

## THE HOTLINE PSYCHIC

A crime thriller novella

By

Eve Rabi

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © April 2020 Eve Rabi. All rights reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, and media used in this book are fictitious and are the product of the author's imagination. The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication use of this trademark is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

### Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

About EVE RABI

EXCERPT

Crime & Suspense Thrillers by Eve Rabi (Multi Genre)

# Chapter One

Don't fuck with your psychic – lesson number one. Whether you believe in psychics or not, best you don't mock her, insult her or degrade her – that's the lesson the eight friends, moneyed socialites with a loud air of superiority from an upscale suburb of Washington learned when they fucked with a psychic.

It happened one stormy night, when the wind blew, the rain came down in torrents and a psychic made the mistake of knocking on the wrong door for shelter and ...

Wait! Let's back up a bit, get some background story first about the people involved in this fiasco before we jump right into things. How about it? You prefer it that way? Me too! Well, let's do this then!

Um ... I'm thinking, this is a short story, one that will probably have you hitting 'decline' on your terribly smart phone and refusing to answer the door. So, you might want to make yourself comfortable before you start to read, maybe put a "Do Not Disturb, I'm Busy with an Important Shit!" sign outside your bedroom door. If that's where you read.

If you are on the train, bus, plane, ferry, you might want to assume a "Fuck Off!" look while reading to prevent any interruption from those who refuse to bury their noses in their phones and would prefer to _talk_ to people in their midst. Fucking psychos! You should steer clear away from such people.

So, when? How? What? Who? Where?

The debacle happens in the luxurious, country home of Caroline and Arthur Carhill (they have a few equally expensive homes).

It's evening, the first day of the long weekend, and Caroline – late forties, blonde, celery-stick skinny and overall easy on the eye, dresses for the fancy dinner party she is throwing for her dear friends. She dresses slowly, so as not to work up a sweat, because according to that finishing school that she attended in Switzerland, a lady never sweats. (Even during wild sex, Caroline does not believe a lady should sweat. That's sex with a partner and not with yourself. Just making it clear.)

Caroline picks up a string of pearls and drapes it around her ivory neck. A lady must always be composed and in control of her emotions, that school in the country known for some of the finest chocolate in the world, had drilled into her. Not that Caroline ever ate any kind of chocolate. God forbid she puts on an extra pound! The secret to anti-aging, she believed, was not to put on weight and then try to lose it. Why? Sagging skin, of course. Don't you know this? You should, if you're past fifteen. C'mon now; I shouldn't have to teach you this considering your age! By the way, how old are you? Never mind. Moving on – Caroline heeded the advice from her tutors and from her mother (oh, her controlling mother! That's another chapter waiting to happen), never backchatted or questioned any of their rambling lectures, and that my friend, is what helped her snag the man of her mother's dreams, namely, Arthur Carhill, son of Senator Robert Carhill, without having to appear on an episode of The Bachelor. Smart, huh? It wasn't an arranged marriage, don't get me wrong. It was just a ... a ... how do I put it without sounding so formal ... well, whom am I kidding? It was an arranged marriage, engineered by Caroline's ambitious mother and Arthur's domineering father.

Anyway, Caroline, who has no use for that Harvard degree of hers, leads a charmed life – plenty of cash (yes, cash), wealthy friends bowing and scraping to her, a couple of flashy homes, two dutiful children, a boy and a girl. So, it's fair to say that the Carhills are the envy of all their wealthy friends and underpaid employees.

So, it's the long weekend, the kids are nowhere in sight and Caroline is looking forward to spending some alone time with Arthur in their rural retreat. It's a pity that Arthur has invited friends over for the long weekend, because Caroline prefers a romantic weekend for two. However, Arthur usually combines business with pleasure, hence the game of high-stakes poker scheduled for the night.

Anyway, since it's no use crying over spilled cognac, Caroline decides to have a little bit of 'naughty fun' before her guests arrive. She dresses carefully in various shades of beige, slips on a pair of fawn heels, strings a rope of pearls around her neck and fixes her hair into a slick updo. Finally, she sprays _Chanel parfum_ between her thighs, toned from seven days a week of Pilates, yoga and tai chi and the added measure of a thigh-tuck to rid away the loose skin that aging (what an ugly word 'aging') brings. Caroline winces when the perfume burns her freshly waxed skin in the nether regions. The downside to wearing no panties. For seduction, it is best you lose the panties, because they just get in the way. Finishing school didn't tell Caroline that, some vodkaed frat boy who Caroline lost her virginity to, did.

To remind herself just how desirable she can be, Caroline ignores her framed Harvard degree and focuses on her young self on the wall, the one with the tiara, sash and a smile that used to keep said frat boys from gaining distinctions.

She looks at the mirror, takes a yoga breath, exhales, then chants, "I am perfect, my life is just ... perfect." After which, the perfection-seeking beauty ignores her ignited crotch and sashays beauty-queen style out of her dressing room and in search of her husband.

Arthur Carhill is in high spirits. I'm not referring to the fine cognac he sips while dressing for the dinner party. No, Arthur's pleased with the knowledge that he's raised over nineteen million for his various charities. That's right – _nineteen_ million dollars. By the age of fifty, Arthur has accomplished most of his goals in life, so the only place to go now, is up – to become President of the United States. His father, Senator Robert Carhill, has been grooming him for years for the role, and wholeheartedly believes that his firstborn will be leader of the free world one day. Of that he is confidant, because Arthur follows his father's instructions. Not that his daddy controlled Arthur's strings or anything – we're not saying that. It's just that when Senator Carhill instructed Arthur to marry Caroline Van De Haan, Arthur, without hesitation, ditched his girlfriend of five years, the one whose father worked at a bakery and married Miss Van De Haan, without having to appear on an episode of The Bachelor. (See what happens when children listen to their parents?)

As a result, Arthur is a respected figure in society, so much so that he is able to convince his ilk to part with their cash and has managed to raise astronomical amounts of money for the various charities that he runs. So, here's a socialite who does good with his power; how could you not respect him?

Arthur the philanthropist pauses to look at the framed photos on the walls of him and former presidents, wealthy socialites and movie stars. Life is good, he thinks as he raises his glass of cognac at them, almost as fine as the drink in his hand.

# Chapter Two

Caroline sashays up to her husband and finds him in front of the mirror, fixing his tie. With a smile that says, _I may be wearing pearls, but I'm not wearing any panties_ , she nestles behind him, pressing her breasts against his back, her hand moving slowly toward his crotch, their eyes meeting in the mirror. They have time for a quickie. Some frenzied pounding would be most welcome. She may have to fix her hair after that, but that's okay – that's what hairspray is for.

Arthur grabs her hand, frowning at her in the mirror.

"It's the long weekend," she reminds him in a hurt voice.

He holds onto her hand, his brows merging.

"I'm not wearing any pan–"

"Will you stop it!" he hisses.

Caroline is confused – which man, which _husband_ , turns down a quickie? Over a holiday weekend? And why? Her confusion soon morphs into anger. "I'm your wife!" she says, fighting to hold back the tears, mainly because Arthur hates it when she cries.

"This is not the time! Stop it, will you?"

The rejection, coupled with the fact that the man who vowed to have and to hold her, refuses to do either or say her name is too much to bear – she grabs harder and defiantly searches for his erection. To her dismay, she does not find it. Their eyes lock in the mirror, hers full of hurt and anger, his full of embarrassment.

He responds by turning around and shoving her away, causing her to fall to the floor and wince in pain.

"Stop acting like a floozy; it's most unbecoming!"

"I'm your goddamn wife, Arthur!" she cries. "Don't you continue to deny me!"

"Stop, just stop!" he snarls, before he fixes his tie. "You are an embarrassment, woman! Do you realize that?"

All the Harvard graduate can do is choke on tears of rejection.

Just then, the doorbell goes. The future president grabs his dinner jacket from a nearby chair and backs out of the room. With his mouth in spasms of disgust, he says, "Clean yourself up. You look a mess. And for God's sake, put on some pants!" Arthur almost runs out of the room, leaving Caroline humiliated and on the floor.

For a few minutes, feeling like the loneliest woman in the world, Caroline wipes away tears of rejection and despair. You must be gay, she thinks. _You must be._ It makes no sense for him to constantly reject her. She's a fine-looking woman, she knows that much. Unless he prefers men – that's the only conclusion she can come to.

She snaps to attention when she feels someone staring at her. For a moment, she panics. Then, she realizes it's Shadow, the maid, hovering at the entrance to the dressing room.

Caroline feels a crimson tide envelope her. How long has Shadow been there? How much has she witnessed? Why is she here? Why isn't she downstairs laying the table for dinner for their guests?

"What is it?" Caroline snaps, getting to her feet and moving to stand in front of Arthur's mirror, where she carefully repairs her hair.

Shadow approaches, wringing hands. "Ma'am the storm –"

Caroline picks up Arthur's unfinished cognac and drains the glass. "What about it?"

"The other maid, she go home, ma'am. Now I need to go home."

"I told you, I need you to work late, didn't I? I have guests for the long weekend."

"Yes, ma'am, but with the storm, there's not gonna be no busses, so –"

"I have guests for the long week—"

" – I gotta leave now."

Caroline pours herself another generous shot of Cognac, downs it and repeats. "I have guests for dinner."

"Yes, but, ma'am –"

Caroline suddenly turns around and hurls the glass at Shadow. It narrowly misses her and smashes into the wall behind her. Shadow, shocked and frightened and more afraid of her crazy boss than of the storm, runs out of the room, down the stairs into the kitchen where she fights to compose her rattled self.

Upstairs, Caroline is amazed at just how good it felt to break something. After taking a few more deep breaths, she looks at the mirror and smiles. "Darling, how lovely to see you again! You look just fabulous, darling." With a smile to pasted on her face, she prepares to make her beauty queen entrance. Or her First-Lady entrance.

# Chapter Three

"Darling, how lovely to see you again!" Caroline says to banking heiress Dianna Fischer-Smith, who although she's in her late forties as well, looks at least ten years younger.

"You look fabulous, Darling," Caroline adds.

"So do you! You look simply marvellous!" Diana says, exchanging an air kiss with the hostess.

"Meet Biff, my husband," Diana, who is also dressed in beige and pearls (we're not sure about the panties) says, gesturing to the dark-haired man next to her. He's dressed in a black, cutaway t-shirt designed to showcase his biceps, tight black jeans and a leather jacket slung over one shoulder. "He's really looking forward to our game of poker."

"That's wonderful to hear," Caroline says, her eyes travelling slowly up and down the thirty-something man, who looks like he stepped out of _Grease_ the movie. "All winnings go to charity as you know," Caroline says in a singsong voice.

"Yeah," Biff says, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "Put me and my babe down for a mill."

Caroline's eyes pop. "Marvellous! Simply marvellous!"

"Um ..." Caroline tilts her head at the cougar. "It's all cash, right?"

Diana points at the duffle bag at Biff's feet. "Of course, darling."

Caroline gives a silent clap.

"Pardon our tardiness, people!"

Caroline whirls around to look at Spencer Hawthorn, heir to a chain of five-star hotels. There is only so much money can buy, so unfortunately, the fifty-something Spencer can't do much about his physical curses – his puny physique, the eczema on his cheeks and his raspy breathing.

Accompanying Spencer is Star, his wife, who is twenty-five years his junior.

(We have no reason to believe that Star is not her real name. Just sayin'.)

"According to Star's basal body temperature chart, it was time for us to indulge in some horizontal recreation this after –"

"Spencer, shaddup! You're embarrassing me," Star hisses. The truth is, Star does not want to be reminded in public that she has to fuck a weirdo like Spencer to make a baby.

A chuckling Spencer makes a zipping motion over his pink lips, followed by a lascivious wink.

Shaking her head, Stars uses her phone camera to take a number of selfies in different parts of the Carhill's impressive home, then uploads them on social media with the caption #blessed.

Star, who is also wearing pearls, because every women in Spencer's circle does, and to fit in, she believes she must, has a banging body, and a set of 'F' cups that runneth over, thanks to Doctor Ho Fu Choo in Thailand. Star's burning ambition, other than to have an Instagram following that rivals the Kardashians, is to present Spencer with a son.

Since Spencer, who has three daughters from a previous marriage, longs for a son, they spend most of their days and nights working on conceiving – the operative word being 'working'. That means that old Spencer is always smiling due to the inordinate amount of sex he's getting from a sexy wench half his age.

"Order! Order!"

Caroline smiles before she even turns around to look at Judge Richard Rappaport. Fifty-something Richard is Arthur's dear friend and regular donor to his charities.

"Richard, how wonderful to see you!" Caroline gushes, moving to hug the judge. She turns to Mimi Rapport, Richard's wife and smiles. "Darling, you look fabulous!"

Mimi, a former model, now runs a clothing line these days, air kisses Caroline and trades compliments. Like the other women in the group, Mimi is also dressed in beige and pearls, her hair in a sleek chignon.

The men are all dressed in stiff, formal, preppie attire. Except for Biff – he's dressed like he's about to hit a nightclub, or throw someone out of one.

Arthur gestures toward the dining room. "Shall we?" His friends and donors to his charities, make their way to the stately dining room, one fit for a president.

Caroline surveys the dining laid dining table and nods. _Perfect_. Everything is just how she had ordered.

# Chapter Four

"How was your trip here?" Caroline asks Mimi, as Shadow proffers drinks to the group of friends.

"Been looking forward to this weekend for months!" Mimi says, as she accepts a drink. "But this dreadful rain ..." Mimi shakes her head at the torrential downpour.

"Yes, horrid weather," Caroline says in an apologetic voice.

"Our limo driver had great difficulty with the country roads tonight, Caroline. Your Honor was getting impatient with him."

Caroline looks at Richard with raised eyebrows. Or at least she believes they are raised. It's hard to tell with so much Botox.

Richard clears his throat, nods and says, "Well, one must always ensure one is adequately au fait –"

"You guys came by limo?" Star screeches, lowering her phone camera, her eyes bulging with surprise.

Diana shrugs. "Didn't we all?"

Star's eyes dart between the friends, her nostrils flaring. "Seriously? All of you?"

"What other way is there, huh?" Biff says in a bragging voice, leaning back in his chair. "Nothing but the finest for me and my babe."

Diana shifts about in her chair, wishing that Biff wouldn't always brag about money to their friends. Everyone in this group of friends are wealthy, so to talk the way Biff does about money, act like theirs is new money, causes her untold and sometimes told embarrassed.

Caroline frowns. "Spencer, tell me you didn't drive up these treacherous roads. Not in this weather?"

" _He_ didn't drive," Star spits, " _I_ friggin' drove!"

There is an audibled gasp in the room.

Star glares at Spencer.

"Spencer, you didn't!" Mimi chides.

"Now, now, Muffin," Spencer says, licking his dry lips, "it would be an unnecessary expense. With a baby on the way ..."

"Scrooge!" Biff mutters, while the others shake their heads at Spencer's miserly ways. Spencer pats Star's thigh. She responds by smashing her phone onto the back of his hand.

"Ouch, Muffin!" Spencer is now forced to hold his drinks in his left hand, because of the injury.

As the group of friends dine, rain pelts at the windows, the sound of thunder grows louder and the lights in the house flicker.

Shadow pauses with her serving to look outside, her shoulders rounding as she does. Buses will soon stop running, and she'd have to walk miles in the pouring rain to get home. She needs to leave right away to be able to catch the last bus, but after that glass-hurling incident, she is terrified to approach Caroline again.

With a worried shake of her head, Shadow does her job and tops up everyone's wine glasses.

Spencer puts his hand over Star's glass. "How dare you!" he wheezes at Shadow.

Shadow, startled at Spencers hostility, wheezes back, "Sorry, sir?"

"How dare you offer my wife alcohol when we are trying to conceive a baby?"

"Sorry, sir," Shadow repeat, almost bowing to Spencer. "Sorry, sorry, sorry!"

"Spencer, it's just one friggin' glass," Star whispers. "It ain't gon kill me. And like, I ain't pregnant yet?" She looks at Shadow. "Got any beer?"

"My wife will have vitamin water!" Spencer says in firm voice, ignoring Star's eye-rolling.

"Yessir!" Shadows and hurries off to get Vitamin water for Spencer's muffin.

"My wish is to protect my child," Spencer explains to his friends.

They nod their understanding – _We would do the same –_ before they continue dining.

# Chapter Five

It finally happens though – the electricity goes out. The women gasp and clutch at their pearls like rosary beads.

"Now, now, ladies," Arthur's amused voice rings in the dark, "no need to be alarmed. This place is geared for inclement weather. "Watch what happens." Just as he utters those words, the gas lamps turn on. Sighs of relief can be heard, even though the place is now dimly lit.

"Gas fireplace, remember?" Caroline says, pointing at the fire. "Let's just enjoy the perfect ambiance, before –"

"Ambiance?" Star asks. "What about the phone signal? How am I supposed to post to Instagram? How many days without electricity? This is bullshit!" The other women chuckle at Star crassness.

"As I was saying," Caroline says in a measured voice, "This game of poker tonight –"

"Everyone got their cash?" Spencer interrupts, his eyes lighting up at the mention of his poker game.

The group nods.

"Excellent! I'm in a winning mood."

The friends concur.

Except Caroline – she frowns at the sight of the sulky look on Shadow's face. She would need to have a strong word with her about her attitude. In the meantime, she turns her attention to the conversation at the table.

"Oh, yes," Diana says in a bragging voice to Mimi, "my stud and I know all about the middle of the afternoon romps." She looks at said stud, "Don't we, darling?"

Biff doesn't answer. He appears to be a million miles away. She nudges him gently. Biff raises his head, looks at Diana, looks around the room and says, "Huh?"

"I was saying, we know all about the afternoon romps. Right?"

Biff nods, appearing bored.

An embarrassed Diana elbows him sharply.

"Whaaat?"

Caroline smiles, which further irritates Diana.

"For sure," Biff says in a voice like soda water in the sun, "Can't wait to drag you upstairs, Baby Cakes."

Diana giggles and says, "Oh, Biff, control yourself!" She looks pointedly at Caroline and adds, "These younger men and their libidos!"

Outwardly Caroline's smiles, but inwardly she's indulging in an eye roll.

"Despite his maturity, Your Honor is no exception," Mimi says. "Demands his afternoon 'perks', and this afternoon was no exception." Mimi casts a sly look at Richard.

Richards puffs out his chest, a look of pride on his craggy face.

With a smile that doesn't reach her eyes, Caroline shoots Arthur a pointed look. He quickly looks away. That move is not missed by vigilant Diana – the cougar pounces on Caroline.

"Caroline?" Diana cocks her head at her friend, "You're awfully quiet? Everything okay?

Please tell me there isn't something wrong between you and Arthur, sweet Caroline. I'd be so devastated if there was."

All eyes bore into Caroline – _Is there a problem between you and Arthur? Do tell!_

To everyone's disappointment, Caroline merely smiles condescendingly.

"Come on, Caroline," Diana presses. "You're among friends – air kiss and tell, darling."

Taking a tiny sip of wine, Caroline says, "Diana, rest assured, my life is just perfect. However, my husband is going to be president one day, as you all know. So, a couple as upwardly mobile like us must exercise decorum, be discreet about –"

"Is that what it is?" Diana's interrupts, her smile is mocking. "Decorum?"

So far, there is a tie for title of _Biggest Bitch_ and the group have no idea who to put their money on.

Then, Caroline comes in swinging. "Yes. Now, if he was unemployed like dear Biff, and if there was a problem in our marriage, which I assure you there isn't, I could freely share anecdotes about our personal lives. Darling."

Right hook, left hook, Diana's on the ropes, while Caroline's dancing like a butterfly.

"Though, I'm not the type to flaunt such personal information, Diana. Never felt the burning need to overshare."

It's knockout, folks! Give the belt to the beauty queen. Never mind the missing panties.

For a few moments the room falls silent.

Diana drinks up, too irked to fake a smile, and not drunk enough to yank at Caroline's blonde updo and rip it out of her scalp.

"Speaking of the unemployed, where the devil is Biff?" Spencer asks, looking at Biff's empty chair.

The friends look at the vacant chair next to Diana, then at the closed bathroom door.

Biff runs back into the room and kisses Diana passionately. "Whoo! Hoo!" he cries, before he fist-pumps the air. The friends watch with a mixture of amusement and surprise as the energized Biff wipes his nose with the back of his finger and says, "What did I miss? Huh?"

A red-face Diana tries to stem her embarrassment by vigorously patting the chair next to her.

Her stud doesn't sit. Instead, he grabs Diana by the hair and kisses her, sticking his tongue down her throat. The group pause with their eating to observe the public display of chemically induced affection.

"These young men and their libidos," Diana eventually says to Caroline, relieved that she can rub her sex life into the hostess' face again.

Wait! Did you think that Diana and Caroline were friends? Well, let me tell you, Diana is Caroline's _least_ favorite person in the world. Why? First of all, Diana confesses that she is two years older than Caroline, but truth be told, she looks younger, much younger. Second, Diana's also a banking heiress, who's never had to work a day in her life, and has had everything handed to her on a porcelain platter. Thirdly, Diana doesn't do yoga, Pilates or tai chi, so she is a size larger than Caroline, yet, she attracts young, virile men. She openly calls herself a cougar – no shame for Diana when it comes to that and gets her sexy cubs. Most irksome is the fact that Diana has a brain – she too has a Harvard degree. That's right, the banking heiress _chose_ to attend Harvard! No gun to her head by wealthy parents, Diana is just brainy. Are those enough reasons for Caroline to hate Diana? I believe so.

The men who Diana flaunts are usually fifteen years her junior – attractive and virile. For Caroline who is in need of a good banging, how can she not be jealous? Many a night, sexually frustrated because Arthur rejects her, even though she wears sexy lingerie and has just coffee and celery for breakfast and lunch to keep herself looking young, imagines Diana and her men fucking like feral animals – _When you say he's generous in bed, just how generous are we talking?_ – and she dies of envy between her ten-thousand-thread-count sheets.

Diana on the other hand, generally has a don't-care attitude about life in general. However, Caroline has always had a way of making her feel inadequate and as if she is a laughingstock. That scoffing look that Caroline gives every single boyfriend of Diana's, all of her four former husbands, adds to the belittling. Diana doesn't care about competing with Ms Perfect, but for some reason, Caroline knows exactly which button of Diana's to press that brings out the bitch in her. In fact, Caroline has perfected the art of turning Diana from free-spirit and light-hearted, to super bitch. Just like that, nought to hundred; Caroline can turn Diana into an insecure bitch.

That being said, the women all love each other. Confused? Yeah, well, try not to figure it out. Have a drink instead.

Then, Shadow the maid goes full Kamikaze – wringing her hands, she approaches Caroline and whispers to her, her hands moving wildly in the air as if she's landing planes. The others in the group watch Caroline and Shadow with open curiosity.

"Of course, Shadow," Caroline says in a loud voice. "You must leave right away before the storm worsens, Shadow. Thank you so much for your help today. You take care now."

With a confused look on her face, Shadow stares at Caroline – _This a trick ma'am? You gonna throw another glass at me?_

"Go on now," Caroline says to Shadow.

Shadow turns and hurries off. Moments later she can be seeing fleeing the house with her handbag, as if two hungry Dobermans were on her heels.

"You're always so kind," Mimi says to Caroline.

See? The friends love each other – told ya!

Mission accomplished, Caroline beams at her friend and former model. As you may have noticed, praise is important to Caroline – it's her kryptonite. With a critical mother, a father that barely acknowledged her existence and a husband who outright rejects her, how could it not be? So, when Mimi praises her, publicly at that, of course Caroline is immensely grateful.

# Chapter Six

For a few moments, Caroline marinates in her glory, before she turns her attention to the conversation between the women. As usual, it's about airhead topics, wealthy, bored women talk about.

"... charges a pretty penny," Mimi says, "but let me tell you; he does such a fantastic job."

_At your age, Mimi, you should be focusing on Botox, jaw defining and eyelid surgery_ , Caroline thinks.

"Perfect size, perfect cleavage. Perky enough without being frightfully in your face. No scars, No obvious signs of surgery."

"Not like Tori Spelling's?" Star says.

Mimi shakes her head. "Oh, God, no!"

"You'd think with Aaron's millions, Tori have access to the very best surgeons, wouldn't you?" Diana says, her wineglass poised in midair.

Mimi nods. "Baffling."

"I wanna go bigger," Star declares, smoothing down her top. "After –"

"After the baby!" Spencer calls out to the women's surprise. None of them knew he would be eavesdropping on their conversation.

Mimi chokes on her wine.

"Bigger?" Diana asks with derision. "You're already what? An F-cup?"

"Yup, but Spencer loves it," Star says, smiling down at her breasts. "Hey, there's this clinic in Thailand that's having a special on –"

"I wouldn't if I were you, Star," Diana says. "They're just perfect."

"Aw, thank you, Diana!"

"Maybe this though." Diana touches the tip of her nose.

"And this." Mimi swipes a finger under her jawline. "Get rid of the double chin."

With a look of alarm, Star frantically grabs a butter knife and peers at her reflection in it.

"Nothing too much, just a little bit here and there," Diana adds in a soothing voice.

"Maybe those lips," Caroline adds, clearly enjoying the torturing of Star. "They're a little ..." Caroline cocks her head to the right, then to the left, as if she is searching for the words.

"Hey, my nose and lips ... my chin; they all look fine to me," Star suddenly snarls.

"Oh, okay then," Mimi says.

Despite her words, Star continues inspecting her nose, a peeved look on her face.

"I'm thinking of reducing mine," Diana brags, adjusting her beige, lacy top. "Just a cup smaller. Sometimes, the attention it draws is a tad much. Especially from the younger men." She throws a proud look at Biff.

"Yes, I think that's a good idea," Caroline says. "That size does look out of place on a ... a _mature_ woman."

Diana jerks back in her seat and stares at Caroline. "Mature? Darling, I'm just two years older than you. Not ten, you know."

"Yes, of course, Darling," Caroline says.

"I think they're a lovely size, Diana," Mimi says, going into damage control.

Diana turns to look at Mimi. "Thank you," she says in a grateful voice.

"Granted, the size makes you look a bit dwarfish," Mimi adds, "But that pretty face of yours covers up for it, so don't worry."

Wait! That bit about damage control – strike that. Mimi is pure bitch in a bottle!

Diana summons her therapist's advice – _Ten, nine, eight, seven ..._

Meanwhile, Caroline and Star can barely contain their mirth. If Caroline thought it was okay to slap the table and roll on the floor, laughing her tight-from-Pilates ass off, she would. She is that amused.

If Star thought it was acceptable to take a photo of Diana's angry face and post it on Instagram, Pinterest, Facebook, Tumblr, with a trending hashtag, she would – she is that amused.

"Thank you, Mimi," Diana eventually says in a controlled, almost amiable tone of voice. "By the way, love your latest clothing brochure. You look just fab in your designs."

Mimi stares at Diana, totally taken aback by Diana's charitable comeback. Most generous words, considering that terrible insult levied against the heiress moments ago.

"My mother bought a few of your pieces," Diana continues.

Mimi's eyes start to narrow.

"She loves them so much, she bought a few for my grandmother as well."

Mimi's eyes stop narrowing and open wide. _You did not say that!_

"The other women in the nursing home, they adored them too!"

Mimi's jaw falls in the most undignified manner.

Turns out, the cougar wasn't counting till ten; she was simply loading up on ammunition, preparing to blast the former model to smithereens.

Aren't you glad you have ringside seats to this rumble?

The judge's wife with the old-folks clothing line stares in disbelief at her good friend. Make no mistake, she is stewing, racking her brain for comebacks – the bitch insulted her clothing line, okay? If that doesn't deserve an Uzi, what does?

Alas, Mimi she finds nothing – her brain turns out to be one useless mass. Maybe it's the four glasses of red wine that she had with dinner tonight? Or maybe it's the three glasses of champagne she had in the limousines on the way to the rural retreat? Or maybe it was the brandy she had while getting dressed this afternoon? Two brandies. Or maybe it was the two glasses of champagne she had at their champagne breakfast she had this morning? Whatever! Mimi was out of comebacks, and Diana stands with a smoking .44 Magnum – the one similar to the one Clint Eastwood used. Not the ice cream.

Maybe in a month, Mimi will – after having stewed with pursed lips over that comment, and maybe after adding a few younger pieces to her collection (you know like ripped jeans with a lining to so not to show too much mature skin), will have amassed a few comebacks for the Harvard graduate. However, on this stormy night in the Carhill's rural retreat, Mimi finds herself out of comebacks.

There follows an awkward silence, which Caroline refuses to fill. You see, usually Mimi and Diana ganged up against her, so to Caroline, it was a refreshing sight to see them both turn on each other.

"Hey, what 'bout a Brazilian butt lift, huh? You guys, you must really check it out." Star, who has the attention span of a gnat, unless the conversation/insult was about her, says. "They take the ... the fat out of your hips and your waist ... they use like a long-ass syringe and they just injected it into your butt. It looks great!"

The women stare at Star.

"What? You wanna look young again, right? Like that old Baywatch chick with the blonde hair."

The women continue staring at her.

"The one that did the porno clip."

When the women who traveled by limousine don't react, Star takes a gulp of her vitamin water, then gags. "What is this shit, Spencer? Antifreeze?"

"Vitamin water is good for the baby," Spencer says in a motherly voice.

Star rolls her eyes and mutters, "Kill me now."

On the other side of the bitchfest, the men have a private conversation.

"What's with the security bars, Arthur?" Richard says rubbernecking. "I didn't think this area warrants that level of security."

Arthur mumbles something about precautions, without making eye contact with Richard. "Hard to roll this joint," Biff adds with a sniff. "These roads, they gonna make it hard to bring in a truck."

Arthur's head bobs, pleased with Biff's words.

"Unless you get a chopper. A chopper and a team of guys. Ex-cons. You can clear out this joint that way."

Arthur's bobbing comes to an abrupt halt. The look he gives Biff causing him to shrink back in his chair, his eyes scudding. "Just ... sayin."

When a stiff silence follows, Richard changes the subject. "Remember that ski lift fiasco? We were in Aspen ... or was it Nozawa on –"

"Aspen," Spencer says. "I remember that holiday clearly. That's when I first met Star, that sexy li'l thing who couldn't keep her eyes off me." He looks over at his wife who accused him of feeding her antifreeze minutes ago. She is busy forming the shape of a butt in the air.

"That sexy li'l thing who couldn't keep her eyes off your _wallet_ , Spencer," Arthur says.

Luckily, Spencer pays no attention to reality or Arthur – he smiles at the memory.

"We had some amazing snow that year," Richard says. "Those black-diamond trails ... superb!"

Arthur nods. "We should endeavour to do it again."

Biff nods. "Who knows maybe we can find a few more Stars there, huh?" He nudges Spencer. "And who knows, maybe you can swap your current model for a new one, huh? Huh?"

"Biff, what an awful thing to say," Spencer chastises.

Biff's grin disappears.

"But what a superb idea," Spencer continues with a wink. "Count me in. I'm all for upgrades."

"I second that motion," Arthur says, stifling a smile.

"No objection from the courts," Richard says.

The men chuckle like schoolboys.

# Chapter Seven

Sure, the group of friends chat, trade insults, even share a few laughs, but conversation grows sedate and stiff to Caroline's dismay. She's noticed Biff glancing at his wristwatch several times, and Diana's subtle nudging him to stop, and the judge stifling several yawns – the dinner party is no longer perfect, and that irks Caroline.

The only person who doesn't appear bored is Star, because she is fixated on that compact mirror in her hands, inspecting her nose from all angles. When she is not taking selfies, that is.

Caroline catches Arthur's eye. "Poker?" she mouths. Maybe the game of poker will create some excitement.

To her ire, her husband ignores her and looks away. It's as if she is invisible to him. She looks around at the table – it's now a mess and Shadow is not around to clear it. A total disaster- that what this evening is turning out to be.

At the same time, in the pouring rain, a hunched figure in a raincoat stumbles over to the Carhill's property. The gates are locked, so the figure climbs over the gates, hurries to the Carhill's front door and rings the bell.

Inside the property, Arthur and Caroline are surprised to hear the doorbell.

Arthur looks worried at the intrusion, because not only are the gates locked, but the fencing is electric. Then, he remembers that the power is out. While he is concerned, Caroline is excited – what if it's Shadow? What if she missed her last bus and had no choice but to return to the house? Caroline would then have help for the night. The thought causes Caroline to jump to her feet.

Always-suspicious Arthur, follows his wife, while the friends remain seated.

To Arthur's consternation, Caroline throws open the door without using the keyhole he's installed with a million other security measures. When they see the bedraggled figure with a tent for a raincoat, they are taken aback. It's hard to tell if it's a male or a female.

"Good God!" Arthur exclaims, ready to shut the door on the figure.

"Good evening," a female voice says. "Sorry to bother ya, but I need help, please! My car, a tree fell in front of it, and another behind it, and now, I can't get no phone signal, and like, please, can ya help a gal out? Can I stay here till the storm clears?"

Caroline stares at the woman with her arms folded. It isn't Shadow and that's just plain annoying.

"I'm sorry," Arthur says, "but we too have no phone signal because of the storm. And no, you cannot stay here."

"Bummer!" the woman says.

Arthur begins to shut the door on the woman.

"Oh, please!" she cries. "Don't leave me in the storm!"

"No!" Arthur says, pushing the door closed.

The woman grabs his hand. "Please! Please! Please!"

Arthur, now horrified, snatches his hand away. "How dare you touch me, you vile –"

"Wait!" Caroline cries and steps in front of Arthur. "What are you doing out in this weather anyway? Are you a maid?" Caroline's voice is hopeful and racing – if the woman is a maid, then maybe she could help out in the Carhill's house for the night. It would make life so much easier for Caroline. She does not have the same degree of paranoia as her husband, and besides, there are eight of them and one of her – no threat.

"No, no, no!" the woman says. "I'm a psychic. Hotline. A Palm Reader too. Was hired to read palms for a woman in Carlton Drive. Super rich – she and her friends. Went on for so long. On and on and on. Tried to leave before the storm, but she wouldna –"

"A psychic?" Caroline eyes grow wide with wonderment.

The woman nods. "She made me wait. I didna know what to do. Anyway, when she finally pay me, the storm was like, full on. Then that tree ... bummer! My phone ..." The rambling woman shakes her head.

"A hotline psychic _and_ palm reader," Caroline says in a breathless voice.

The woman nods. "Yeah. I do palm readings at the circus and craft markets ..."

With a smile, Caroline throws open the front door. "Come on in, hotline psychic," she says to Arthur's horror. "You can leave after the storm."

"Caroline!" Arthur screeches. Caroline ignores her horrified husband and says, "Hang up your raincoat and –"

"What the hell!" Arthur hisses to Caroline.

"—those boots too. I don't want my floors messed with the mud."

"For sure, for sure!" the stranger says, bending to remove her boots.

Arthur grabs Caroline's elbow and pulls her aside. "What the hell are you doing?" he asks through clenched teeth. "This could very well be a setup. This weirdo, she ... she could have a gang of unsavoury characters in cahoots with her, skirting our home as we speak to rob us." Caroline tilts her head at her husband, a cynical smile on her face.

"What?"

"You're actually _touching_ me?"

Arthur's reaction is immediate – he drops Caroline's elbow and steps back. That very act hurts, but not as much as what happens after that – Arthur wipes his hand against the sides of his pants, as if it's dirty. A surreptitious move from the man who publicly pledged to have and to hold her, one that cuts deep.

"Tell her to go!" Arthur whispers.

Caroline pushes her hurt aside to glance behind her. The woman struggles to remove her boots.

"Relax, Arthur."

"Don't tell me to relax!"

"Listen, Eliza Dolittle's just the tonic we need to liven up this dinner party. Look at this bunch of boring asses! How much more of their afternoon sex sessions and their obsession with breasts do you expect me to take?"

Arthur cranes his neck to look at his friends in the dining room, and as he does, his mouth twists in disdain.

With a, I-rest-my-case look on her face, Caroline says, "We could do with a monkey in our midst who can read our palms ... entertain us. Trust me, Arthur."

"Yes ... but ..."

"Stop with the paranoia and think about this: that _rich_ woman, whoever she is, had to _pay_ to have Monkey entertain her guests, while I, being the astute businesswoman that I am, get my entertainment free of charge. Who's smart now?" Caroline folds her arms across her chest and waits for an _Attagirl!_

Of course, it doesn't come from Arthur. It never does. Never. What she gets is, "Yes, but ..." With an inward sigh, the beauty queen turns and pageant-walks toward the dining room. A sulking Arthur follows, the psychic trudging behind them both.

# Chapter Eight

Caroline enters the dining room first, and using a voice used by announcers at the circus, says, "Ladies and gentlemen, may I now present to you a real-life, hotline psychic! And ... wait for it, wait for it, wait for it ... she even reads palms at the _circus_!"

"Good God!" Diana says, a little intrigued, a little in disbelief. "You can't be serious?"

A psychic is the last person she expected stiff and repressed Caroline to entertain. However, being as bored as she is, Diana too is pleased with the entertainment.

"Really? How very ... _unusual_ ," Mimi murmurs, circling the rim of her wineglass. "You arranged her just for us? That's pretty clever of you, Caroline."

"OhmyGod! This is so much fun!" Star says, putting down her compact mirror to clasp her hands with glee.

Pleased at the reception from the females in the group, and not bothering to set the record straight – she had not planned the psychic's entrance, Caroline smiles. Judging from their favourable reaction, she believes that she has made the right decision, even though the men stare at her as if she's lost every single marble. "She'll be joining us until the storm clears."

Arthur, still sullen, takes a seat with the men.

"She serious?" Biff asks.

Arthur shrugs, appearing a little embarrassed with the kookiness of his wife.

"Mm," Spencer says, appearing bored.

The group wait for the psychic to appear, but she doesn't.

"Where is she?" Diana asks, craning her neck to look behind Caroline.

With a frown, Caroline turns behind her and peers down the dimly lit passage. The psychic is not there.

"I get it," Mimi slurs. "It's a joke. There is no psychic, so we must imagine there is –"

"Emperor has no clothes?" Diana adds. "Mm. If that is the case, I'd rather drink till oblivion than play."

"We're doing something _different_ from what you usually do, Diana!" Caroline says with a sweet smile. "There really is a psychic. She's just removing her boots."

By now, the absence of the psychic has everyone's curiosity aroused. All eyes are fixed to the entrance to the dining room, waiting for the psychic to show – a stooped figure, a gnarled old thing with a missing eyeball. Or one with a marble for an eyeball, the same marble Caroline lost when she believed that bringing in a psychic from the circus would be entertaining.

The psychic does not show. The room falls silent – something is not right!

Arthur looks at Caroline. When he sees her eye start to twitch – a sure sign of nervousness, dread rises inside of him – _What have you done, woman?_

Then, the psychic breezes into the room and all jaws, I mean every single jaw in the room plummets.

The psychic turns out to be a woman in her mid-twenties, with burnished skin, lips the color of rubies, eyes the color of Manuka honey, hair that cascades down her back like an auburn waterfall. She wears a bright red top that struggles to contain her ample breasts, a long blue skirt with slits that fail to conceal toned thighs, costume jewelry that clinks as she moves. Part gypsy, part mythical creature, you can assume that she may be both. A striking fact is that she is a stunning creature, sexy and the polar opposite of the beiged-up, pearled-up, buttoned-up women with tamed updos and submissive chignons.

"Heya, everyone!" the creature says in a breathless voice. "I'm Indiana. Sorry to bust in and disturb ya dinner. It's like, raining cats and dogs and I almost slipped on a poodle!"

You got that? Her name is Indiana. A delightful name, don't you think?

Back to the joke – no one but Indiana laughs at her joke. Sadly.

While the group of friends try to realign their jaws at the sight of the young, beautiful threat in their midst, Indiana moves to stand in front of the fire, playing with her long hair and cutely raising the soles of her feet to the fire, providing glimpses of sun-kissed thighs in the process.

The women cast bewildered glances at each other, before they all look to Caroline for answers to the burning questions in their minds: _What the fuck, Caroline? How dare you bring such a sexy woman into our midst? Such a young, sexy woman?_

Well, I'm assuming that's what the burning question(s) are. I know, I know, you're going to say by assuming, I am making an ass out of you and me. I get it and believe me, I'm not arguing with you.

Anyho, back to the room – Biff gets his voice back first. "Whooooaaa!"

Judge Richard Rappaport gets his voice second. "Wooooow!"

Spencer is third in the voice stakes. "Have I died and gone to ..." He is unable to finish the sentence because he has to reach for his asthma pump so that he doesn't die and go to ...wherever!

Arthur says nothing. Cool, isn't he?

Well, I'm not being truthful, mainly because I'm an unreliable narrator as you may have deduced by now.

Arthur, he gets to his feet in a trance-like state and gazes mesmerized at the creature he deemed a nut job earlier on, one who caused him to touch his wife.

Caroline is most surprised at her husband's reaction – You're not gay? She stares in disbelief at her errant husband who salivates like a St Bernard at the sight of the psychic.

"Caroline, what the friggin' hell were you thinking?" Star demands.

"Clearly she wasn't. She never does." Caroline does not have to look to see who the furious voice belonged to – Diana the cougar, who hates any kind of competition.

With her fingers playing with her pearls around her neck like a rosary, Caroline turns slowly to look at the women. For once, she is at a loss for words. And for once, that permanent smile of hers, the one that covers a multitude of emotions has upped and vanished. "She's a stranger and look ...I ... I ... she didn't look like this at the door, trust me."

"Trust you? Not a chance!" Yes, Diana is unrelenting in her attack against Caroline.

Caroline resists the urge to put both hands on her head. Instead she tries to explain. "Look, I thought ... maid ..."

"When last have you had your eyes tested, Caroline?" Mimi asks. "Old maid? What are you talking –"

"No, no, I thought she could work like ..." Caroline stops, take a yoga breath and says, "I will fix this. Leave it to me."

With those ominous words, she strides over to Arthur. She would get him to throw the psychic out. He was totally against having her inside their house in the first place, so she would use that against him. Let him do all the heavy lifting.

# Chapter Nine

To Caroline's ire, Arthur stares at the psychic with his head cocked to one side, a glazed expression in his eyes. Her blood boils – _Never once have you looked at me like that, you BASTARD!_

"Arthur, go tell her to leave," Caroline says in a measured voice.

Arthur continues gazing at the psychic.

"Arthur." Voice still measured.

When he doesn't respond, she pokes him hard in the side.

He turns his head slowly to look at Caroline. "Wha ...?"

"You were right; she shouldn't be in our home. It's too dangerous; go tell her to leave." Arthur turns his neck to look at the psychic again. He smiles.

Caroline, who also has to contend with the fact that her husband is not gay and that he simply doesn't want her anymore, grabs his arm and hisses. "Do it now!"

So entranced is Arthur, he fails to shrug off Caroline's arm. He fails to wipe his elbow with hand sanitizer or antibacterial soap.

Caroline looks back at the women; they continue to glare at her. Pressure and panic in equal measures surge inside Caroline. Maybe that's what causes her to punch Arthur in the arm.

Arthur looks at Caroline again, this time with a frown.

Caroline decides to play the paranoia card – Arthur's irrational fears can be pretty debilitating at times. That reference should snap him out of his trance – she was sure of that.

"This could be a setup, Arthur. She could have a few unsavoury characters in cahoots with her, skirting our home as we speak to rob us. We need to rid ourselves of her. Now!"

Yes, Caroline as a strategy, chooses to regurgitate Arthur's very words. That way, he can't argue with her, for he would be arguing with himself. Clever, right?

"Caroline, she's just the ... the ... tonic we need to liven up this dinner party with this bunch of boring asses!" Arthur says.

Touché! Arthur simply volleys Caroline's words over to her. "Trust me," Arthur continues with his eyes fixed on Indiana.

"I move to keep her." "I move to keep her." Which wife wants to hear those words? Not Caroline. Not any of the wives in the room.

If that isn't bad enough, the men surrounding Arthur, even though he had referred to them as boring asses, concur with him with the bobbing of their heads.

"I second that motion," Judge Rappaport says, finger in the air. (Richard's a judge – he doesn't do middle fingers, just index. Just wanted to make that clear.)

"Agreed," Spencer wheezes. "Every single word of yours, Arthur, I agree." He gives such a giant nod, he cuts off his air supply in the process and turns puce.

"Whooooa!" Biff adds, because words don't come easy to him.

"Well, then, I will send her away!" Caroline snarls, sick of this adolescent behavior of the men.

"Don't. You. Dare!" Arthur's voice is so quiet, almost a whisper, but the effect is that of a spider crawling up Caroline's arm. Stupefied at his behavior, his words, the threat in his voice, Caroline can only stare at her husband. He tears his eyes from the intruder to hold Caroline's gaze, his jaw set, his eyes hooded.

Behind her, Caroline feels the curious gaze of the women on her and Arthur, and their little _tete-a-tete_. Crimson-faced Caroline has no choice but to acquiesce.

Her walk of shame with her tail between her legs, back to the vipers, is nothing short of humiliating. Powerless, all she can do is shrink back to her corner, quietly seethe and pretend as if she can't hear what the men are whispering among themselves.

"Who says we have to go to the slopes to find some fresh ass when –"

"— we have all the slopes we can eat, right here!"

"I move to keep her."

"Objection overruled. All of them."

Think that's bad? Feeling sorry for Caroline? How about this: Arthur, he almost runs up to the psychic and says, "Allow me to introduce you to everyone, Indiana." He points at the grinning men. "My friend, Judge Richard Rappaport ..."

The judge nods. "It is an absolute pleasure to meet you, dear Indiana."

" ... my friend, Spencer Hawthorn ..."

"The pleasure is all mine, Indiana," Spencer say in a gracious voice. "Every bit of it."

"... my friend, Biff ..."

Biff bows obsequiously at Indiana and says, "Welcome! _Mi casa es su casa_."

"Aw, so sweet," Indiana says.

"Yeah, well, I spent a week in France," Biff says, shaking his body like a shy little boy.

While Indiana blinks, a confused look on her face, the cougar in the room snarls and spits like a feral cat – Biff's attempt to speak French (or Spanish, Biff is not sure which it is – he just knows that that chicks dig accents and that the sexy young thing _should_ make herself at home) to the young wench is unacceptable.

"... and I am Arthur, the host, the owner of this home that is now yours. Call me ... Art." Arthur picks up Indiana's hand, the one with long, scarlet fingernails and caresses it with his lips.

Caroline feels like she's been Tasered. _You actually kissed that ... that thing's hand? Not just shook it, but actually pressed your lips to it? When you wiped your hands after you touched my elbow?_ All she can do is grind her teeth and ruin her caps. Again.

Indiana waves at them, the group of firm friends. "Well, it's nice to meet ya'll." She then whirls around, taking in the ornate furniture, the plush décor and the lavish home in awe. "Wow! What a place! Ya must be loaded, Art."

Caroline smiles to herself. That reference to his money from the stranger, now that ought to stoke Arthur's AWOL paranoia and snap him out of his trance. Now maybe he will put the bitch out, where she belongs, so that she can be Queen Bee once again. Having to share the limelight with the circus freak was not the plan. Having her husband kiss another woman's hand, a woman half her age, in the presence of her frenemies was certainly not the plan!

To her utter amazement, Arthur simply blushes and says, "Sort of ..."

"Sort of"? Did he just say ... Caroline feels like hurling another glass, this time at Arthur's head.

"Are we invisible?" Diana snaps. "Tell her who we are. Go on!"

"Oh, of course," Arthur says, and waves a finger at the women. "Mini, Star and Diana."

Diana scowls at Arthur. "That's it?"

Mimi lowers her wineglass. "Who's Mini?"

Arthur stares at Mimi, appearing taken aback at her hostility. Mimi's always rather docile. Drunk and docile, which is the way he likes her to be.

"Eh, yeah ..." Arthur says, not bothering to correct himself.

"Hey, Caroline, your man, he forgot to introduce you," Star taunts.

Caroline can easily knife the gold-digger for pointing out the obvious. Take that steak knife from the table and run it across her whoring throat and not feel an ounce of remorse. She would be doing Spencer a favor; she was sure of that.

" _Art?_ " Diana says, eyebrows that have been beaten into submission by Botox rebelling anyway and climbing.

"Yes, where did that come from?" Mimi says from behind her hand, her eyes shining with mirth.

Caroline eyes the steak knife again. One knife, three women. It can be done. It can. There'd be a lot of blood, sure; juggler slits are known for spraying blood, creating a mess, but oh, it would be so worth it!

Caroline doesn't do the impulse thing, so, she takes a deep breath, summons her default smile, and in a voice that can be considered either neutral or quietly hostile, says to the intruder, "I'm Caroline, Arthur's wife. Lady of this mansion, by the way. In case there is any confu—"

"Well, nice to meet ya'll," Indiana says in a pleasant voice. "I suck at names, so please don't mind if I forget ya'lls."

"Oh, call us anything you like, dear Indiana," Richard says. "We do not mind at all."

"Anything you like," Spencer adds, running two fingers in the air. "Whatever you call me ... I'll come run ... ning." When Indiana laughs, he is so delighted, he wheels his arms out in a running gesture and is rewarded with an even louder laugh from the psychic.

While the men fawn over Indiana, and while she rewards them with peals of melodic laughter, the panicked women sit with her heads together.

"Craft markets, circus ... and she does group bookings too."

"I see," Diana says, slanting her eyes at the stranger.

"Says the woman who hired her for the readings is 'rich.'"

"Rich?" Diana jerks to look at Caroline. "What do you mean 'rich', Caroline? How 'rich' is 'rich'?"

Caroline shrugs, thrilled to be able to stoke the ire of Diana with a mere word.

"From the perspective of a banking heiress, I'm curious. That's all." With her mouth twitching, Diana eyes the intruder.

"Fair question," Mimi says in a placating voice.

"You know what?" Star says leaning in, "we should ask her."

Caroline pinches her chin as she contemplates Star's crass suggestion. She does not ask, however. Let the other women do her dirty work for her.

"Dresses like a tramp," Mimi, who likes to believe that she knows a thing or two about fashion, remarks. "Ideal ensemble for the circus, though."

"A pair of clown shoes would bring it all nicely together," Caroline adds.

The women fall around, laughing at her comment.

# Chapter Ten

Unaware that she is being mocked, Indiana turns to Caroline and says, "Love your house, by the –"

"It's a mansion," Caroline snaps. "There's a marked difference. Usually it's monetary. Not that I expect you to know such things." Indiana nods. "Oh, okay."

"Man, I thought all psychics looked like Whoopi," Biff says.

"You were wrong once again, Biff," Spencer says.

Richard shakes his head. "Not this bird of paradise."

"Never let it be said that I don't cater for you chaps," Arthur whispers. "Check out those mammary glands."

"Forget the glands," Biff says, "check out those tits, man!"

The women fume together, shaking their heads and tsking! It's all they can do.

"Hormonal teenagers; that's how they're acting."

"Bring in a young woman and this is how they behave?"

"Utterly disgraceful if you ask me."

"Would you like a drink, dear Indiana?" Richard asks.

"Oh, yes, please!" Indiana says. "I'd love one. I'm so cold and wet from the storm."

Biff jerks to attention. "Want my coat, Indiana? My shirt? Happy to strip for ya. I ... I was a male stripper for a while. Just sayin'."

The women turn to look at Diana with elevated eyebrows.

Diana freezes, her eyes scudding.

"That is an interesting bit of information," Caroline says, her spirits lifting. "Is that how you two met, Diana?"

Diana gives a dismissive wave, wishing and hoping and even praying that Biff would keep his goddamn mouth shut.

"Oh, really?" Indiana saying, her eyes sweeping admiringly over Biff. "No wonder you're so buff." She smiles. "Thank you, Biff, but it's okay – this fire, it's just gorgeous."

"Biff, buff ... all the same. Maybe _later_ , I can ... you know, show you some of my stripper moves." He wriggles his eyebrows. "If you behave."

"Such juvenile behavior from Biff!" Caroline mutters.

"Especially if you _don't_ behave," Arthur adds in a meaningful voice.

"Such juvenile behavior from Art," Diana says in a right-back-at-you-bitch! voice.

Caroline's smile dips.

"You boys are baaad!" Indiana says with a laugh.

The women watch with unabating fury as Arthur ushers Indiana to the dining table. They had her cutlery, napkins and encourage her to eat.

"Wow! All this fancy food – looks like Christmas!" Indiana's delight is childlike as she helps herself to a mound of food.

"And you look like the tree," Diana mutters. "With your clothes of many colors." Mimi nods. "A mismatched one. Last season's –"

"—that was stored in your grandma's garage and caught like, mold and stuff," Star adds. The women chuckle at their acid jokes.

"Give her a glass of the _Chateau Lafite Ramschild_ , Arthur," Richard orders. "It is widely considered one of the great Bordeaux estates, Indiana. Certainly, the upper echelon of the famed –" "Richard!" Mimi snarls. "She's a bloody hotline psychic for God's sakes! Circus, craft markets, remember? What does she know about fine wines?"

"Moonshine!" Star stays. "Give her moonshine."

Richard opens his mouth to speak, then shuts it. He may be a judge, but at home, he takes orders from his wife.

Spencer grins at Richard.

"What?" Richard snaps.

"Ouch!" Spencer whispers. He slaps one of his hand with the other.

"Oh, shut up!" Richard says.

Indiana who is too raptured by the food to take notice of the jealous women, takes a sip of her drink, closes her eyes and relishes it. "This is just ... awesome! This food, this wine ...Ohmigod! If my friends could see how fancy I am right now!"

With his elbow on the table, supporting his cherubic face, Spencer stares at Indiana.

"Look at him," Diana says, shaking her head at Spencer, "Like a schoolboy with a crush on his teacher."

"Spencer!" Star hisses.

Spencer tears his eyes away from Indiana to frown at his angry wife.

"Put your tongue back in before ..." Star picks up a steak knife, sticks out her tongue and makes a cutting motion in front of it.

Spencer quickly shuts his mouth.

"And sit up straight!"

Spencer sits straight up.

"Ouch!" says Richard, an, it's-your-turn look, on his amused face. He slaps one of his hand with the other.

While Spencer's face bushfire-red with embarrassment, the other men chuckle like naughty schoolboys at the chastising.

All eyes are on Indiana as she feasts with gusto, licking her fingers and slurping her drink. Indiana looks at Caroline and with her mouth full of food says, "This is great! Did ya cook it?"

Caroline snorts.

"She did, she did!" Diana says.

"From scratch too," Star adds.

"Wow! I'm like, impressed," Indiana says. "Must have taken whole afternoon." "It took me 'all' afternoon, yes!" Caroline says in a mocking voice.

Indiana talks with her mouth full, licking her fingers and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, snubbing the starched table napkins.

"Quite an appetite you have there," Mimi says, her face contorted with disdain. Indiana nods. "You know that rich woman, she didna even offer me nothing to drink or eat, even though it was lunch time and the smell of the food was like, driving me crazy!"

"Mm," Mimi says, "must be a famine at the circus."

"Which she caused, clearly," Diana says.

This time, the women laugh out loud and this time, Indiana pauses with her eating and stares at the mocking women, a hurt expression on her face. After a few moments, she shrugs and continues eating.

Star gets up from her seat and walks over to Indiana. Indiana looks up at her. "Read my palm," Star says, thrusting out her hand.

Indiana shakes her head. "Not today."

"What do you mean, 'Not today?' Huh?"

"I'm too hungry to do that. And beat. God, I'm like totally –"

"How dare you refuse my friends a reading?" Caroline says in a blistering voice. "After my hospitality, you dare refuse us?" She strides up to Indiana and pulls away her plate of food, leaving the hotline psychic with just her fork in her hands.

Indiana's eyes narrow at Caroline, before she looks at the rain beating on the windows, then at Caroline's hostile face again, gauging and calculating.

"You should be grateful for me taking you in or you would have been out there!" Caroline admonishes, pointing at the storm.

"Is it because you're scared?" Diana asks in a taunting voice. "Because psychics are really scam artists, aren't they? We all know that?"

Indiana scratches her head with the back of her fork, her eyes on her plate of food that Caroline has moved out of her reach.

"Aren't they?"

"I'm no scam artist," Indiana says in a clipped voice, her eyes turning into bright pools of honey.

Diana put a hand to her ear and says, "Hello, psychic hotline? Could you be so kind as to tell me what the scam of the day –?"

"Hold on!" Arthur says, his hands slicing the air in front of him. "We must pay Indiana for her reading, because ... it's only fair – we must pay Indiana for her services. Handsomely." It's more than a suggestion; it's an order coming from Arthur – that is clear to see.

Caroline wants to scream at Arthur, have a massive fight overpaying the scam artist, whose name he's used twice in one sentence. Twice! Yet, she is astute enough to know that she shouldn't. Not in front of the likes of Diana and Mimi. At this moment, Arthur is clearly smitten with the psychic, so if Caroline and Arthur argue over the wench, and if Caroline is forced to concede, which she expects to, she will no doubt be humiliated over her husband's determination and decision. Imagine the talk behind her back – _Did you see how Arthur shut Caroline down?_

Poor Caroline, I believe there might be trouble in paradise

Yes, her life it isn't as perfect as I thought it was.

Poor, poor, Caroline.

So, after some quick mental calculations, the host of the mansion (not a house, a mansion, if you please; get it right now!) chooses to say nothing, but to continue to quietly ruin her porcelain caps.

"I agree!" Spencer, the man who refused to spring for a limousine, says. "For her time, we must pay Indiana."

Arthur nods. "At least a hundred dollars a –"

"Hundred?" Biff taps the table with a fist of indignation. "Too little man. I say at least a thousand bucks a pop! Yeah, a grand! Can't expect the sexy bird to work for hundred bucks, man." Biff the big spender, generous to a fault.

His wife, the banking heiress more than fifteen years his senior says nothing, but those flaring nostrils of hers are a dead giveaway that she wants him _dead_ right now. Or at least wants a divorce.

"Noted, noted," Richard says, his head bobbing. "After all, I'm a judge, my job is to ensure fairness and –"

"Richard, for God's sake, be QUIET!"

The judge, who never fails to remind us of his job, does not overrule his wife's sharp objection and sits with his salt and pepper head slightly bowed.

"Spencer won't pay for a limo," Diana says in an acidic voice, "yet ... yet he's so generous toward that ... that thing? How it that possible?"

Star, not one to be put down, fires back with, "Funny, I was thinking the same thinking. Like, Biff, he got no job, he got no money, he got no nothin', so whose money he using to impress her, huh? Where he getting his 'grand' from, huh? Not yours, right? You ain't no sugar mama, right?"

Diana colors up quietly and realizes that if she fires back at the angry gold digger with a single sentence, she can expect retaliation from her the length of a page.

# Chapter Eleven

Star flings a dollar bill at Indiana. The note falls on the floor. "That is more than enough," the gold digger says in a no-nonsense voice. _Alleged_ gold digger – let's be fair here – innocent until proven guilty, right?

Indiana stares at the money on the floor with her lips pressed together. Then, she bends to pick it up, dusts it and puts it into her bra.

"Whoooaaa! Did you see that? Huh?" You want to guess who said that? Well, you guessed right – it was Buff Biff the big spender. The one without a job.

Spencer also reacts – asthma, or no asthma, he jumps to his feet, grabs the overpriced wine and tops up Indiana's glass, knocking down wineglasses on the table in the process, such is his excitement.

"Thank ya, Spencer," Indiana says in a gracious voice, even though that dazzling smile of hers is now absent, eroded by needless nastiness and a constant stream of insults.

"The pleasure is all mine, darling Indiana. I mean, _dear_ Indiana." Spencer follows up his oops! with a hysterical giggle. "Slip of the tongue, that's all." The latter part of his statement was for his shining Star's benefit, mainly because he values his tongue. The one Star threatened to cut off earlier on. We have no idea how his wheezing would sound without a tongue and believe me, we shouldn't even try to.

Star shoves her enamoured husband aside, sits in a chair next to Indiana and sticks out her palm.

"Girl or boy?" She wriggles in her chair, her voice brimming with excitement. "Tell me the sex of my first baby. I gotta know for my gender reveal. It's gonna be thumpin'."

With a somewhat blank face, Indiana accepts Star's palm and studies it.

"Spencer wants a son to take over the family, so it better be –"

"This ain't ya first child," Indiana says, her eyes on Star's palm.

Star jerks back, her eyes filled with shock and surprise. "Wha ...?"

"You already have a child."

"Wha ...?" Star's attempt to smile fails.

"And ya ain't gonna have another child. Not ever with Spencer."

Star stares at the bearer of terrible news, at a loss for words, as if her tongue has been snipped off. Somehow.

Indiana saves the best for last. "But don't worry, ya ain't gonna go back to walking the streets again."

"Wha ..." Star's eyes pop. "I ... I ..."

The friends exchange shocked looks, but Spencer, strangely, he doesn't appear too shaken by Indiana's reading or revelations.

"I never walked the streets!" "Star cries. "Who says I walked the street? I never walked the streets!" She pulls her hand away. Indiana holds on it.

"Give me back my hand!" Star screeches.

"I ain't finished," Indiana says in a calm voice., holding onto Star's hand.

"Well, _I_ am!" Star says, jerking back her hand. She scrapes back her chair, gets up and scoots away from the hot seat.

Spencer stares after Star. "Another child?" he mutters, more to himself than to anyone else. Oddly, that is Spencer's only reaction or concern.

Caroline leans in and touches Spencer's shoulder, "That's my question too, Spencer. I'm worried about you. Who exactly are you married to?"

Spencer appears to think about it before he utters two words that bring a smile to Caroline's face. "Airtight prenup."

Caroline chuckles.

Star, who paces at the back of the room mutters, "Bat-shit crazy!" We suspect she is referring to the psychic who made those startling revelations. Clearly, it was earth-shattering to her.

"Star, are you alright, dear?" Caroline enquires in cloying voice.

"Bullshit!" Star says, wearing out the Carhill's carpet. "All of it." She slaps the back of her hand against a palm. "Scam artist, I tell you."

"Of course, Star," Diana says in an affable voice. "We do not believe for one minute that you broke up Spencer's family and married him solely to get your hands on his money."

Confused? Let me assure you, we are just as confused as you are, for we too, did not hear the psychic utter such disparaging words.

"Yes, pay no attention to the psychic, Star," Mimi says. "We don't listen to a word people say about you."

With narrow eyes, Star observes Mimi, Diana and Caroline trade amused looks.

Caroline spirits soar – the evening is going a lot better than she thought it would.

Such are her spirits, she gets up, sashays over to the psychic, throws a dollar bill at her and says, "Since you are dining at my mansion, on my food, drinking my wine, warming yourself at my fireplace, making money out of my friends, I shouldn't be paying you. However, being the generous person that I am ..."

An unsmiling Indiana quietly puts the dollar in her bra to the delight of the men.

Ignoring the men's elation and erections, Caroline instructs, "Entertain me, will you? Something preposterous."

"That means ridiculous," Diana hollers.

Indiana picks her teeth with a fingernail as her eyes sweep over the jealous women.

"Burning question, Caroline!" Diana yells. "Ask her your burning question!"

"Mm ..." Caroline tilts her head to the left, to the right, before she says, "My burning question is ... I guess, what I'd like to know ... how will I fare as first lady?"

Indiana studies Caroline's palm.

"Will I outshine Jackie Kenn-"

"No," Indiana says in a flat voice. "Cause you ain't gonna be first lady."

Caroline's confident mask slips for a second. Just for a nanosecond, before she smiles and says, "Whatever do you mean?"

Arthur has been groomed by his ambitious father to become president since he was a toddler, so Caroline expects him to become president one day. No ifs and buts.

"Not ever," Indiana says.

This time, Caroline narrows her eyes at Indiana, while the other women in the group exchange looks that some people might call triumphant.

"But ... I can tell ya this, ya soon headin' to a place that's hot. Like, very hot."

"The Amazon?" says Spencer.

"The Sahara?" says Richard.

"Hell!" says Biff shouts.

Something in the way the psychic delivers her reading sends a shiver up Caroline's ramrod-straight spine. Still, she outwardly maintains her beauty queen composure and responds with a condescending smile.

"Can you elaborate on this crushed dream?" Mimi says to Indiana. "Can't leave us –"

"Mimi, she's making it all up," Caroline says in an amused voice. "Surely you aren't buy–"

"Ya husband sleeps in the spare bedroom ... cause ya don't turn him on no more."

Caroline's smile vanishes time and cannot be found.

"Good Lord!" Mimi says in a breathless voice. She spins around to look at Arthur. When Arthur's eyes drop to the floor and won't meet any of theirs, the women clutch their pearls and exchange, _It-must-be-true then!_ looks."

"Well, well, well! A spurned beauty queen," a tipsy Diana mutters, a genuine smile lighting up her face. "Not so perfect any—"

"Runner-up," Indiana says.

"Beg your pardon?" Diana says, sitting up in her chair. "What did you –"

"Runner up," the psychic says. "She wasn't the prettiest. Just a runner-up."

Diana sits with her mouth open, while Caroline sits ridged in her chair.

"Wait!" Mimi putting out her palm and her wineglass. "Just wait a minute! Are you saying ...?"

"The queen can't do her duties, the runner-up takes the crown," Indiana explains, then shrugs.

"So ... so ..." Diana licks her lips, "you weren't the winner then, Caroline? I mean, make no mistake, the runner-up is still an amazing feat, I'm not trying to state that the judges didn't think you were the fairest in the land, I'm just –"

"I always believed she was the _winner_ of the competition," Mimi says to Star and Diana. All three ladies turn to the pageant photos of Caroline's, proudly decorating the walls of her mansion.

"Look ..." Caroline says in a shaky voice to her friends, "I ... you ... don't believe her. Please!" To the delight of the other bitchy women, Caroline fails at damage control – her voice comes across like a wince, struggles to emit and her posture starts to collapse.

An awkward silence follows before Caroline looks directly at the psychic and says, "You are so entertaining." After which, she turns to face her good friends and says, "Of course I won that competition. She's ..." Caroline twirls a finger at her temple.

"Someone's lying!" Star sings.

"I believe Caroline," Mimi says. "She's not that vain to mislead her friends with such a tall story. I believe my friend."

"Yeah, but _someone's_ lying!" Star repeats.

Ignoring their acerbic comments, Caroline says to Indiana, "As entertaining as you are, I have heard enough trite." She pulls back her hand and stands up. To her friends she says, "She may be totally off the mark, but she is nevertheless hilarious and entertaining." With a little laugh, she adds, "I asked for preposterous and ... she gave me preposterous. Bravo! A dollar well spent!" Caroline claps silently.

Despite her display of bravado, Caroline gives herself away her true feelings, when she shoots a murderous look at the bearer of bad news. The bearer holds her gaze, the look in her brown eyes saying, _I fuck back._

### Chapter Twelve

Caroline then turns to Diana and in a spritely voice says, "It's your turn, Diana. Go on, get into the hot seat. Come on! People, this is just hogwash, but oh, so entertaining!"

With nothing to hide, the heiress slaps a dollar bill in front of Indiana and sits in the vacated chair. "I have nothing to hide, so bring it on!" She sticks her palm at Indiana.

"Oh, come on!" Mimi cries. "Make it spicy!"

"Yes," Caroline says, "it's been a while since Diana's new jaw touched the floor!"

Unfazed by the insults from her good friends, Diana makes childish faces over Indiana's bent head.

"Ya sure donate a lot to charity," Indiana says, peering at Diana's palm.

Diana nods. "I sure do." She looks at the women and in a mocking voice says, "Ya got that right."

Indiana narrows her eyes at Diana's palm. "Very generous."

"That, I am," Diana says to the group. "She's spot on, so I believe this psychic might be authentic after –"

"All the stuff you shoplift from the uppity stores, you give away. Easy come, easy go, right?"

Diana jerks back in her seat, her blue eyes sparkling with shock.

"Good Lord!" Mimi says, her hand flying back to her pearls and remaining there.

Star giggles, her mood improving vastly. "A big WTF? and OMG! moment all rolled into one."

Caroline's smacks her lips as she imbibes, her mood lifting again.

"You're crazy!" Diana spits at Indiana, sending a spray of wine and saliva into the face of the psychic.

"Ya five years older than ya claim to -

"What rubbish!" Diana cries.

"What?" Biff cries, twisting a finger in his ear. "Ya twen'y years older than me? I need a line, man!" Biff gets to his feet and hurries into the bathroom.

Diana stares at Indiana for a few moments, then whispers, "You spiteful bitch!"

"What?" Indiana shrugs. "I'm giving ya, ya money's worth."

"Two years older than me?" Caroline mutters loud enough for Diana to hear. "Interesting."

Diana yanks her hand away from Indiana and snarls, "Listen, you circus freak, you should keep your day job, because you are totally mad." She storms off to the back of the room. Moments later, she strides over to the bathroom and bangs on the door. Biff opens it and she joins him.

Caroline, who is having a moment of a lifetime, turns to face Mimi, her eyebrows elevated.

Mimi shakes her head and says, "No! I'm okay. Really, I am.

"You're not chicken, Mimi," Caroline says, an annoyed look on her face.

"Cluck, cluck!" Star says, flapping her arms.

Diana skips into the room, whirls around like a little girl and claps, "Mimi! Mimi! Mimi!"

Mimi looks at her frenemies and says, "You know what? I _am_ chicken. I admit it. I am –"

"No, Mimi," Caroline says in a firm voice, "You are not chicken. You _will_ have a turn."

Mimi and Caroline enter into a staring contest.

The room turns silent as the friends watch Caroline and Mimi battle it out silently, the questions floating: Will Mimi hold her ground and defy the hostess/bully? What has the former model got to hide? Who will win the staring contest?

It isn't really a surprise when Mimi caves and places a dollar in front of Indiana – Caroline always wins. Even at beauty pageants. Well, the jury is still out on the beauty pageant bit.

At least the judge's wife doesn't throw the money at Indiana like the other women did.

Mimi takes a seat and whispers, "Can you downplay things? Be ... unable to read for some reason? I'll pay extra?"

The group of friends can't hear the conversation between Indiana and Mimi, but the whispering makes them move to the edge of their seats and cup their ears.

Indiana shrugs. _Yeah, okay._

Mimi, looking relieved, passes over another dollar to Indiana. Indiana puts the money in her bra and picks up Mimi's palm.

"Those truck stops ... ya gotta stop visiting them." Those are the psychic's exact words.

Mimi does what she has been doing since she arrived – she calls upon the Lord. With the word "Good," in front of his name, for whatever reason.

"Are ... you ... serious?" Diana asks, now at the very edge of her stately dining chair, her eyes as large as the saucers on the table.

"Dangerous," Indiana tsks! shaking her head. "Plenty psychos there."

"OMG!" Star's too shocked to say Ohmygod! out loud. OMG! is all she can manage.

Caroline chuckles – the evening is nothing short of splendid. Granted, she had a bad patch, one she'd have to work on, but learning these women's secrets .... it's just priceless! Mimi, who looks like she's been run down by an eighteen-wheeler, does her bit toward damage control. "I ... don't ... go ... what? No? Truck stops? What are you –"

"Last time, the dude gave ya a real shiner when ya didn't want anal."

"Oh my God!" Caroline says, revelling in the scandalous reading. With Diana's libido, she expected this from her palm reading, not boring old Mimi.

"Summabitch then rolled ya for ya gold chain, Versace sunglasses and Rolex, huh?"

"No ... what!" Mimi's head neck snaps to look at the judge, who is sitting as if rigor mortis has set in. "Don't listen her, Richard," Mimi begs. "It's true; I was mugged in the parking lot of the ... the ..." she turns to snarl at Indiana, "This is crazy! You are crazy, you spiteful piece of trash!" Mimi pulls her hand away. Indiana holds onto it.

"What the hell!" Mimi's anger boils over. "Are you stupid? Dumb? Give me back my bloody hand, you goddamn ... goddamn ... piece of trash!" 'Trash' is the best Mimi can do when her anger boils over, it seems.

Indiana holds onto Mimi hand, and cocks her head to one side. "Ya paid double; I gonna give ya ya money's worth."

"Well, that's good news," Mimi says, flustered, unhinged and alarmingly sober. "Right now, I'm running at an incredible loss."

The psychic and the truck stop whore, _alleged_ truck stop whore, because you are innocent until proven guilty as they say on _Law & Order_, glare at each other. The psychic does not back down. (That's what happens when you piss off a psychic, when you take away a plate of food from a hungry woman, whether you believe in voodoo crap or not – she comes out swinging like Mike Tyson, then chews your ear off. Okay, enough rambling from me.)

"Maybe she's just ... _moonlighting_ as a waitress at the truck stop?" Diana says in a voice filled with mirth. "You know, to raise money for that clothing line of –"

"I repeat," Mimi says, "stop right now! I don't want –"

"Okay," Indiana says in a cheerful voice and releases Mimi's hand.

Mimi runs off, grabs a bottle of wine, takes a seat and pours herself such a glass, then ignores the glass and drinks from the bottle.

Diana, who has been in high spirits since she last visited the bathroom with Biff, says, "This is so much fun, isn't it? God, this weekend is going great!"

No one answers her, because she is talking to herself.

"We should get the men to have a reading," Diana says, shaking her knees and fidgeting in her seat. "I don't think it's Biff's thing, but ..." She lifts and drop her shoulders several times, her eyebrows wriggling.

Caroline shakes her head from side to side. "I doubt they'd want to be part of this."

Mimi nods. "Richard is not into this voodoo crap. Thank the lord."

"Arthur too," Caroline says. "He's a born sceptic."

"I'm gonna ask them," Star says in a defiant voice. She turns to the men and yells,

"Hey, any of you guys wanna have a reading?"

There is a short silence before all the men scramble to their feet and fight each other to get to Indiana.

"What the ..." Diana watches the men in disbelief.

"You guys ... I don't believe you!" Caroline blurts.

Mimi response is standard. "Good Lord!"

Star is a lot more economical with words. "Assholes!"

Indiana just laughs and in Marilyn Monroe's voice says, "One at a time now, boys!"

"Why don't we all do her together?" Spencer says in a lewd voice.

"Yeah, okay! I'm down for gangbangs," Biff says and claps his hands.

The men drop bundles of cash on the table – all their money reserved for poker is being offered to the psychic.

"Wow!" Indiana says, her eyes bulging with delight. Never has she seen so much cash in one place. Not even at the bank, which she seldom visits.

"Making it rain, baby!" Biff says, patting his bundle of cash.

"You guys rock!" Indiana says. "Who's first?"

"Do me! Do me! Do me!" Spencer sings, as he pushes his bundle of cash toward Indiana. With a smile, and to the utter delight of the four adolescents in the room, Indiana puts the money in her bra, then takes Spencer's hand.

"What soft hands you have, Indiana," Spencer says, placing his free hand over Indiana's and grinning like Jeffery Dahmer's brother.

"Better to touch ya, my dear."

Spencer giggles hysterically.

"Spencer!" Star hisses.

Spencer stops giggling and closes his mouth tightly.

The men smile at the chastising.

Spencer drops his voice and sniffs loudly. "Pomegranates, Indiana?"

"Clever boy; that's my perfume."

"You know, Indiana, in some cultures," Spencer whispers, "Pomegranates is considered an aphrodisiac. Bet you didn't know that?"

"No, I didn't," Indiana says. "You're so clever, Spencer. I don't even know how to spell aphrodisiac!"

"Oh, Indiana, stop!" Spencer says, rocking from side to side. "You're making me blush!"

Star can take it no more; she yells, "Spencer!"

"What is it, Muffin?" Spencer says.

"I wear friggin' Chanel, and you're turned on by that cheap sh—?"

"Those moles on ya thighs ... ya need to cut 'em out, Spencer. Pronto. Cancer for sure."

"Really?" Spencer blinks at Indiana.

"Should have had 'em removed when ya had ya vasectomy."

Star sit forward in her chair. "What ... did ... you ... say?"

"You can't be serious," Caroline whispers.

Mimi and Diana take their eyes on a tour – first they look at each other with eyes the size of tyres, then at rigid Spencer, then at the outspoken psychic, then at Star who looks like she needs a paper bag, and finally at gawking Caroline.

The room is absolutely silent as Indiana continues to study Spencer's palm.

Unable to stand it any longer, Star shoots up to Indiana and Spencer – that's right, the revelation has turned her into a _shooting_ star. "Listen here, he got three children already, how can he have a vasectomy, huh?"

Indiana ignores Star's interrogation and continues to earn the poker money.

"It's easy, Star," Diana says, "he's had his vasectomy _after_ he's had his three children."

Star does not take her eyes off Spencer's ruddy face to glare at Diana or fire a comeback.

Under burning scrutiny, Spencer tries to change the subject. He sniffs hard and says, "Pomegranates _and_ mandarins ..."

Star smacks Spencer over his partially bald head.

"Muf ... fin!"

"Look at me when I talk to you!"

With great amusement, the group watch Spencer try to meet Star's fiery eyes. And fail.

Having Star above him, snarling and spitting and threatening violence like an angry tiger causes Spencer to eventually whisper, "I think that's it for me, Indiana." Despite enjoying Indiana holding his hand.

Indiana immediately releases the frightened man's hand. Spencer starts to wake up from his seat, but his angry wife shoves him back into the scorching seat. Hard.

"Ouch! Muffin! That hurts. My tailbone!"

"You think _that_ hurts?"

I'm guessing that Shooting Star is referring to his tongue being cut like she had threatened to do before. Just a guess.

"You had a vasectomy, Spencer? Huh? You tell me now, otherwise ... otherwise, I'm gonna cut off your tongue, I swear, Spencer."

See? Told you so. Star, for some reason is obsessed with turning her wealthy husband into a mute.

"Muffin, she ... she ... she' playing. It's all a game, so play along now," Spencer says.

Look, it's a fairly good save coming from a man with just straws in his sweaty hands.

The group collectively hold their breath – would Shooting Star buy it? Star glares at Sugar Daddy, her eyes darting all over his face, her mouth twitching with anger and frustration.

"Star, for God's sake and stop interrupting the iridescent Indiana," Richard yells to everyone's surprise. Richard yelling? Something other than _Order! Order!_ too?

"It's my turn, so please ... go away!" No one expected the judge to get so angry that he had to yell. Never before had they seen him lose control.

Star responds by smashing Spencer's face into the table, then dragging him out of his chair by the collar. Smash and grab, that's right.

# Chapter Thirteen

Ignoring Spencer's blood on the table, Richard takes a seat in front of Indiana and pushes a stack of dollar bills over to her. "Here you go, my dear!"

"Oh, wow! Thank you, Richard!"

"Call me, Rich, Indiana," the judge says, causing his truck-stopping wife to roll her eyes.

"Don't mind if I do, Ritchie Rich!" Indiana says with a sweet smile.

"Ritchie Rich?" Richard jerks back in his seat. "Oh, Indiana, you're making me blush."

Diana raises her eyebrows. "Rich? That's a first. Ha!"

Mimi shakes her head at her entranced husband.

Indiana frowns as she studies Richard's palm.

"You know, dear Indiana, I'm a constitutional court judge. One day I expect –"

"Ya career as a judge is gonna end soon, Ritchie."

"Oh? That can't happen, my dear. The president will need my –"

"Not gonna happen, Ritchie. Sorry." There is a short silence before Richard says, "Why not, Indiana?"

"The bribes ya been taking all the years – not cool, Ritchie."

There is a collective gasp in the room.

For a moment, the judge's amiable demeanour is replaced by a cold, granite stare, the kind the other judge gave O.J. Simpson just before she sentenced him to nine to thirty-three years for kidnapping and armed robbery in a _gotcha_! moment.

Just as quickly, Ritchie Rich chuckles, "Prove it! That's what I'll tell everyone, my dear Indiana. Got to have proof. Facts; got to have _facts_ in a court of law."

While the women appear confused with Richard's blasé attitude, while the men seem downright bored by the allegations.

"Richard, don't hog the psychic!" Arthur scolds. "Move along!"

Richards tilts his head at Indiana, reluctantly releasing the psychic's hand. "Parting is such sweet sor –"

"C'mon, Richard, old chap!" Arthur says, ushering Richard out of the hot seat. He sits down. Finger combs his hair, then pushes his poker cash over to the bewitching psychic that has probably never worn beige in her life.

"I'm paying more than any of my good friends, Indiana, so just ... just so go ..." He gestures to her bra.

Indiana rewards him with a laugh and makes a show of stuffing her bra, which already runneth over with the wad of dollar bills.

Arthur nods his appreciation and adds, "Feel free to ask to help."

Mimi looks at Caroline's blank face, irritated that somehow, nothing really seems to rattle Caroline. How can any woman be that self-assured, that steeled? So, Mimi darts a spoke at her haughty friend. "How disrespectful to you, Caroline."

Caroline's smile remains condescending, despite her inward desire to pull a Star on Arthur and smash his face into the table, then drag him around the room by his collar.

"Before we start, Indiana, can you tell me that joke again about the cats and dogs?" Arthur says.

"Oh, the one. Okay, Arthur. It's raining cats and dogs and I slipped on a poodle."

Arthur roars with laughter and slaps the table, before he slaps more money at Indiana.

"Never seen this side of ... _Art_ ," Diana remarks. "It's fascinating to see her bring out this side of him. Who knew _Art_ could be this playful? I didn't."

When Caroline doesn't respond, Diana looks pointedly at her. "Did you?"

Caroline doesn't grace Diana's barb with an answer.

"Careful, she might end up being First Lady," Diana adds.

That cuts. First Lady – that's below Caroline's belt. In a casual voice, she replies, "My husband's obviously inebriated and that's why he's acting like _your_ husband. Normally he isn't the bumbling, uneducated idiot."

Ouch!

"Don't hold back, now," Arthur says. "Be brutal with me, I can handle it." Of course, Arthur is talking to Indiana, not Star – let's get that out of the way.

With a smile, the iridescent Indiana that is causing havoc among the friends, studies his palm. Arthur watches her bent head of luxurious hair, one that he would love to touch, to caress and says, "You should get my autograph before I become President of the United States."

Is that one of the best pick-up lines you've heard?

"Ya gonna be on TV, Art."

"Art is already on TV," Caroline says in a jeering voice. "It would be nice to hear something we don't know."

"He's gonna be a lot more on TV," Indiana says. "On every news channel for sure. Oh yeah!" Arthur puffs out his chest and glances at his poker buddies. "See what happens when you pay handsomely?" There he goes again with the word 'handsomely.'

"Ya too is going away to a place that's hot, Art."

"Damn! I wanna go to this place that's hot! I'm sick of this rain. Makes my face numb and my nose –"

"The money you've been skimming from your charities, Art ..." Indiana shakes her head from side to side. For a moment, Arthur, the philanthropist sits with the deer-in-headlight look, while the friends look at him with shock on their faces.

"Does that include all the money my family and I have donated to all your charities, _Art?_ " Diana asks, her eyes fixed on her good friend Caroline and not Arthur. Not that Diana gives a stuff – her family, they are loaded; she just enjoys seeing Caroline squirm.

To Diana's disappointment, Caroline's face is a blank sheet. So, Diana presses on. "Mm, I believe an audit might be in order, then."

"What an original idea," Spencer says. "I do believe that an audit might be just the thing we need to put our minds at ease. Given the circumstances."

Richard nods, a troubled look in his eyes. He leans in and has a word with Diana and Spencer.

While the wealthy friends whisper among themselves, Caroline's face remains a blank sheet.

"Would that explain the metal bars and security measures in this delightful house, perhaps?" Mimi asks.

"Mansion," Star corrects with a mocking laugh. "Don't you –"

"Shhh!" Mimi says and points at Indiana. "There's more."

"You got your poker nights, win cash, lose some ... it's a good way to explain the cash you got stashed away, Art."

While the friends sit with the ears cocked and their eyes bulging at the accusation of money laundering, and while Arthur the charity do-gooder refuses to react, Biff says, "Stashed ... where?"

Something in Biff's tone of voice, perhaps it's the eagerness in it, perhaps it's the way he moves to the edge of his seat and leans in toward the psychic, as if to catch _every_ word about the stashed money, prompts the hostess to say, "May I remind you all that she is a hotline psychic. Arthur just wants to protect his family, hence the security measures, that's all. There's nothing to it. And it's a mansion, not a house – Star is right for once. Listen to –"

"Stashed where?" Biff persists, his eyes fixed on the psychic.

While the friends wait for an answer from someone, anyone in the room, Caroline and Arthur stares at Biff, worried looks on their faces.

Arthur suddenly slaps the table and laughs. "Bloody brilliant!"

"Brilliant!" Caroline echoes with a shaky laugh.

"Me skimming from the charity funds that I labor to raise? Original and amusing."

"Amusing ..." Caroline says, her head bobbing. "Bravo!"

"Bravo, Indiana, bravo!" Arthur claps his hands at Indiana.

"Art ..." That's all Indiana says.

"What, sweetheart?" Arthur says with a little laugh.

When Indiana blinks at him, Arthur shifts around in his seat, and the awkward silence prevails once again.

# Chapter Fourteen

The silence is shattered by the sound of Biff knocking on the table impatiently. "My turn now. Come! Come! Come!" He pushes a bundle of cash toward the psychic. "And, I hate to break it to you rich son of a bitches, but I'm paying the sexy bird more than any of you, so watch it!"

With that, the boytoy or toyboy – whatever is politically correct these days, offers his palm to Indiana, the same palm he regularly wipes his nose with. "I'm making it rain in da club, baby cakes!"

With a smile, Baby Cakes studies Biff's palm.

"Biff really has no respect for Diana's money," Caroline remarks in a solemn voice. "How very ... _sad_."

The banking heiress doesn't answer, for what could she possibly say? It's true, Biff likes to show off with her money, something they often fight about. Luckily, the make-up sex compensates for the numerous fights. After a few blurred lines, that is.

"And call me ... eh, call me ..."

"– a cretin, for short?" Spencer says.

When the others laugh, Spencer says, "What? I'm just trying to help out Biff."

"Yeah, thanks, Spencer," Biff says.

"Ya wanna know the sex of your second baby, Biff?"

"Nah," Biff says. His response just pours out before he can stop himself. "I mean ... what ... _second_ ... baby?" If Biff's eyes didn't scud, if his shoulders didn't start to raise up to his ears, obliterating his neck, maybe his wife's head wouldn't tilt dramatically onto one side, as if to say, _What ... baby?_

"He's got his side bitch knocked up! OMG!" Star is so excited, she forgets all about her explosive reading. "Golden Goosey ain't –"

"My, my, my, isn't this interesting?" Caroline murmurs. "The stud with the out-of-control libido is cheating on his golden ... goosey."

Indiana's head jerks to look up at the women. "Side bitch? Cheating? Nah."

Diana sits back in her chair and exhales. _There is no side bitch. It's all okay. Breathe. It's all –_

"His _wife_ is having their baby."

"Wife?" Star blinks hard. "Wait, Diana is knocked up?" She looks at Diana, then at her stomach. "You knocked up?"

"I thought you were just bloated from all the carbs and the countless vodkas?" Caroline says. Diana's draws in her stomach sharply, her eyes fixed on Biff's red face.

Another pregnant pause follows.

"Bust ... ed!" Star mutters loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Listen, this is just crazy!" Diana blurts, attempting to wrest control of the situation. "My husband has no children of his own, and I am _not_ pregnant! So please!" She glares at her friends, she glares at the psychic, then at her shrinking husband. "Right, Biff?"

Biff wipes his nose with his free hand, scratches his head, his chin, his crotch – in that order. He doesn't make eye contact with his wife while he scratches.

"Biff?" Diana's tone of voice is anxious and desperate.

Biff remains mute, even though we can confirm that his tongue is intact.

Of course, the group, they're all ears, their eyes rolling between the cuckold Diana and the itching Biff as if they're at a tennis match. The silence from Biff serves to fuel the tension, the excitement.

"Biffff! Say something you FUCKING ... FUCKING ..."

Biff suddenly hangs his head and Diana doesn't get to finish her sentence. Although we can very well imagine and even anticipate the adjectives the heiress would have used. They would undoubtedly have been vulgar, given the circumstances.

When Biff continues to scratch, but fails to respond to her question, the cougar storms over to the hot seat, pulls the itchy Biff away from Indiana and marches him into the bathroom. If you eavesdrop, which everyone in the room is doing – cupping their ears and leaning in, you will hear Biff receive a verbal whooping of his life from Goosey.

"Your car, your phone, your credit card; every bloody thing I pay for, all gone, you hear?" While the friends violate Diana and Biff's privacy, Indiana counts her stash of cash. Judging by the light in her brown eyes, you can conclude that her takings are what's illuminating them.

"You will leave with what you came into my life with – fuck all!"

"Uh oh!" the mischievous psychic says, pausing with her counting to giggle at Goosey's obscenities.

There is tension outside the bathroom too. Oh, yes, the psychic's readings have left no one unscathed. Spencer, due to Muffin's propensity for violence – she smashed her phone onto his hand when she heard that everyone travelled by limo while she drove, then slammed his head into the table when she heard that he had had the snip and failed to disclose that to her, remember? – pushes pieces of tissues into each nostril to staunch the bleeding. While he does that, Star vulgarly and ruthlessly Miranda's the poor man, having little or no regard for the fact that Spencer is an asthmatic, that his blocked nose may hamper his breathing or add to his breathing problems. It can also be assumed that she has no regard for that airtight prenup Spencer made her sign.

In a nasal twang, Spencer continues to defend himself. "Muttin, as Goth isth my witneth, I did noth hab a vas ...thechtomy."

To the horror of the friends, angry Muffin picks up a bottle of wine. The friends brace themselves for her swinging it against the sparsely populated skull of Spencer, brace themselves for more bloodshed, maybe even gore, not to mention a spray of expensive white wine.

To their surprise and maybe even disappointment, Star, who only drinks Vitamin Water and not a drop of alcohol, lest she ruins her chances of conceiving Spencer's baby, does not strike Spencer with it. Instead, the streetwalker (alleged) raises the bottle of wine to her lips. With a defiant look and with her eyes locked on Spencer's, she takes a massive swig from it. That's right, no glass, no class, Star just quaffs from the bottle and doesn't stop until the bottle is empty. It is a sight to behold, one that will move a seasoned alcoholic to tears.

A look of horror masks Spencer's battered face. "Thop wid the dik ...ing!" he cries pitifully.

"You doh I donth thare for woben who imbith."

Star gives him the finger. The middle one, not her pinkie.

Spencer reels back in shock. Muffin is out of control. She is drinking again, guzzling booze like a streetwalker and showing him vulgar signs like a ... a streetwalker. It's not a good look and he feels totally violated and embarrassed.

With a chuckle, Indiana looks over at Mimi and Richard, quietly arguing in the corner. "Rolex ... truth ... game ... grouch ..." She sighs – why is it that rich people argue quietly and with such dignity? It's no fun.

She looks over at Caroline who is walking toward Arthur who remains seated on his chair, watching Indiana. Caroline touches Arthur's shoulder and says something about the poker game. Arthur looks up at a framed photo of beauty queen Caroline on the wall, mumbles something inaudible over this shoulder, then shrugs it hard, dropping her hand. With a hurt look in her eyes, Caroline hugs herself, her chin tucked into her chest. Arthur gets up and walks away, leaving Caroline standing alone and looking forlorn.

To everyone's surprise, Biff and Diana emerge from the bathroom holding hands. Forgive and forget? Your guess is as good as mine. It has nothing to do with the fact that Biff's fly in undone or that Diana's clothes are rumpled.

Caroline steps into the same bathroom and stares at her reflection in the mirror for a while. Then she picks up a towel and screams like a banshee into it.

Moments later, Caroline returns to the living room, appearing composed and in control.

She surveys the scene in dismay. The women in the group are sulking, the men are subdued and nervous, but the psychic who caused so much of trouble in the group is smiling and twirling a lock of hair, probably contented with all the cash she has managed to scam out of the gullible men.

This is not the perfect dinner party or weekend she had in mind. Even their poker game has been snubbed by the men because of that goddamn psychic. With slits for eyes and gnashing her teeth, Caroline nods at the psychic. _This is all your fault. You dare come into my house and try to take me on? I will show you._

# Chapter Fifteen

Caroline walks up to the women in the group and jerks her head toward the kitchen.

The dejected women do not question her – they quietly make their way toward the kitchen. As expected though – Caroline anticipated there'd be no problem getting the women to follow her orders, because over time, the women have learned who is boss and who is head of the social circles they wanted and needed to belong to. Caroline has social power and she wields that power with dexterity. Though, she is astute enough to know when to pull back and when to go full force on her fellow socialites. Arthur needs these wealthy bores to donate to his charities and to his upcoming political campaign fund. Those factors unfortunately served to corral Caroline's bossiness and bullying and put up with the women and their attitudes.

Tonight is crucial; she needs the women to side with her, see her point of view.

In the kitchen, Caroline gets straight to the point. "She's going to leave here with all our secrets. You all do realize that?"

Caroline does not have to explain – the women know exactly who the threat she is referring to.

"Blackmail, extortion, stalking ..." Caroline looks directly at Mimi, "your lives are about to turn rancid."

Mimi shifts around, rubs her forehead, then says, "Caroline, Um ... maybe ... I think maybe ... you are worrying too –"

"Mimi, believe me when I tell you, she is, without doubt, going to blackmail you and the judge. An anonymous letter to the courts about Richard, and –"

"But, but, but ... Caroline ... we don't know that she is going –"

"What will happen to your clothing line you've worked so hard on, Mimi?"

Mimi gives Botox a run for its money – her face turns into a roadmap of worry lines.

Caroline with the effect of her words on Mimi, she turns to Diana. "I don't have to be a psychic to know that she is going shake you down something terrible, Diana."

Diana is a rebel with no real cause. Rebelling is just the overprivileged cougar's thing, mainly out of boredom. So, she shakes her head from side to side. "You worry too much. I don't think –"

"Every couple of months, after she realizes you are a banking heiress. I mean, Biff, you and I both know _will_ tell her that you are, if she hasn't figured it out already. Or if he hasn't _bragged_ about it already."

Diana runs the tip of her tongue slowly over her bottom lip as she contemplates her friend's sage words.

"She'll return, shake you down, or spread malicious rumors about your marriage to Biff and –"

"You don't understand; I don't care!" Diana says. "Biff and I, we're rock-solid."

"Rock-solid?" Caroline leans back and stares at Diana.

Diana's head bobs.

"Mm. I seem to remember him hanging his head in shame, Diana. Where you in the room when that happened? Or were you in the bathroom snorting at that moment?"

Diana's eyes scud – _How does everyone know? It's just recreational, a line here and there for fun, nothing else._

"This gets out, and you will become the laughingstock, Diana. No more bragging about bagging a hot, younger guy, Diana. Sniggers behind your back, jokes about you – _So much for her being a cougar. Seems like the only one who didn't know was her. The wife is the last to know? They've got it wrong; the mistress, it seems is the last to know._ Those kind of cruel, harsh jokes about you behind your back, Diana. Unless you choose to pay for her silence."

Diana slowly runs a thumbnail across an eyebrow, a thoughtful look on her face.

"And your daddy – it will break his dear heart, Diana. His only daughter being conned by an Adonis? It's so Aristotle Onassis." She pauses for effect, before she says, "Christina."

Diana looks at the floor, her shoulders slowly rounding. "Don't call me that," she mutters.

"Repeatedly – she won't be satisfied with one heist. It will never end, Diana. More and more and more; a blackmailer has no limit. Biff will eventually go back to his wife and where will you be –"

"Biff doesn't have a wife, Caroline. Other than me."

"Well, you may very well be right. I guess your father's investigators will sift out the truth and spill it to your family. Your entire family."

When Diana looks at the floor again, Caroline rests her case.

After a moment of necessary silence, Caroline turns to face the gold digger in the kitchen. "What will his family think when they hear that you are a streetwalker?"

"Was," Star corrects. "I mean, I ... I wasn't a strip-walker. Who says I was a strip-walker?"

Despite the storm outside and inside the house, Caroline and the women smile at Star's interesting choice of words – _strip_ -walker?"

"She's a big, fat liar!"

"Look, Star, Spencer has three children to consider. Now his wife, she might fight for full custody when she hears about your past, about the woman Spencer is now living with, married to. Spencer will have to choose. He will leave you because of his children. He will. He loves his children, Star."

"Oh, Spencer's nuts about me. He's not gonna leave me."

"Star, get real! Of course, he's had a vasectomy! He's laughing his head off at you. Think about it; he makes you do all the driving for free, won't pay for a limousine, not even for a cab! He gets sex on the turn with a woman half his age, without even having to beg or pay for it, like most men his age have to, and he watches every penny you spend like a hawk. The reason he doesn't like it when you drink? It's because he doesn't want to spend money on alcoholic beverages. All this and you trust him, Star?"

Star's body starts to visibly shrink to Caroline's delight.

"I'm afraid, with his millions, Spencer can have any young thing he wants," Diana adds to Caroline's further glee. "Doesn't matter how unattractive and short he is, his money is what makes him attractive."

Caroline nods vigorously. "Yes, listen to dear Diana, she's right."

"Thank you, Caroline," Diana says, surprised to hear Caroline compliment her – that's what it is, a compliment.

"She has firsthand experience in that department – Spencer's money is what makes him attractive."

Razor sharp wit – that was what someone once told Caroline that she possessed and she wields it with dexterity.

Ignoring Diana's glare, Caroline remains focused on tearing down Star. "How long have you been trying for a baby, Star? I'm asking, because Spencer's wife, I know her, she's had three babies in six years. Three in six years! Why is there a problem now? Makes you _drink_ , doesn't it?"

Star eyes the bottles of wine on the table.

"Where will you go when he puts you out? Mm? All you'll leave with is that three-seasons-ago Dior ensemble and that Gucci rip-off purse. Back to the streetwalking? No, Star, we can't allow that to happen to you. Friends don't do that to one another."

Star grabs a bottle of wine, pulls the cork off with her teeth and guzzles it again.

Caroline nods, before she goes in for the kill. "All your Instagram followers ... what will you post after you lose your charmed lifestyle? After you have been stripped of the name Hawthorn? You will lose your all your social media following to other wealthy influencers, who on a daily basis do what they need to do to keep their charmed lives."

At the thought of losing her Instagram followers, Star pauses with her quaffing to wipe away fat tears of despair that threaten to ruin hours of primer, facial contouring, color correctors, concealers, foundation, blush, eyeshadow, not to mention layers of setting spray.

Kind and sympathetic Caroline hands the tragic Star some Kleenex.

"She leaves you no choice, Star – you are forced to send her away. Permanently."

While the other women nod in agreement, they do not express a vocal desire to removing the bitch in costume jewelry and cheap perfume permanently from their midst, which frustrates Caroline. By now, they should be up in arms and baying for the blood of the tramp who turned their world upside down with her revelations. After her spiteful readings, life can never be the same.

A long silence in the kitchen follows, the sound of rain beating on the windows reminding them of the storm outside of similar proportions.

Caroline does nothing to fill the silence. Instead, she exercises patience, which is a must with influencers – sow the seeds then allow them time to germinate.

With a troubled look on her face, Star drinks straight from the bottle again.

# Chapter Sixteen

After a bout of silence, Diana mutters, more to herself than to the women, "There'll be the issue of the body ..."

Caroline zeros in on the heiress. "What do you suggest we do with it, Diana? You're the brains here. Whatever Diana suggests we do. Should Diana suggest we kill the threat to our happiness, because she sees no other choice, we follow her orders without question."

"What?" Diana slices the air in front of her with her hands. "That's not what I suggest, Caroline! Don't put words –"

"It's all so extreme!" Mimi says.

Caroline swivels to face Mimi. "Well, now that you mention it, Mimi; extreme situations call for extreme measures. I agree one hundred percent with you."

"Caroline ..." Mimi holds out a palm at the hostess, "that's not what I was –"

"Luckily, no one knows that she's here, so we should take Mimi up on her suggestion and –"

"My suggestion?" A hysterical chuckle escapes Mimi. "Good Lord, Caroline! I can't do this!"

Star shakes the remaining droplets of the wine bottle into her mouth, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, and says, "I ain't no killer, man."

Caroline wishes she had a towel to scream into. What the hell is wrong with these women? How could they be so weak, so feeble, such pushovers? It takes every ounce of restraint not to rip into them, call them names, maybe even smack them around.

Then, they are interrupted by the sound of the psychic's laughter above the slashing rain.

Diana rushes to the entrance of the kitchen, where, with her arms folded, she observes the men and the psychic interact in the dining room. Caroline follows, and soon Mimi and Star join them.

The seething women watch Indiana sashay over to the window and peer out of it, the men following her every step. When her breath mists up the window, she draws a heart on it. The men smile and nod at her antics. Biff walks up to Indiana and stands behind her. Over her shoulder, he adds an arrow to the heart, whispering something into her ear that makes her giggle.

With her eyes fixed on Biff and Indiana and with her chest heaving, Diana whispers, "No one knows she's here."

"Extreme measures are needed for extreme circumstances," Mimi adds in a grave voice.

Caroline can hardly contain her joy. Internally, she is patting herself on the back, even though all Star did was burp. Caroline knows that everyone in life, every single person needs a leader. Vain and bitchy her moneyed friends might be; but at the end of the day, they are always in need of her leadership, her guidance.

"Come, let us talk," Caroline says, ushering the irked women back into the kitchen in a mothering voice.

Just as they begin to chat, Arthur and Richard stroll into the kitchen.

"So, who died?" Arthur asks, looking into the faces of the morose women.

Richard throws his head back and laughs as if Arthur told a joke. None of the women laugh with him.

Caroline takes a step toward her foolish husband, and in a voice she reserves for wakes, says, "Arthur, the women here believe that she is dangerous." For added impact, she wrings her hands.

Arthur lifts and drops his shoulders. "She? Who's _she_? Who's dangerous?"

Caroline narrows her eyes at her flippant husband. _As if you don't know who I'm referring to._

Aware of her frenemies watching her and Arthur, and refusing to provide them with a single ounce of fodder for their next gossip session, Caroline jerks her head toward the living room. "We're referring to that so-called psychic, Arthur. That fraud is dangerous."

"No, she isn't!" Arthur defends hotly. "How can you guys think that? She ... she ..."

"Arthur, I have to agree with them," Caroline says in a soft voice to mask her anger at her husband. "She ... she ... she's making up stuff that can be pretty damaging to one's reputation. You are going to be president one day. It's been your ambition since –"

"I don't have to be president at all!" Arthur says with a pout, as if he's two-years-old. "I don't even want to be!"

Caroline is shocked at his words. Luckily, Arthur's poor father is not here to hear him say such a terrible thing.

Taking a deep breath, she says, "Arthur, look –"

"It's not even my dream to –"

"Arthur, LISTEN TO ME!" Caroline yells to the surprise of everyone. "You _will_ be president, you HEAR? No ifs and buts."

For a few moments, Arthur stares with wide eyes at the banshee he calls his wife. Never before had he ever heard Caroline raise her voice to him. And to do it in front of their friends? It is most unusual. So unusual, he is at a loss for words.

The women in the kitchen stare at Caroline with bulging eyes. They too had no idea that Caroline could be such a fishwife. They exchange looks between themselves, looks that say, _Mm, so now we know whose idea is it to be president!_

Caroline is immediately remorseful. A beauty queen never yells in public, and certainly not in front of a roomful of bitchy women dying to take you down. Her face burns from embarrassment and her mouth feels like she has cotton wool in it. She rushes into damage control. "It's what you've always wanted. Sweetheart."

Arthur blinks rapidly at her, not daring to correct her.

With her head tilted, Caroline smiles at him.

Arthur continues to stare at her, while the women nudge each other.

"We worry that she will sell our secrets to the media, Honey," Caroline says. "By secrets, I mean the ludicrous accusations she's levied against us. We'd spend years trying to defend ourselves from them and the chances of us recovering from the scandal ... Arthur, it's all too much. I mean, Richard ..." Caroline turns her neck to look at Richard, "the man's a judge for crying out –"

"So ... what do you want us to do, Caroline?" Richard asks on cue.

Like a ballerina, Caroline elegantly and effortlessly pirouettes her entire body to face Richard, pleased that she hit paydirt on the very first button of his that she chose to press. "What do you suggest, Your Honor? You're a judge, probably the smartest man in the room; how would you silence a threat like her? Forever? I mean your liberty is at stake, what choice have you, but to silence said threat?"

With a worried look on his face, Richard lifts his hand high into the air, then runs it slowly over his neck.

"Your Honor." Caroline is unsure what the judge's reaction will be. After all, Richard is equally smitten with the slut, however, she doesn't discount the value of ego.

Richard looks up and says, "You actually want to do that to her? Kill –"

"Kill her it is!" Caroline gives a giant nod. "Okay, that's one suggestion. I guess what you're trying to say is, how can you possibly let her walk out of here when she is _unrelenting_ in her threats? You have worked far too long and hard to allow her to accuse you of accepting bribes, then threatening to blackmail you. Take away all that is rightfully yours, just because she can. Right?"

Using the tip of his shoe, Richard absentmindedly tries to remove a spot on the tiled floor, his eyebrows meeting.

"Your Honor?" Caroline cajoles.

Richard sinks into a kitchen chair, his frame collapsing in what appears to be despair. Mimi walks up to him and squeezes his shoulder, a mournful look on her face.

Caroline turns to look at Arthur, who is intently watching Richard. "How about you, Mister Carhill? According to Mimi, that psychic has a Pandora's Box of secrets about –"

"Pandora's Box?" Mimi cries. "I didn't say –"

"What did you say, then, Mimi dear?" Caroline asks in a sweet voice. "I may be paraphrasing your words. What does it matter anyway? The main thing is; Arthur is in serious trouble."

Arthur strokes his chin as he listens to Caroline fill him in on his bleak future.

When a troubled silence prevails, Caroline steps back and gives the seeds of despair and hopelessness time to sprout.

The silence is shattered by the entrance of Biff and Spencer.

"Where's the booze, man?" Biff clapping his hands. "It's wet outside and dry inside? Star's quaffed all the ... the ..." His words die on his lips at the sight of his solemn friends.

Caroline takes a step forward to answer. "Our dear friends are fraught with worry, gentlemen," she says in the voice of a funeral director.

"Worry?" Biff jerks to attention. "Who? Why? What about?"

Caroline takes another step forward. "According to our dear friends, we should brace ourselves for the shakedown of the century."

"Shakedown, what shakedown? Who the hell's gonna –"

"That _thing_ out there, Biff, she is determined to blackmail us all into paying for her silence. According to our dear friends."

With added vigor, Biff swipes a palm across his nose, as he digests Caroline's sinister words.

Caroline continues to push buttons. "Over and over again, they fear _you_ will be forced to pay her for her silence, Biff."

Turning a finger inside his ear, Biff stares at Caroline, making her believe she has not pushed the red button.

Undeterred, she pushes another. "Until you die! Until you die _poor_ and in shame, because eventually, she –"

"Poor? Man, I'll whack the bitch! No one's gonna do that to me."

Bingo! Caroline smiles – she did not push a button, she hit a switch!

With a smug smile, Caroline touches Biff's biceps. "Such a warrior, Biff. Protecting your queen and your kingdom from blackmail and theft. Protecting your fortune from extortion. Braveheart!"

Biff snarls and for no reason whatsoever, pulls off his t-shirt, exposing his muscles.

The women, including his side bitch, openly admire his physique, because it truly is magnificent. Biff is an Adonis, for sure. Until he opens his mouth, that is. Then, he sounds like he's escaped from Alcatraz.

Peeved at all the attention Biff is commanding from the women, Spencer, who has removed the bits of tissue from his nostrils, and who has never seen the inside of a gym, frowns and makes a mental note to lift some weights. No need to spend money on a gym or a personal trainer; he can build up his body on his own using YouTube tutorials or free lessons in one's local park. He removes his asthma pump from his pocket, takes a few puffs, then grabs a long bread stick and wields it like a sword, despite the injury to his hand. "I will eh ... whack her too. I can!"

Star groans with embarrassment.

Caroline smiles. "You will?"

Spencer nods.

"Oh, people, we have another warrior in our midst, namely, the valiant Spencer Hawthorn!" Caroline gives him one of her silent claps.

Spencer bows, poking himself in the eye with the bread stick in the process.

Not to be outdone, Arthur picks up a butter knife and flashes it around. "How can a bread stick compete with a lethal blade?" he asks in a scoffing voice, before he makes a swiping motion across his throat. Biff douses Arthur with reality. "It's a friggin' _butter_ knife man!"

That may be true, but Caroline claps her hands under her chin and gushes, "Oh, Arthur, this side of you is intriguingly delightful!"

"It is," Mimi says.

Arthur beams.

"But, Arthur," Caroline says, "we must look at a less messy option to stop the blackmail. Now, if only someone in this room can suggest a perfect meth –"

"Drowning."

All eyes fly to the source of the voice. It's Richard. He still sits on a chair, arms tightly folded, chin to the ground. "That should do it," he says, slowly raising his eyes to Caroline's.

"I concur," Spencer says, thrusting his bread stick and raising his free hand in the air like a seasoned fencer. "Drowning will be most appropriate, considering this weather."

Caroline throws her arms out to the heavens, thrilled with the fact that the men are going to handle the psychic with so little prompting. "You men ... such geniuses!" She looks at the women, silently urging them to concur.

"Yes, you men are just marvellous," Mimi says.

"Galant and sexy!" Diana says.

"Baddass!" Star says.

"Yeah, well, don't mess with us," Biff says, sniffing hard. "'Cause we ain't takin no shit from no one!"

# Chapter Seventeen

The conversation is interrupted by the sound of music emanating from the living room. The men stiffen, look at each other, before they dash out of the room, fighting like schoolboys to push past each other to get to the music.

The women rush to the entrance of the kitchen to investigate. What they witness makes their blood boil.

Indiana dances seductively to music from her phone. At the sight of the men, she beckons them to join her. The men rush to her and do their best to keep up with her seductive moves. "Indiana, you must teach me how to do that!" Arthur says, as Indiana shakes her hips like a belly dancer. The more Indiana shakes her hips, the more the men throw money at her.

"Indiana, look!" Spencer says, before he charges like a bull toward her.

"Watch this, Indiana!" a shirtless Biff says, jiggling his pectoral muscles. "Your turn!"

"I used to sing Acapella," the judge says, ripping the front of his shirt and losing all its buttons. "When I was younger."

Indiana rewards the men with more hip shaking, draping her long hair over them, causing them to throw more and more money at her. On the floor lies Arthur's butter knife, Spencer's bread stick, Biff's t-shirt and all of Richard's shirt buttons.

"Whack her?" Diana says through clenched teeth. "These fools, they're never going to 'whack' her."

"Never going to drown her," Mimi adds, her eyes shiny with fury.

"Yeah! Oprah says, "If it to be, it's up to me." Or was it Maury?"

"Violence is always the answer," Caroline murmurs.

The women turn to look at her.

She nods, then growls, "Go get her, Star!"

Like a well-trained Rottweiler, Star charges at the hotline psychic, grabs the phone out of her hand and smashes it against the wall, bringing the party to a halt.

The men, now afraid of the Rottweiler's wrath, scurry away from Indiana and huddle together.

"What ya do that for?" Indiana says, eyeing her broken phone in dismay. "I need my phone for wo—"

"Because I can, bitch!"

Indiana stares at the other dogs for a few moments, then laughs out loud, confusing the dogs.

"You find this funny?" Caroline asks, a little confused.

"I find ya'll funny," Indiana says, pointing at the women. "All of ya."

"Why?" Mimi demands.

"Ya'lls so goddamn insecure, anorexic, mean girls, with ya suffocating beads and –"

"Those pearls cost more than your car, you obese slut!"

"— ya itsy bitsy appetites. Trying desperately to stay thin so that ya can fit in with this group of backstabbing drunks ya call friends. Constantly looking at yaselves in the mirror to see if ya'll still perfect and –"

"You are crossing a line here," Caroline warns.

"— ya hair, so tightly coiled. How can a man run his fingers through it if it ain't loose? Man, banging ya guys must be like banging their moms!"

"Just shut up, you dumb, uneducated whore!"

"Stupid! Stupid ..." Mimi shakes her head, unable to find suitable adjectives because Diana took the best and most fitting ones.

"Ya'll just jealous of me," the beautiful psychic says, flicking strands of hair away from her face. "Ya wish ya could be like me so that ya men will want ya like the way they want me." The women exchange embarrassed looks, then sneak looks at themselves on a large mirror on the wall.

"Fight, fight, fight!" Spencer says, rolling a fist in the air.

"Absolutely!" Arthur says.

"In bikinis please!" Biff adds.

Indiana moves to stand behind the women who are now looking in the mirror. "Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the bitchiest drunk of all? Gold-digging Star who ain't never gonna get the gold, 'cause Spencer is too goddman smart for her?"

"Bitch, you messing with the wrong –"

"Caroline, Ms Perfect, who is scared all the time? Mimicking Caroline's voice, the psychic says, "I'm gonna lose my looks, my husband's gonna leave me for a younger woman, my friends hate me, I'm going to be lonely and forgotten like Ivana Trump!"

In the mirror, Caroline throws Indiana a murderous look.

"Diana, the show-off – lookitme! I got me a hot, young stud who adores me and you ain't got shit! I'm not invisible – lookitme! The jokes on her; guess who's the side bitch all along?"

"You ... you ..."

"Or is it Mimi, the alcoholic who's addicted to riding bareback with dirty truck drivers?" Mimi whirls around to face Indiana. "Why, you little –"

"Shhh!" Indiana says and closes her eyes.

The women watch with curiosity as Indiana concentrates.

"There's a tie? All of 'em? Boy, oh, boy, oh, boy!" Indiana grabs the roses out of a nearby vase and starts to hand the women a rose each – Bachelor style. Insulting? That's what I thought! Yet, the vain women reach to accept the rose, appearing grateful to receive one, grateful that they're not being left out. Can you believe it?

"How many roses she got?" Biff asks. "Enough for –"

"Shhh!" Richard says. "Don't disturb the lovely thing."

"Ya all get one, 'cause in my books, every one of ya'lls a winner!" Indiana says in a singsong voice.

Arthur nods. "You have to agree, this is by far the most entertaining dinner parties you have even attended, right? What a start to our getaway!"

"Arthur, I must agree with you," Spencer says. "You have outdone yourself."

Arthur claps his hand. "Bravo!"

The men join in.

Indiana bows sweepingly at the men and flutters her eyelashes at them, "Surely this calls for a tip?"

The men hasten to bring out their wallets and throw more money at Indiana. She closes her eyes and allows the bills to rain over her.

"I don't believe these men!" Diana says, gnashing her teeth.

"Opportunistic tramp!" Mimi says.

"Get her, Star!" Caroline commands.

Star lunges at Indiana and grabs her by the hair.

"Get her, Diana!" Caroline orders. "Grab her from behind! Do it!"

Diana joins in the fight, grabs the psychic from behind, pinning her flailing arms to her sides.

"Go, Mimi, Go!" Caroline shouts, circling the brawling women. "Get her on the ground. Pin her down!"

Mimi joins in the fight, outnumbers the psychic and helps pin her down.

Caroline circles the brawling women, chanting, "Kill her!"

Despite being taken by surprise and despite being outnumbered, Indiana kicks, scratches and bites her opponents.

"Don't let her get away!" Caroline coaches.

"Bikinis!" Biff hollers. "Take it all off!"

The men, amused now, join Biff and chant, "Take it off! Take it off!"

"Ain't it great how Indiana brings out the hoes in our gals?" Biff says.

"It's just superb!" Arthur says.

To Caroline's dismay, Indiana manages to break free from the women, grabs a bottle of wine, slams it against the table, spraying the women with red wine, ruining their hair and beige outfits. A heaving Indiana thrusts the jagged edges of the bottle at the group of women. "I'll cut ya. Try me. I'll fuckin' cut ya! For sure, ya Drag me to Hell bitches!"

At the sight of the weapon in her hand, the women hang back. Indiana backs away for a bit, before she throws away the bottle and runs off into the darkened house.

"She's running away!" Caroline screams, above the sound of thunder. "GET HER!"

The women give chase after Indiana, followed by Caroline. The house is dark, hampering their search for the psychic.

Undeterred, the determined women use each strike of lightening to aid their search.

"Oh, Indiana, where are you?" Caroline sings, an evil smile on her face.

"Ready or not, here we come!" Diana says.

"Under the beds!" Mimi says.

"You're a psychic? Then you know, you're in for a serious ass-kicking!" Star says as she inspects under the beds.

The amused men strain their necks to watch the show.

Indiana suddenly bolts out of a bedroom, past the men in the living room and runs into the bathroom.

"She's in the bathroom!" Caroline cries! "Get her!"

The women rush after the psychic to the bathroom and collide with each other outside it. The men, still highly amused, and with drinks in hand, follow the furious women, clearly enjoying the show.

The women try the bathroom door, but it's locked.

"Break it down!" Caroline cries.

The other women in the group hesitate.

"What?" Caroline demands. "You can't allow her to get away! She's coming after you people. Kill her! Do it! Do it NOW!"

Riled up, the women, thanks to Caroline's goading, kick and shove at the locked bathroom door.

Inside the bathroom, the psychic, now battered and bruised, tries desperately to pull out the security bars on the window so that she can escape. She is unable to. Behind her, the door is gradually giving way. She hears Caroline yell, "Arthur! Help us get this bitch, will you?"

Arthur says, "Okay, stand back! Biff, my man!"

The next thing Indiana hears is the door being broken down.

Indiana faces the squad of furious women and amused men, without any way to defend herself.

Amidst flashes of lightning and the roaring of thunder, like that of a horror movie, Indiana watches the frenzied mob of three women approach.

She fights back, but the women quickly overpower her and pin her against the sink.

"Drown her!" Caroline yells, filling the sink with water. "Here! In the sink! Drown her!"

The women hold the psychic's head under water until her flailing body grows limp.

The last thing the unfortunate psychic hears is the sound of Caroline's deranged laughter.

# Chapter Eighteen

Exhausted from the brawl and the task of murdering someone, the maniacal women sit on the floor and try to catch their breath. They nod at each other, thinking similar thoughts – _We showed her. Well done!_

Yes, murder is by no means an easy feat. It requires effort, especially unplanned murders, and that psychic, she was strong, a streetfighter for sure. Her murder was hard work.

Surrounding the exhausted but satisfied women, are Indiana's lifeless body and the broken remains of the bathroom door.

"You guys did well," the runner-up in the beauty pageant says. "If anyone asks, it was raining cats and dogs, and she slipped on a poodle."

The women laugh hysterically. Fall around and laugh so loud, their laughter rings above the sound of thunder.

A few minutes later, when they are calmer, Mimi touches her neck. "My pearls!"

The other women touch their necks as well; their pearls are also gone, broken in the fracas. Except Caroline's – hers are intact. The women glare at her, but she smiles sweetly at them.

Then, the weirdest thing happens, the storm suddenly abates.

One by one, the women drop to their hands and knees and search for their pearls. Each pearl is rare to its collection and to its batch, so it's imperative that they find their matching pearl and not each other's. While they scour the room for the pearls, on their knees with their butts in the air, the men watch their wives with folded arms.

"Got one!" Star cries, holding up a pearl.

"Here's another!" Caroline says.

Diana jerks in disgust. "This one's got blood on it!"

Mimi makes a face. "Ewww!"

Diana flings the pearl away.

Once the ladies have rounded up all their pearls, Caroline rewards them with more alcohol.

"You women deserve a drink after that melee."

" _Melee_?" Diana chortles. "It was murder, not a _melee_!"

Caroline gives a giant nod. "You are right, Diana. I stand to be corrected - after that _murder_."

The women relax in the living room and revert back to their favorite topic.

"I don't think they were real. Silicone perhaps."

"Mm. Too perky to be real. Very big though, falls under each arm. Unsightly."

"Trashy."

"Hey, side boobs are in!"

"I dig side boobs," Biff whispers in complaining voice. "Gimme me a side of side boob anytime. Any ... time!"

"A waste of good side boobs, if you ask me," Arthur mutters in a sullen voice. "They could have allowed us some fun with her first." Richard nods. "Plain selfish of them."

"Very selfish," Spencer says. "She was really into me."

Biff whirls to look at Spencer. "Into _you_? Bro, you got it all wrong – after she checked out my guns ..." Biff flexes his biceps, "she dug me, man."

"That is simply not true!" Arthur snaps. "Guns? She wasn't that kind of her lady. Guns! Pfft! That's ... that tacky. She was into successful, academics like me. In fact, she told me she wanted to get to know me –"

"Now, now, you lot!" Richard says, his face darkening with anger, "She danced around me more than she danced around any of you men. That is a fact. Just keep that important fact in –"

"How old was she?" Diana asks. "Her driver's license should tell us."

Mimi jerks her chin at a well-worn bag on the floor.

Star gingerly picks up Indiana's bag and inspects the contents.

"You should wear gloves when you touch that, Star," Caroline rebukes, her mouth twisted in distaste.

Star fishes out Indiana's Driver's license from her handbag and inspects it. "Twenty-eight! Is that all? She looks so old."

Mimi nods. "Obese and old."

"Did you see how much of food she consumes?"

"And drinks! Like a goddamn fish!"

Star empties the contents of Indiana's bag onto the floor, then moves it around with her shoe. "Birth control pills ... ylang ylang ... more jewel –"

"Such ugly jewelry!"

"You call that jewelry?"

"— pomegranate perfume ..."

"Disgusting scent!"

"... tampons ... sage ..."

"Sage? Little good that did."

A nine millimeter would have been of more benefit to her."

The women look at the corpse and burst out laughing.

"This port is simply divine!" Diana says, licking her lips.

Caroline nods. "I had it imported from Italy. Nothing but the finest for my friends."

Star downs her glass of port, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and makes a confession. "God, I miss boozing!" She holds out her glass for a refill and says, "Don't you have bigger glasses?"

With a smile, Caroline hands Star a larger glass.

"Muffin ... our baby, remember?"

"Drop dead, fucker!" Star snarls.

Sulking Spencer shrinks back in his chair and watches with dismay his designated driver down glass after glass of alcohol without a care in the world.

Caroline peers at the dead body.

"What?" Diana asks in an amused voice. "You're not getting remorseful, are you?"

Caroline tilts her head at Diana. "No, of course now. It's just ... that bathroom door; we need to replace it.

Everyone turns to look at the broken bathroom door, then at the body. The group falls into an uneasy silence and the rain can be heard pelting at the windows.

Star gets to her feet and stumbles to the bathroom, where she eyes the body as if she's seeing it for the first time. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I'm so not going to prison for this!" Diana joins Star outside the bathroom and stares at Indiana's lifeless body. As she does, her breathing turns rapid. With both hands on her cheeks, she says, "Our husbands - they're going to prison too. Jesus Christ!"

Mimi joins Diana and Star and shakes her head. "Did we really do this?" she asks from behind her hands.

One by one the men join the women and stand with worried looks on their faces. Caroline remains seated, a look of irritation on her face.

Spencer reaches for his asthma pump, takes a puff and says, "Pri ... son."

"I ... I won't survive prison," Arthur says, shaking his head from side to side. Richard blows out his cheeks several times.

"Fuck," Biff, who is known to be economical with words, says.

With a brows knitted, Caroline eyes her deflating friends for a few moments, before she jumps to her feet and strides over to them. "Hold on a moment!" she says with her hands in the air. "You all need to stop panicking."

"Stop panicking?" Arthur snaps. "Have you lost your mind? We are in trouble here!"

Caroline gives an impatient wave and says, "Listen, we're educated, knowledgeable, ivy leaguers, at least most of us, with a judge in our midst. Are you all forgetting that? What are you afraid of?"

The friends shift around as they ponder their leader's words.

Caroline turns, looks at Richard, then bows majestically at him. "Your honor, your expertise is much needed right now from us underlings. Guide us, tell us how to handle things from here on, for you are our leader."

Richard tilts his head at Caroline, as he considers her rhetoric.

The room is silent, all eyes on Richard, waiting.

To their dismay, Richard does not answer.

Spencer starts to wheeze. Loudly.

"Spencer!" Star yells, "snap out of it, will ya?"

Spencer nods, takes another drag from his puffer and fights hard for composure.

Richard walks over to the dining table and flops into a chair, lines masking his face.

Caroline strides up to Richard and says, "Your Honor? What say ye?"

After a long hesitation, Richard straightens up, then bangs a wine bottle on the table like a gavel.

"Order, order!" the judge says. "Caroline is correct: See, for more than twenty years, I decided whether to send someone to prison or –"

"What Your Honor is saying ..." Caroline interrupts, "follow his orders and we can beat this murder rap, okay? Nutshell!"

"You cannot simply _nutshell_ a murder, Caroline," Spencer snaps.

"I beg to differ, Spencer; we most certainly can. We just have to catch our mistakes, errors and we're –"

"Actually ..." Diana interrupts, "I've read somewhere that a person makes twenty-five mistakes when committing the crime of–"

"I was coming to that, Diana," Caroline says with a condescending smile. "Just before you _blurted_ it out. Except ... twenty-five? Mm ... no, I was thinking more along the lines of _fifty_ plus mistakes. But good attempt, Diana." Sweet, mocking smile. "Just to be on the safe –"

"Well, how about we write out a checklist?" Mimi says. "Then we just stick to it. Jot down every single error –"

"I was coming to that, Mimi," Caroline says, her smile firmly in situ. "Just before you shouted it out like a kindergarten –"

"Oh, Caroline, give me a break, will you?" Mimi snaps. "In fact, give everyone a chance to speak. Stop hogging the spotlight."

Caroline jerks back, her eyes wide with surprise. How surprising that Truck-Stop Mimi could accuse her of hogging the spotlight.

"Ditto," Diana says. "This has to be a joint effort, not a one-man show, Caroline. We have a murder on our hands, so it's time to put your ego aside."

"You didn't even kill her," Star chirps, to Caroline's surprise. "We did all the friggin' hard work! All you said was 'Get her!' 'Get her!'"

Caroline gives Star an _Et Tu Brute_ look, before she narrows her eyes at the group of ungrateful women.

Then, she quickly smiles and says, "Of course. I shall leave you three to it, while I go get a pen and notepad." She gestures theatrically to the floor – _Take it, bitches!_

Caroline leaves the room, but lingers at the entrance of the dining room, straining to hear what suggestions bitches Diana and Mimi, not to mention what Star, the tramp, comes up with.

It is no surprise to Caroline that the women who ganged up to her a short while ago, have nothing to say – the room is silent.

In the living room, the women look at each other with uncertainty. The truth is, none of them are leaders, they are all followers. It's easy to contribute to a murder, have your say, but to actually lead a murder scenario when one's liberty is at stake? No, not these followers – it's too overwhelming for them.

# Chapter Nineteen

When Caroline returns to the room, armed with a notebook and a pen, and gestures for everyone to join her at the dining table, none of the women object. In fact, they look relieved to have Caroline back at the helm, excited even, as they take their seats at the table. The men follow meekly, and without any protest, and no one comments at the fact that it is Caroline who sits at the head of the table and not Arthur.

"Arthur, get everyone drinks, will you?" Caroline commands.

Arthur, to everyone's surprise, and like an obedient butler, gets up and passes drinks around.

"Think of it as a game," Caroline says, hands clasped against her chest, her eyes shining with excitement. "A –"

"A murder mystery game!" Mimi says.

"Right!" Caroline says, pointing her pencil at Mimi.

"Hey, I've been to one of those," Star says. "Boring."

"Well, um ... that's probably because a certain level of intellect is required for games of such nature," Diana says in a cloying voice.

Caroline smiles at Diana's barb.

"Are you calling Star stupid?" Arthur says to Diana. "She's bagged one of the wealthiest men in the country, you know?"

"No, not at all," Diana says in a voice filled with mirth, "Star's terribly clever."

Biff chuckles. "Yeah, but Spencer's the smart one; he got the snip, 'member?"

"That is so not true!" Star say hotly. "Seriously, Spencer didn't get the snip, so shaddup, Biff! Shaddup all of you, okay?"

The group start to laugh, but not the 'strip walker' – she is not amused in the least. Not while her future is at stake.

"Okay, people," Caroline says with a laugh. "We must focus on the situation at hand."

Caroline turns to look at Richard. "Your Honor?"

"Eh, yes," Richard says. "Our aim must be to –"

"Tidy up the crime scene and the body," Caroline interrupts, eager to get this show on the road. "Then dump it somewhere _away_ from us. Engineer the situation so that the police and coroner –"

" _Her death was an accident, they_ declare!" Spencer says, finger in the air. "A _drowning_ accident."

Caroline points at Spencer. "Correct! That way, they won't pursue the case. From experience, they love it when foul play is not suspected, because –"

"Less work for them!" the group choruses.

"Order! Order!" Richard cries, trying to wrest control of the situation from Caroline. "Don't all shout at once. One at a time, please."

Caroline hangs back for a moment, mindful that the women, not so long ago, had a problem with her taking charge. _Give Richard the bore this_ , she thinks.

The friends put up their hands like children, almost jumping with excitement in their seats.

Richard points at Spencer.

"It's just easier for the police when there's an absence of foreplay," Spencer says. "I mean _foul_ play. Heavy workloads, understaffing ..."

"Spencer, old chap," Richard says, "you are indeed clever."

Spencer beams and looks at Star – _Did you hear that?_

"Big fucking deal!" Star snaps.

"On one side of this page," Richard continues, "we list the problem, on the other side –"

"The solution!" Mimi shouts.

Richard smiles at his wife. "That's my girl!"

Mimi gushes, "Your Honor!"

"She didn't put up her hand," Caroline murmurs.

Richard tilts his head at Caroline. "Pardon?"

"I said, Mimi needs to put up her hand, not shout out an answer. We need to have rules if –"

"There are eight of us present," Arthur interrupts, "we should be able to collectively catch every single bit of evidence that spells criminal intent."

"Arthur!" Caroline admonishes. "Put up your hand, for God's sake! We need –"

"Right!" Richard says. "For example, I'll go first – there was a struggle, so ... yes, our DNA under her fingernails." As Richard speaks, he pulls the notebook from smarting Caroline and makes notes on it.

Mimi nods. "She's read our palms, so yes, she will have our DNA."

"Yeah, we can just chop off her hands, throw it in the trash," Biff suggests. "That way they don't get our DNA."

For a few moments, the group of friends stare silently at butchering Biff, at a loss for words.

"What?" Biff says. "Saw this on CSI, man."

"That's just awful, Biff," Diana scolds. "We can just scrub under her fingernails."

Richard points his pen at Diana and says, "I'm afraid, Diana is correct, Biff. Less messy, less grisly, less suspicious. Smart girl, Miss Diana."

Diana beams at the compliments, while Caroline, who is annoyed at having lost control of the situation, indulges in an eye roll.

That's right; it's grisly to chop off the hands of a dead person, but to murder a living, breathing woman, drown her in the sink ... oh, that's just fine with the friends.

"Her footprints ..."

"Gotta wipe down the place. Everywhere, so we've got no –"

"Her hair," Caroline says. "We –"

"Her long, dark, glorious hair!" Spencer says with a wistful look in his eyes.

"Glorious, my ass! Probably hair extensions like mine."

"We vacuum thoroughly. That ought to solve the hair problem."

Mimi raises both her palms. "I'm not vacuuming. I don't really know how."

The room falls silent.

"I know of a couple," Caroline says, "illegals at that, who know nothing because they don't speak English. Anything you ask them - _Me no speaka yinglish, Me no speaka yinglish_. Until you short-pay them – then they will argue with you in perfect _ying_ ... _lish_. I guess I can call them ..."

"Yeah, but then they get to see her body," Star says. "Might be tempted to collect the reward money from the cops. Bad idea, Caroline."

Mimi and Diana exchange amused looks at Star's not-so-subtle rebuke of the hostess.

"Star, I'm going to take your word for it," Caroline returns with a sweet smile.

"Oh, okay," Stars says, surprised that Caroline is not firing back at her.

"Because if anyone is adept at betrayal and fleecing someone, it is you." Caroline's smile is even broader.

"Oh, okay," Star says.

A short silence prevails before Star jerks her neck to look at Caroline. "Hey, wait! Like ... like, what the hell you saying, Caroline? Huh? _Fleecing_?"

Richard quickly intervenes. "Ladies! Ladies, Ladies! Leave the heavy lifting to us men. Biff will vacuum. Problem solved. Next!"

Biff tilts his head to one side, his eyebrows meeting.

"It's because you're a lean, mean, fighting machine, Biff," Spencer says to prevent any more discussion on the issue of vacuuming, lest he is asked to assist with it.

"Oh, okay," Biff says, before he starts to dramatically twitch his pectoral muscles for no valid reason.

The group move on and as they do, the other men in the group take the list from Richard and make notes about their contribution.

"Burn the contents of the vacuum cleaner," Arthur says, jotting down his point.

Biff snatches the list from Arthur and peers at it. "Dude, you _signed_ your name next to the vacuum cleaner? What the fuck?"

With his hands clasped on his lap, Arthur says, "Well, I did so just in case one of you forgets who made such an important point that could lead to our ultimate succ—"

"Oh, yeah?" Biff says, "In that case, I'm putting my thumbprint next to my points."

Arthur shrugs. "That would be fine, except I don't recall you making a single point, Biff. So, far it's just me making –"

"That isn't true at all, Arthur," Spencer says, sitting forward in his chair. "I've made several valid points thus –"

"The dough!" Biff says. "Gotta remove the dough from her bra 'cause we touched it, 'member?" With a smug smile, Biff proudly signs next to his point. "Then we split all the money evenly between us."

"Evenly? Why evenly? Caroline gave a dollar! Spencer gave –"

"Moving on!"

"The bag – we need to wipe down all the fingerprints from her handbag."

"Water in her lungs! Since she drowned in the bathroom sink, it would make more sense to place her body in the stormwater drain or somewhere similar."

"Good point."

"Good point? Richard, it's a brilliant point! So, don't mind that I take written credit for –"

"The drowning in the storm water drain will explain any bruises she has on her body obtained during the struggle," Richard says.

"The scratches on her face that ..." With a frown, Diana inspects her broken nails. "Ruined a good manicure, she did." Diana reaches for the list, writes down her point and signs her name next to it.

Not to be outdone, Caroline flexes her fingers for the list. "A bramble," she says jotting down her point, "attach that to the body and it will explain the scratches on the corpse."

"Hey, her fingernails?" Star says. "They're like, broken from the fight? We gotta fix it." Caroline hands the list to Star.

"Manicure them," Mimi says. "Star, since you've brought up that point, and since you've worked in a nail salon, before you became a masseuse at the ski resort, maybe you can manicure –?"

"No, I didn't!" Star defends hotly. "Lies, lies, lies! She's a liar!"

"Which part is a lie, Star?" Diana asks in a pleasant voice.

"All of it, Diana! It's all fat lies, okay?"

"Star, relax," Caroline says in a voice like Manuka honey. "For the record, I don't believe any of those vile stories about you, sweetie."

"Me too," Diana says. "All those ugly rumors floating around about you and your sordid past; I don't listen to a word of it."

"Yeah, well, those people talking who gossip 'bout me behind my back; they can kiss my –"

"The doorbell!" Spencer interrupts.

"The security cameras at the gates?" Biff says.

"No electricity, remember?" Arthur says. "But to be on the safe side, we must check the footage and delete all of it."

"Good point, Biff," Richard says.

"Gee thanks, Your Honor. I saw that on Law and Order. Biff puffs his chest and gives Arthur a smug look. "Got heaps more where that came –"

"Mm. Well, moving on," Arthur says, "the bathroom door ..."

Caroline nods. "Yes, the door; we will send you all the bill."

The group roll their eyes at Caroline's words.

"Stomach contents?" Spencer says. "They will check that, during the autopsy."

"We need to come up with a menu that is the opposite of what we served tonight," Diana says.

"I've already covered that point, Diana," Caroline says in an irritated voice.

"No, you didn't!" Diana says.

"Yes, I did, Diana. Right in the very beginning. Where you in the room, or back in the bathroom?"

Diana scrambles for the list. The group watches her eyes trawling the page.

"Caroline, it is not here!" Diana says in a triumphant voice.

"Well, I may have forgotten to write it down, but I have mentioned it."

When Diana's mouth twists with a mixture of irritation and anger, Caroline says, "Sorry, sweetie. Moving on!"

Diana tosses the list aside in anger.

# Chapter Twenty

"Her cell phone," Richard says, "we need to put it together, then ensure it's immersed in the flood."

"Yeah, she's the type to take umpteen selfies," Star says in a sneering voice.

The other women in the group exchange amused looks between themselves. Could be something to do with the umpteen photos Star has taken of _herself_ since she arrived.

"Cell tower?" Arthur says.

"Well, even if she has managed to make a call," Mimi says, "we're not disputing that she was in the vicinity, we just never saw or heard from her."

"Clever of you to think like that, Mrs Rappaport."

"Your Honor!" Mimi gushes.

"Hopefully, the police will pin the blame to the other rich lady in Carlton Street that she visited before us," Diana says. "They didn't like the reading, they had words, it turned physical ..." Diana shrugs. "Something like that."

"Manslaughter," Biff says, sniffing several times, then blowing out his cheeks. "I'm hoping for that. In case they suspect foul-"

"Oh, ye of little faith, Biff!" Richard scolds. "That will never happen, not on my watch, Biff."

Mimi shakes her head. "So little faith, Biff."

"Sorry," Biff says, sufficiently rebuked.

"Apology accepted," Mimi says. "After all –"

"Hey, she was bleeding!" Biff says. "We need to bleach the heck out of the place to destroy all her blood, right? Pour it down the sink too. Like they did on Dexter. Huh?"

When the group nods, Biff beams, then happily signs next to his comment.

Arthur sits back and nods. "I see no reason why it can't work. We have no motive, it makes no sense for a group of upstanding citizens like us to –"

"We're judges, beauty queens, models, businesswomen, a future –"

"Runners-up," Diana says. "I guess you could call it beauty ..."

Caroline ignores Diana's jibe and continues. "— president, investment bankers, and ..."

Caroline looks pointedly at Biff.

Biff runs his finger across his nose, then scratches his head, then his nuts and bolts. The room follows his scratches and wait in silence for his response.

Caroline shifts her glee-filled eyes over to Diana. The rest of the group also look to Diana, causing her to sit with a deer-in-headlights look. After a few pressing moments, she says in a tiny voice, "Entrepreneur?"

"Riiiight," Caroline says with her smile firmly in place.

"Yes, for this to work, we must take cognizance of our skills and abilities," Arthur says in his presidential, public speaking voice. "Resist the need to indulge in bouts of false modesty. The fact is, we are highly superior to most people. No denying it!"

The group cheer, and he plows ahead. "We will get away with this murder if we diligently follow our murder list. Of that, I am confident and so should you be."

More wine is drunk, snacks are served, and the mood is jovial. Bizarrely, Indiana's dead body remains in full view of the friends throughout their brainstorming, rebuking and feasting.

"The most important aspect of this project is?" Richard looks at his friends with his brows elevated.

"To have be yourself and have fun!" Caroline says, raising her glass.

The group join their leader and raise their glasses.

"To outsmarting dumbass cops!"

"To engineering and executing the perfect crime!"

"To our men and chivalry, which I have discovered today, to my delight, still lives on!" Suddenly, the electricity returns and light floods the house.

"Yay! The gods are smiling down on us! I can finally post on Instagram."

Later that night, the friends put their murder list to work. In the bathroom, Star scrubs under Indiana's nails with a brush. Nearby is a bottle of wine, which she guzzles from time to time while working on the corpse, destroying evidence.

Mimi, gloved and masked, removes Indiana's hair from the bathroom sink and places it in a garbage bag.

As the women work, Spencer walks into the bathroom and sticks his hands into Indiana's bra.

"Spencer!" Mimi cries. "What are you doing? Are you a necrophiliac, Spencer?

"What's that?" Star asks.

"No, silly," Spencer says to Mimi, before he shows them the wad of money he's removed from Indiana's bra. "Our fingerprints and DNA are on the money, remember?"

Spencer waves the murder list, which is encased in a plastic sleeve, at the women. "Imperative that we carry out everything on this, meticulously at that, in order to –"

"Get away with murder!" Star says.

Spencer nods. "Brilliant answer, my blueberry muffin!"

"Yeah, I can be smart too!" Star says.

"Besides, I wanted to beat the other men to it, and guess what? I did!" Spencer does a weird little victory robot dance.

Biff enters the bathroom, pushes the dancing robot out of the way and sticks his hand down Indiana's bra.

Spencer chuckles to himself as he watches Biff.

"Hey, it's gone!" Biff says. "Who took it? Huh?"

Mimi and Star shake their heads, while Spencer falls around laughing. "Wait! Wait!" Spencer whispers to the ladies. "There's more. Just watch."

No sooner he utters those words, Arthur enters the bathroom. "Oh, hello," he says as he creeps toward the corpse.

"It's gone," Spencer says in a sorrowful voice. "Sorry, old chap."

Arthur blinks at Spencer for a few moments. Then, with a dejected look, he backs out of the bathroom.

Mimi and Star tsk! at the juvenile behavior of the men.

Just then Richard enters the bathroom. "I've got to remove the –"

It's too much for Mimi – she throws a nail brush at Richard, catching him on the head. He stares at her in shock. "That's ... that is assault," he says.

When his wife reaches for a mop, the courtroom judge races out of the bathroom amidst Spencer's laughter.

In another part of the house, Diana, masked and gloved, wipes down the doorbell and the door. Never in her life has she ever had to do something like this and it's quite an experience for her. Behind her, Arthur can be seen dragging a bramble into the house.

At the same time in the living room, Caroline wipes away all of Indiana's fingerprints from the furniture.

Behind her, Biff stares at the love heart on the window, the one Indiana drew earlier on.

He raises the cloth in his hand to wipe away the heart, but he hesitates when he sees Indiana's face in front of his, hears her melodious laughter. Suddenly, he is overcome by a wave of remorse.

Caroline reaches from behind him and swipes away the heart without any hesitation.

Biff doesn't move – despite Caroline's piercing gaze, he just stares at the window, his eyes turning glassy.

Finally, at dawn, the four men in the group struggle to carry Indiana's body out of the house. The bramble is attached to the body, which in turn is covered with a blanket. It's no mean feat to carry a dead body out in the pouring rain, but somehow, mainly because of Biff's strength, the men manage to dump the psychic's body in a drain a couple of streets from the house.

The women watch the men leave with the body and sigh with relief.

"That's done!" Caroline says, smacking her hands together.

"More wine, please!" Star says slumping on a couch, looking exhausted and older than her twenty-eight years.

"Yes!" says Diana. "I believe we've earned it."

"Bloody right about that," Mimi says.

The subject quickly creeps back to the one of the women's obsession – breasts. Not that they're shallow or something.

"Now Victoria, hers are big, out of proportion and separate," Mimi says, before she takes a huge swig of her wine. "Awful. No wonder David has that roving eye."

Diana nods. "There's is a case of someone having so much money, yet unable to get it right. I don't get it."

"Yup!" Star says before she quaffs her wine. "She should have gone to Thailand, this Victoria. Would've gotten it cheaper too."

The wealthy women exchange amused looks at Star's words.

By the time the men return to the house, rain-drenched and exhausted, the women are relaxed and drunk.

"Welcome back!" Diana says.

"How did it go?" Caroline asks.

"How did it go?" Arthur says, slumping into a couch. "How do you think it went? We just followed my list and –"

"Your list?" Mimi asks, wineglass suspended close to her lips. "You mean Richard's list?"

"We could do with some of that _Chateau Lafite Ramschild_ ," Arthur says, ignoring Mimi's comments. "I dare say we've earned it."

"Of course!" Caroline says, also ignoring Mimi. "You men have most certainly have." Caroline walks into the kitchen to fetch drinks.

Mimi looks at Diana with her eyebrows raised.

Diana nods, then mouths, " _Our_ list."

Mimi's giant nod is one of vindication. _Our list_.

# Chapter Twenty-One

It's morning, the storm has abated, but it's still drizzling with rain. The friends, looking tired, chat over coffee.

"So, what's the plan of the day?" Spencer asks, his eyes moving between the friends.

"Oh, I plan to visit the shops for some ... _necessities_ ," Caroline says, examining her nails, a slight smile on her lips.

"Good idea," Diana says, also sporting a secretive smile. "Count me in."

"Me too!" Mimi says, her eyes moving between Caroline and Diana.

All three women look at Star. "Yeah, I'm in!" Star says.

"Now, now, Muffin," Spencer says, "you don't want to tire yourself by walking from store to –"

"Oh, shut your face, Spencer! You're just worried I'm gonna spend money."

"What a terrible thing to say, Muffin. You need your rest, that's all."

The group of friends laugh at Spencer's miserly ways.

"She needs her rest," Spencer protests. "That's all."

The women stream out the house a short while later, appearing excited. Spencer looks at them with narrow eyes – why are they so excited? Are they planning a major shopping excursion? The thought of that has him reaching for his puffer.

That afternoon, the moment spencer hears the car in the driveway, he rushes to the window. His heart drops as his worst fears are confirmed – the women return, not with one, not even two, but _laden_ with shopping bags. If they looked excited before they left, they look even more excited now.

"Ladies, welcome back," Arthur says. "You'll be happy to know that we fixed the bathroom door."

Biff jerks back and looks at Arthur. "We fixed it? You mean _I_ fixed it?"

"Well done, boys!" Caroline says.

It's evening and Arthur dresses for dinner in front of a mirror. He adjusts his starched collar, and smooths down his woollen vest – yes, preppie, because that is all Arthur knows. Jeans and t-shirts? That's so not him and frankly, which serious businessman, one who is as upwardly mobile as he is, wears such ... such pauper's clothing? Denim? Bah!

In her dressing room, Caroline also dresses for dinner. She slips on a red top and a long blue skirt. That's right, _red_!

Ignoring a Cartier case of rope pearls, she reaches for a pair of gaudy, hooped earrings. Thumbing her nose at a bottle of Chanel, she reaches for a vial of pomegranate perfume, sprays it behind each earlobe, then it between her thighs.

For her finale, Caroline dons a long, dark wig. After studying herself in the mirror for a while, she nods with satisfaction, then sashays barefoot out of her dressing room in search of her husband.

Arthur, who is still in front of his mirror, pauses with his dressing to sip of his cognac. When he looks up at the mirror, to his delight, he sees Indiana, not Caroline, smiling seductively at him.

"It's raining cats and dogs and I almost slipped on a poodle, Art," Indiana says in a breathless voice.

Arthur spins around to gawk at her, a combination of surprise and delight on his face. He takes in her colorful clothes, her long dark hair, the costume jewelry (stolen from Indiana's handbag), her bare feet and his eyes light up. "Indiana, you look breathtakingly ... delicious!" Smiling coyly, Indiana shrugs off the straps of her blouse and says, "Why don't eat me then, Art?"

Arthur's eyes widen with a mixture of shock and delight.

"Eat my pussy. Art."

Arthur lunges at her, grabs her and runs his tongue obscenely all over her lips, her face, sucking noisily as he does. He pulls down her top to free her breasts and whispers, "My God! They're everything I dreamed they'd be, Indiana!, before he sucks greedily on them. Indiana moans and arches her body, welcoming every bit of his lust. And the hand he shoves up her skirt, she welcomes that even more.

Arthur suddenly stops and jerks back. "Indiana, you ...you're not wearing ..."

Indiana shakes her head from side to side, before thrusting her hips wantonly at him. "Finger me, Art. Do it. Now!"

"Your wish is my command!" he says, before his hand moves briskly between her thighs, causing her to cry out, "Oh, Art, don't stop!"

Arthur pauses to push her to the floor, hastily unbuckles his belt, unzips his pants, pulls out his erection and drives it into her.

"Oh, Art, I like it rough!" she cries, as she winds her thigh around his waists and sucks him into her. "Harder, Art! Harder!"

Arthur pounds away, rocking her like she's never been rocked before.

"Say my name!"

"Art!"

"Say it again!"

"Art!"

Bizarre?

It gets more ... _bizarre_ – that's the word to describe the evening. I mean, the electricity is back, yet the living room is unrecognizable. It is dimly lit, with colorful scented candles, not those white, expensive candles that Caroline mainly uses for décor, but stubby, grubby candles – ylang ylang, cedarwood, bergamot, patchouli – that's right, aphrodisiac scents.

The floor is strewn with colorful cushions and garish throw rugs, and the mood is not that much different from an Eastern brothel.

There's more.

The women, you'll have trouble recognizing them too, for they are dressed in colorful, snug-fitting tops, long skirts with slits that threaten to expose their crotches with every move and they don't seem to give a damn about their modesty. They parade around barefoot, artificially bronzed and brazen. Chignons and tamed updos are a thing of the past – all of them wear long, dark hair that cascades down to their waists.

They reek of pomegranates and, as for pearls? What pearls? Tonight, they wear bits of Indiana's costume jewelry, some stolen from Indiana's handbag, some stolen from her corpse itself!

Did I not warn you that it was all ... bizarre?

"Darling, you look fabulous!"

"So do you, darling!"

Mm.

It's gets even weirder.

The women snub the couches and lounge around on the floor, propping themselves up on the brightly colored cushions and sipping wine from sparkly goblets. The men tonight behave oddly too. They lounge at their woman's feet, greedily groping and fondling their very own Indianas in full view of the others.

Life is great for the friends. Life is different too.

"Shh!" someone says, jerking their thumb at the television in the background.

"A woman's body is reported to have been discovered in a storm-water drain in the suburb of Hidley. Police suspect that her vehicle's path may have been blocked by a falling tree. It is believed that she may have alighted the vehicle in search of help, when she was swept away by –"

"By Jove, we've done it!" Spencer says, his voice full of excitement.

"Well, what do you expect from the likes of us?" the judge says in a proud voice.

"Toast! Toast! Toast!" cries Biff.

"Hear, hear!" Caroline says. "To us, who outsmarted the police!"

"Whose prerequisite to getting accepted in the police academy, happens to be –"

"— a birth certificate!" Caroline adds, eliciting laugh-out-loud laughter from the group.

"To breaking down more doors and keeping our babes satisfied," Biff says, raising his glass.

"To friends for life, bonded in pearls, and ... blood!" Mimi says.

"To the perfect murder! And like, hopefully, we never have to do it again, because ... it's friggin exhausting!

"To never letting strangers come between us friends!"

"To Star, who can drink straight from a wine bottle and remain on her feet."

There is a tense silence for a few moments. All eyes turn to Star – how will she receive that taunt? Is there going to be an argument?

"To me!" Star says, raising a wine bottle, then draining it.

The group cheer to that.

Star gets up, puts on some music and begins to suggestively shimmer and shake. The other women join her, and under the low lights, unrestrained and uninhibited, they dance, just like Indiana, shaking their hips and tossing their manes to the song the psychic danced to shortly before she was killed.

The men join their Indianas on the dance floor, kissing and fondling her in full view of each other. The mood in the Carhill's home is frenetic sexy, glorious, and if you had to brave the elements and peep through the windows of the mansion, not that I'm calling you a peeping Tom or anything (are you?), you'd get a bangful. I mean, an eyeful. Yes, you'd see Diana bent over a table, face down, ass up, with Biff banging away at her, pausing only to slap at her white, overprivileged ass. You'd see the back of Spencer's balding head, for his face would be buried in the moaning stripper's crotch. For once – usually, it's her face buried in his crotch. As for the lover of eighteen-wheelers, you'd see her artificially bronzed legs draped over the judge's wiry shoulders, him on one knee, because his other knee if shot. The host and hostess? Oh, you'd see the charity-loving, philanthropists sixty-nineing each other with relish. All doing their own thing, Woodstock style.

# Chapter Twenty-Two

It's afternoon and after a night of partying in technicolor, it's back to beige, pearls, tamed updos and chic blonde bobs. The men are once again preppie and purposeful.

The wealthy friends relax in the living room, which has been restored to its normal décor of white and beige.

Their conversation is interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Now who can that be?" Caroline asks, a frown marring her forehead.

"Another psychic perhaps?" Arthur says, rubbing his hands with glee.

"We should be that lucky," Biff say, his voice hopeful.

"Whoever it is, bring them in," Mimi says. "I'm in the mood to be entertained again."

Richard nods. "Another list might be in order."

Once again, Arthur and Caroline make their way to the front door and open it to two men in ill-fitting suits.

The group of friends, unable to contain their excitement, follow Arthur and Caroline and watch from a distance.

"Good evening, sir," the older man, probably in his fifties says. He nods at Caroline, "Ma'am. I'm Detective Moore and this is Detective Fry, and we're investigating the death of a woman who apparently drowned in the storm."

The younger detective hangs back and looks around, obviously in awe of the house and the occupants.

"Ah, yes, I've seen it on TV," Arthur says in a calm voice.

"Yes, that's the one, sir. So, we're calling on occupants in the area, just seeing if anyone saw anything ... heard anything ... routine. Can we come in?"

" _May_ we come in," Caroline corrects, then throws an amused glance at her friends.

The detective tilts his head at Caroline. "Ma'am?"

"It's, _May_ we come in, Detective. Not, _Can_ we come in." She drops her voice and says, "That's proper English," then follows the impromptu English lesson with a sweet smile.

The detective nods and smooths down his tie. "Thank you, ma'am. _May_ we come in?"

"If you must, Detective. We have guests, so please be brief."

Detective Moore nods. "Thank you, ma'am. I will."

In the background, the friends nudge each other, excited at the development in the murder mystery _game_.

"Eh, Detective," Caroline says, eyeing the detectives' wet shoes, "could you take off your shoes?"

Moore looks around and notices everyone else is wearing their shoes. "Sure, ma'am," he says and nods at his companion. Moore and Fry remove their shoes.

As the detectives walk into the living room, they look around in wonderment – never have they seen such a beautiful home, such expensive décor. Both detectives can barely conceal their awe of the home and its occupants.

"Everyone, these detectives are here to talk to us about the death of the woman who drowned in the storm," Caroline says.

"Oh look! Ventilated socks!" Spencer says pointing at the holes in Detective Moore's socks.

"What a marvellous idea!"

The group snigger like schoolchildren, causing a red tide to creep into the faces of Moore and Fry.

"Eh, yes,"

Detective Moore says. "The body was found in the vicinity, so we're questioning residents in the area. Routine, as I've explained."

The friends pause with their giggling and nudging to murmur their condolences.

"Terrible tragedy. We saw it on TV."

"Ghastly storm that night."

"Dreadful! Simply dreadful."

"True," Moore says in a solemn voice. "Any of you seen anything? Heard anything? Her car ..."

"I'm afraid, we saw nothing, Detective."

"Yes, poor woman. Had we seen her, or had she approached us, we would have helped."

Detective Moore nods, then scribbles in his note pad. "Okay, the bunch of you dined together that night. Now, can I ask, just out of curiosity, what did you serve for dinner, ma'am?"

"Oh, of course, detective," Caroline says in smooth voice. "For starters, we served the _Crevettes marinées a l'ail et cuites dans un poelon d'huile_."

Moore tilts his head at Caroline. She does not explain, but instead sports a smug smile, clearly enjoying the fact that the lowly detective does not understand French.

"That's prawns marinated in Garlic and cooked in a sizzling pot of oil," Diana offers, clearly in a generous mood.

"I see. Sounds delicious." The detective writes in his notebook, then looks up at Caroline.

"For the main course," Caroline says, "I served _Magret de canard aux griottes confites au kirsh sur un gratin de pommes de terr_ e."

Diana once again is kind enough to interpret. After which she adds, "All of which Caroline cooked herself, Detective."

"From _scratch_ too," Star adds.

"And it took her ... 'whole' afternoon," Mimi says before bursting into laughter.

The group of friends can't help themselves – they join Mimi and struggle to control their mirth over their inside jokes.

"Sorry, Detective," Arthur says, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, "my friends have a somewhat warped sense of humour."

"Well, I gotta tell ya, all this talk about food is making me real hungry," Moore says in a good-natured voice.

"Well now, detective Moore," Spencer says, "make sure when you stop by at that donut shop up the road, you ask them for 'Moore' topping!"

The group of friends howl with laughter, causing Moore's face to burn.

"Do you have evidence of any foul play, Detective?" Arthur asks, trying to compose himself.

"Well, sir, I can't say at –"

"I'm a courtroom judge, Detective," Richard says. "You can talk to _me_ about it."

"And I'm an ex-cop," Biff says. "I know about this stuff."

Moore looks around, then drops his voice. "Well, just between us ..." Moore shakes his head from side to side.

"So, it was just an unfortunate accident," Caroline concludes.

Mimi nods. "These things happen."

"Sadly," detective Moore adds, before he writes in his notebook.

Caroline tilts her head at the detective. "If that's all ...?"

"Eh, yes! For now, yes, ma'am. Thank you all for your time." With a slight bow, Detective Moore nods at Fry. They both make their way to the entrance hall where, under the watchful eye of the friends, put on their shoes.

Moore suddenly stops, gets on his stomach and reaches under the entrance hall table.

"What the ..." Biff says.

"He's doing stomach crunches now?" Spencer asks. "In preparation for the upcoming donuts?"

Moore fishes out a pearl from under the table and holds it up. "My daughter loves pearls," he says. "Collects them. My mother used to say, 'A pearl begins its life inside an oyster's shell when an intruder –"

Arthur flashes his palms at the detective. "Detective! Detective! Detective! I'll take your mother's word for it. Please! We have guests."

With an apologetic nod, Moore holds out the pearl to Arthur. "Bit dirty, so you –"

Arthur grabs the pearl from the detective and flings it through the open door, a look of distaste on his face.

Moore's jaw drops at Arthur's actions. It has to be valuable. Something tells him that these kind of folks don't buy imitation pearls like he does.

"If you want it, it's yours," Arthur says, accepting a sanitary wipe from his wife and wiping his hands.

Detective Moore looks outside, then at Arthur. "You sure, sir?"

"Indeed, I am," Arthur says, moving to shut the door.

"Why, thank you, sir. My daughter, she'll be so thrilled."

Star shakes her head and whispers, "Weirdo!"

After Moore and Fry leave the house, Arthur shuts the door and with a smile throws out his arms. "Easy as –"

"Pecan pie!" Mimi says.

# Chapter Twenty-Three

Outside the house, Detective Moore stops to pick up the pearl from the lawn.

Detective Fry looks at Moore with his arms folded. "You have a daughter?"

Moore does not answer – he is too busy inspecting the pearl.

"You have three sons, no daughters, right?"

Moore just smiles, causing Fry to narrow his eyes at the detective.

"The pearl you found inside the mouth of the Jane Doe ...?"

"Might be nothing," Moore says.

"Yeah, right!" Fry says.

Inside the house, the friends are also smiling.

"Good thing we didn't let that bitch of a psychic and her lies rattle us," Star says.

"Yes, and may I say ..." Mimi puts her hand over her heart, "I love you all dearly!"

Diana raises her glass. "Hear! Hear!"

"To an airtight friendship!" Caroline says. "Or in this case, a _water_ -tight friendship."

The group roar with laughter.

Except Star; she cocks her head and says, " _Water_ -tight? I don't get it."

"I'll draw you a map later, Muffin," Spencer says.

"Oh, okay," Star says.

******

Shadow, the maid is back at work and slogging away. Due to transport problems caused by the torrential rain, the other two maids have failed to show, forcing her to bear the brunt of their workload and responsibilities. There are few busses, and since using a taxi is out of the question, because it is just so expensive, she is forced to stand in the rain for hours waiting for a bus. Exhausted, she soldiers on, needing her job. She would like to leave early so that she can catch the last scheduled bus, but she is loath to have another glass thrown at her. Having Hobson's choice, Shadow serves more drinks, more snacks, more of everything to the group of overprivileged snobs, then cleans, and doesn't stop cleaning. Rinse, repeat, rinse, repeat.

Something strange is happening though; whenever she enters the room, the group falls silent, something she hasn't experienced before. It's baffling to her and she has no idea what to make of it. So, she hastily exits the room each time.

Shadow is right – the friends are thrilled about the murder they got away with and can talk of nothing else. So, each time Shadow enters the room, it is an intrusion and they clam up.

There is a shift in the jaunty mood when Caroline makes an announcement. "Arthur and I have decided to write a book on how to get away with murder. A sort of ... manual for murder. Of course, names and places will be changed to protect the inno—"

"You mean, to protect the guilty?" Arthur says, gesturing to his friends.

He and Caroline burst into laughter, failing to notice that none of the other friends are laughing with them. Not even laughing _at_ them.

"This book," Spencer says, moving to the edge of his seat, "shouldn't it be a group effort? I mean, the murder certainly was. Did we all not work frightfully hard and diligently –"

"Damn right 'bout that," Biff says. "I'm with him." He darts his finger at Spencer. "We all worked our asses off to get away with murder, so this bullshit 'bout you writing the book – this man ... ual for murder and shit ... ain't gonna happen, chump. Make it a group project or else."

"I'm with him," Spencer says, jerking his thumb at Biff. "Chump."

Richards nods. "I am in agreement – a joint effort is in order – no pun intended."

"Hey, it might become a TV series! Like Sopranos," Star says, her eyes shining with excitement. "I can be like, a mob wife?"

"Then, of course, I must have a say in the casting of my character," Diana adds. "If only Elizabeth Taylor was young again!" She sighs. "People are always comparing me to her."

"Whenever you're drunk?" Mimi enquires in a syrupy voice.

Diana blinks rapidly at Mimi, before she says, "Sorry, I didn't get your joke. You lost me after the words, truck-stop whore." She returns Mimi's syrupy smile.

Mimi's lips become two thin, grey scars.

"Listen!" Caroline says in a no-nonsense voice. "This is our home; Arthur's and my mine, and it was us who invited that ... that _thing_ into our midst. She ate our food, guzzled our drink, warmed herself at our fire, used our bathroom, dined at our –"

"Agreed!" Arthur says.

"– table. It wasn't the best decision we've made, inviting her into our fold, we'll be the first to admit. However, we've paid the price for that fate –"

"The fuck you talking about, Caroline?" Star blurts. "Paid a price? What price? You didn't even kill her! You just said, "Get her!" "Get her!" all the time like you were a hotshot movie director!"

"Listen!" Caroline hisses. "The situation became so volatile that poor Arthur had to arm himself with a lethal weapon at one stage, remember? It was rather distressing for both –"

"I can attest to that," Arthur says, raising his hand.

"Weapon?" Biff sneers. "Was a goddamn butter knife!"

Caroline continues, refusing to allow others to distract her. "It was my idea to create a list in the first place, remember? So, it is our pro –"

"Rubbish, Caroline!" Mimi says. "It was Your Honor's idea to form the list. It –"

"Caroline, listen here and listen good!" Star interrupts. "It was Spencer who broke down the door. So, don't give me that bullshit, okay?"

Caroline's chuckle is mirthless.

Star glares at her. "You laughing? You see his injured shoulder? Huh?" She turns to Spencer. "Show her your shoulder, Spencer. Show her."

Spencer leans forward, pushing out his shoulder. "Muffin is right - my shoulder still hurts from breaking down the door. Last night when Star and I tried to have intercourse –"

"Wait!" Diana says. "You guys are still trying for baby? Seriously?"

Spencer's heads bob, a big grin on his face, while Star looks at the floor.

The group rolls their eyes.

"Moving on," Caroline says.

"Moving on," Diana mimics, "Caroline, Biff has suffered post-traumatic stress because of Arthur's thuggery. You do realize –"

"Thuggery?" Arthur sits upright in his chair. "Diana, how dare you call me a thug?"

"Arthur, you had a dagger in your possession at one time," Diana says. "Let's not forget about—"

"It was a tiny little _butter_ knife, woman! Hardly danger—"

"Hardly dangerous," Caroline echoes. "Ask your trophy husband, Diana; he'll attest to that."

"Trophy husband?" Diana says with a snarl. "You have a nerve! And ... a knife is still a –"

"No, it isn't!" Arthur says.

Biff suddenly darts a knife at Arthur's head. The group screams as the knife embeds itself in a cupboard behind Arthur, narrowly missing him.

Arthur looks at Biff in shock. "Wha ..."

Biff points his finger at Arthur and says, "Include us in that book, fucker, or that knife, that _harmless_ knife, goes into your eyeball. _Capeesh_?"

Arthur and Caroline stare at each other in shock.

Biff reaches for another butter knife.

"Yes, yes, yes, okay!" Arthur quickly says. "We shall all write the book together then." He looks at Caroline for approval.

Even though she is sullen, she manages a tiny nod.

Arthur looks at Biff with a, _settled then!_ look.

A murmur of approval erupts among the friends and Biff backs away from the butter knife.

"Good, now let's talk about the title of the book, Diana says.

"A PDF for Murder," Biff says. "Call it that."

"That's a silly title, Biff," Spencer says.

"The List," Mimi says, "twenty-five steps to ... to getting away with murder!"

"Sounds satisfactory to me," Richard says.

Spencer nods. "Ditto that!"

Arthur looks at Caroline. She shrugs, her mouth turned downwards.

Spencer raises his glass.

"To our new book!" "To our new best seller!" Richard says.

Biff looks pointedly at Arthur and says, "To a mighty fine collection of _butter_ knives!"

"To –"

Their myriad of toasts is interrupted by a knock at the door.

A sullen Caroline gets up, and with her arms folded tightly across her chest, peers out the window.

"Who is it?" Spencer asks.

"It's that pesky detective again," Caroline mutters with an eye roll.

"The one with the ventilation in his socks?" Spencer adds.

With a sigh, Arthur gets to his feet. "Might as well go see what he wants."

Arthur opens the front door and snaps, "Detective? What is it this time?"

"Sir, I'm sorry to bother you," Detective Moore says, "but I forgot to get the names of your guests. Could I please have them?"

"Now? We're in the middle of a dinner party, Detective."

"Humble apologies, sir, but it's routine, gotta get the names of everyone I talk to, and my chief, he'll want to know that I've been busy ... doing my job. Stickler for –" Moore rolls his eyes. "Will only take a minute, sir. Save me from having to return to get their names."

He thrusts his notebook and pen at Arthur. "If they could just write down their names ..."

Muttering under his breath, Arthur takes the book and pen and walks over to his friends in the living room.

"People, this bothersome detective needs your names. Just write down it down, so that he can be on his way and we can enjoy our last night here in peace."

"Should we?" Biff asks, frowning at the notebook.

Arthur shrugs and looks at Richard.

Richard thinks about it for a moment, before he says, "I see no reason not to."

"Me neither," Arthur says, and passes the notebook around for the friends to write down their names in the notebook.

Just as Arthur starts to walk away, Caroline grabs his arm. "Send it with Shadow," she says. "That way it will prevent the detective from wasting any more of your time." Caroline looks over her shoulder and calls, "Shadow!"

Shadow hobbles into the room. "Ma'am?"

"Give this list to the detective at the door, Shadow."

With a nod, Shadow takes the list of names from Caroline and walks away.

The group resume their chatting. Except Caroline; she sits with her ear cocked, listening out for the sound of the front door being shut. When she doesn't hear it, she stiffens.

Noticing his wife's frown, Arthur peers at Caroline. The room falls silent, all eyes now on Caroline. With a manicured finger to her lips, she gets up and cranes her neck to see what's happening at the front door.

To her surprise, she sees Shadow in animated conversation with Detective Moore.

With her eyes slanting, she saunters over to the front door. As she does, the friends, now curious, follow and watch from a distance.

"... just pray to God. I say, 'God, send me someone who can give me a lift, because all the busses, they stop running and the taxi, they charge too much. I don't get the lift, but the paper, it just fly into my face, Detective. Just fly into my face and ... I look at it, but I dunno what it mean. But, I keep it, because ... oh, I dunno why I keep it, but I just put it in my pocket."

"What the hell's she rambling on about?" Diana whispers. "Something's not right."

"Shh!" Arthur says.

"Well, it's a good thing you did, Shadow," they hear the detective say. "I'm sure it will –"

Caroline walks over to the detective and Shadow. "Is there a problem, Shadow?" Caroline asks, straightening her spine and looking at both of them from the top of her nose, her go-to tactic to intimidate.

"Oh, no ma'am," Shadows says. "The detective, he ask me questions – you know 'bout the dead lady? God bless her –"

"What did you tell him?"

"Nothing, ma'am. I dunno nothing 'bout the poor lady. I tell him that."

Caroline nods her approval, while the rest of the friends sigh with relief.

"If there's nothing else, Detective ..." Caroline says in a haughty voice.

Detective Moore doesn't answer; he just stares at his notebook, his eyes travelling across the page the friends wrote on.

"What's he looking at?" Spencer whispers, a ring of alarm in his voice.

No one answers.

Caroline glances behind her at the friends, a hint of alarm in her blue eyes.

"I just give him the paper, ma'am."

Caroline looks at Shadow. "What paper?" she asks in sharp voice.

"The one I find on the road. The ones with the writing on it. Different writings."

The group of friends exchange confused looks.

Caroline looks at the detective. "Wha ... detective, what is she talking about?"

Detective Moore removes a page from his pocket and waves it at Caroline.

It's the murder list.

"Original's back at the station," Moore says, his eyes fixed on Caroline's blanching face.

# Chapter Twenty-Four

"Good Lord!" Mimi whispers.

"We signed the pages _and_ the notebook!" Biff whispers. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuuuuuck!"

As Caroline's eyes shift between the notebook and the list, her legs become shaky, her mouth feels like she's swallowed chalk and that ringing sound in her ears – it drowns out the sound of the rain splattering against the windows.

"It's ... I'm ... I'm confused," she finally manages to sputter, "the news ... the woman ... you s ... drowning ... accident ..."

This time, Detective Moore doesn't answer; his watchful eyes just drift between the visibly shaken Caroline and the snobs in the background looking at him with their mouths open. There are no mocking chuckles, no not-so-funny comebacks, no jesting – the group seems terrified.

Moore no longer sports that amiable, humble smile. That's all been replaced by hooded eyes and taut silence. Without another word, Moore backs away from the front door, his eyes still fixed on Caroline's ashen face.

"Bye, detective!" Shadow says, before she shuts the door. When she turns around, Caroline mutters, "Go home."

Shadow jerks back to look at her boss.

"Go home," Caroline repeats in a grim voice.

Shadow remains where she is, unsure if she has heard correctly. Never before has her boss ever sent her off early. Her surprise turns to alarm – _Did I do something wrong?_ "You sure, ma'am?"

Caroline who remains rooted to the spot, just staring at the closed door, flicks her wrist in a dismissive manner.

"Thank you, ma'am," Shadow says and scurries off.

Slowly, and unlike any ballerina or pageant queen (or runner-up), Caroline turns around to look at the friends. They stare at each other in silence.

"G'nite, ma'am!" Shadow says as she almost runs out of the house.

Star recovers from her shock first. "Okay, what the ... someone talk to me, because this don't look right."

"How the fuck ..." Biff shakes his head, "What the fuck was our list doing in the street? Huh? Who the hell –"

Diana turns and glares at Caroline.

"What?" asks Caroline.

"She had it!" Diana says, slanting her accusing eyes at Caroline. "Wrapped it in a plastic sleeve, she did! Don't let her deny it now!"

The entire group looks at Caroline with condemning eyes.

"This is all your fault, Caroline!" Diana says, wagging a finger at Caroline. "Don't you –"

"Diana, what are you talking about?" Caroline snaps. "I didn't _have_ it. I just put the list in a goddamn plastic sleeve to prevent it from getting soiled, that's all. I was taking precautions when you guys failed –"

"Taking precautions? How did that work out for us?" Diana says with a mocking laugh that emits like a strangled shriek.

"What I wanna know is," Star says, "whose idea was it to write down our names in that goddamn notebook?" Star looks pointedly at Arthur. "Huh?"

All the reproachful eyes in the room shift from Caroline to Arthur.

"I ... I ... I mean, how was I to know he has the ... the ... the list?" Arthur says, palms to ceiling. "Did you guys know he had the list? No? Well, I didn't either."

There is a long silence as the magnitude of the situation hits the group. The friends pace, shake their head and mutter to themselves, now and then throwing accusing glances at Caroline and Arthur.

"He played us," Spencer says in a voice filled with a mixture of admiration and anger. "Charmed, then disarmed, then got us to submit handwriting samples. The man with the ventilation in his socks ..."

"Man, you guys kept sayin' 'Cops are dumb!' 'Cops are dumb!' How are they dumb, huh? Fuck! This is too much for me. I need a line." Throwing his hands up into the air, Biff strides off into the bathroom.

Diana runs after Biff.

Star runs after Diana.

All three lock themselves in the bathroom.

The lights flicker again.

"Not a good sign," Mimi says, looking up the lights.

Moments later, the electricity shuts off and the gas lamps turn on.

The friends sit in semi-darkness, troubled and in no mood for small talk.

"Did you see his face as walked away?" Mimi asks. "He knows."

" _Backed_ away," Spencer says. "His eyes never left Caroline's guilty face. He knows for sure."

When Star, Biff and Diana return into the room, they appear energized.

"Arthur is always so damn cocksure," Diana says, wiping her nose with a palm. "Look –"

"Listen, it's Richard's fault!" Arthur yells. "He's supposed to be the judge, supposed to guide us along the way, yet, he _cajoles_ us into writing down our names? How could it not be his –"

"Yes, Richard, look what you've done now!" Caroline says. "You have _failed_ the group. Idiot!"

"Hey, hey, hey!" Mimi cries. "Stop with the name-calling and show some respect to the judge, will you? Runner up!"

"Oh, shut up, you truck-stopping whore!" Caroline snarls.

A furious Mimi fires back. "At least I'm not insecure enough to lie about winning a beauty pageant, when someone else, someone more attractive and impressive, was chosen over me, you insecure bully!"

"Shaddup, you two!" Star says, her voice cracking. "We ... we gotta think now, fix this problem, okay? We're like ... like, knee-deep in crap right now and I ain't ... I'm telling you, I ain't going to jail. Nope!"

"Me too!" Biff says. "I ain't part of this shit storm. I'm just ... just ..."

"—an observer," Diana finishes. "And Caroline and Arthur – it's their house, I mean, _mansion_ , as she always reminds us. Let's not forget that –"

"I'm in the room, Diana," Caroline says, "I haven't left."

"– one important fact. So, they have to accept responsibility for everything!"

"Everything," Mimi echoes, her head bobbing. "Every single thing."

Caroline whirls around to glare at Diana and Mimi. "Are you both mad? What do you mean take responsibility for _everything_? I did not kill the psychic; you women did! _I_ was the obser –"

"Me too!" Arthur says. Just an observer. And fine, you guys can write the book and claim the rights to it. All of it. I'm stepping down."

"Me too," Caroline says and moves to stand next to Arthur. "You guys can have the book and the movie rights. I'm done with it. All yours."

"Not so fast, Arthur," Richard says. "The facts are –"

"Oh, you and your goddamn facts!" Arthur scoffs. "Get over yourself. You take bribes, might I –"

"– as Diana said; your house, your idea, your crime, your responsibility," Richard continues, refusing to let Arthur derail his train of thought. "Those are the facts."

"Yeah, I'm with the judge, here," Biff says, moving to stand next to Richard. "All your idea, Arthur. Every one of them. Yours, and that bitch of wife of yours!"

In a show of solidarity, Spencer walks over to stand with Biff and Richard. "It was all the wealthy politician and his smiling wife's idea," Spencer narrates, like a presenter on a crime channel. "Beneath that veneer of her fixed smile, lay a sinister and malevolent mind."

Diana, Mimi and Star walk over to stand next to Richard.

Their nods spur Spencer on. "In true Tonya Harding style, the former beauty queen murders –"

"That beauty queen bit ..." Diana shakes her head, "The _runner_ _up_ in a beauty pag –"

"Hey, what about the pearl?" Star says. "Arthur, he friggin' gave the detective the pearl. Told him to take it. You guys remember that, right?"

"Yes, Arthur was rude and arrogant about it too," Mimi says.

"Which stoked the ire of the eagle-eyed detective," Spencer continues, "Snobbish and vain socialite talking down to a hard-working, law enforce –"

"And he expects to be president?" Diana says, her mouth twisted in distaste. "What an arrogant jerk!"

"The shoes!" Mimi says. "Caroline asking the detective to remove his shoes, when we all were wearing ours? How awful she was to the poor man!"

Diana shakes her head. "Appalling! Just appalling!"

"Bitch!" Star says.

"I think we should blow this joint," Biff says, sniffing hard. "I'm donesy with this place!"

"Donesy?" Spencer asks.

Biff explains. "Yeah, like, I'm _done_ with this –"

"Agreed," Diana says. "I think we should leave this place. This very moment, despite the rain."

Mimi looks at Richard. "Your Honor, I must request that we too leave this place."

Richard nods.

Spencer looks at Star. "Muffin, I concur. I'm donesy too. Let's bid the future president and his wife adieu and exit this chamber of horrors. Or, as Caroline would call it, _mansion_ of horrors. One bought with money skimmed from charities. Our money."

"Yup," Star says. "I'm going to pack my shit and –"

"You do that, Muffin. And while you pack for us, I'm just going to help myself to a couple of brandies for the road, so to speak. This weather ... brrr! After all, my money was used to pay for this fine wines and expensive ..."

Star narrows her eyes at Spencer.

"What?" Spencer asks.

Star responds by walking over to the table, taking a bottle of wine and drinking straight from it.

"Muffin! How are you going to drive if you imbibe?"

Star wipes her mouth with a sleeve and says, "Call a limo or drive yourself! I'm donesy with you and your stingy way, motherfucker!"

"Muffin! That's rather selfish of you, isn't it?"

Star takes the bottle with her and joins the rest of the group, who head toward their bedrooms. "As for your packing ..." Star gives Spencer the middle finger.

"Muffin! That a is most unlady—"

"Wait!" Arthur cries. "You can't just leave us here to handle this mess?"

"Watch us!" Biff says over his shoulder.

"Ditto!" says Diana.

Suddenly a gunshot rings above the heads of the group of fleeing friends, showering them with plaster from the ceiling. They scream and spin around to see where the shot came from. To their surprise, Caroline stands with a gun in her hands.

# Chapter Twenty-Five

"Holy moley!" Biff cries.

"Have you lost your mind, Caroline?" Mimi says, both hands on her chest.

Caroline gestures toward the living room.

The group remain where they are.

Caroline fires another shot in the air. The frightened friends rush into the living room.

Caroline motions for them to sit down.

"Oh my God!" Diana says, taking a seat. "They're going to kill us and call it self-defense. Oh my God!"

Richard wags a finger at Caroline. "You will never get away with this. Just how does one explain six murders? Six?"

Caroline smiles, then in a fake, innocent voice says, "What do you mean you are unable to locate my friends, Detective? After a glorious weekend, we all parted ways. I have no idea what happened to them thereafter. Are you implying ...?" Caroline's eyes turn wide. "That is impossible, Detective! My friends would never commit a cult-like murder then skip the country out of fear of reprisal. I mean, I am aware that Spencer and Richard have Swiss bank accounts, Detective. Oh, and Diana ... well, her parents have obscene amounts of money so I shouldn't be surprised –"

"You are ... you are just evil," Mimi says, shaking her head.

Caroline nods at Arthur. On cue, he rips off the curtain cords and moves to tie up the friends.

"Start with him," she says, jerking her chin at Biff.

With the cord in hand, Arthur moves toward Biff. "Turn around."

"Sure, sure!" Biff says in a frightened voice. "Just don't shoot me, man, please."

Caroline's look is one of scorn – how quickly has Braveheart turned into a baby?

Arthur starts to tie up Biff's hands.

Biff suddenly shoves Arthur back, all the way into Caroline. All three of them lose their balance and fall in tandem to the ground. Caroline doesn't shoot, because Arthur is on top of her. Biff uses the opportunity to wrestle Caroline for the gun.

The gun goes off during the struggle, a bullet hitting a chandelier, which crashes to the floor, narrowly missing the battling trio. The friends scream and take cover. Biff manages to take the gun off Caroline, then levels it at her. With a gun pointed at her, she puts her hands up in surrender.

Biff then grabs Arthur by the throat, slams him against the wall and sticks the gun in his mouth. "You listen to me, asswipe! You and that wife of yours will do as we say, or you're gonna eat every bullet in this 9 millimeter, _Capeesh_?"

"Yes ... okay," Arthur stammers. "We'll ... take ... responsibility. Just ... put the gun—"

With his hand around Arthur's throat, Biff points the gun at Caroline, who is still on the floor. " _CAPEESH?_ "

Caroline's head bobs.

Biff releases Arthur and shoves him next to Caroline.

Star walks over to Caroline and boots her several times. "You ruined my hair with that ceiling shit!"

Despite the booting, Caroline appears angry, while Arthur whimpers like a girl.

Biff turns to his friends, with a _now-what?_ look on his face.

"As we said before," Diana says, taking the reins. "it was their idea, their house, their guest, their list, their -

"Mansion!" the group choruses.

"Mansion, whatever!" Diana says.

"Your Honor?" Mimi says, drawing Richard into the plan.

"Well..." says Richard, "I suppose ... well ..."

"— plan B now in progress," Diana interrupts, just like Caroline did. "We engage the services of an attorney, through whom we our statement, namely, the Carhills murdered the psychic and –"

"Synchronize our version of events," Mimi adds. "We were merely guests in their –"

" _Spectators_ ," Spencer says. "Innocent bystanders roped into an unsuspecting pair of serial killer's home. Lured into believing that we were in for a short, but relaxing getaway –"

"Didn't Caroline admit to bringing the unfortunate woman into her home so that she could make fun of her?" Diana asks. "Torture her, then kill her? Solely for that purpose? That's what I heard her say."

" _Confessed_ ," Mimi says. "Caroline _confessed_ to luring that woman into her home, then killed her. That's what I remember, and my memory is fantastic."

The group nods, while Caroline fumes in the background.

"Motive – what was their motive? We need; I mean, they need a –"

"Why, Arthur's roving eye!" Diana says. "When Caroline's husband, philandering as he is, flirted with the woman, Caroline became increasingly incensed, and –"

"The list?" Star says. "What about the list, huh?"

"Well ..." Richard scratches his eyebrows. "We know nothing about the list. That's it."

"We signed the friggin' list, Richard," Star reminds him.

"No, no, no!" Diana says, holding up her palms. "We can't deny knowing about the list. Our signatures are on it. No, we _admit_ we wrote that list."

Mimi shakes her head. "Diana ..."

"Listen to me!" Diana cries. "We admit to writing the list, however, we state that we were cajoled by Arthur and Caroline into a murder mystery game. We believed the list was all part of the game."

"Yeah ..." Mimi says, her eyes lighting up. "A game!"

"Little did we know –"

"Good save there, Miss Smith," Spencer says.

Diana beams. "Thank you, Spencer. And it's Messers Fischer-Smith."

"Ah, yes, I forgot about your big mistake," Spencer says. "Pardon me, Diana."

Diana continues to beam, despite the insult from Spencer. "Who says Caroline is the brains among us?" She throws Caroline a smug look and is rewarded with a hostile look from the hostess.

"Our expertise," Mimi says. "The Carhills, they needed our _expertise_."

"Correct!" Richard says. "I'm a judge and they probably thought; who better qualified to help us in a situation like –?"

"You were duped, Your Honor," Mimi says in a solemn voice. "We all were duped at this ... this 'Whodunnit murder dinner party.'"

"The fuckers!" Biff says returning from the bathroom. "I hate being duped."

"The dead body?" Star says. "What about the dead body? Huh?"

For a few moments there is silence.

"I've got this," Richard says. "The corpse was here, sure, but ... we thought it was a dummy."

"Yes, a dummy," Spencer says. "We weren't allowed to inspect it. Rules of the game. Poorly lit room ..." He shrugs.

"Yeah, but ... how the heck did the corpse get _out_ of the house, huh?" Biff says. "I mean, we have to remember, the corpse was dead."

The group do their best to stifle their chuckles.

"We have no idea," Richard finally says.

"I don't think we can say that," Diana says, scratching her head.

The brainstorming continues, fast and furiously.

"How about ... how about, after the game, we were ushered into the dining room to have drinks and –"

"Drinks, yeah! Let's use drinks ... we had one too many ... so we weren't like ..."

"We were smashed."

"Shit-faced!"

"Smashed, shit-faced – whatever! We weren't that alert about _anything_. Trusting as we were."

"Caroline and Arthur are not the kind of couple to explain anything to anyone."

"And now we understand why – they had so much sinister stuff to hide from the world, they had."

" _Have_. Present tense."

"That's right, _have_."

"When did we first learn about the murder? I mean the detective, he questioned us about it, and we all acted rather blasé about it, remember?"

Another short silence follows.

"When he told us about it. That's when we learned about the murder."

"Mm ... then how come like, we didn't say nothin' about it to him, huh? Like, we didn't say, _Hey officer, that dead body ... guess what?_ "

"Two chances. We had _two_ chances to tell him about the dead body, because he visited us twice ... and we didn't. That's highly suspicious."

Another worried silence follows and the brainstorming grinds to a halt.

"This ain't gonna work," Star says, shaking her head. "It's a friggin' mess."

"No wait!" Diana says. "How about ... it was all part of the game! That's what we thought – all part of the game. The detective calling on us twice – all part of the game – that's what we thought. We played along being the good sports that we are."

"Brilliant!" Spencer says. "It was all part of the game – the body, the detective ... that's why we were so ... so jovial. We were simply playing along. Problem solved. Diana, you are amazing. I had no idea you had such a criminal mind."

"I did," Star says with a sullen face

"Me too," Mimi mutters.

"Spencer, stop it!" Diana says with a broad smile. "You give me too much credit here. You're gonna make the judge feel bad."

"You're badass, Baby Cakes," Biff says, wriggling his eyebrows. "Turning me on, man!"

Diana tilts her head at Biff. "Yeah?"

Biff lunges to give a lusty kiss to Diana, who responds with wild and wanton abandonment.

"Enough!" Richard says. "Back to business!" "I do believe we can do this. We can after all, despite that dreaded list, get away with mur –"

"You mean, getting away with _framing_ the Carhills? Who were going to frame us for the murders _and_ murder us as well?"

"Actually ... we aren't framing them; Caroline murdered the woman. By goading us into murdering the psychic, she was the ... the getaway car driver."

"I wholeheartedly agree!"

"Ditto!"

"Wait! What car? What dri—"

"Roped us into it. They are the murderers. No one is framing them. The Carhills are savage –"

"That is why, we call the police and we report the murder. But, we do this through our attorneys. If any of us talks to the police, we are done. Not a peep from us. That's an order. Am I making myself clear?

"Yes, Your Honor!"

"One more thing!" Diana says, raising her hand. "At what point did we realize it was no longer a game?"

The group stare at her, pondering her question.

"Um ... after we were held at gunpoint by the Carhills? I mean, we were about to depart for home, when they declared that we weren't returning home, because they had other plans for us."

"Yeah, we were gonna sleep with the fishes."

"Fish. There's no plural in fish."

"Held us at gunpoint, the son of a bitches. Told us that we were never returning home."

"Never leaving the place _alive_! They had a gun, so -

"Two guns. A shotgun too. 9 millimeter and a Mossberg 500. Seen the Mossberg in their study. A beaut. Wanna see it?"

"No!" the group choruses.

Biff, who appears deaf to the chorus, runs off to fetch the shotgun.

# Chapter Twenty-Six

When Biff returns with a shotgun, he points at Caroline and Arthur. Caroline stares defiantly at the shotgun, while Arthur cowers behind Caroline.

"Biff, put the gun down," Richard cautions. "It could be loaded for all we –"

Crazy Biff fires the shotgun next to Arthur and Caroline, causing everyone to scream and duck for cover.

"Yup, it's loaded, alright," Biff says, patting his ear. "Whoa!"

"Oh, Biff, you firing that gun; such a turn-on," Diana says in a breathy voice. "Come give me some tongue!"

Biff obliges – he lewdly grabs Diana's ass with both hands, shoves his face into Diana's breasts and makes motorboat sounds. Diana squeals with delight and throws Caroline a smug look.

Caroline responds with a look that can melt the barrel of that shotgun.

"Biff, you need to wipe your prints off that shotgun."

"And wipe that gunshot residue on your hands, you horny buffoon!"

"Yes, Biff. Pay attention, now."

"Back to business," Richard says. "Now that I can hear again, we have evidence of two guns being discharged, thanks to Biff. Three shots and –"

"I feel confident that we can pin this entire fiasco on the Carhills."

"Me too. In fact, I feel rather excited – we have it all under control, despite the way it appears. It's a major feat – we are getting away with mur—"

"'Nuff jabbing. I reckon we tie 'em up, call our attorneys, get 'em over here, then deliver the asswipes to the cops. After that, we collect the reward from Crime Stoppers. "

"No, no, no! We first secure our attorney – one attorney for all of us. Initially, just so that he submits –"

"The same statements!"

" _Nonconflicting_ statements."

"Yeah, whateva! Are we done?"

The friends nod.

"I urge you all to let me do the talking to our attorney, so that we don't make a mess of things," Richard says. "That's an order."

"That's fine by me," Spencer says. "As long as I'm in the room with you every step of the way, Richard. Not that I distrust you or anything - when it comes to my liberty, I take no chances."

"You mean, 'we', Spencer?" Star says. "As long as we – you and _me_ are in the room, right? You not ditching me here, Spencer?"

"Muffin, of course I'm not ditching you. It was a foregone conclusion that I meant 'we.'"

"I think we all have our story straight, and I do believe that as long we speak through our attorney, we plead the fifth on the stand, we will all get away with ... hey! Where's ... where are Arthur and Caroline?"

The group swivel around, looking for the duplicit duo. Caroline and Arthur are nowhere in sight.

"They're going to the police before us!" Diana says. "I know their M.O."

"To cut a deal with them!"

"We've got to find them!"

Spencer runs to the window and peers out of it. "Not outside."

"They're inside, hiding," Star says. "Quick, get them!"

The group scatter into the large house in search of Caroline and Arthur.

Biff runs back into the living room, grabs the 9 millimeter and races into the house to join the search.

The house is dark, forcing the group to rely on the lightning strikes to aid with the search for the missing couple.

"Ready or not ... here we come, Caroline!" Star says in a singsong voice.

******

Not far from the house of horrors, or shall we call it a _mansion_ of horrors, (let's get that right) in a depressing morgue, an overworked coroner and a detective pour over some paperwork. Behind them, on a table, lies Indiana's deceased body.

The men are so focused on their paperwork, they fail to notice Indiana open her eyes and blink at the bright lights. They fail to see her sit up on the table and swing her legs around.

"It's really cold in here, isn't it?" Indiana says, hugging herself.

Only when she speaks, do the men spin around and stare in shock at the corpse, now a beautiful, breathing woman. With unhinged jaws, they watch the beautiful creature stretch her hands high into the air and remark, "That was the best sleep I've ever had!" A smiling Indiana gets off the table, sashays past the shocked men and out of the morgue.

"Call Moore!" the coroner says. "Quick!"

******

Back at the house (Mansion! Mansion! Mansion! How many times must Caroline remind us of that?), the friends continue their search in the dark for the fleeing Carhills. Arthur suddenly sprints out of a bedroom, past the living room and toward the bathroom. Caroline follows hotly to escape the frenzied group of friends chasing after them, the sound of their footsteps competing with thunder.

Arthur reaches the safety of the bathroom first, gets inside it and tries to shut the door behind him. Luckily Caroline, who does Sudoku, yoga, Pilates and tai chi on a regular basis, fights Sudoku and nail to push open the door, despite Arthur trying to shut it on her. She manages to get inside and locks the bathroom door behind her.

The loving couple pull at the security bars on the windows, desperate to escape the armed and dangerous friends.

Outside the bathroom, the group of friends collide with each other, then attempt to shove open the bathroom door. Biff has done a solid job fixing the bathroom door, because it refuses to budge.

"They're escaping through the bathroom window!" Diana cries.

"Get them!!" Star cries. "Quick! Quick! Quick!"

"This goddamn door!"

"Stand back!" says Biff, cocking his 9 millimeter.

Inside the bathroom, Arthur screams when bullets zip past him and Caroline, and smashes into the walls and mirror. He drops to the ground and cowers. Not Caroline; she ignores the flying bullets and somehow manages to loosen the security bars on the windows. "Got it!" she cries. "Help me up, Arthur!"

Arthur jumps to his feet and gets to the window. However, instead of helping the woman he swore to have and to hold, till death ... yadda! yadda! yadda! the son of a bitch pushes her out of the way and escapes through the window, leaving her to the wrath of the frenzied mob.

When the friends see that Arthur is missing, they are furious.

"Outside!" Biff yells. "Get the prick! Go, go, go!"

The men turn and dash out of the bathroom in pursuit of the fleeing coward, abandoning Caroline with the three women. The angry women move toward the host like a trio of hyenas moving toward an abandoned cub, eyes hooded, teeth baring, crazed expressions in their eyes.

"You ruined my hair when you fired at us," Star says. "Bitch!"

"Insulted me over and over again, you did," Diana says in a low voice. "Runner up!"

"Say hello to the psychic for us!" Mimi says with a mirthless smile.

A terrified Caroline looks at the window and, in a terror-laden voice cries, "Arthur, help me! Arthur!"

Arthur does not come to the rescue of his wife.

As the storm rages, the women lunge at the hostess of the mansion, drag her away from the window by her blond hair, and in a similar fashion to Indiana's death, drown their struggling beauty queen in a sink-full of water.

When Caroline's limp body is released, it falls to the floor in an undignified heap, the rope of pearls around her neck, breaking and scattering all over the bathroom floor. The women stand over her body, their chests heaving and stare at their friend's lifeless body.

Moments later, a screaming Arthur is dragged into the bathroom by the rest of the men. When he sees his wife's dead body, he thrashes and flails. "Please, please, please! You can have all my money. Please!"

His pleas fall on deaf ears – the men band together and drown Arthur in the same sink-full of water used to drown his wife.

"If anyone asks, it was raining cats and dogs and they slipped on some poodles," a breathless Spencer says.

"Ya going to place that's hot and crowded," Star says, "Hell, bitch!"

Not far away, Detective Moore is in his car, when his phone rings. On the other end of the line is the coroner and the detective.

"Slow down, slow down; what do you guys mean she's not dead? She's been in the morgue for three days!" Moore removes the murder list from his pocket and stares at it. "It's spooky, man! Yeah ... yeah ... seriously ... yeah, well, if she's alive, guess I should tell the folks in the big house that all's well, then. I may have been a little tough on them." He sighs. "No use them worrying over nothing." Moore hangs up and with a confused look in his eyes, stares out his window for a few minutes, shaking his head from time to time.

# Chapter Twenty-Seven

While the spooked Detective Moore stares out the window, at the same time, at the house of death, the friends stare at Caroline and Arthur's lifeless bodies.

"Ho ... how many deaths before you are considered a serial killer?" Diana asks.

Richard answers, "Typically a person who murders three or more people, usually in service of abnormal psychological gratificati –"

"Good Lord! Tell me you're not serial ..."

"Serial killers? Oh my god! What have you all done?"

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!"

Spencer is the first to react – he turns and "Usain Bolts" it up the stairs, asthma or no asthma, he is the first to ditch the group of serial killers – a survival of the fastest scenario evolving in his head.

The remaining friends, who never in their wildest dreams thought of themselves as serial killers, stare at the fleeing wimp, unsure whether to join him, or drag him back and drown him in the sink, which is already filled with water and ready for another drowning.

"Spencer, where the fuck you going?" Star yells.

Spencer does not answer; his little feet keeps moving, inadvertently or perhaps advertently trying to break Usain Bolt's record as one of the fastest men alive.

"What about me, fucker? You gonna just leave me here?" You motherfuckin' ... mother ..."

For once, Spencer does not answer his blueberry muffin. The miffed muffin follows her husband, cursing and muttering words to the effect, "ain't scared to murder four people, so help me God."

"I'm blowing this joint too!" Biff announces, and being the gentleman to the very end, grabs hold of the hand of the woman who he needs to spring for his bail. Together the lovers with matching libidos hightail it toward their bedroom.

The judge and his "trucked-up" wife look at each other, before they scramble to their rooms too. Well, at least she scrambles, he calmly follows the rattled friends.

******

Not far away, in the pouring rain, Shadow limps home, having missed her last bus. Her clothes are soaked, her shoes are waterlogged, and she longs for a hot drink. Several taxis pass by, but of course, you need money for a taxi, and she has none. Her umbrella, which has long served its purpose, decides to literally fold on her. Dollar store trash. Some people, like her abusive boss, use a rain app to calm them and help them fall asleep – you know the sound of rain on a tin roof, rain on the city streets, rain in the forest – that kind of app. Shadow doesn't get it – whenever she hears the sound of rain, she is anything but calm. She becomes stressed and braces herself for her roof to leak over her children's head. The rain is seldom a beautiful thing to poor people. It's only soothing to rich people, sadly.

When Shadow comes across a bus shelter, she seeks refuge it from the downpour.

As she rests her weary body and her tired legs, she spots a suitcase on the floor of the bus shelter. There's not a soul in sight, so who could it belong to? A bomb! She jumps to her feet with the sole intention of fleeing from the bomb. Then, Shadow stops in her tracks and quizzes herself – _Who the hell's gonna put a bomb in an empty bus shelter? On a rainy day, stormy day, actually? In this bushy area where there are no pedestrians except poor people? And that suitcase looks expensive with its snakeskin handles and fur trimming – which terrorist can afford to destroy such an expensive bag?_

It makes no sense to the tired woman. So, she backtracks and sits down, her eyes never leaving the suitcase. Big enough to hold an umbrella, she thinks. Or a human body. Wait! A human body? At the thought of a dead person in her midst, Shadow is overcome by the desire to flee once again. She doesn't, though. In the end, curiosity overrides self-preservation. After a hasty drawing of the cross on her chest, and muttering, "If I die, I die," she nudges the bag with her foot.

There is no explosion.

Okay.

With her eyes squeezed shut, she gently unzips the suitcase and waits.

Again, no explosion. Slowly, she opens her eyes and look at the contents, and when she does – that crashing sound? That's the sound of her jaw hitting the ground.

In the bag are stacks and stacks of dollar bills tightly jammed together. There is nothing else in her bag other than money.

Shadow does what any poor, rain-drenched person with a leaking roof and no money for a cab would do – she pinches herself. Hard. After wincing in pain, she nods, then looks around for the police, for the cameras, for Ashton Kutcher. Nothing. After tapping her ears with her palms for a few moments for whatever reason, she inspects the money again just in case it's counterfeit. She's not hallucinating, it's real. Her cousin was a counterfeiter and used to dry his money in her attic – this money is real. Stacks and Stacks of real money grin at her. With her breath in spurts, the maid surreptitiously counts a wad of bills – ten thousand dollars! With her eyes darting around, she puts the wad of money into her pocket.

With her heart thudding inside her chest, Shadow carefully zips up the bag and draws it close to her. _You are my bag now._ Lovingly, she strokes the bag, as if it was a cute little stray kitten.

Then, she does something she has never done in her life – she raises her hand. A cab screeches to a halt. The driver offers to put her kitten in the trunk of the car, but she politely declines the offer and carries her precious pet into the backseat with her. After which, she gives the driver her home address. Not once does she sit back in her seat. No, Shadow continues to sit upright and on high alert, stroking her pussycat from time to time. When she alights from the cab, she pays him with a hundred-dollar bill and tells him to keep the change. Only when she enters her home, which is littered with plastic buckets catching the rain from the leaking roof, does she exhale.

Her five children rush to greet her.

"Mama! What's for dinner? I'm hungry."

"Me too! You're late!"

Shadow nods and says, "Okay, who wants Quarter-Pounder with cheese?"

Her kids jerk back and look at their mother in surprise.

"Who wants chicken nuggets? _Twelve_ -pack."

"Wha ...?"

"If you can't choose one, you can have both."

"Mama ... you okay? You gotta the fever again?"

"Call grandma! Tell her to come quick!"

Shadow smiles, whips out a hundred-dollar bill from her pocket and waves it at them like the United States flag she waved on the 4th of July. Her brood gasps at the sight of the crisp dollar bill in her hand. They become frightened, yet excited at the same time.

To their astonishment, their mother picks up the phone, orders their food and upsizes all their meals. They listen in on the conversation and are utterly amazed when they hear their mother say, "Yes, please," to the question, "Is this order for delivery, ma'am?" For the first time in their lives, their mother was actually springing for delivery. Hallelujah!

*******

Back at the mansion of horrors, the fair-weather friends pack with fervour – throwing things randomly into bags, not caring that they are leaving behind most of their stuff. Their main focus is to leave the house before they are discovered by someone. Make it in time to get to the safety of their homes and secure the services of an attorney, before anyone comes calling to the Carhill's house and catches them in the act. Being caught with two dead bodies in their midst; now that would be the worst disaster ever. All their plotting and planning would be futile, their high intelligence quotient useless.

Within minutes, they rush back to the entrance of the house, suitcases haphazardly packed, colliding with each other and fighting to get to the front door first. Just as they reach it, there is a loud knock.

The friends freeze. Is it thunder or is there really someone at the door?

They friends look at each other with eyes the size of saucers. _What now?_

The knocking grows louder.

They remain frozen.

"Mister Carhill? Sir?"

Their worst fears are confirmed – it's that detective. How do they explain where Caroline and Arthur are? How do they explain the dead bodies or _anything_ for that matter?

"Oh my God!" Diana whispers, her body starting to fold forward.

"We're going to jail!" Biff says. "Fuck!"

"I don't look good in orange – it makes me look fat."

"I had nothing to do with any of this; it was my wife's fault – she's a former strip—"

"Shhh!" Mimi whispers, putting her finger to her lips. "Richard, he will guide us," she mouths. "Just be quiet." She looks beseechingly at the judge. "Your H ... Honor?"

The group of friends turn slowly to look at Richard the judge, their saviour.

In a staccato motion, Richard turns his head slowly to survey the scene. He takes in the knife embedded in the cupboard, the bullet holes in the ceiling, the chandelier on the floor, the upturned furniture from the struggle, the broken bathroom door, the shotgun on the table, next to the abandoned 9 millimeter and ... the two dead bodies.

As the judge surveys the crime scene, the knocking grows increasingly louder, above the sound of thunder.

To the dismay of the group, it's not the thunder making that sound, it's not someone pounding on the door, it's Richard's knees slamming against each other.

"Mister Carhill? Sir?"

The friends watch with horror as Richard's legs buckle like that of a newborn foal. The judge who was supposed to lead them to the promised land, sinks to the floor in an undignified heap, his mouth opening and closing in an obscene manner, not a single sound being emitted.

"Game over!" someone whispers.

The End

# About Eve Rabi

**Eve Rabi** is a screenwriter and author of more than 40 romantic crime and suspense novels.

Inspired by the likes of Sidney Sheldon and Gillian Flynn, her tales are bold, scandalous, controversial and often humorous.

To quote an Amazon reviewer: "When you pick up an Eve Rabi book, forget sleep. She writes gripping page turners that will keep you reading till the very end."

If you're bored of regular romance, if you like your romance with twists and turns, if you prefer your crime novels to have strong romantic themes, then you will enjoy Eve Rabi's multi-genre books.

In her spare time, Eve likes to dance like no one is watching. She also likes to eat like no one is watching. That's why she has to dance so often.

To download four free books from Eve Rabi, for a limited time, click on any of these links:

Website: http://everabi.wordpress.com/

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/eve.rabi

Twitter: https://twitter.com/EveRabi1

Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/everabiauthor/

Google +: https://plus.google.com/111560859015561071911

Smashwords:  https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/everabiauthor

Instagram: https://instagram.com/everabiauthor/

Blog: http://everabi.wordpress.com

Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/24490383-the-other-woman

Email: everabi2012@hotmail.com

More ...

# EXCERPT from PAYBACK, a crime thriller from Eve Rabi:

SYDNEY AUSTRALIA

2012

Operator: "Police helpline, what is your emergency?"

Caller: "Eh, a woman, like, she's screaming her head off. Can you send the police? Please?"

Operator: "What seems to be the problem?"

Caller: "She says...she says that someone stole her car and stuff..."

Operator: "State and town please?"

Caller: "Eh, Sydney...St Ives..."

Operator: "Yeah, where about in St Ives?"

Caller: "Warrimoo Avenue, outside the eh, shops and stuff."

Operator: "Would that be...corner Dalton road and Warrimoo?"

Caller: "Eh, let me see...yeah, that's it."

Operator: "Is anybody hurt?"

Caller: "No. Just the baby."

Operator: "Baby? Did you say a baby was hurt?"

Caller: "No, no, she was _in_ the car. The baby. Sorry, I'm just fifteen so..."

Operator: "She was in the...are you saying that the car was stolen _with_ a baby in it?"

Caller: "Yeah. Can you hear her? The mother? She's screaming her head off like a ban—"

Operator: "Yes, I can. What's she saying?"

Caller: "She's saying...hold on...eh, she says she knows that it's her ex, like, he's behind it, and she's screaming and running up and down the street, going mental."

Operator: "O...kay. I need you to stay on the line. What's your name?"

Caller: "Carly. But my cell battery is dy—"

Operator: "Hello? Hello? Carly, can you hear me? Hello?"

******

Sydney, Australia

2012

The first time Tom hit me, I was eight months pregnant. Slapped me across the face so hard, I saw tiny white stars, even though I was indoors. I was twenty-two, he was thirty-five.

I was eight months pregnant and waddling like a duck; he was approximately one hundred and eighty pounds of solid muscle. He took part in triathlons, ran five kilometers every day, had wheatgrass and quinoa for breakfast, a green salad with no dressing for lunch, and usually ate lean chicken breast with three different colored vegetables for dinner.

Fit, disciplined, and focused – that was my husband.

Throughout my two years of marriage, I'd seen bursts of his rage – towards me and others, and his road-rage – now that was the worst – it terrified me. Especially since he liked to take on truck drivers. The bigger the truck, the greater his rage. Usually, people steered away from trucks, but not Tom; he took them on, provoked them until I was shaking with fear.

Deep down, I guess I did fear being hit by him one day, but I didn't expect it _that_ day – the day of my second wedding anniversary.

I was so stunned by the slap, I didn't move away or try to defend myself. I just stood and gaped at him, one hand on my cheek, the other on my swollen belly.

"I take care of _everything_!" he hissed. "All you had to do was chill the Cristal, and you forget to do that. A small thing like that. Chill. The. Cristal – how hard is that, huh? Huh?"

To celebrate our wedding anniversary, Tom had invited eight couples to a four-course sit-down dinner at our house, located in the upscale suburbs of St Ives, Sydney.

He had hired caterers, waitstaff, and a barman. Like all of Tom's parties, it promised to be interesting, excessive, and showy.

It was true – all I had to do was chill the Cristal, as he had taken care of everything else, without consulting me once about anything. Not even asking me who I'd like to invite. Solo – that's how Tom operated.

I didn't mind. Tom was extremely capable, highly efficient, and most of all, he had flair. I didn't, so if I did make a suggestion for just about anything, he'd usually scoff at it and shred it to bits, making me feel like the hillbilly I was. So over time, I stopped suggesting or contributing, and left everything in Tom's highly capable hands. That suited him just fine.

With pregnancy hormones, my brain sometimes became a pile of mush, and I would walk into a room and forget why I was there. I often forgot which level I had parked my car on at the mall.

It annoyed the hell out of Tom as he called it foolish, and God knows, being as astute and intelligent as he was, he didn't suffer fools gladly.

As my pregnancy progressed, everything I did was foolish and stupid to him, and he became increasingly irritable with me, and finally, he hit me.

"See what you do to me!" he snarled, his nostrils flaring, his lips a thin white line. "You _make_ me act like this."

After throwing me a look of disgust, he stood in front of the mirror, carefully adjusted his tie, straightened his five-foot-eight frame, and walked towards the door of our bedroom.

At the door, he paused and turned to look at me. "Put on a darker shade of lipstick, wear the necklace I bought you for Christmas, and be downstairs in five," he said before he walked downstairs.

With my hand on my cheek, I sat on the bed, shrouded in disappointment and disbelief.

How could he hit me? I asked myself. How could he hit a _pregnant_ woman? His pregnant wife – who does that?

There was no way I was going to go to his party after that. I would leave quietly through the back door before our guests arrived. I wouldn't even _tell_ him that I was leaving him. To hell with him and his party.

Just then the doorbell rang. Too late. Our guests had arrived.

"The place looks wonderful, Tom."

"Thank you."

"Yes, it's just fabulous, Tom. Marvelous. Where's Arena?"

"She'll be down in a sec," I heard Tom say. "Honey, our guests have arrived," he called in a sweet voice from the foot of the steps. "Arena, sweetheart?"

I panicked. _What do I do?_ How could I possibly _not_ show up when guests had already arrived? In all honesty, I'm ashamed to say, I chickened out. Feeling pressured, I decided I would go downstairs and be civil and courteous to Tom's friends, but I would leave immediately after the party. If he tried to stop me, I would have it out with him and call the cops if I needed to. I may have been twenty-two years old, but I realized that Tom had crossed a line and I wasn't going to accept it.

I scrambled up from my king-size bed and walked over to a mirror where I eyed my cheek, red from his slap.

I picked up some concealer and dotted it over the redness. Didn't work. His imprint on my cheek and the welt showed through the concealer.

I tried green concealer. That did the trick and that was the first time I learned that green concealer worked better on bruises better than yellow or beige concealer.

Over the years I used a lot of green concealer, and I became an expert at concealing "flaws."

Luckily, my deep mahogany hair was in a bob and fell in a sharp point two centimeters below my ears. (Styled as per Tom's strict instructions. He ordered me to wear my hair _exactly_ that way. He was in awe of Victoria Beckham.) That night, with the help of a little wax, I pulled the edges forward so that it covered my cheek. Just in case the green concealer let me down.

Then I went one step further and decided that if the concealer faded and someone enquired about the marks on my face, I would simply say that I had an allergy – a new facial that didn't quite agree with me. (Over the years, my friends were surprised at how many facials didn't agree with me.)

Still dazed, I adjusted my clothing, darkened my lipstick, put on the chunky gold necklace that Tom ordered me to wear, and waddled downstairs. As instructed.

When I reached the last stair of the spiral staircase of our 2.6-million-dollar home in Sydney, which had a spa, sauna, tennis court, and an Olympic-size pool, I plastered a smile on my disappointed lips and murmured greetings to our guests.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Tom watching me with elevated eyebrows, probably waiting to see if I would tell on him, or indicate marital discord in our supposedly perfect marriage.

I ignored him and focused on our guests. I would deal with the bastard later.

After a while, his eyebrows returned to normal and he moved towards me. As if nothing had happened, he slipped his arm around my waist. I stiffened, then casually tried to shrug it off, but he held on, his fingers digging into my side, tacitly warning me to behave, or else.

After our last guest had arrived, Tom rattled a knife on a Royal Doulton goblet. "Ladies and gentlemen, it is now time for me to give my beautiful wife her anniversary gift."

With a fake smile plastered on my darkened lips, I allowed him to take my hand.

He led us all outside, where a silver BMW X60i E75 was parked in our driveway, a huge red bow on it. I knew that it cost more than a hundred and fifty thousand dollars, as I had gone car shopping with him weeks ago.

"For you, my love," he said.

All eyes were on me, most of them filled with envy.

Overwhelmed by the slap and by the present, I remained mute.

He pinched my waist. Hard.

"It's beautiful," I murmured quickly, feeling pressured to say _something_. It truly was a lovely vehicle, although the one I was driving, a Mercedes four-wheel drive, was just as beautiful.

I looked at him. "But, I didn't get you anything, Tom." My voice felt strained and high-pitched.

He hugged me. "You are my gift alone, Arena. You bring me so much joy, my love."

"Aaaawwww!" I heard a guest mutter. "How sweet!"

My guests had no idea that less than an hour ago, this man had slapped his pregnant wife.

"And that's not all," he said and produced a pretty red-and-gold box. Tom opened it, revealing a chunky diamond bracelet. He slipped it onto my wrist, then kissed my hand and bowed obsequiously.

Back inside, gasps of delight and more unbridled envy abounded, which Tom seemed to visibly revel in.

Envy was Tom's currency – his elixir of life. Without it, I do believe that he would have shriveled up and simply died.

Then he took me into his arms and once again, lovingly embraced me. When he kissed me, he threaded his fingers into my hair and slipped his tongue into my mouth. His kiss felt horrible – like sucking on raw steak. I felt awkward and uncomfortable, and I wanted him to stop the Broadway show. I was a lousy actress and a terrible leading lady for sure.

When I jerked slightly away, his fingers gripped my hair and pulled hard, a silent warning – _Play along or else._

Having no choice, I became a supporting act in his show and felt like the phony I was.

Then the doorbell rang.

He released me and said, "Will you get that, darling?"

I was surprised, because Tom always answered the door. After a moment's hesitation, I opened the door and caught my breath at the sight of the biggest bouquet of roses I had ever seen.

"For Mrs. Arena Botha," the delivery guy said, struggling to carry the bouquet.

Again, the room echoed with oohs and ahhs!

Of course, I was not one bit impressed with any of his gifts. It was not that I was ungrateful. Sure, his gifts were lovely, but I would have preferred if he had given me the gifts that morning, when it was just the two of us, or if he had sent me the roses during the day.

These gifts were all about him and his ego – _Look at me. Look how successful I am. See what I can give my woman. Don't you wish you were married to me instead of your husband? When you leave here tonight, you're gonna wish you were Arena. You're gonna wish you were Tom Botha's wife._

I did leave the house that night, but it wasn't because of Tom's slap. I went into early labor and had to be rushed to the hospital that very night. Three hours after our last guest had left, I held in my arms a beautiful blue-eyed boy called Warren, who became the silver lining in my life.

All thoughts of leaving Tom and ending our marriage went out the door after that. I continued living with Tom, starring in his Broadway shows and buying copious amounts of green concealer.

One word to describe living with Tom – suffocating.

Every time he was around, I felt like I had a pillow over my face. I dreaded the hour when he would walk through that door, and when he left the house, I felt like the pillow had been lifted from my face.

Weekends were the worst – the pillow seldom lifted, and unlike most people, Monday was my best friend. I looked forward to it.

The moment Tom left the house for work, I would let out a long sigh, make myself a cup of hot chocolate, and as the morning progressed, my shoulders would slowly drop from around my ears and I would smile.

My Sunday morning psalm: Monday my love, where are you?

# *******

The second time Tom hit me, Warren was eight months old.

Tom grabbed me by the hair and smashed my head against a door. I lay dazed on the floor while my baby screamed his head off. There were no tell-tale signs of the assault – no blood, no marks, just searing pain. It took me an hour to see one of everything again.

We had been arguing about my family. When we migrated to Australia from South Africa, Tom had promised that I could visit my mother and siblings every four months or so. Either that, or he promised to send plane tickets for them to visit us in Sydney.

Now that they wanted to see my baby, my mother's first grandchild, Tom wouldn't let me go to South Africa, and he flatly refused to send my mother a plane ticket.

My mother, being a pensioner, couldn't afford to pay her way to Australia, something Tom was aware of.

Seeing my misery, he said, "You want to go to South Africa, go! But you are not taking Warren with. Go yourself."

Of course I wouldn't leave my baby and go off to South Africa. But I had been diagnosed with postpartum depression and desperately needed my mother's help with the baby, even for just a little while. I felt isolated and alone in Australia, I was jumpy all the time and I cried easily.

In my heart, I knew that I wasn't a model mother – I wasn't serene and smiling beautifully like the moms in the Toddler S26 ads. Chewed-up nails, disheveled hair, sweat pants, dark rings around the eyes – that was me. (Bet you'd never see Victoria Beckham looking like that.)

Tom became a tyrant to live with. He was a neat freak and a perfectionist, and of course the house had to be a certain way, or he'd go ballistic and throw things around. I could cope with that when I didn't have a baby, but things had changed.

Tom refused to understand. It didn't matter that I had sleepless nights and that I was recovering from a caesarian section – everything had to continue being immaculate, organized, and perfect.

_A place for everything and everything in its_ place – that was one of Tom's many mottos. (He had about sixty mottos that he lived by. That I eventually had to live by.)

My life became increasingly miserable.

The part I hated the most about my miserable existence – the bedroom. I hated the way he demanded sex just about every night, forced me into perverted positions, and the fact that he was insatiable.

I hated the way he roughed me up during sex, grabbed me by the hair, twisted my neck to kiss me; the way his hand fastened around my throat while he thrust vigorously into me; the way he took total control over my body and my soul, and dominated me in the harshest possible manner.

I hated the way he demanded I orgasm in record time, then got irritated when I didn't, the way I had to fake it just to please him, the way I broke down and cried in the bathroom so many times after I had sex with him – the man I had chosen to have and to hold.

That video of Pamela Anderson giving Tommy Lee a blow job – he forced me to watch it with him.

"I want _that_ ," he said, pausing the video at a certain point and pointing to Pam. "See that look in her eyes? See that? I want that. That babe, she _likes_ it. She _wants_ it. She's _begging_ for it. See? See? I want that, you hear? You better shape up, Arena, 'cause I _expect_ nothing less than that. _Basic Instinct_ , _9 ½ Weeks_ – now that's what we should be having. You have to sweat, Arena. If you don't sweat during sex, you might as well be fucking your ...wife."

Everything he said didn't always make sense, but I never questioned him. I didn't care to; I just wanted it to be over. And ... never once did I sweat during sex. Not even a slight slick over my body.

If, while we were having sex, Warren cried, which was often, Tom wouldn't stop so that I could take care of our baby.

"I come first," he'd declare in an angry voice. "Always. He must understand that. I am the man of the house. This is my house. I always get priority. Always. You have to teach him that early in life, or he's gonna get spoiled."

Once, Warren cried so pitifully – I just couldn't take it anymore. In the middle of sex, I broke down and wept.

Tom got so mad at the sight of my tears; he withdrew from inside of me, stormed over to Warren, and yelled into my poor baby's face for about five minutes. "You just want attention all the time! You are such an attention seeker, you little wuss. Grow up, be a man!"

Warren got so scared, he started trembling and sobbed without a sound.

When I tried to protect Warren from Tom, he shoved me so hard, I fell back and bruised my tailbone. As I lay on the ground in agony, he grabbed Warren by the scruff of his neck. "Do you want to sleep on the balcony tonight? Cry one more time. I dare you. See how dark it is out there? That's where you will sleep all night _without_ your mom."

Warren didn't make a sound after that. Not even when I took him in my arms and tried to comfort him.

I knew I had to leave Tom. But how, I wondered? Where do I go? I had no money, and I knew that Tom would cancel my credit cards when I left. I had no family in Australia, no friends, and I was so young and green, I didn't know where to start. It was easier to just stay, so the idea of leaving Tom was shelved.

To keep the peace, I did everything I possibly could to please Tom. But his beatings, verbal and physical, took their toll on me. Day by day, my spirit slowly eroded. I became really unsure of myself, and I existed under a cloak of shame.

Shame that I was the kind of woman who allowed a man to walk all over me and to beat me. Shame that I wasn't strong enough to tell him to take a hike.

My confidence was almost nonexistent, and I felt fat, unattractive, stupid, and worthless.

How did I get to be like this? I kept asking myself.

As for sex – I hated it. If I never had sex again in my whole life, I would be the happiest woman alive, I concluded.

Just about every woman I knew would hate it if their husband had an affair, a mistress. Not me.

I prayed that he'd find someone, have a torrid sexual affair so that he could leave me alone.

All I wanted was to be a mom to my baby, and to not have to live in a state of constant stress.

Even though it was easier to stay with Tom, I kept thinking about leaving him, and I just couldn't get the thought out of my mind.

I realized that if he divorced me, he would have to give me half of everything. Then I remembered the prenup I signed. I didn't have a copy of it; Tom had it tucked away in his safe at work. But I knew clever Tom would make sure I got nothing from him. I was certain of that.

My future seemed bleak, uncertain – and feelings of hopelessness sapped away all my energy.

One day Warren was watching a television commercial for some pasta product. In the commercial, the father arrives home and says, "I'm home!" and his three kids rush to jump into his arms. They hug and kiss, after which the wife hugs and kisses the husband. The family appeared loving and so happy.

"Mom," Warren said, his eyes fixed on the family.

"Yes, honey?"

"Do daddies really hug their children like that?"

I stopped what I was doing and looked at Warren. Tom never hugged Warren. In fact, he barely acknowledged Warren, and when he did talk to Warren, it was to scold him about something or berate him for being a sissy.

"Look, Mom." Tears filled my eyes as I watched my son rewind the commercial and watch it again. Each time the children dived into their father's arms, Warren chuckled. "See that?"

It was the saddest moment in my life. I scooped up my son and held him to my breast as fat tears rolled down my cheeks. That was the moment that broke me. That was also the moment that I decided, come what may, I was going to leave Tom. He didn't deserve me or Warren.

It may have been the saddest moment in my life, but once I made a decision to leave Tom, I felt so much relief that it also became the happiest moment in my life.

To read more from **PAYBACK,** a heartbreaking, angsty thriller with has more than 1500 five stars, (FREE for a limited time) click on this link: <https://wordpress.com/page/everabi.wordpress.com/1144>

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Crime & Suspense Thrillers by Eve Rabi (Multi Genres, best read with Kindle Unlimited)

(Please note: we are restructuring. Book titles and series names have been changed. For updates, please check out Eve Rabi's website: www.everabi.wordpress.com)  
It is best to read Eve's books in this order.

PAYBACK – Sometimes Karma takes so friggin' long, you have to lend a hand (book 1 in the Payback Series FREE book)

ONE WAY OR ANOTHER (book 2 in the Payback Series)

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THE OTHER MAN – It was more than an affair; it was a conspiracy of lies and deceit. (Standalone. Previously titled My Wife's Li'l Secret)

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THE OTHER WOMAN – An epic and jaw-dropping collision between a betrayed

wife and a cunning seductress (Book 1 – The Other Woman Series)

THE SCORNED WIFE – To win back her husband, the rejected wife must emulate the other woman. Become her if possible. (Book 2 in the Other Woman Series. Previously titled Derailed)

LEAD ME INTO TEMPTATION – He may be a man of God, but he's still just a man. (Book 1 in the Temptation Series)

TEMPTATION'S GRIP – A romantic crime & suspense novel about lust, infidelity and murder (Book 2 in the Temptation Series)

THE WHISPER OF TEMPTATION – The power of Love (Book 3 in the Temptation Series)   
WRATH OF TEMPTATION – Hell Hath no Fury (Book 4 in the Temptation Series)

EMBERS OF TEMPTATION – You forget; lust burns bright, intensely, but extinguishes just as quickly – (Book 5 in the Temptation Series)

FRAGMENTS OF TEMPTATION - Careful where you step, 'cause there all hearts all over the floor. (Book 6 in the Temptation Series)

RUINS OF TEMPTATION – A forbidden touch, a treacherous heart, desires that cannot be denied. (Book 7 in the Temptation Series)

ASHES OF TEMPTATION – What goes around (Book 8 in the Temptation Series)

THE GOLD DIGGERS's GUIDE TO SEDUCTION - Unfair, Underhanded and Downright Deceitful Seduction Tips ((Volume 1 in the Seduction series, penned by Scarlett Smyth-Murdoch-Callan from The Other Woman series)

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THE BEAST (book 1 in Gringa Series FREE for a limited time)

THE TAMING OF THE BEAST (Book 2 in the Gringa Series – FREE for a limited time)

BEAST OF MINE (Books 3 and 4 combined, the final part of the Gringa series.)

BELOVED BEAST (The original ending to the GRINGA series. No longer for sale. However, once you've read Beloved Beast, you will know how to obtain this version free of charge)

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DECEPTION - A Palace Full of Liars - Book 1

MORE THAN DECEPTION - A Palace Full of Liars - Book 2

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BURN'S WORLD – Part One – Free book (comprises books one and two)

BURNS'S WORLD – Part Two (comprises books three and four)

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CAPTURED – My Sworn Enemy, My Secret Lover (book 1)

CAPTURED: My Sworn Enemy, My Secret Lover (original book two, no longer in publication)

CAPTURED FOREVER – My Sworn Enemy, My Secret Lover (book 2)

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THE CHEAT - A Tale of Lies and Infidelity - Book 1 in a Tale of Lies and Infidelity Series

THE AFTERMATH OF CHEATING - A Tale of Lies and Infidelity - Book 2 in the Tale of Lies and Infidelity Series

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OBSESSED WITH ME –Book 1

STILL OBSESSED WITH ME –Book 2 in the Obsessed series

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BETRAYED – He'd get his Girl at Any Cost

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MY BROTHER, MY RIVAL – All out of love

MY BROTHER, MY RIVAL- How can I not love you?

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COLOR BLIND - A heartbreaking romantic suspense series about love and loss  
Color Blind book 1

Color Blind book 2  
Color Blind book 3

Color Blind book 4

Color Blind Book 5

Color Blind Book 6

Color Blind Book 7

Color Blind Book 8

Color Blind Book 9

Color Blind Book 10

The Hotline Psychic – novella published April 2020, free for a limited time
