Sweet Little Lies (28 page)

“So what?” she screamed. “So what if he wanted some skinny ass bitch instead of me? I still got the money and the house and the baby.” Geneva licked her lips and leaned still closer into Kelly’s face. “And I’m gonna have all your money too.”

Kelly gave Geneva a smug smile. “But you didn’t have Mark.”

She wasn’t expecting the mammoth gob of spit that came flying out of Geneva’s face. It smacked her cheek, and she just sat there, stunned for a moment, before she laughed and wiped the saliva off with the back of her hand.

“It doesn’t matter what you do, Geneva. It doesn’t change anything. Mark loved me, and he was planning to get rid of you and get full custody of his son.”

“Please,” Geneva laughed. “I had his balls on a string. He wasn’t ever getting away from me, and he sure as hell wasn’t taking M.J.”

“Oh, no, honey, that’s where you’re wrong. He’d been gathering evidence against you for everything. He was about to kick you out of this house and get his son. You would never see that child again, and you’d be out of Mark’s life forever.”

Geneva snorted. “You wish.”

“It was a fact. Your time was up, sister.”

Geneva rolled her eyes. “Trust me, Mark wasn’t going no–
where
.”

“The name Tim Landry ring a bell? You remember him, don’t you? Tim told me everything. Told me all about you and what you did to Mark. Told me all about how Mark was working to get you out of his life for good.”

“I always hated that skinny-ass white boy.”

“Oh, yeah, I’d hate him too if I were you. Imagine someone else knowing all the sick shit you’ve done to another person.”

“Well, none of that matters now, does it? You killed my husband—”

“Don’t you dare—don’t you
dare
call him your husband. He was never your husband!”

“Goddamn, you. I always hated you. I wanted to just…make you go away…”

Geneva’s face was knotted up with rage now. Her hands flew to Kelly’s throat, and she began to choke her.

Kelly tried to wrest Geneva’s hands from around her neck but to no avail. She struggled to speak, to scream, but her voice was a squeak. She closed her eyes, knowing this was it.

Mark…

Kelly swallowed again, and waving her hands in front of her, she managed to make contact with Geneva’s face. Her fingers fumbled upwards and found their way into the jelly of Geneva’s eyes. She drove her thumbs inside, wincing as she did. Geneva screamed and immediately let go of Kelly, her hands covering her stinging eyes. Heaving, Kelly scrambled to stand up before Geneva recovered.

Geneva half-screamed, half-wailed as she staggered around. “I’m gonna kill you. I am going to fucking kill you!” She dove for Kelly, who laughed as she darted out of the woman’s path.

“You hated it, didn’t you? Hated that it was
me
he came home to. That I was the one he loved, who made him happy. You were just the nasty ghetto bitch who he couldn’t stand.”

“Shut up! Shut up!”

Kelly shook her head and continued to walk backwards, knowing that between the dark and her irritated eyes, Geneva was having trouble seeing her.

“Did he ever tell you he loved you? Did he tell you how much you turned him on, how happy you made him? Huh? Did he?”

Geneva ran across the room towards Kelly, who ducked as she snatched up a fireplace poker and swung it in her direction. She missed, sending the poker to clank against the bricks of the fireplace. Kelly was on her hands and knees crawling away from Geneva when she spun around and kept moving backwards. Geneva continued her advance, having retrieved the poker, a malicious peal of laughter now tumbling from her mouth.

“It is going to feel so good to get rid of you forever,” Geneva laughed. “I’ve been waiting so long for this day to come.” She licked her lips, the glint of the poker slashing beams of light across the room.

Kelly pursed her lips together, her mind racing. She really believed that Geneva would kill her and wouldn’t even think twice about it. Would probably toss her body in some filthy dumpster, or worse in Lake Michigan, where she’d never be found. She was a fighter, and even if Geneva did kill her, she would go down kicking and screaming. She took a deep breath and struggled to her feet.

“You ready to go, bitch?”

Kelly narrowed her eyes. “Are you?”

Geneva stared at Kelly for a moment before she charged at her, poker flaring. Once again, Kelly was too quick for Geneva, and she flitted out of her reach. In an attempt to catch her, Geneva moved to the left, and her foot caught the edge of her imitation Persian area rug. She plummeted, landing face down with a definite thud on the white carpet. The fireplace poker fell to the ground beside her.

“Oooohh!” Geneva moaned, rubbing her head. Kelly wiped the back of her hand across her sweaty brow as she stared down at her. She walked over to kick the fireplace poker away from Geneva’s reach, except she couldn’t help herself; instead, she delivered a swift kick to Geneva’s thigh. Geneva groaned, grabbing her injured leg.

Kelly knelt down and smiled. “So glad we had this time together,” she said as she reached in her pocket for her car keys. “Mark may be gone and I may be going to jail, but at least I know he loved me. You sure as hell can’t say the same. And don’t worry. I’ll make sure the police know all about you.”

Kelly turned to walk to the front door, exhausted. She’d just placed her hand on the knob when she heard Geneva run up behind her. She jerked around just in time to see Geneva pull the gun out of the potted plant. Gasping, Kelly dropped to the floor and threw herself against Geneva’s feet in an attempt to knock her down. Desperate, Kelly clamped her teeth around Geneva’s hefty ankle, hoping it would make her drop the gun. With a grunt, Geneva did just that, and the gun went clattering against the ceramic floor of the entryway. Geneva delivered a swift punch to the top of Kelly’s head, which caused her to lurch backwards, stunned. Kelly shook her head and tried to focus. She saw Geneva running over to pick up the gun. Knowing she was faster, Kelly popped up and sprinted ahead of her. Shocked, Geneva reached out to grab Kelly’s shirt, wrenching her back. Both women fell to the floor, Geneva landing on top of Kelly. They were grunting and gasping as they struggled. Kelly could see the gun just inches from her and shot her hand out to grab it. She managed to graze the handle with her fingertips when Geneva’s hand locked down around her own.

“Just die…I just want you to die and get out of my life,” Geneva sobbed, and for a moment, Kelly actually felt sorry for her. As Geneva raised the gun, the feeling went away.

In a split second, Kelly hurled herself against her, and the two women fought for the gun. Geneva jerked it down, and as the two women looked at each other, they knew only one of them would survive.

H
anson couldn’t believe it when he got the call.

She was dead.

There had been a huge confrontation in Olympia Fields. The two Mrs. Monroes had struggled for a gun and now…it was all over. He walked into the station at Olympia Fields, stunned at how this had ended.

“Mrs. Monroe?”

She looked up. Hanson was caught off-guard. Even with a tear-stained face, her hair all chopped up, and a pretty decent make-up job, she was breathtaking. He cleared his throat again.

“We’ve been looking for you.”

She didn’t respond.

Hanson shoved his hands in the pockets of his khakis. “I have to say, you were extremely clever.”

She sniffed. “It’s easy to get lost in a big city,” she mumbled.

“Well, that you did. You hid in plain sight. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a big time escape artist.”

Kelly snorted softly, not responding.

“And the airline tickets. Where’d you really go?”

“Nowhere,” she replied.

“Hmmm,” Hanson responded, knowing she was lying. “Why?” he asked.

“Why what?”

“Why’d you wait to confront Geneva?”

Kelly pursed her lips. “I just needed a little more time. Work up my nerve.”

Once again, she was hiding something. He decided to move on, come back to it later.

“So, what happened that day, Mrs. Monroe?”

Kelly opened her mouth to speak, then shut it. “If I say anything, is it going to be used against me later on?” she asked.

“I’ve pretty much got it figured out. You came home, found the condom, freaked out, and stabbed him. Might as well tell me the rest.”

Kelly narrowed her eyes at Hanson. “You know, I think I’ll wait until I have a lawyer with me.”

Hanson tried another tack. “We ran a DNA test on that condom. There was nothing in it. Hadn’t been used.”

Kelly didn’t respond.

“So your husband didn’t sleep with Geneva that day. Or any day. But you already knew that, huh?”

Kelly continued her silence.

“How’d you find out about him being married? He tell you that?”

She sidestepped his bait. “Doesn’t matter how I found out.”

Hanson started to pace. “What happened with Geneva?”

Kelly clicked her tongue. “Self-defense,” she said in monotone. “She came at me with the gun. It was me or her.”

“We got a visit from Tim Landry. You know him?”

She tilted her head. “No. Should I?”

“Come on, he was your husband’s best friend, and you’re telling me you didn’t know him?”

She shrugged. “No, I didn’t. Why?”

“Told us Geneva raped your husband, extorted money from him, threatened to kill you, the boy…” Hanson stopped.

“Did you know about the storage unit he was renting? Bunch of old boxes, files, and stuff. I discovered it when I was going over his bank statements. Found the annulment papers, tapes he made…”

“What’s going to happen to Mark’s son?” Kelly asked.

“Well, next of kin. If they can’t find anyone to take him, he’ll go into foster care.”

She shook her head and sighed. “He doesn’t deserve any of this. He never did anything to anybody and now…” She stopped and looked down at the floor.

Hanson resumed his pacing. “We’ll take you back to the city, book you, let you call your attorney.”

Kelly turned her gaze to the ceiling. “Let’s just get this over with.”

As Hanson stood staring at this woman, he was reminded a phrase he heard often in his line of work.

“We stab the people we love and shoot the people we hate,” he said quietly.

T
he letter had arrived two weeks ago from the Illinois Department of Corrections. After serving six years of a twelve-year sentence, she was being released. They just thought he’d want to know. Like they were telling him the price of postage was going up or something.

Six years.

Six years for a life.

How was that fair?

He stood outside the building, looking high into the sky, the bitter winter wind of Lake Michigan battering his lean frame. He wondered which one of the shiny windows was hers. He’d know soon enough.

He wiped his nose on the back of his hand, a slender thread of snot clinging to his ashy skin.

He’d never met her. That would change.

He hunched over, shoving his hands in his pockets and shuffled over to the revolving door. A doorman spun it around for him, allowing him entry into the building. The scent of fresh flowers wafted around him, and he stopped for a moment to admire the silky swirls of wallpaper, marble floors, and plush couches. He shook his head, needing to concentrate on the task at hand. The doorman said hello, and M.J. tilted his head towards him as if to say, “What’s up, man?”

He sidled up to the front desk where another doorman nodded and said hello.

“Can I help you?”

“Yeah, uh, I’m here to see Mrs. Mo…I mean Miss Ross.” That bitch didn’t deserve to have his father’s name.

“Is she expecting you?”

“Naw, but um…” M.J. looked around, hesitating for a moment, wondering if he should go through with this. “Tell her I’m…tell her M.J. is here to see her.”

The doorman peered at him for a second, and M.J. could see the flicker of recognition. He got it all the time, mostly from people who’d never met his father but knew all about what had happened to him—too much, he sometimes thought.

You look just like your father
.

The doorman paused for a second before picking up the phone. “Is she expecting you?”

M.J. shook his head. “Uh uh, but…I’m pretty sure she’ll see me.”

The doorman pursed his lips and waited. “Yes, Mrs. Monroe,
M.J
. is here to see you? I can let him up? Okay. Yes, you’re welcome.”

He hung up the phone and reached for a button that swung the door to the main building open. “Go on up, she’s waiting for you.”

M.J. didn’t say anything, jogging over to the door before it slammed shut on him. A tall, pale girl, probably about his age, stepped out of the elevator and smiled at him as she passed. He didn’t return the sentiment, needing to get this over with.

He punched fifty-three, his heart pounding in his ears as the elevator glided up all those floors. Would he have lived here with them? Would his father have bought them a house?

He’d never know.

M.J. stepped off the elevator, looking around for #5304.

There it was.

He took a deep breath, the treads of his salt-encrusted boots crunching into the sage green cord carpet. He stood in front of the door for a moment before he rang the doorbell.

The door flew open, and there she was. She was still beautiful, even though she looked a little tired and, as his aunt Carla would say, a little too skinny. He could tell she was holding her breath.

“M.J. Please, come in.”

He did and was surprised to see packing boxes, peanuts, and tape everywhere.

“Sorry about the mess,” she said. “I’m moving in a few weeks.”

He shrugged, not caring what her plans were. “Hmmm…”

“Can I get you anything? Water, tea—do sixteen-year-olds drink tea?”

He spun around, having pulled the gun out from the waistband of his jeans. It trembled inside his sweaty palms as he aimed it straight at her. She held both hands up in front of her and sprang back a little.

“You think I came here to talk about tea?”