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Mark Wilkes: What?
Defense: I’ll rephrase. If your wife came to you and said she’d killed a man—a man who, by all accounts, was disliked by several individuals— what would you do? Would you turn your wife in and risk your children losing their mother, or would you help her bury the body?
Mark Wilkes: The body wasn’t buried.
Defense: No, it wasn’t. But interesting of you to know that detail. That’s all for now, Your Honor.
TWENTY-SEVEN
One Month Before
January 2019
Happy birthday, dear Anne. Happy birthday to you.”
Eliza and Penny finished their off-key jingle with a round of applause. Anne slouched in her seat, hating the attention. She preferred her birthdays to be without fanfare these days, seeing as the only thing she was celebrating was an influx of wrinkles and a few more gray hairs.
But Eliza Tate didn’t believe in letting birthdays slip by without a massive celebration, which was how Anne had ended up at this particularly expensive restaurant getting sung to by a staff of well-dressed wannabe actors. This restaurant even had a crumber—a man whose sole job was to wipe crumbs off the table. It was ironic, seeing as Anne didn’t need a crumber at an elegant restaurant where she could eat her own meal in peace; she needed a crumber at home where four children liked to feed the floor with their macaroni and cheese.
“You have to let me pay,” Anne said. “Or at least split the bill.”
“It’s on us,” Penny chirped gleefully. “Eliza and I will split it.”
The bill arrived, and Eliza looked at Penny with a crooked eyebrow. “It’s on me. You have more important things to spend your money on.”
“But—” Penny gave a feeble argument, but after one look at Eliza’s credit card, she nodded. “Thank you.”
“Shall we?” Eliza pushed back her chair and stood. “I’ll have the valet pull the car around.”
Anne watched her two friends as they shuffled about, gathering their things from the beautifully ornate chairs. They made their way out of the modern, sleek restaurant where the grill boasted an open fire behind the counter and promised the freshest of food. Anne watched Eliza hand her valet ticket over to the man waiting at the door. There was no parking lot at a place like this.
Anne reached into a bowl of colorful mints while they waited and snatched a few from the glass container. Penny caught her eye, gave a sly smile, and did the same. They turned away, stifling their giggles like sneaky children.
“I’ll be right back,” Penny said, tucking her assortment of mints into her coat pocket. “I left something at the table.”
Anne nodded, too busy shoving her own mints into her purse to care. It would be embarrassing to be kicked out of a restaurant on her birthday because of some pilfered candies.
“Car’s here,” Eliza announced. “Hop in.”
A light drizzle had descended over the city, giving the night a hazy, surreal sort of glow. Rain was uncommon enough in Los Angeles to still be considered a novelty. Anne vaguely remembered her days growing up on the East Coast where she’d found rain to be an utter pain in the ass. Precipitation wasn’t all that special when it rained more than it shined.
But today, the rain felt romantic. For the first time in ages, Anne wasn’t thinking about her husband. Or her kids. Or her finances. Or fucking Roman Tate.
Anne was thinking about the two faces grinning back at her as they all piled into Eliza’s convertible. Eliza had put the top up beforehand, which didn’t surprise Anne in the slightest. Eliza had probably checked the weather three days in advance and marked dainty little raindrops into her color-coded calendar.
Eliza carefully pulled out of the crowded restaurant driveway and eased onto the streets. Penny reached from the passenger’s seat to crank up the music. Anne, tucked in the back with several brilliantly colored gift bags, bobbed her head along with the beat and was startled to realize that she was well and truly having a blast.
With everything that had been going on lately, Anne’s promising mood was nothing short of a miracle. She blinked at the lurch of emotion. Somehow, these women had made her feel like she was in the middle of a romantic comedy—three women, giddy after a night out, a glass of wine, and a shared, devilishly good slab of cake. Anne had half a mind to ask Eliza to put the top down on the convertible so they could sing in the rain.
But like all good things, Anne’s good mood had to come to an end. Her elation evaporated as police lights appeared behind Eliza’s car. The cruiser had come out of nowhere. Anne should’ve known that a night this pleasant would come with a catch, just like everything else these days. Now, poor Eliza would be slapped with a speeding ticket on Anne’s birthday, and Anne would feel obligated to pay it. Happy birthday to me.
Anne cursed under her breath. The siren grew louder, nearer. Eliza pulled over. Penny sighed and rubbed her forehead between two fingers.
“I’m sorry,” Anne said. “I’ll pay if you get a ticket. You weren’t even speeding!”
Anne saw Eliza’s eyes flick toward the speedometer, but she didn’t comment as both cars came to a stop. A minute later, an officer approached the driver’s side door. Eliza rolled her window down, her documents at the ready.
“License and registration, please.”
