by Gina LaManna
Eliza carefully pulled out of the crowded restaurant driveway and eased onto the streets. Penny reached from the passenger’s seat to crank up the music. Anne, tucked in the back with several brilliantly colored gift bags, bobbed her head along with the beat and was startled to realize that she was well and truly having a blast.
With everything that had been going on lately, Anne’s promising mood was nothing short of a miracle. She blinked at the lurch of emotion. Somehow, these women had made her feel like she was in the middle of a romantic comedy—three women, giddy after a night out, a glass of wine, and a shared, devilishly good slab of cake. Anne had half a mind to ask Eliza to put the top down on the convertible so they could sing in the rain.
But like all good things, Anne’s good mood had to come to an end. Her elation evaporated as police lights appeared behind Eliza’s car. The cruiser had come out of nowhere. Anne should’ve known that a night this pleasant would come with a catch, just like everything else these days. Now, poor Eliza would be slapped with a speeding ticket on Anne’s birthday, and Anne would feel obligated to pay it. Happy birthday to me.
Anne cursed under her breath. The siren grew louder, nearer. Eliza pulled over. Penny sighed and rubbed her forehead between two fingers.
“I’m sorry,” Anne said. “I’ll pay if you get a ticket. You weren’t even speeding!”
Anne saw Eliza’s eyes flick toward the speedometer, but she didn’t comment as both cars came to a stop. A minute later, an officer approached the driver’s side door. Eliza rolled her window down, her documents at the ready.
“License and registration, please.”
Anne’s head shot up when the cop spoke. “Mark?!”
“I hear there’s a birthday girl in the car.” Anne’s husband grinned back at her, his once-brown hair now peppered with handsome gray. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”
“What are you doing here?” Anne blinked. “How did you know…”
“I told him,” Eliza said with a quick smile in the rearview mirror. “He called me last week and asked where I’d be taking you out to dinner.”
“I’ve never missed my wife’s birthday,” Mark said in explanation to Penny. Then he gave his full attention to Anne. “And I wouldn’t miss this one, either. I love you, honey.”
“Holy shit.” Penny clasped her hands to her chest. “This is like a real, honest-to-God movie moment. I love it. You are so freaking lucky, Anne.”
Anne felt torn in half. The old and the new warred within her. Their original love—a love that had started as two college students in lust—had grown into a mature, tender sort of love. The sort of hard-earned love that was forged as Anne had watched Mark play with their children. As she’d witnessed him giving up nights and weekends to work overtime and keep food on the table. That sort of love was supposed to last a lifetime.
But that old love was tarnished now, diluted by lies and half-truths. There had been so much piled on Anne in the past year that she didn’t know what to believe anymore. As she watched her husband slide toward the back seat and pull the door open, extending a hand toward her like a prince pulling his bride from a chariot, she eased her hand into his and let him guide her out of the car.
There, on the shoulder of Hollywood Boulevard, Mark drew Anne into his arms. She inhaled his scent, a unique mix of woodsy cologne and simple Irish Spring soap. It never ceased to bring her comfort. His lips met hers, familiar in their touch, their softness, their care. For a moment, Anne forgot everything. She let herself sink into her husband’s arms. When they parted, she had tears in her eyes. Because it was a Tuesday night, and Mark was here, with her, instead of at the god-awful apartment with that god-awful girl.
For tonight at least, Mark had chosen her. And if he could choose her once, he could choose her again. And again. And again. His affair meant nothing, Anne was sure of it. If she ignored it, there was a good chance it would fade into the background, a dirty little splotch on the otherwise happy pages of their love story. The only thing stopping them from being happy now was the miserable Roman Tate.
Mark saluted Eliza. Eliza waved and put the car in drive before carefully taking off down the street and leaving the couple alone on the side of the road.
“What is this all about?” Anne asked, suddenly feeling the dampness from the rain as it soaked through her clothes. “You’re never home this early.”
“I can be for you,” Mark said. “I love you, Anne. It’s your birthday.”
Anne stared helplessly after the convertible. “But Eliza’s got all my presents.”
Mark laughed, his blue eyes twinkling. “I’m sure she can drop them off later. Can I tempt you into a bit of dessert?”
“Are you joking?” Anne slid her hand into Mark’s. It was too easy to feel their original love rear its beautiful head. “That restaurant served me a lettuce leaf and called it the main course.”
“McDonald’s dollar menu work for you?”
“Is there any other place to get a sundae for a buck?”
Mark withdrew his hand from Anne’s and threw it over her shoulder instead. “I hope you know how much I love you.”
Anne seriously considered her answer. “I love you, too.”
It was the truth. So was the fact that Mark had lied. And as he opened the passenger’s side door to the police car for Anne, the tears that had pooled in her eyes began to fall.
It was such a shame that Anne’s fairy tale would have to end.
TRANSCRIPT
Defense: Tell me about your friendship with Penny Sands.
Eliza Tate: I don’t know, honestly.
Defense: You don’t know what?
Eliza Tate: Being on trial has made me rethink all my relationships. I thought I knew my husband, my client, and my best friends. Now, I’m not sure who is my friend and who is trying to frame me for murder.
Defense: It’s strange, don’t you think? We’ve got no shortage of motive in this trial. There are plenty of people who wanted the victim dead, and I think we can all agree on that. But the curious part is the evidence. We have plenty of that, too. We’ve got your fingerprints on the murder weapon. The knife that killed him was a gift to you from Mrs. Wilkes, and she had access to it. Even Detective Wilkes is under suspicion because he’s married to Mrs. Wilkes and could have helped her get rid of the body. But what about Ms. Sands?
Eliza Tate: What about her?
Defense: She had the biggest reason of all to want him dead, yet there’s not one trace of evidence that she might have killed him. Is she really that innocent, or is she smarter than the rest of you?
TWENTY-EIGHT
One Month Before
January 2019
I’ll be right back,” Penny said, tucking a slew of complimentary mints into her coat pocket. “I left something at the table.”
Eliza had scored the trio of women reservations at a hot new restaurant in town for Anne’s birthday, and it was the first time Penny had eaten a truly gourmet meal in her life. On Hollywood Boulevard no less. Penny couldn’t help but think she should be on cloud nine, savoring every moment of this surreal experience, but instead, she was shoving free mints into her pockets to savor after a midnight snack of ramen noodles.
Anne nodded at Penny’s flimsy excuse to duck back to the table, but she was too busy tucking mints into her own purse to notice anything out of the ordinary. Maybe Penny and Anne weren’t so different. When it came to financial matters, it seemed they were on the same page—a vastly different page from Eliza Tate’s. But what would Anne think of Penny’s little hobby?
A harmless little hobby, Penny reminded herself as she eased past a server and made her way to where she’d sat with Eliza and Anne mere minutes before.
“I forgot my ring here,” she said to the busboy clearing the table. “It’s black. Did you happen to find it when you were grabbing the dishes?”
The young man offered Penny a bright smile. “Here you go, ma’am.”
Penny blanched at the word ma�
��am, but she didn’t offer a correction. She supposed that according to him, she was a ma’am. He couldn’t be over twenty-one. A thought that made Penny feel every one of her twenty-seven years.
If nothing else, Penny was definitely too old to be carrying on with her hobby. It was getting dangerous, becoming a compulsion. She couldn’t stop. She’d see something and need it. Want it. Take it. The limits between harmless prank and full-on thievery were beginning to blur.
This is the last time, she promised herself, sliding the ring onto her finger and admiring it in its new habitat. The petite, shiny black band fit perfectly on her pointer finger. She knew from spending time with Eliza that the ring wasn’t terribly expensive. She’d acquired it on one of her many trips to Italy from a street market. It was a piece of jewelry that Eliza surely wouldn’t miss but would mean the world to Penny. A ring from Italy—how exotic.
After all, if Eliza had truly cared about this particular piece of jewelry, she wouldn’t have forgotten it at the table in the first place. Penny had watched her remove the ring when the server brought around a tray of warm washcloths to wipe their hands before the meal. Before this evening, the closest Penny had ever gotten to a warm washcloth at a restaurant was the Wet-Nap Buffalo Wild Wings handed out after a meal.
Penny had watched and waited, but all meal long, Eliza hadn’t seemed to remember the ring sitting right beneath her hand. It’d been tucked just out of sight beside her water glass. Penny had spent the meal debating whether to tell Eliza about her forgotten jewelry or to merely let fate play out.
She’d opted for fate, and fate had led her back to the table to adopt the ring. It was just a tiny token, a little heirloom of a woman she admired so dearly. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, Penny thought. It would round out her Eliza Tate collection. And then she’d stop.
But as Penny returned to the front of the restaurant, the familiar sensation of guilt crept slowly down her spine—this time, stronger than ever. Hadn’t Penny already stolen so much from Eliza? Too much? More than any woman should ever take from another?
She slid inside the car and repeated to herself: This is the last time.
TRANSCRIPT
Prosecution: Ms. Hill, please tell me what you remember about the afternoon of February 13.
Marguerite Hill: I don’t remember all that much. We were drinking and talking at the book club trial run. Regular chitchat. Nothing special.
Prosecution: I would think you’d remember if the subject of murder came up?
Marguerite Hill: Well, it did. But it wasn’t my idea.
Prosecution: Whose idea was it?
Marguerite Hill: Anne started it.
Prosecution: Mrs. Wilkes started the discussion on murder? How did she broach such a sticky subject?
Marguerite Hill: I don’t remember.
Prosecution: That’s convenient, seeing as none of the other women seem to remember, either.
Marguerite Hill: I don’t know why you’re wasting your time looking at me. I’m not the one who said I’d kill my husband with a knife.
Prosecution: Can you please repeat that for the court? One of you stated that you’d murder your husband with a knife?
Marguerite Hill: Eliza said if push came to shove, that was how she’d do it.
Prosecution: Do what?
Marguerite Hill: Murder Roman Tate.
TWENTY-NINE
One Month Before
January 2019
Eliza watched as Anne and Mark walked, hand in hand, back to the police cruiser after a night spent celebrating Anne’s birthday. She found herself idly wondering if Mark had borrowed the vehicle from a friend, seeing as he’d recently made detective. Unless the movies were lying, detectives didn’t drive squad cars.
“That is so freaking romantic,” Penny said, hugging herself as she watched the couple disappear in the rearview mirror. “I wish I could find the same thing Anne and Mark have, but I think all the good ones are taken.”
Eliza found this ironic coming from Penny in light of her situation, but she didn’t comment aloud. She was too busy calculating how far back this dinner would set her financially, considering she’d footed the entire bill. The number at the bottom of the receipt had given her heart palpitations, but she had to keep up appearances, or the other women would start asking questions. Hard questions Eliza wasn’t ready to answer.
“I—That was thoughtless of me,” Penny mumbled, her face brightening beneath the dim light from the streetlamps. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…about the good men being taken…”
“It’s fine,” Eliza said shortly.
She didn’t care to linger on the subject of men any longer. Eliza knew the heavy truth about men. All men. Mark included.
For example, Mark hadn’t planned this evening as Eliza had claimed. A week ago, Eliza had called him at work and gently suggested he might want to make plans for Anne’s birthday. Mark was a good person overall, just a little misguided when it came to his marriage. He thought everything was fine in his life. According to Anne, nothing was fine.
Together, over a series of phone chats, Eliza and Mark had cooked up the little cop car skit that would hopefully be enough to impress Anne. Eliza had lost faith in men long ago, but Anne hadn’t, and she deserved better than what Mark was offering. She and Mark had four kids together—a family, a future, a life that meant something. They could overcome their hurdles.
Pulling the car away from the shoulder, Eliza pointed them in the direction of Penny’s apartment. A light rain dusted her windshield, prompting her to switch on her wipers. The car fell into an easy silence. For some reason, Eliza and Penny never quite had as much to say when Anne wasn’t around.
It was funny how groups of three friends worked, especially with women. Why was there always one woman who was the glue that held things together? When Anne, Penny, and Eliza were all together, they each had a great time. Separately, Anne and Penny seemed to be getting closer by the day. Eliza had spent years feeling comfortable around Anne. So why did Penny and Eliza have a harder time finding common ground?
It was with a bit of relief that Eliza finally stopped before Penny’s apartment.
“Thanks for coming,” Eliza said. “I know it meant a lot to Anne.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it. Though I really wish you would’ve let us split the bill.”
Really? Eliza wanted to say, but she didn’t. After all Penny had put her through, Eliza still had some strange form of sympathy for the girl. An odd kinship that she couldn’t quite describe. She was intrigued by the young woman if nothing else.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Eliza said instead. “My treat.”
Penny finished her thank-you routine, then shut the car door and made her way into her apartment building. Eliza watched, lingering for a second longer than necessary at the curb as she let her mind wander. She rarely let herself think about Penny—not like this. But sometimes, she couldn’t help it.
This was who her husband had chosen to be with—at least for a short time. Eliza replayed the memory of the Pelican Hotel event over and over again. She remembered Penny standing before the elevator doors as they opened, looking hopeful in her pretty red pantsuit while she clutched a card that would change the trajectory of her life.
Or had it? Penny had never opened up to Eliza or Anne about the true identity of the baby’s father. She was sticking to her story about the baby daddy being a young man from her class whom she’d slept with a few times out of sympathy. She’d repeated it so many times and with such steadfast confidence that Eliza was beginning to believe her.
Roman, of course, hadn’t said anything at all to Eliza. He was still distant, but that was the new normal. Ever since the night they’d argued about the loan from his parents, he’d begun to slip away, further and further away.
Eliza wondered if there was more to his change in behavior than a simple loan, but she was too afraid to ask. Their life, their relationship, was holding on by a thread already. E
liza just needed time to get on her feet and out of debt, and then she could decide what to do about her marriage.
Once again, Eliza edged her car onto the road and headed home. She made it to the first stoplight before she glanced down at her hand and cursed. Her damn ring—she must have left it at the restaurant. It wasn’t monetarily important, but she had gotten it on her first trip abroad with Roman, and it meant something to her. She spun the car back in the direction from which she’d come. When she made it to the restaurant, she waved the valet over and explained the situation.
“You can leave your car here, ma’am,” he said. “If someone found your ring, it will be at the front desk.”
Eliza hobbled inside, her feet killing her from the expensive shoes she’d bought a few years back and never worn. Now that she was short on cash and not willing to shop for frivolous items, it was amazing the things she could find in her own closet. Things that looked brand new. Things she’d ignored for years because she had so much fucking stuff.
“Hello, my name is Eliza Tate. We just had dinner here tonight,” she explained to the concierge. “If I could—Oh, there’s our waiter. Could you flag him over? I think I left a ring on our table, and I was hoping someone turned it in.”
The concierge flagged the waiter over and stepped aside to let them talk. Eliza relayed her question. A smile flooded the server’s face.
“It’s a black ring, right?” he said. “Yeah, the other gal you were here with came back right after dinner and took it. She said it was hers, but I’m sure she meant it was yours.”
“Which gal?”
“The young, pretty one.” The waiter looked immediately embarrassed. “Not that y’all aren’t young and pretty, but—”
“Thanks,” Eliza said. “So she definitely has the ring?”
“I watched her put it on her finger.”
“Great, thanks,” Eliza said. “I’ll give her a call then. She’s probably already left me a message, and I just didn’t see it. I was in such a rush to get back here.”