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Eliza Tate: It wasn’t any old book club in the evening. We had several popular bloggers, Instagrammers, and journalists attending the evening’s event. Being that it was Marguerite’s first appearance for her newest work, I wasn’t going to throw her to the wolves. Especially when the media was involved. Everything needed to go perfectly.
Prosecution: Who was at the trial run?
Eliza Tate: Me, obviously. Marguerite Hill. Anne Wilkes. Penny Sands.
Prosecution: It has been noted that you served wine at this event?
Eliza Tate: Is it really book club without wine?
Prosecution: At three p.m.?
Eliza Tate: It was happy hour.
Prosecution: Did Mrs. Wilkes have a glass of wine?
Eliza Tate: She might have. I don’t remember. I don’t police my guests.
Prosecution: Did you have wine?
Eliza Tate: I did. Several glasses. Probably why I don’t remember if Anne was drinking.
Prosecution: Were you aware that Mrs. Wilkes checked herself into rehab a few years back?
Eliza Tate: Yes.
Prosecution: And are you aware that she checked herself out?
Eliza Tate: I picked her up myself.
Prosecution: Why didn’t her husband pick her up?
Eliza Tate: He thought she needed to stay, so he refused to pick her up.
Prosecution: Was there tension between you and Detective Wilkes after that?
Eliza Tate: I don’t know. I’m best friends with Anne, not Mark. I don’t really care what he thinks of me.
Prosecution: So if Mrs. Wilkes needed help, she could count on you?
Eliza Tate: Yes.
Prosecution: Mrs. Tate, did Mrs. Wilkes ask you for help on the night of February 13? Help with anything at all? A favor? Perhaps a big favor?
Eliza Tate: If you’re asking whether I’m taking the fall for Anne murdering my husband, then no. I love Anne, but I don’t love her that much.
SEVENTEEN
Six Months Before
August 2018
Eliza watched her husband over the dinner table.
She sat back and fiddled with the stem of her champagne glass, sending bubbles skittering across the surface like water bugs. Roman slung his arm over another woman’s chair. Eliza frowned at her tuna tartare. For some reason, the stupid loan from Jocelyn and Todd had pushed Roman over the edge.
Running a finger around the rim of her champagne glass, Eliza drew out a nervous, high-pitched note. When several pointed gazes landed on her finger, she retracted it sharply, watching as Roman put his hand on Marguerite’s shoulder.
Eliza watched her husband whisper into the ear of her prize client, wondering what he could possibly be telling her. In the other woman’s defense, Marguerite had looked quite uncomfortable with Roman’s advances at the beginning of the night. She’d continuously glanced over at Eliza to gauge her reaction as Roman took care to refill her wineglass or brushed his elbow against hers.
