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“I already told you,” she said calmly, leveling her gaze on Mark’s and daring him to bring up the unmentionable incident. “I am leaving, and I don’t know when I’ll be home.”
TRANSCRIPT
Prosecution: How often did you see Roman Tate while in a relationship with him?
Penny Sands: I didn’t keep track. There’s no journal with a tally or something. Why does it matter?
Prosecution: Weekly, biweekly, daily?
Penny Sands: I don’t know. I suppose a couple of times a week.
Prosecution: Where would you meet?
Penny Sands: Mostly where it all started. The Pelican Hotel.
Prosecution: Why there?
Penny Sands: Well, my apartment is a dump, and Roman was still living with his wife. I’m sure you can understand why that would’ve been awkward.
Prosecution: Then how did you end up in Eliza Tate’s living room on the afternoon of February 13?
FIFTEEN
Six Months Before
August 2018
Penny gasped at the price. Three dollars for a stupid can of beans? She stood there, blocking the aisle as she hugged a plastic basket to her chest, gazing at the can in her hands like it was a brick of solid gold. At the Mexican supermarket down the street from her apartment, she could buy a bag of dried beans for eighty-nine cents that would last her a week. This was highway robbery.
Still, Penny plunked the damn beans in her basket with a frustrated flourish before stomping toward the front of the store. Swinging by the cold case, she nabbed a stupid Fiji water and added that to her tab, too. When she reached the meat section, however, she lost her nerve. The price stamped across the chicken breasts was just too much. Instead, she reached for a head of lettuce that was two shocking dollars more expensive than it needed to be.
Then again, that was the price tag of her field trip to the ritzy grocery stores near Beverly Hills. Heading over to the sample cart, Penny snagged two chunks of cheese instead of the customary one. If she was going to donate half her savings to this stupid store, they could at least feed her lunch.
She was halfway into the cheesecake sample at the bakery when she felt the hand on her arm. Choking down a bite of buttery crust, she turned and pasted a look of surprise on her face.
“Penny?” Roman’s voice asked a question, but the look in his eyes said he wasn’t fooled. “What are you doing in my neck of the woods?”
“Oh, hi.” The cheesecake was suddenly sticky. Penny swallowed. Again. “Just doing the weekly grocery shopping.”
Roman’s eyes flicked to her dismal basket. In his arms, Penny noted, was a spread of delicacies. Fresh produce, beautiful fruits, packages of meats and cheese, and even a bottle of champagne. What’s he celebrating? she wondered aimlessly.
“I see,” Roman said. “That looks like some diet.”
“Just the essentials today. How about you?”
“Same,” he said. “Just on my way out.”
“Me too.”
Penny scurried toward the register first, as if that would make her cover story hold water. She wasn’t convinced Roman believed her. She wasn’t convinced she cared.
“We’re together.” Roman’s voice rolled warmly over Penny’s shoulder as she set her basket next to the clerk. “Please ring these up together.”
Penny’s shoulders went rigid. “You don’t have to—”
“You’ve barely got anything.” Roman waved her arguments away. “It’s not worth the paper of two receipts. You’re saving the world, Penny Sands, one receipt at a time. You can’t say no to that, can you?”
“I couldn’t possibly.”
