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“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.”
