by Kyra Davis
“Both, and it has been my experience that when pathological liars falter in their area of expertise, they are hiding something big.”
I glanced back at Leah, who was sitting at the dining table with her head in her hands. “I did take her to Redwood,” I said slowly. “We did have a horrible time and I do think that it’s important that we keep our mouths shut about Erika. Now please, it’s been a long night, so can’t we just leave it at that?”
Anatoly opened his mouth to answer, but I put a finger to his lips. “Sometimes it’s better not to know.”
Anatoly looked conflicted as he studied me in the doorway. “You don’t want me to go to the police with our suspicions about Erika.”
“No.”
“You don’t want me to talk about it at all or even look into it.”
“You’re catching on fast.”
“I don’t like being kept in the dark, Sophie.”
“Then you shouldn’t come over to people’s homes in the middle of the night.” I glanced at the clock behind me. “Good night, Anatoly.” I shut the door without waiting for him to walk away. I had dealt with enough for one evening. Anatoly was going to have to go on tomorrow’s to-do list.
I had nightmares all night long about finding Erika. Every time I woke up in a cold sweat I would force myself to visualize something pleasant, like George Clooney. But when I closed my eyes again, it was Erika’s prone body that I saw. At four o’clock I gave up on trying to focus on positive imagery and had a couple of shots of vodka to help me relax. The one thing about being a writer is that you don’t have to wake up early in the morning to go to work. Of course, judging by my level of productivity lately, I didn’t need to wake up at all. I went back to my bedroom and let my head sink back onto the pillow. I would first figure out everything for Leah, then I would be able to focus on the manuscript I was supposed to be working on. I felt the effects of the alcohol on my already tired mind. Everything would fall into place. But for the moment the only thing I needed to concentrate on was sleep.
Two hours later, Leah woke up. I know this because the clock read 6:05 a.m. when I awoke to find her shaking me. “Sophie, Sophie are you awake?”
“No.”
“Sophie, the police aren’t here.”
I opened one eye. “Did you just say the police aren’t here?”
“That’s right.”
“And you felt the need to wake me up and tell me this?” I propped myself up on one elbow. “You know who else isn’t here? Johnny Depp. So now that we’ve finished stating the obvious, can I go back to sleep?”
“No.”
“I hate you.”
“Why haven’t the police come to question us about Erika?” Leah asked. “Don’t you think that I’ll be a suspect?”
“Probably.” I yawned. “But my guess is that we’re the only ones who know she’s dead.”
Leah gasped. “You think she’s just rotting away on her living room floor?”
“Well, I wouldn’t have phrased it quite like that but…yes.”
“How long will it take before someone else finds her?”
“What do I look like, Nostradamus? She won’t come into work, she won’t return her calls, and eventually someone will go check on her.”
Leah shook her head. “I don’t like this.”
“Oh, really? Because I’m having the time of my life.”
“There’s no need to be sarcastic.” Leah stood up and threw my robe on top of me. “Get up. I need to figure this all out before I have to pick up Jack.”
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and pulled on the robe. “When do you plan on picking him up? Next year?”
“I’m serious, Sophie.” Leah led me out of the room and into the kitchen, where I immediately made a grab for the coffee beans. “I’m tired of this cloak-and-dagger nonsense. I have things to do. I have a memorial service to plan, for God’s sake. Do you think that’s easy? It’s like planning another wedding! And, well, Erika’s not exactly around to help anymore—not that I would have let her, considering what I learned about her….”
“Mmm, so have you been interviewing photographers?” I ground the beans and threw them in the coffeemaker.
“What? No, but I am putting together an album documenting Bob’s life. And I do need to start talking to caterers—”
“And coffee—if Bob’s friends are going to be making speeches, you’re going to need lots of coffee for the rest of us.”
“And I know exactly where I want the service to be held,” Leah continued, ignoring my thinly veiled insult. “And while I don’t need to send out actual invitations, I do need to make sure that the word gets out to the right people.”
I froze with my Brita pitcher poised over the coffeemaker. “Oh, my God, I just realized who the right people are.”
“Well, it’s not too difficult to figure out. There’s the Cavlins and the VanSambes….”
“And the Whitmans, Leah. You can’t forget Bianca Whitman.”
Leah blanched. “You’re not serious.”
“Of course I’m serious.” I absently poured the water into the coffeemaker as I planned our next move. “Bianca won’t expect to be welcome there, so we’ll have to tell her to come. Why don’t I call her up right now and invite her to come on over for brunch?”
“Why don’t you?” Leah mocked. “Other than the little issue that she has completely dismantled my life, I don’t have any real problem with her.”
“Leah, don’t you see? We’ll invite her over to make it clear that while her actions were hurtful, we don’t bear her any ill will. To further illustrate that, we’ll ask her to come to the memorial service.”
“Over my dead body.”
“No, over Bob’s. It’s his memorial.” I pulled a couple of mugs out of the cupboard and handed one to Leah. “Then, while she’s here, we’ll subtly inquire about her whereabouts last night.”
Leah gasped. “You think she’s the one who killed Erika! She must have found out that she wasn’t his only mistress and lost it, why didn’t I see it before?”
“At this point I’m not sure I care all that much who killed Erika, as long as we’re not blamed.” I leaned my back against the cream-colored tiles of the counter. “It’s possible Bianca didn’t know about Erika, but it’s just as possible that she did, and if she doesn’t have an alibi, then the police will have to look at her.”
“That’s assuming the police find out about Erika’s affair with Bob.”
“And if they don’t, all the better.” I shrugged and watched as the coffee drizzled into the coffeepot. “Then they won’t be able to come up with a motive for you at all. The point is that if we make nicey-nice with Bianca, then we could get some useful information out of her, her bulldog of a sister might lighten up a bit, and you won’t look like a jealous, vindictive wife who is capable of murder.”
Leah pressed her lips together and looked down at her empty cup. “Fine, I’ll invite her to the service. But she can’t sit in the front row and she can’t stand up to speak.” She peered up at me. “I already shared my husband with her, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to share the spotlight.”
I waited until 9:00 a.m. to call Bianca, and as it turned out, my timing was impeccable. Porsha had stepped out for a morning jog, so no one was there to tell Bianca that having a private breakfast with the woman believed to have killed her lover wasn’t the most prudent thing a girl could do. Bianca had accepted my invitation to brunch without so much as a hesitation. Once again Bianca’s naiveté didn’t sit well with me. She just didn’t seem to have the savvy or even the intelligence to pull off a murder without leaving mountains of evidence behind.
Leah was busy in the kitchen, muttering to herself like the schizophrenic housewife she had become. I sighed and leaned against the counter and watched as she chopped up some fresh fruit to place in what was quickly becoming an elaborate salad. “I don’t get you. If you hate this woman so much, why are you going to all this trouble?�
��
“You want this to look good, right?” Leah turned away from the salad and started arranging the croissants, which she had picked up a half hour earlier, on what was apparently my “only presentable serving dish.” “If she’s as polished as you say she is, she’d suspect something the minute we put an onion bagel and smoked salmon on the table. Honestly, who wouldn’t?”
“Me?” I looked behind me to examine the perfectly set dining table. “So are you saying that if we serve her croissants on good china, she won’t suspect that we’re trying to poison her?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying— Wait! No, I’m not trying to poison her!” Leah suddenly shot back. “Which is why… Besides, I’m serving Perrier as a beverage. Nobody poisons Perrier.”
The buzzer went off, masking the groan that escaped my lips. Leah put the finishing touches on the meal and gave me a nod to indicate that I should press the intercom.
“Bianca?” I spoke her name with the most positive inflection I could muster.
“Porsha.”
I pressed my forehead against the wall. “Porsha, will you be having breakfast with us, too?”
“Bianca’s not coming.”
Of course she wasn’t. That would have made everything too easy. I jabbed my finger against the button to allow Porsha admittance into the building, while Leah wrinkled her brow in confusion. She was undoubtedly weighing her disappointment over not being able to show Bianca up with her gentile domesticity against the thrill of playing socialite with someone named Porsha.
Porsha managed not to make any noise as she climbed the stairs, despite the three-inch Manolo Blahniks she was wearing. She walked to my door but didn’t step inside.
“I want you to know that I have informed the police of my whereabouts.”
I couldn’t help but grin. “And why is that? Are you on probation?”
“They know I’m here, so if I disappear, they’ll know where to look.”
“I’m not going to kill you, Porsha. I don’t even want to see you. I only invited Bianca.”
“We invited Bianca.” Leah stepped forward and peeked over my shoulder. “I want her to know that I don’t hold any resentment toward her. What’s done is done and now we should all be focusing on our loss and our mutual love for my husband.”
Now it was really hard not to laugh. Porsha, on the other hand, just looked sick. Albeit sick in a kind of powerhouse, sexy way. She was wearing a white dart-seamed top, paired with a navy knee-length skirt that was a little too tight to be considered conservative. She narrowed her eyes as she focused on Leah.
“So, you’re the wife.”
I looked back to see Leah nod uncertainly. “I’m sorry, but you are…”
“I’m Porsha Whitman, Bianca’s sister and lawyer.”
Leah’s expression hardened and she took a step back. “Well, I suppose if I was going to extend my hospitality to your sister, I can certainly extend it to you.” I could tell she was trying to sound polite, but her words sounded stilted and cold. “Would you like to come in for some croissants and Perrier?”
“Did you poison it?”
I shook my head. “Nobody poisons Perrier. Only the less expensive brands like Calistoga.”
Porsha’s chin jutted out but despite her obvious misgivings she stepped into my apartment. “What do you really want with my sister?”
“We wanted to feed her,” I said, pulling out a chair at the dining table. “She’s too thin.”
“Apparently Bob didn’t think so,” Porsha remarked venomously.
Leah took in a sharp breath, and I bit into my lip. I really hated this woman.
“My husband,” Leah said slowly, “clearly found your sister to be…amusing. I’m so disappointed that she won’t be joining us. I do hope she didn’t stay away because she felt ashamed or…cheap.”
It was comebacks like that that made me proud to claim Leah as my sister.
“Bianca stayed away because I told her to,” Porsha said. “If you have a message for her, you can give it to me.”
“We wanted to invite her to Bob’s memorial service,” I said.
Porsha cocked her head to the side. “And why would you want to do that?”
“Because it’s the polite thing to do.” I smiled sweetly. “Didn’t they teach you anything in finishing school?”
“Are you trying to prove to the police that you’re not bitter?”
Damn it. Not only was she a bitch, but she was a smart bitch. Those were the worst kind. “We’re not trying to prove anything to anyone,” I lied. “We’re honestly trying to do the right thing.”
“I don’t believe you.”
I sighed and looked to Leah for help. She had more experience dealing with the Porshas of the world than I did.
Leah pulled out a chair. “I’m sorry you doubt us. Why don’t we all talk about it over breakfast? I made a lovely fruit salad, so if you’re worried about the calories in the croissants, there’s an alternative.” She looked pointedly at Porsha’s skintight skirt.
Porsha sat down and crossed her arms in front of her. “I’ll just have the Perrier.”
Of all the things she could have done, refusing food that my sister had prepared specifically for her was the one thing most likely to set Leah off. I saw Leah’s nostrils flare and quickly stood up and gave her a gentle shove toward the kitchen. “I’ll have some fruit and a croissant,” I called after Leah, as she rigidly walked into the kitchen to retrieve our food. I sat down again and smiled. “You know, I think I saw Bianca at Redwood last night.”
“What’s Redwood?” Porsha asked, her eyes following Leah’s movements.
“A bar downtown. I’m sure it was her. She was wearing this cute little pink number—”
“Bianca was home all night.”
“Are you sure? I could have sworn it was her.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Oh.” I leaned back in my chair and smiled as Leah returned to the table with our food and drinks. “In that case, did the two of you catch Saturday Night Live? I meant to tape it but—”
“I doubt Bianca watches anything that inane.”
“You doubt it? Didn’t you notice if she was watching television?”
“I was at the movies. However, I know my sister and she’s not the type to watch late-night TV.”
It took a huge effort to keep myself from breaking out into a grin. “So Bianca spent the night by herself, not watching Saturday Night Live.” I made eye contact with Leah, who looked incredibly relieved. “How lonely. Maybe if she would allow us to get to know her, we could provide comfort to one another.”
“She has friends for that,” Porsha said.
I poured myself some of the cyanide-free sparkling water. “So what movie did you see?”
“Why are you so interested in where Bianca and I were last night?”
I shrugged dismissively. “I’m not. I was just trying to make conversation.”
“I have no interest in conversing with either of you.” Porsha stood up. “I came over to find out what you were up to and to tell you to stay the hell away from my family. If you don’t, I’ll make sure you’ll regret it.”
I smiled. “Are you threatening us? My, my, how…violent of you.”
“I’m not the murderer here.”
“If you say so.” I tore off the end of my croissant and popped it into my mouth.
“Porsha,” Leah said sweetly, “why does Bianca need a lawyer? I hope she’s not in any kind of trouble.”
“She needs someone to give her legal advice so she’s better equipped to keep psychotics like you at bay.”
“Are you a criminal defense attorney?” Leah asked, her voice dripping honey.
Porsha shifted her weight from one foot to the other and looked toward the door. “No, that’s not my area of expertise.” She walked briskly toward the front door. “Don’t call my sister again or I’ll get a restraining order.”
“Oh, give me a break,” I called after he
r. “You can’t get a restraining order just because we invited her to breakfast. I would think a lawyer would know that. What kind of law do you practice again?”
“That’s none of your business,” she said as she exited my apartment.
I jumped up and ran after her. “Oh, come on, give me a hint.” I leaned over the banister as Porsha started down the stairwell. “Civil? Personal injury?”
“Go to hell,” she shouted back, and then stopped as she realized that her path was being blocked by Anatoly.
“Anatoly!” I said warmly. “You’re just in time. Porsha was just about to tell us that she’s an ambulance chaser.”
“The hell I was!” Porsha craned her neck up to look at me. “I’ll have you know I practice family law!”
“You’re a divorce lawyer?” I laughed. “Well, that’s perfect. If Bob hadn’t died, you could have represented Leah.”
“What are you doing here, Porsha?” Anatoly asked in a voice that I found to be entirely too warm. “Has something happened?”
“These harpies tried to lure my sister here under the pretense of wanting to treat her to tea and crumpets!”
Anatoly’s eyes traveled up to me. “Tea and crumpets?”
“They were croissants!” Leah screamed from inside the apartment.
“I’m done here.” Porsha pushed past Anatoly and swiftly walked the rest of the way down the stairs.
Anatoly turned to watch her go before coming up. “It’s really amazing,” he said as he walked back inside with me. “I have never seen two women conduct themselves so poorly during a murder investigation.”
“There is nothing sinister about croissants,” Leah said, glaring at the food in front of her. “I can’t believe she had the nerve to leave without eating one.”
“Yes,” Anatoly said, “clearly that’s the important issue here.” He sat down in Porsha’s vacated chair and dumped some fruit salad on her empty plate. “I showed Taylor’s picture to a few employees at the Gatsby. She was definitely the woman who was seen there with Bob.”
“Bob would never have slept with Taylor,” Leah said.
“Maybe not, but he took her to the hotel, and that can only help us redirect the police’s attention away from you.” He pierced a strawberry with his fork. “It would be even more helpful if we could show that he was having additional affairs.”