exciting!” The woman strides across the street, platinum-blond hair blowing in the breeze behind her, and extends her hand. “Allow me to introduce myself properly, then. I’m Erin King, president of the Presidio Terrace Homeowners Association.”
“I’m Brooke,” I say, shaking her hand. “Brooke Davies.”
“You must be married to Jack Davies, the senator.”
I squint. “How’d you know that?”
“Not many people can afford this neighborhood, and politicians love the privacy it offers. I heard about your husband’s win in Virginia. Be sure to give him my congratulations.”
“I will.”
“It was a mudslinging campaign overall, wasn’t it? They kept bringing up his nasty divorce and his hasty marriage to—well, to you. It was all over the news. You’d make the third family in politics on the block. Kids?”
“No, not even on the radar.” I try not to sound upset. “You?”
“God, no.” She makes a scrunched face as if she’s tasted something grotesque. “Mason hates kids. Loathes them. That’s why we moved here. No children on the street.”
“Is that because people aren’t allowed, or—”
She laughs sweetly. “Oh, that’s not part of the community’s bylaws or anything. God, can you imagine? Limits to procreation.” She laughs harder now, and I wonder if she’s on a mood-lifter. “Most people who can afford these homes are older, so their kids are already grown and out of the house. Except for me, of course. I’m midthirties. I would assume you’re pushing thirty, but I won’t dare ask. Have you met her yet?”
“Who?”
“Georgia.”
“No, you’re the first one I’ve met on the street.”
“Oh, you have to meet her.” She clasps her hands over her chest. “You’re going to die when you realize how sweet she is. Not like the media makes her out to be at all. I mean, she probably killed her husbands, let’s be honest, but I’d never tell that to her face.”
I shake my head. “I haven’t heard much about her at all.”
“I’m sure the agent told you some things.” She moves closer, invading my personal space. I resist the urge to back up. “Well, Georgia’s been married three times. The first time was for love, of course, as first marriages often are. He died very shortly after they were married. She was devastated, or at least pretended to be, then rebounded into a second marriage, much like your husband did. You don’t mind my talking candidly, do you?”
“No, not at all.” I fold my arms over my chest guardedly, though I can’t help but smile. I love her fast chatter and the ease of our discussion. I don’t feel like I could say anything wrong to Erin. She’d simply eat up any mistakes in the conversation and bury them with beautiful new words. “It’s no secret that my husband had a bit of…overlap in his relationships.”
“Overlap.” She nods, grinning ear to diamond-dangling ear. “I like that. Anyway, the second time, Georgia married for money. She was miserable from the start, so when he died she was happy, in a way, if you get what I mean. She felt free to love and marry again, so she found Robert, whom she simply adores. He’s really into his yachts, but he treats her like a queen, as I’m sure your husband treats you.”
Like a queen. Locked in a palace.
“What about your husband?” I need to turn the tables before tears gather in my eyes. “What does he do?”
“He’s a plastic surgeon. He’s responsible for these,” she says, pointing to her full lips, “and these,” she adds, tapping her cheeks, “and getting rid of all of these lines.” She traces an imaginary line from one side of her forehead to the other. “I don’t like to boast, but my husband is brilliant.”
Judging from the perfect roundness of her breasts, I’d wager he took care of those as well, though I don’t ask. I had mine done last year, and the doctor went a little fuller than I’d originally wanted, but Jack is happy, which means I am, too.
“Well, you look great,” I offer. “Good enough for the movies.”
“That’s what I do. Not movies, but television” She drags her hair over her shoulders and squares up to me. “Erin King, ABC, five o’clock news.”
“You’re a news broadcaster? That’s amazing. I could never talk in front of a camera, no way.”
She tilts her chin to catch the sunlight. “It’s taxing at first, having to be perfect all the time, hitting all the right angles and saying all the right things, but I find, with practice, it simply becomes a part of who you are.”
“I understand completely.” Behind me, the front door closes. “It was great meeting you, Erin. Since we’re going to be neighbors soon, I look forward to continuing our conversation another time.”
She’s across the street before Jack rounds the corner, and for that I let out a huge sigh of relief.
“What do you think?” he says once we’re inside the safety of his car. “Do you love it? Is there anything about that community board that strikes you as strange?”
I tilt my chin to catch the sunlight, pull my hair over my shoulder, and say, “I love it, sweetheart. I wouldn’t change a thing about the home or its neighbors.”
As he backs out of the driveway and we pass the home next door, where the rumored husband-killer lives, I wonder if she’s married to a man who pretends to be strong in public, but desperately requires his wife’s opinion in private. A man who finds shame in being equal to his wife. A man who demands his wife to be flawless, yet is wildly flawed himself.
Above all else, I wonder how she got away with murder.
I’ll have to bring over a tray of cookies and ask her.