Sweet Little Lies

by Bianca Sloane

  The couple had spent the weekend at their home in Fontana, Wisconsin, and arrived back in Evanston on Monday afternoon, unaware of the events that had transpired over the past few days. While Harry checked the mail, Candice went to see if they had received any voicemails while they were gone. Before she had a chance to pick up the phone, it rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Mom?” It was her daughter, Stacy, and she sounded terrible.

  “What’s wrong, baby, what happened?”

  Stacy was sobbing, unable to put words together.

  Harry came in, and Candice shot him a worried look. “Stacy,” she mouthed to her husband. She turned her attention back to the phone.

  “Baby, tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Mom, it’s Kelly.”

  “What about Kelly? Is she okay?” Candice’s voice pitched slightly upward.

  “Oh, Mom,” Stacy wailed, trying to get the words out. In a halting voice, she revealed the details of the past few days to her mother’s growing horror.

  Candice dropped the phone as what her youngest daughter was saying sank in. Harry ran over and picked up the phone as Candice sank to the floor, crying.

  “Stacy?” he yelled into the phone. “Stacy, it’s Daddy. What the hell is going on?”

  Harry’s face contorted into a mask of rage as he listened to what his daughter had to say about her sister. He clenched the phone in his hand.

  “That son of a bitch,” he growled. “I would have killed that bastard myself.” He let out a terse breath. “Has Kelly called you?”

  “No, I haven’t talked to her since Friday. She sounded fine, said that she and Mark were thinking about spending a few weeks in Brazil this summer. How could he have this whole other life? How could he do this to her? To us?”

  Harry shook his head. “I don’t know, baby. I just don’t know. Baby, come home. Your sister is going to need us.”

  “I’ll book the next flight.”

  “Okay. Call us when you know you’re coming, and we’ll come get you.”

  “Okay, Daddy. I love you.”

  “We love you too, baby. We’ll see you soon.”

  Harry hung up the phone and knelt down to face his wife, who was still weeping on the floor. He sighed and placed his hands on his wife’s shoulders.

  “How could this happen, Harry? Not to our Kelly, our baby—” Candice was unable to finish before the tears overcame her again. Harry held his wife, fighting back his own tears. The phone rang again. Thinking it was Stacy, he decided to answer it.

  “Hello?”

  “Mr. Ross, my name is Janice Morris with the Sun-Times, and we wanted to interview you and your wife about your daughter, Kelly. What is your reaction to accusations she murdered her husband?”

  “No comment.” He slammed down the phone and went to lift Candice off the floor just as the doorbell rang.

  “Oh, Jesus, what now?” Harry muttered to himself. He turned his attention back to his wife. “Come on, Candy, come sit on the couch. I’ll see who’s at the door.”

  She nodded, and he helped her up and led her to the couch. The doorbell rang again, and he stalked over to answer the door.

  “Mr. Ross?”

  “What?!”

  “I’m Detective Hanson, and this is my partner, Detective Martin. We need to ask you a few questions regarding your daughter, Kelly. May we come in?”

  Harry hung his head and motioned for the detectives to come in. “Listen, my wife and I were away for the weekend, and we just found out about all of this. We’re both extremely upset.”

  Hanson nodded. “Yes, your neighbors told us you frequently take weekend getaways. This won’t take long, we promise.”

  By now, Candice had dropped her face into her hands. She looked up when she heard the detectives come into the room.

  Hanson flipped open his notebook. “Has your daughter tried to make any contact with you? Leave you a voicemail, send you an email…?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “What did you think of your son-in-law?”

  “We adored Mark,” Candice answered before her husband could say anything. “He was everything you could want for your daughter.”

  Hanson looked at Harry. “What about you, Mr. Ross? Is that how you feel?”

  Harry pursed his lips into an imperceptible line. “I felt my daughter made a fine choice with Mark. Or so I thought. What is this about him having another wife? What does that mean? Was he married before he married my daughter?”

  “Well, Mr. Ross, it appears he was married to a woman who goes by the name of Geneva Monroe, and they had a son together. As far as we’ve been able to tell, your daughter found out about it and killed Mr. Monroe. Her prints are all over the murder weapon,” Didi answered.

  “Well, how long was he married to her?” Harry asked.

  “We’re still trying to determine that, Mr. Ross,” she responded.

  “And he had a son with this woman?” Candice chimed in.

  “It looks that way. And you’re sure Kelly hasn’t tried to contact either of you?” Hanson peered around to Candice. “Nothing at all?”

  “Look, I already told you, we were out of town and just got back. We haven’t talked to her since last week.”

  Hanson nodded once again and closed his notebook. He looked up at Candice and Harry.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Ross, we understand you’re in shock, but it is critical that if you hear from your daughter that you contact us.” Didi pulled out one of her cards and handed it to Harry.

  “Thanks so much for your cooperation. We’ll show ourselves out,” she said before she turned to leave. Hanson followed her out of the house. Harry walked directly behind them and closed and locked the door. He came back into the living room and sat down on the couch next to Candice. He put his arm around her, and she laid her head against his chest.

  “Do you think she tried to contact us?” Candice asked.

  Harry shook his head. “No. Knowing her, she’s trying to handle this on her own.” He caught sight of a photo of the four of them together taken last summer in Fontana. He sighed.

  “I just hope she’s okay.”

  Mrs. Mark Monroe…

  Geneva Monroe smiled to herself. Her attorney had been fielding requests for media interviews all day. Everyone wanted to know all about Mark Monroe’s secret wife. She wondered if Barbara Walters would be interested. Maybe she could fix it so the interview would come out around the time her book hit the shelves. She chuckled as she opened the door of her airy home. Kelly would have nothing by the time she was through, which was exactly what she deserved.

  Damn heifah.

  She would get hers, Geneva would make sure of that. And now it was time for Geneva to be rightfully recognized for who she was. Except Mark was gone. It broke Geneva’s heart to know she would never see her Boo again. She would see to it that Kelly paid and paid and paid for taking her Boo away from her.

  Her son wasn’t home yet, so she had a few minutes to herself. Must still be at soccer practice. Geneva flopped down on the couch of her all-white living room and leaned back against the oversized cushions. She thought about that last morning with Mark. How could she have known that would be it? Damn that bitch.

  Geneva’s eye fell on a copy of that day’s Sun-Times with Kelly’s picture draped across the front. She picked it up and stared at her nemesis before she slowly ripped the front page off and tore it into tiny pieces. She blew them into the air, watching the gray paper snowflakes fall to the plush white carpet. She couldn’t wait to see Kelly begging for Geneva to spare her, to not take her company or her cars or her money.

  The first thing she’d do would be to change the name. Runway. She always thought that was a stupid fucking name. Maybe she’d call it…Faces of Geneva. Or maybe Faces by Geneva. Yeah. She liked that. Had a nice little ring to it. Geneva snuggled back into the corners of the couch, relishing that thought. All in good time. First, she was hungry. She’d call up her girls and take them out for
a big dinner to celebrate. M.J. could order a pizza.

  “To Mrs. Mark Monroe,” she said aloud. “The first. The only.”

  She laughed and jumped off the couch to call her girls. Before she got to the phone, her doorbell rang.

  “Who is this?” she muttered to herself as she went to answer the door. She looked out the peephole. A blond man and a redheaded woman were standing there. Maybe they were reporters. Geneva smiled. So they’d found her house. She flung the door open.

  “How you doin’? What newspaper are you from?”

  Hanson and Didi looked at each other before flashing their badges at Geneva.

  “I’m Detective Hanson, Chicago Police, and this is my partner, Detective Martin. We have a few questions to ask you about Mark Monroe.” Just then, two uniformed officers stepped into view. “Oh, yeah, and a search warrant.”

  Geneva sniffed. “Oh. Well, I’m not talking to you unless my lawyer is present. His name is Harvey Jackson. You can call him, he’s listed.”

  She went to close the door, but Hanson blocked it with his foot.

  “We’ve got a search warrant,” he repeated as he pushed his way inside, and Didi fluttered the warrant in Geneva’s face. “You call your own lawyer.”

  Geneva was fuming now as the pair came inside, each pulling on rubber gloves.

  “How long were you married to Mark Monroe?” Hanson asked as he began to walk around the living room.

  “I’m not saying anything.”

  Hanson shrugged. “Suit yourself. You’ll tell me eventually. We’re just going to take a look around, if you don’t mind.”

  “I do,” Geneva snapped.

  Hanson laughed. “I wasn’t asking.”

  Hanson, Didi, and the other cops worked their way through the house, while Geneva stood in her living room, seething. Once she got through with Kelly, they’d learn not to mess with her. All of them. She just had to be patient. An hour later, the pair came back to the front of the house, where Geneva was still standing, hand on her hip.

  “You through?”

  Hanson began to remove his gloves. “For now. Doesn’t mean we won’t be back. Don’t leave town.”

  Hanson, Didi, and the two officers left, and the two detectives got into their car and pulled out of the driveway. Geneva slammed the door behind them and screamed, the sound echoing throughout the entire house.

  They would all learn.

  Not Even A Picture…

  “I’m starting to wonder how ‘valid’ this whole marriage thing is,” Didi said.

  “One and one sure ain’t adding up to two. Maybe they had all of their rendezvous at motels,” Hanson responded.

  Hanson had been immediately struck by the difference between the residences of the two Mrs. Monroes. Each home was obviously expensive with high-end decor. However, something seemed to be missing from Geneva Monroe’s house.

  For starters, everything was all white, and it certainly didn’t look like a little boy lived here. The place was pristine. No toys underfoot, no crumbs, no video game cables snaking from behind the TV in the living room. The little boy’s room was also meticulous. And there were no pictures, not of the boy, of Mark, nothing. He always thought it was strange when people didn’t have family photos. This almost looked like a model home to him, not like someone actually lived here. The Gold Coast home of Kelly Monroe had the high-end look but exuded warmth, personality, and style. If Mark Monroe was married to Geneva, you’d have never guessed it by that house. Even his search of the master bedroom’s closets turned up nothing. Not a suit, stray t-shirt, random pair of boxer shorts—nothing. And only one toothbrush in the bathroom.

  Hanson was absolutely flummoxed. Was Mark Monroe just that good?

  “Okay, but what about the little tryst at 1043 Lake Shore Drive?”

  “What?” Hanson said, snapping back to what his partner was saying.

  “Something was going on, judging by the scene at the Monroe house.”

  Hanson shrugged. “Maybe it was a thrill for them to be doing it in the bed he shared with the other one.”

  “I guess there are stranger things.”

  A new theory jutted out in Hanson’s mind. “Or…what about money? Kelly Ross has substantially more money than her husband. Maybe he was just the world’s greatest con artist and was hatching a scheme with wife number one to fleece wife number two.”

  Didi allowed for this for a moment. “Could be. You pull his financials?”

  “Yeah. They’ll probably be on my desk when I get back.”

  “I want to run a few things on her before we bring her in for questioning.”

  Hanson nodded. “Agreed. Let’s get on that.”

  Next…

  Kelly ran her sweat-streaked hand across the front of her pants. She had holed up at the library for most of the day, waiting for Patric’s text. To preserve the battery, she’d shut the phone off but kept turning it back on to check for the text. She tried to distract herself by spending the afternoon both plotting her next move and flipping through magazines so she wouldn’t have to think about her next move.

  Finally, the long-awaited text arrived, and she raced out to State Street in search of a currency exchange. As she made her way down the street, she kept her sunglasses on and walked with her head down, trying to avoid anyone being able to get a good look at her. Though the sun was out, it didn’t do much good. She was freezing and kept her arms clamped across her chest in a feeble attempt to stay warm. As she walked, a few times she thought she saw people staring at her a little longer than they should have, but it was hard to know if she was being overly paranoid. People had always stared at her. Shelia said it was probably a combination of being a former supermodel, tall, and really beautiful.

  She tucked a chunk of hair behind her ear and pushed open the door of a currency exchange she spotted on Washington bearing a bright yellow Western Union sign. The smell of urine mixed with the syrupy scent pine cleaner crawled up her nostrils, and she saw a huge cockroach scurry across the floor and behind the garbage can in the corner. She swallowed and closed her eyes, reminding herself she’d be out of here soon.

  There was a couple in front of her waiting for the attendant to indicate she was ready for them. The woman had a doo-rag, and when she turned to talk to her companion, her gold tooth winked at Kelly. He ran a tentative palm across the roll of fat on his neck, which was littered with so many razor bumps and open sores, it made Kelly think of a popcorn ceiling. She shuddered as she looked down at the cracked and peeling linoleum on the floor.

  “I don’t know why you got to have the TV on all the time. That’s what be running up the light bill,” the woman said to the man in what Kelly could only assume was her indoor voice, wondering how loud she got when nighttime rolled around.

  “I can’t help it if I fall asleep in front of the TV. Matter a fact, if you hadn’t broke the remote, I could still be using the sleep timer to cut it off,” the man responded, refusing to go down without a fight.

  “Psshhhh!” The woman held the palm of her hand up to his face. “You still the one who gonna be payin’ this bill.”

  “Don’t be throwin’ shade at me! I already said I’d pay it.”

  Finally, the couple rolled up to the window to conduct their transaction.

  “How much?” the woman exploded at the bored, hapless woman behind the scratched and dirty plastic partition.

  “CTA raised its rates fifty cents, effective today,” the attendant droned.

  “Just pay her for the passes and let’s go,” the man said, exasperated by his woman’s short fuse.

  “What about the light bill?”

  He rolled his eyes. “I’ll pay the light bill, you pay the CTA passes.”

  The woman shook her head as she delved into her limp black leather purse, extracting a wad of cash. “Damn CTA always takin’ money out my pocket,” she grumbled as she laid out some crisp dollar bills for the passes.

  They finished their dual transactions, and as
they turned to walk out, the man caught sight of Kelly for the first time and leered at her, giving her the once over, even licking his lips a little. The woman snarled at her, ready to pounce, Kelly was sure, if she thought anyone was looking cross-eyed at her man. She looked down to avoid eye contact with either of them, willing the attendant to hurry up and call her forward already. She tucked another piece of hair behind her ear and was relieved when the attendant gave her a half-hearted wave to come on up. She took one big step forward, hoping her legs would keep her upright for just a little bit longer.

  “Yes, hi, I’m here to pick up a money transfer.”

  The pale woman behind the glass looked up at her through sleepy eyes. “Name,” she mumbled.

  She hesitated. “Monroe is the last name, first name Kelly,” she said.

  The woman made a few taps on her computer, while Kelly crossed her arms and repeatedly pierced the underside of her arm with her nail to keep from passing out.

  “Kelly Monroe,” the woman mumbled to herself as she continued to key information into the computer.

  She nodded and licked her lips, hoping the woman wouldn’t put two and two together. “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Need to see some I.D.”

  Oh shit.

  She felt the blood rush into her ears as she fumbled in her purse for her driver’s license, her fingers shaking almost uncontrollably. The news had been calling her Kelly Ross, and her license had Monroe on it. She managed to get her wallet out of her purse and flipped it open to the clear plastic window containing her license. The woman behind the glass glanced at it, looked up at Kelly, then turned her attention back to her computer. She gave an inward sigh of relief, the terror of being recognized subsiding just a bit.

  “I need your transfer control number.”

  “Oh, right, right.” She pulled Mark’s cell phone out of her purse, scrolling through the texts for the one from Patric. “Um…okay. 5689-923-451.”