“Not true.”
“Maybe not. You did leave a little evidence toward Anne and Penny, just for kicks. But it was me you wanted. Why?”
“I didn’t kill your husband.”
“Well, we both know I didn’t kill him,” Eliza said. “I mean, what sort of criminal would dump a murder weapon—with their own damn name printed on it—in the alley behind their own house? How idiotic do people think I am?”
“It’s not—”
“I would have had weeks to dispose of it. Why didn’t I drive to the Hoover Dam and toss it over the railing? Throw it in the ocean? Bury it at the top of Runyon Canyon?” Eliza paused for dramatic effect. “Apparently the world thinks I’m stupid enough to throw it out with my leftovers. As if that weren’t coincidental enough, a Good Samaritan just happened to walk by that same night and see a bloody knife. With my name on it.”
“The truth has a way of coming out.” Marguerite’s answer rang hollowly through the room. Even she didn’t look convinced. “They arrested you. Not me.”
“I’m well aware.”
“I don’t have to be here and listen to this.”
Eliza raised her eyebrows. Marguerite didn’t make a move to leave. They waited at a standstill.
“Why did you do it?” Eliza said. “Ego? Did you actually love him?”
“I didn’t kill your fucking husband, okay?”
“Okay.”
The simplicity of Eliza’s answer seemed to irk Marguerite further.
She stood. “I came here as a friend. I have been nothing but supportive of you, Eliza.”
“Thanks for your support,” Eliza said with a half smile. “Really. In a way, you did set me free. And then you took it all away when you had me locked up.”
“I didn’t do any such thing.”
“I suppose a part of me is envious of you,” Eliza said. “You did what I never could have done. You pulled it off, too. Got away with it. If I thought I could have gotten away with killing Roman, would I have done it myself?” Eliza bobbed her shoulders. “I’m not sure, to be honest. What does it feel like, killing someone?”
Marguerite turned on her heel and stormed to the door. She knocked, and the guards moved to let her out.
“By the way,” Eliza called after her, “congratulations.”
“On what?”
“I saw you hit number one on the New York Times bestseller list with Be Free.” Eliza gave a dark chuckle. “I guess that’s the one I should read next, huh?”
“I’m glad you can joke about this.”
“It was genius, how you pulled it off. It’s true—the best PR of all time is getting your publicist arrested for the murder of her husband.”
Marguerite’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You really think I’m the kind of person to do that?”
“Let’s just say…” Eliza glanced down at her nails, “you’re welcome.”
FORTY
Five Months After
July 2019
Penny dragged herself up the stairs to her apartment. It had been a long day at court, and she was exhausted. Or she’d been exhausted until the drive home, when she was overcome by the buzz of nervous energy.
Crawling through Los Angeles traffic on autopilot, Penny’s mind whirled through the twisty, twisty trial happening all around her. The strange contradictions, the parts that didn’t make sense. They were all missing something. Something so close, she could almost touch it…
Eliza’s prints are on the murder weapon.
Penny had the murder weapon in her possession.
Who stole the murder weapon from Penny?
Evidence pointed toward Anne, Eliza, Marguerite—but why not Penny?
Was Mark lying? About what?
Motive, motive, motive… Who was the deadliest of them all?
It hit Penny as she swung a right onto La Cienega. The puzzle pieces ground into place, and Penny knew—without a doubt—who had killed Roman. She wondered how she’d missed it all along.
It’s the motive, Penny eventually surmised. She’d been so focused on the women who’d been angry at Roman that it had blinded her to everyone else. For months, she’d assumed one of the women in her book club had grabbed the nearest knife and plunged it into Roman in a fit of rage. God knew they’d all had reasons to be angry with Roman Tate.
But what if that wasn’t the case at all? What if Roman’s murder had been planned—not for minutes or hours but for days or even months?
On a hunch, Penny pulled over at the first turn and parked in a fast-food lot. The scent of fries drifted over her as she climbed out of her car and moved to the hood. It took her half an hour of poking around, prodding every which way, before she found it. A little GPS tracker attached to the underbelly of her crappy car.
Another twenty minutes of research turned up a second bug, this one fastened to the inside of her purse. The fabric in the bottom of the bag had been cut—a tiny incision that Penny only discovered because whoever had made the cut had stitched it up with thread that didn’t quite match. Penny’s blood chilled. Roman’s murder had been no accident.
Penny needed to phone Eliza—or her lawyers—or the police, but before she could do that, she needed to get home and see her baby. Sweet Peter, her precious boy, who would be waiting for her embrace. Once she had him in her arms, she would take care of the rest.
Parking in a handicapped spot outside her new apartment complex, Penny shuffled from her vehicle to the front door. This building had a key card lock out front. A definite upgrade in living space, one she’d only been able to afford because she’d moved in with Ryan just after the baby was born.
Ryan had been there for her from the very beginning, from the second Peter was born, and from that moment onward, they’d been a makeshift family. He’d helped care for Peter, and in the intensity of those newborn days, Penny had assumed Ryan was an angel sent straight from the heavens to watch over her. He’d rocked Peter to sleep when Penny’s eyes drooped. He’d cooked healthy food, encouraged mama and baby to eat well. He’d rubbed Penny’s back and wiped Peter’s drool. He had been everything Penny had imagined in a partner. How could she have turned him away?
And it was Ryan who opened the door before Penny could even insert her key into the lock.
“There’s Mama!” Ryan raised the tiny baby’s hand and gestured toward Penny in an assisted wave. “We love Mama!”
“Hi, baby,” Penny said, going in to nuzzle her son. “I missed you.”
“What about me?” Ryan swung around and headed into the kitchen, ignoring Penny’s outstretched arms. “Didn’t Mama miss me?”
“Of course. I always miss my boys.”
“Good.” Ryan swooped behind Penny and locked the door behind her. “That’s the right answer.”
“Man, I’m tired.” Penny yawned. “Let’s put the baby down and have dinner.”
“A little quiet time for Mommy and Daddy? That sounds nice.”
“It’s just what the doctor ordered after the day I’ve had.”
Penny walked over to the kitchen table and set her bag down, then continued into the nursery. She looked into the baby monitor with a pinch of dread. How long had he been watching her every move?