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Penny shrugged out of a small shoulder bag patterned with bright florals. It didn’t match a thing she was wearing, nor could it be described as cocktail-hour elegant. Instead, it was just plain fun. Eliza wondered when she’d last bought something just because it was fun.
From her bag, Penny withdrew a dog-eared copy of Take Charge. “Would it be totally rude to ask her to sign my copy?”
“She’d love it,” Eliza confirmed. “In the meantime, help yourself to something to drink. It’s an open bar.”
Leaving Penny to fend for herself, Eliza strolled to the kitchen attached to the ballroom with thoughts of Penny on her mind. Anne would have to be careful keeping a beauty like Penny around the house, as sweet as she seemed. If Mark had already strayed once, as Anne feared, was there a chance he’d run off with the nanny?
Mark’s indiscretion was more unfortunate than most of its kind. If anyone had asked Eliza years ago if Anne and Mark would last, she’d have given a hearty nod. They were perfect together. They made sense as a couple. If they couldn’t make it work, Eliza was leery anyone could.
Eliza quietly sized up the catering staff as they moved like a well-oiled machine, bustling teensy plates topped with bacon-wrapped scallops to the earliest guests and ushering finely sliced strawberries and bananas and pineapples onto skewers at the chocolate fountain.
Satisfied, Eliza returned to the party room, realizing she’d never gotten an answer from Penny as to how she’d secured an invitation. She wondered if it hadn’t come offhandedly from Roman or Anne. Not that it mattered, seeing as Penny was another warm body to add to the evening’s head count, and a bigger party made for a bigger impression on Marguerite. A bigger impression on Marguerite meant a bigger paycheck for Eliza. A bigger paycheck for Eliza meant she could get her family out of financial hot water and back to the way things were before.
At that moment, Roman Tate strolled arm in arm into the ballroom with Marguerite Hill. Her face tilted toward his as she dedicated her full attention to his words. The lines around the author’s mouth crinkled into a smile as she laughed at whatever he’d said.
In response, he reached out and rested a palm on her wrist. Marguerite tugged her fingers through her hair, tucking a stray piece of curl behind her ear, then licked her lower lip. Eliza wondered if it was on purpose or if it was a subconscious touch. They’d launched into a sort of dance, a seductive ritual. Objectively, it was fascinating to watch. If only it weren’t Eliza’s husband on one side and her best chance at success on the other.
Eliza made her way to the pair, coming to a stop before them. Marguerite boldly pulled her hand away, though her face didn’t hold the slightest hint of an apology. If anything, her eyes held a dare. Eliza did a double take, wondering what had changed since the beginning of the evening when the author had so carefully fended off Roman’s advances. But the curious moment had passed, leaving Eliza to wonder if she’d imagined the whole thing.
“Marguerite, may I have a word with you?” Eliza murmured. “There’s somebody I’m dying to have you meet.”
TRANSCRIPT
Defense: You’ve been in Penny Sands’s apartment, yes?
Anne Wilkes: Yes, several times.
Defense: What was it like?
Anne Wilkes: Simple. She’s young. It’s easy to forget what it’s like to move to a new city and have no money. She did the best she could. I helped her out when I was able.
Defense: Do you think Ms. Sands needed money?
Anne Wilkes: Who couldn’t use a little extra money?
Defense: How far do you think Ms. Sands would have gone to procure additional funds?
Anne Wilkes: Roman’s murder wasn’t about money. That was personal.
EIGHTEEN
Six Months Before
August 2018
Anne felt wildly out of place as she headed toward Beverly Hills and her best friend’s book launch party. A pinch of annoyance sat with her at the sheer fact that she was driving a minivan to the big event. Eliza and her husband would no doubt be showing up in some trendy new ride. She had no clue what the rest of the guests would be driving, but it certainly wasn’t a minivan. Especially not one that ran on a prayer and crossed fingers.
Anne drove past the entrance twice, the first time because she missed it, the second time because she couldn’t believe the valet rates posted out front. Fuming at the injustice of a twenty-four-dollar fee, Anne parked blocks away from the venue and vented some of her frustration by stomping the half mile back to the hotel gates.
“Twenty-four dollars,” she huffed, swinging her purse onto her shoulder as she continued to stomp inside. “When’s the last time I spent twenty-four dollars on myself?”
Anne curbed her stomping at the entrance to the banquet room at the hotel. She paused, taking in the stunning expanse before her. Eliza had orchestrated a brilliant display of elegance intertwined with glamour.
The demure, pearly tablecloths were offset by sparkling centerpieces. The simple uniforms of the waitstaff contrasted with the tiny elegance of the appetizers they carried on crystal trays. Champagne flutes filled with glittery shades of pink and gold complemented the bronze molding around the edges of the room.
“Anne, sweetie, you made it!”
Anne looked up to find Eliza rushing toward her. She inched her purse higher on her shoulder, sliding it behind her body to mask the obscure logo.
