you can consider our relationship terminated.”
“That’s blackmail,” Marguerite said. “This isn’t my fault!”
Eliza gave a deep, ugly chuckle. “Don’t get me started on blackmail. If you’d like to go there, let’s discuss a few other things. We’ll start with your fake veganism, then move on to the stores of plastic straws you stash in your purse while shouting publicly that anyone holding such a dastardly weapon is single-handedly ruining the world. From there, we can chat about the raw food trend you supposedly adhere to—”
“I’ll get you your money,” Marguerite said. “Give me a week.”
“Fine.” Eliza turned to Roman. “Honey, we’re done. Marguerite’s plan worked. This is it. I don’t want to speak to you again. We’ll let the lawyers handle our assets.”
“Eliza, don’t be rash—” Roman started.
“This”—Eliza waved her hand—“is you speaking to me.”
The doorbell rang again.
Eliza turned, jogged downstairs to greet her guest, and didn’t look back.
_______________________________
Eliza spun the steering wheel and made a sharp left, not bothering with a blinker. She barely bothered with the brakes.
“Are you sure everything is okay?” Anne sat in the passenger’s seat, her knuckles gripping the safety handle for balance. “You can tell us—”
“I’ll tell you when we get there,” Eliza said shortly. “Did you finish the phone calls?”
“I sent out texts to the guest list,” Anne said. “The attendees know book club is canceled.”
“Thank you.”
“You are aware that we have a pregnant woman in the back of the car,” Anne murmured feebly. “I’m sure she would like to make it there alive. I want to make it there alive, too, so I can hear what you have to say. Where is there by the way? Are you sure everything’s okay?”
“It’s fine.” Eliza’s voice was a thin blade—an icicle on a cold winter’s morning, reflecting a brilliant shade of sunlight. “Here is there.”
&nb
sp; The Garbanzo’s sign flickered above the three women as they exited the car, Penny and Anne moving slowly, a bit shakily, as they tested their footing and seemed surprised to find themselves on solid ground. Eliza caught Penny glancing up and down the street as if looking for their destination.
When Eliza led them into Garbanzo’s, Penny’s eyebrow raised, but she didn’t make a peep about their dismal surroundings.
“Eliza, Annie,” Uncle Joe called from behind the bar. “You brought a friend! Pretty thing, too. How you doin’, little mama?”
Penny looked at Eliza first, then Anne. Then down at her stomach as if she couldn’t quite believe Uncle Joe was talking to her.
“He’s an old friend,” Anne muttered to Penny. “Don’t mind him.”
Eliza led the way across the room to the usual table. Penny scurried close behind. Once all three women had their backsides firmly stuck to the vinyl seats, Anne and Penny looked expectantly across the table. Eliza waited until Uncle Joe had deposited four shots of tequila in front of them.
“Can I get a glass of water?” Penny asked.
Anne raised a hand. “I’ll take a beer. Whatever you have on tap.”
Uncle Joe grunted in acknowledgment. He left the table and disappeared for a moment behind the bar. When he returned, he brought with him several glasses of water and a beer that he slid in front of Anne. He gave a nod at the women and then returned to his post, leaving the women alone in silence.
“I can’t drink.” Penny broke the silence with a longing gaze at the tequila.
“Those are for me.” Eliza extended her arms possessively around the shot glasses before hugging them greedily toward her. “I earned them.”
Anne extended a hand, plucking a shot from Eliza’s arms. “Except this one. What are we drinking to?”
“Divorce.” Eliza raised her tiny glass, noted Anne’s surprised expression, then tossed the alcohol back. She let out a satisfying hiss of disgust. “And to book club.”
Penny blinked. “I’m a little confused.”
“Marguerite Hill is currently in my bed,” Eliza said. When the other women didn’t react, she continued, “Screwing my husband.”
