Sweet Little Lies
Authors: Bianca Sloane
Live and Let Die
Coming Soon
Every Breath You Take
Bianca Sloane
Text Copyright © 2013 Bianca Sloane
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, places, dialogue and plot are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Cover Design by Torrie Cooney
torriecooney.blogspot.com
Formatting By 52 Novels
52novels.com
Visit the Author’s website:
biancasloane.com
To my sister, Kathryn, for being my first reader and giving me her insights—good, bad and ugly. Don’t ever change.
My sister, Murriel, for her great ideas.
To my wonderful critique partner, Emily McDaid. Thank you so much for your keen observations, spot-on suggestions, and willingness to “talk shop” with me. You’re a gem!
To my father for answering my legal questions. Oh, and being my dad.
To Stephanie Lott and Jessica Meigs for your proofreading time and talent.
I had the assistance of some great experts while writing this book; all the mistakes are my own:
Many thanks to Jon Donley and Alex Oliver for giving me the lay of the land in New Orleans, especially the bar scene.
To criminal defense attorney Michael J. Petro for the criminal defense expertise.
Big thank you to Officer Jim Doherty of the Zion Police Department for answering my questions about crime scenes, police procedure, and investigations.
And of course, thank you to Torrie Cooney for another beautiful cover.
The Truth Doesn't Always Set You Free
The Day Kelly Killed Her Husband
What would you do if you found out your husband had been unfaithful?
Divorce him? Take him back?
Kill him?
Mark Monroe becomes the victim of option “C” after his wife, Kelly, discovers evidence of an illicit affair and stabs him to death. In a panic, she flees, deciding she will turn herself in the next day.
But before she can, Kelly learns devastating secrets about her husband, and starts a frantic mission to unravel the mystery of the man she married and murdered – all while trying to stay one step ahead of a dogged police detective determined to bring her to justice.
T
he day Kelly Ross killed her husband, she went to the nail salon for a fill and a pedicure, then met her girlfriend, Shelia, at Tavern on Rush for lunch. Afterward, she and Shelia meandered around Oak Street for a few hours, shopping its exclusive boutiques and enjoying the eighty-degree spring day. Kelly thought that when she got home, she’d sit outside on her balcony and wade through the stack of magazines that had been piling up on her coffee table over the past few days. Later, the two friends said their goodbyes and promised to meet mid-week for drinks. As she enjoyed the balmy Saturday afternoon breezes rolling off Lake Michigan, Kelly swung two shopping bags alongside her as she walked the few blocks home to her condo in the Gold Coast, the tony Chicago neighborhood that glittered with mansions and luxury high-rises and was one of the most desirable addresses in the city.
She didn’t recognize the doorman who opened the door for her—must have been one of the temporary guys they paraded in and out on the weekends. She checked the mail before taking the elevator up to the fifty-third floor. Bills, bills, bills. Wasn’t that a Destiny’s Child song from a few years back?
Kelly let out a contented sigh as she opened her door and set the mail and keys down on the occasional table immediately to the right of the entrance. She reached into her purse for her cell phone to see if she’d missed any calls. Seeing that she hadn’t, Kelly put her phone down on the table next to her keys and, gripping her shopping bags, meandered through the spacious living room towards the bedroom. She began to whistle, something she usually did when she was in a good mood. Her husband, Mark, hated it. Of course, he hummed, so she figured that made them even. Speaking of…Kelly checked her watch. Three-fifteen. He’d gone to the office after she left for the salon and said he’d be back around five. She’d call him in a few minutes to see if he wanted to meet somewhere for dinner, preferably al fresco.
She reached into her bag, wanting to try on her purchases one more time before hanging them in the closet. When she hit the doorway, she did a double take. Mark had made the bed. He usually left that chore to her or their twice-weekly cleaning lady.
“Huh. That’s weird,” Kelly mumbled, shaking her head. “Must have left the toilet seat up.” Whenever Mark did something unexpected around the house, she knew it was usually because he’d done something stupid somewhere else in the house. Like load and run the dishwasher after leaving an empty milk carton in the refrigerator. She walked over to the bed and took a peek, running her hand down the smooth expanse of the sumptuous beige silk duvet. Plumped pillows and fresh sheets with the spritz of lavender linen water he knew she liked. She was impressed. Kelly turned and saw that last week’s swirled ivory sheets hadn’t quite made it into the hamper. She chuckled to herself as she walked over to pick up the ball of sheets lying on the floor. Sometimes he was such a man.
Kelly snatched up the pile and felt something cool land on her foot. She frowned and looked down, her eyes wide, her heart racing. Shaking, she dropped the sheets and knelt to the floor for a closer look.
A condom.
They’d made love that morning but hadn’t used condoms since they got married three years ago and she’d gone on the pill.
A condom.
“That son of a bitch,” she said, hot tears stinging her eyes. Wiping the snot starting to run out of her nose with the back of her hand, Kelly fumbled toward the bathroom for a tissue. She looked at herself in the mirror. What the hell was he thinking? She’d been a goddamned supermodel for chrissakes. You didn’t cheat on goddamned supermodels! Regular Pilates classes and jogging a few days a week, coupled with good genes, kept her 5’9” frame trim and toned. With her hazel eyes, long, light brown hair, full pink lips, and champagne complexion, people sometimes mistook her for Vanessa Williams. She was a great wife. Wasn’t he always telling her what a wonderful wife she was? How lucky he was?
Unable to look at herself any longer, Kelly turned to leave, and her eye fell on the wedding photo sitting on Mark’s nightstand. Slowly, she walked over and picked it up. Mark, a handsome and successful partner with one of the city’s most prestigious law firms, single-handedly building its booming sports practice; she, one of those ubiquitous ‘90s supermodels who’d left the business and launched a thriving cosmetics company. Their wedding had gotten major press, including a short article in
People
, the New York tabloids,
Jet
, all the Chicago columns, and every gossip site on the Internet. A fresh wave of rage tore through her veins. She hurled the glass-framed photo in the direction of the bathroom mirror. Both the frame and the mirror shattered as they collided with each other. For some reason, that made Kelly cry even more.
She was heaving now, tears spilling out of her eyes like water gushing from a faucet. She felt sick. How could he do this? How? Didn’t they have the perfect marriage? Didn’t Mark’s friends marvel at how he’d landed her? Didn’t her friends look at her with a twinge of jealousy whenever Mark sent her flowers for no reason or bought her a beautiful, touching gift commemorating some anniversary or just because?
Of course. It was guilt. She’d always assumed it was because he was such a loving, thoughtful, and wonderful husband. Bitter laughter escaped her lips. Well, now she knew he was a lying sack of shit. Kelly started to sink down on the bed before she bolted upright, as though she’d sat on a hot stove. He’d brought his tramp here to their bed.
Kelly began to pace. What should she do? Pack up her things and leave? No, screw that. She’d found this place and made it into a showplace for friends, family…Mark’s clients. He could leave. She’d get a quickie divorce. She didn’t need or want anything from him. Simple and painless.
She looked at her watch. It was now three-twenty five; Mark would be home at five. Didn’t matter. He wouldn’t be staying long.
Kelly stalked over to his closet, yanked it open, and pulled down one of his suitcases. In a blind rage, she jerked shirts, pants, and suits off their hangers and launched them into the suitcase. His carefully assembled shelves of clothing and shoes were dismantled in seconds as Kelly continued to toss Mark’s belongings into their new home. She filled the suitcases until no more were left and then dragged everything out into the living room. As she turned to walk back to the bedroom, she saw pictures. There were pictures of them everywhere—vacations, parties, family gatherings. Kelly marched into the kitchen, grabbed a trash bag from underneath the sink, and began to throw every picture she saw of the two of them into it.
She went back into the bathroom. There were tiny shards of glass scattered across the ceramic tile floor and marble countertop from where she’d smashed their wedding photo. She grabbed a towel from the rack next to the door and picked up the frame from where it had fallen on the floor. She placed it in the trash bag and began to make a mental list of every gift Mark had ever given her. Mostly jewelry, some books, lingerie, a music box she’d spotted in a shop in Madrid a few years back—things like that. Kelly grabbed whatever she could think of, and into the trash bag it went.
By the time she was through, there were five huge garbage bags full of memories stacked next to Mark’s suitcases. She looked at her watch. Four-thirty. What would she say to him? She hadn’t gotten that far yet. The need to get him out of the house had superseded any confrontations they were going to have. Kelly was standing in the middle of the bedroom when she saw it.
The condom.
In the middle of everything else, she’d forgotten the condom. She walked over to it and bent down. Thank God for long acrylic nails. Wincing, she picked up the slimy piece of rubber and held it out in front of her as she scurried into the living room and dropped it on top of the pile of suitcases and trash bags. Let him take it with him when he left. Kelly stood there staring at everything, feeling numb. She was restless, ready to fight, yet still in shock over what had happened. She wrung her hands as though they were wet dishtowels and let out a deep breath. She needed a drink to calm her nerves.