The Ugly Girls' Club: A Murder Mystery Thriller

by C. A. Wittman

  "Yeah. I thought I'd take a flight out."

  "That'd be great, Donovan. I think it'd be good for you to come to these, get to know some of our partners. We're meeting tomorrow at ten for three or four hours. I'm in the penthouse. You want a girl when you get in?"

  "No. I might get in late and just go to sleep."

  "Alright. Listen, I gotta run. But I'll see you tomorrow."

  "Okay."

  His dad hung up, and the man pocketed the phone. "Let's step outside."

  Donovan stared down at the plate of Oreos with drops of blood congealing on them and the blood-smeared glass of milk, as well as the bloodied towels. Something dark and awful came over him.

  "Please don't kill me," he said.

  "I actually want to show you around my garden."

  Donovan stood on shaky legs and followed the man out the sliding glass door. He looked up at the blue sky and the carefully trimmed and shaped bushes, a pomegranate tree near the tall fence line. He studied the circular herb garden, a small labyrinth.

  Donovan never felt the bullet that went through his skull. He was alive one moment, and the next he wasn't.

  Chapter 52

  Skip Jenner stared down at his phone. It was noon. The last time he heard from Donovan was yesterday evening, when he said he was coming out for the meeting. He’d tried Posie several times, but she hadn’t picked up either. She’d called at one point yesterday, earlier, before Donovan had reached out to him. Skip had even tried Trisha around 8 AM, knowing she’d probably still be asleep. She called him back at ten, but she hadn’t heard from the kids either. Unlike how most mothers would react, there was a lack of concern in her tone, and general disinterest. Her last words were, “I’m sure they’ll turn up.”

  Skip tried to focus on Jade, who talked about moving some of her girls into the new brothel. His eyes lingered unseeingly on her lips, smooth and plump from Botox. He recalled that Donovan had sounded a little strange on the phone yesterday. It wasn’t something Skip had registered at the moment, but now, as he went over their conversation again, he remembered the tension in his son’s tone.

  Had the police picked Donovan up?

  But if that were the case, he’d know by now. And what about Posie? She was usually good about returning messages and calls. Something wasn’t lining up.

  A knock on the door broke through his reverie as Rudy rose from his chair.

  “Lunch is here,” he said.

  Tim wandered over to the bar and poured himself a whiskey. “Anyone want a drink?” He asked.

  Skip held up his hand, along with Ben and Jade.

  “Any tonic water over there?” Jade asked. “If so, I’ll have a gin and tonic.”

  She stood and joined Tim at the bar. Skip’s eyes lingered on her perfectly round, apple bottom. She was in great shape for fifty.

  “I ordered Italian,” he heard Rudy say from the front door.

  “A client sent the Chinese, sir,” a young man said. And then, apparently reading from a note, “From a delighted customer. Please enjoy.”

  “Alright, bring it in,” Rudy said grumpily and added. “Order me up a lasagne plate.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The cart was wheeled in. The Bellhop dressed the table and removed the covers from the entrees, setting the serving utensils in the various dishes: shrimp fried rice, wontons, sweet and sour chicken, noodles, beef and broccoli.

  Rudy tipped the Bellhop with a frown. “These goddamn big wigs,” he muttered. “Always have to have their way in everything. Can’t even eat in peace.”

  “Come now, Rudy,” Jade said with a twist of her lips. “I think it’s sweet. Someone’s very happy with us.”

  “I wonder who,” Skip said, taking a seat and serving himself.

  They all fixed themselves plates, except Rudy, who was waiting for his lasagne.

  Jade bit into her wonton. “Hm. Chewy,” she said.

  Skip took a bite of his shrimp-fried rice, decided that it was mediocre, and moved on to the beef and broccoli. Nothing was that great. All of it was bland and flavorless. A disappointed silence settled over them, and Jade pushed her plate away, taking a sip of her drink. Her eyes wandered over to the cart. She frowned, and Skip followed her gaze. There were small brown paper bags with their names written on them. Jade got up and brought the bags over. She opened hers and took out a fortune cookie.

  “Someone’s gone out of their way,” she said. “Too bad the food’s inedible.”

  She tossed the cookie back in the bag, uninterested.

  Rudy went to the bar and picked up the hotel phone, punching the button for room service.

  “Hello,” he growled. “This is Rudy Horowitz in the penthouse suite. Yes. We had Chinese delivered for lunch. It’s inedible, and furthermore, I’m not pleased with the fact that you canceled our original order without someone from your staff checking in with me first.” He was silent for a moment, listening. “Our order was canceled, and this god-awful Chinese was sent up instead… Uh-huh.” He frowned, and Skip had an odd feeling as he stared at the bags with their names on them. “I didn’t cancel. Someone else called in on my behalf and canceled my order, then had this slop sent up.” His frown deepened. “No. Was the call made from my room?… No. That’s alright. Never mind.” He hung up.

  “What?” Jade asked.

  Rudy looked at her, his expression one of bafflement and unease. “She said that it was me who canceled the order, that there are two Chinese restaurants in the hotel, and that they don’t open until after five, and they don’t offer room service. The food was brought in from an outside vendor.”

  Jade reached for her fortune cookie and opened it, her eyes skimming the words. She glanced up, her face having visibly paled.

  “What does it say?” Skip asked, reaching for his own cookie.

  Wordlessly, she slid the paper over to the rest of them to see.

  Skip squinted at the tiny typeface.

  You are fucked.

  “Shit!” Rudy gasped. “Shit. Was the food poisoned?” They were all opening their cookies. There was something fleshy in Skip’s. He stared for a moment, his mind not wanting to register. It was part of a finger. A hot, acrid liquid shot up his throat as he read the message.

  Compliments of Donovan. Sorry I couldn’t make it, but I’m here in spirit.

  The bile rose to his mouth, and Skip swallowed it back as each person at the table read their fortune out loud.

  You are fucked.

  You are fucked.

  You are fucked.

  Chapter 53

  At first, she thought the pounding was coming from the TV. She’d turned it on after Skip called about the kids. It was one of those all-women talk shows, four women, sitting on studio sofas and chairs, talking about hot summer swimsuit trends. Trisha had been fascinated for a moment. She hadn’t bought a swimsuit in a while. The thought of a bikini got her thinking about her tits. She really needed to get her implants replaced. They still looked good, but it had been eight years. When the segment had gone to a commercial break for Tide detergent, her eyes grew heavy, and she’d closed them, thinking about Posie. She had come home yesterday around seven, looking pale. Sick, even. Enough so that Trisha had asked if she was okay.

  “Just mind your own fucking business,” she’d snapped. Trishsa had watched her open the fridge and grab a wine cooler, guzzle it down, and disappear into her room, where she slammed the door.

  Trisha had minded her own fucking business. She took several hits from her vape pen and drank a bottle of champagne while watching Sex in the City and wishing her life could be so innocent and carefree. She’d fallen asleep to the show and woken to Skip’s calls, lying to him about Posie. Let him worry for a change, Trisha thought after ending the call. She’d gotten up to check on Posie, who was still in her bed, curled up under the covers. Several empty wine cooler bottles lined the floor.

  Trisha had stared at her slumbering daughter, wondering how her life had become so twisted. Finally
, she’d closed Posie’s door, made her way to the kitchen, blended herself a pineapple and mango smoothie, and downed it with valium. Then she collapsed on the sofa to watch more TV.

  It turned out the pounding wasn’t coming from her television, but from the front door. Trisha pushed herself up, trying to shake the lethargy from her brain as she stumbled across the living room, wondering who the hell would knock, anyway. Guests had to ring in at the lobby first. She pulled back her curtain, peering out the window. Two plainclothes cops stood on her doorstep. Trisha ran her hand through her hair and checked to see what she had on. Pajama bottoms and a tank top, her surgically erect nipples poking against the fabric. She opened the door, and one of the cops held up something in his hand that she couldn’t exactly read.

  “Trisha Jenner?” He said.

  “That’s me.”

  “We have a warrant for your arrest and to search the premises. You have a right to remain silent…” he continued with his spiel, the words flowing over her.

  When he took a breath, she said, “Finally.”

  The second cop was already walking around. He knocked once on Posie’s door and opened it, calling out hello.

  There was no answer, and Trisha watched him enter the room, a bleak feeling descending over her.

  “Rodriguez,” the cop called out to his partner.

  Trisha went, too.

  The cop had pulled back the blanket from Posie’s curled-up figure, and Trisha gasped out a sob at her daughter’s profile, puffy and distorted.

  “Ma’am, is this your daughter?” The cop standing next to her asked.

  Yes.

  Trisha swayed, and the cop caught her by her elbow. “Let’s go back to the living room,” he said.

  Chapter 54

  Emma gently touched the bridge of her nose, a habit she had formed since Sam had fractured her septum and she had to get surgery. For a week, she wore packing in her nostrils and had to sleep upright. Along with dealing with her nose, she had been subjected to regular interviews with detectives and journalists.

  The Jenner family, police discovered, ran a porn site called Candy Porn. The Jenners also operated legal and illegal brothels and a discreet sugar baby service. Their clients were wealthy, powerful men, CEOs of major corporations, moguls, barons, journalists, actors, authors, movie producers, and directors. Some of these men were facing criminal charges and public disgrace when leaked emails disclosed Skip Jenner's clients requesting twelve- and thirteen-year-old girls.

  Detectives had received reams of confidential correspondence, passwords, videos, and pointers from an anonymous source. The FBI was now involved, the cases of the waterside suicides reopened.

  The scandal played nonstop on the news.

  Parents were appalled and outraged when they learned of the Jenners marketing porn to their middle school children, and the more sinister reason behind the porn controversy.

  Donovan Jenner's murder, a gristly comeuppance, was all over the news as well. Skip Jenner and his business associates had unwittingly dined on a cannibalistic lunch of Donovan's body parts. Inevitably, the story would turn to Posie Jenner, who took her own life, overdosing on ketamine. News pundits, social media, and celebrity gossip mills discussed and analyzed the psychopathic relationship between the Jenner siblings.

  It seemed every other day there was a new arrest related to the scandal.

  Gumption had not been arrested, but she remained under investigation into what, if any, role she may have had.

  Publicly, her reputation as a feminist activist soared.

  Emma had suffered the embarrassment of her porn history turned over to detectives, along with the surreptitiously recorded videos. Although law enforcement kept her identity confidential, it hardly mattered. Oliver's use of the sugar baby service, and the fact that some of the videos had already been circulating online, meant that her identity was compromised. Emma received vicious online attacks by trolls and religious fanatics. Shutting down all her social media and changing her number made no difference. People still showed up at her house, and reporters who worked for sensationalist newspapers still pestered her.

  Jill was now filing for divorce and had permanently moved everyone into the Malibu house. Oliver, disgraced, moved out and into a one-bedroom condo in Brentwood. Jill's online dating site experienced a nose-dive as the public wondered if her business was involved with the Jenners, the fallout brutal on Jill's mental health. In the ensuing weeks, Emma's mother developed agoraphobia, and Myla had moved in with their family for an indefinite amount of time to help out with the twins.

  Mia was suspended from UCLA, and the Mars family was under investigation for child neglect and endangerment. Blue's parents were back in LA, navigating an unwieldy court system and child protective services, Blue placed in a group home.

  Nisha's mom, Deja, who knew someone within the child welfare agency, was able to finagle Blue's being placed under her temporary care.

  Suri's family had banned her from having anything to do with Blue or Valentina. Shortly thereafter, Valentina was sent to Mexico City to spend the rest of her summer with an aunt and uncle.

  Like the three-headed hydra that keeps sprouting heads, the Jenner family controversy continued to spread, tarnishing the reputations of powerful men throughout the world. Even the rideshare and scooter companies received blowback. Emma and her friends had been scheduling rides through their parents’ accounts, using the services unchaperoned. No stone was left unturned, their lives scrupulously investigated.

  Emma stared out the window of Deja's car. The Smiths had gotten in late last night from their Europe trip, and Nisha's mom was giving the girls a ride to Cat's house.

  With the move to Malibu and Emma cut off from her regular transportation, her world was now relatively small—not that she minded all that much. She felt like a pariah half the time, and the other half like prey. The secluded Malibu home felt safe. She'd begun helping Myla with Peter and Alice, getting to know her brother and sister for the first time since her mother gave birth to them. Their daily care, and all the things that came with looking after toddlers, offered a welcome distraction from her life and the looming fear of starting high school after being part of such a famous scandal.

  As they pulled onto Cat's street, Emma's throat grew tight at the sight of the Smiths’ house. Home away from home. They had barely parked before the door flew open and Cat came bounding out, running to them. Emma jumped out of the car, Nisha not too far behind her. The three friends embraced each other in a group hug, Blue hanging back with Deja.

  "Oh, my god! Oh, my god!" Cat cried, her face wet with tears. "I've missed you both so much."

  Emma wanted to say something, say she'd missed Cat, too, but her throat felt clogged with grief, and suddenly she was sobbing, squeezing Cat hard and tight, Cat stroking her hair. Nisha glanced over her shoulder at Blue and waved her over.

  "Get in here, PLD."

  Blue smiled, and Emma gulped back a half-sob-half-giggle as Blue came forward and snaked her arm into the group hug.

  When Emma looked up, she saw Deja heading toward the house, Brenda standing in the doorway and Andy just behind her. Then the four girls walked arm-in-arm into the house.

  "You grew," Emma said to Cat. She was taller, and her hips had widened, her skin browned from the sun.

  "I know," Cat said, giving her a wide grin. "Two inches. You better watch out, Emma Dawson, because I'm going to catch up with you."

  They tramped into the house, and it smelled like goodness: lye soap and cats. Andy had on his AC/DC T-shirt and sweatpants, which meant he'd been writing, and the grands were sitting in their rockers.

  "I made some jello," Grandma Ada called out to them.

  "Would you like some coffee?" Brenda asked Deja.

  "Sure," Deja said, her nose wrinkling slightly as she took a seat in the living room. Swen and Carrie came out of the kitchen, holding bowls of jello.

  "It's dope," Swen said, shoveling a spoon of red jello, c
hock full of pink and green mini marshmallows, into his mouth. Cat made a face at Swen's use of the slang, then ruffled his hair.

  "My brother, the budding teen."

  "Hey, stop it," Swen grumbled, not quite able to hide his smile as he slunk over to the sofa to take a seat and gape at them, Carrie following suit.

  "We're going to hang in my room," Cat said to her parents.

  "Sure," Brenda said. "Make yourselves at home, girls."

  "Thanks, Mrs. B," Nisha said and veered off to the kitchen to grab a bowl of jello.

  Chapter 55

  With Candace’s help, Gumption retrieved her paintings of Wren and Poppy, she’d been keeping in storage since before Cassandra’s murder and destroyed them both. She did it as soon as Emma, Nisha, Blue, and Sam walked out the door and went across the street to the Bakers’. Posie had left an hour before them after breaking down when Sam threatened to put her head through a wall.

  She'd half admitted to something, although it wasn't clear what she was trying to say, only repeating that it was all a mistake and an accident.

  "Wren was my best friend. It was an accident," was the best they could get out of her until Leonard called and said he'd taken care of a few things.

  "Let the kid go," he'd suggested. "It's all over for her, anyway."

  So Gumption had. It took some convincing with the others, but in the end, Posie walked freely out her door.

  "What should we do, then?" Emma had asked.

  "Do what you think is right," Gumption said to them.

  She had watched the girls cross the street, knowing they were going to discuss their circumstances more.

  They did not know that it was out of their hands. By tomorrow, damning evidence of the Jenners’ crimes would be released to the police.

  The Chinese food fiasco was Leonard’s touch, inspiration taken from Gumption. During one of their brief get-togethers, she'd wondered out loud if the Chinese had been more cannibalistic than other cultures throughout history.