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The room fell silent.
“Oh, come on,” Anne said with a groan. “I don’t mean literally.”
“Of course not,” Penny said with a weak smile. “We knew that.”
“You guys, it was a joke.” Anne curled her legs beneath her on the sofa as she settled a few inches deeper into the lush couch. “Do you think I would actually murder my husband?”
Another uneasy silence slid around the room.
“Come on. I couldn’t do that. I love Mark,” Anne said. “I’m too queasy for murder-murder. I could probably pull off poison or something, but blood is too messy. Plus, my husband’s a cop. His friends would sniff me out before he was cold.”
“Well, if we’re talking in hypotheticals, there’s one man in particular I wouldn’t mind running over with my car,” Penny said. “Theoretically, of course,” she added quickly.
“Of course,” Anne chirped.
“I mean, I just get so mad sometimes,” Penny said. “I’d be the type to explode. Boom. Like you read about in the papers—as awful as that is to say.”
“What about you, Eliza?” Anne asked. “If good old Roman had to go, how’d you do it?”
“Yes,” Marguerite said. “I’m sure you’ve thought of it, darling. I mean, Roman’s not a saint.”
Eliza stalled with a dainty sip of her wine. “I’ve never considered it.”
“That’s a load,” Anne said. “You and Roman have been married for ages. He’s got to push some of your buttons.”
Eliza felt her hands tremble. The truth simmered just below the surface. If only they could peer through the hazy steam and sort through the lies, they wouldn’t be asking such a touchy, touchy question. Would Eliza kill her husband?
“Maybe,” she finally said, fueled by the cozy warmth of wine and the camaraderie of a group of women. “I suppose if I was angry enough…”
“Oh, doll, don’t be modest. You’d make a statement.” Marguerite winked at Eliza and followed it up with a devilish little chuckle. “I think a knife suits you. It suits Roman, too. He’d have to go out in style, bless his rich little soul.”
“A knife,” Eliza echoed. “You mean stab him? That’s pretty brutal.”
Anne shrugged. “Just play along, won’t you?”
“I suppose,” Eliza said, feeling a redness creep down her neck. “A knife would be one way to make sure he was dead.”
“You do follow through on your promises,” Marguerite said. “I can vouch for that. If you ever set out to murder someone…well, let’s just say I’d hate to be on your bad side.”
“And you, Marguerite?” Anne asked. “How would the self-help guru go about getting revenge?”
“I really don’t think murder is the best way to handle your problems,” Marguerite said, shooting Eliza a somewhat bewildered glance. “I hope you know that’s not at all what I meant when I said we needed to give men a taste of their own medicine. Things spiraled for a bit there.”
Eliza hid her smirk. They hadn’t covered this in their PR briefing earlier in the day. It wasn’t often Marguerite stumbled from her platform. In a way, it pleased Eliza to see her floundering. However, instead of savoring the moment, Eliza tossed a life vest to her client. Leapt in to save the day as usual. That’s why they paid her the big bucks.
“Marguerite’s far too clever for anything as obvious as plain old murder,” Eliza said. “If she wanted to get revenge on a man, she’d probably off him in a big way, then frame all of us and get away scot-free, wouldn’t you, Marguerite?”
TRANSCRIPT
The Court: Prosecution, you may call your next witness.
Prosecution: I call to the stand Anne Wilkes.
The Court: Will the witness please stand to be sworn in by the bailiff.
(witness stands)
Bailiff (to witness): Please raise your right
