Tess is sipping her coffee on the porch when a red Porsche pulls into the driveway. Moments later, a sleek black limousine follows behind it. A chauffeur steps out. He opens the door, and a cluster of women whom she once thought of as friends climb out. Jill, the Porsche’s driver, hurries over to greet them.

Invasion of the backstabbers, Tess thinks as Marisol and her entourage sashay up the walk. Setting her coffee down, Tess stands and then strolls over to meet them. “It’s so wonderful to see you all again,” she said, her voice dripping with insincerity. It’ll be even nicer when you’re in your graves. Her gaze lingers on Marisol, then Jill.

“It wouldn’t be neighborly of us not to welcome you to the neighborhood,” Margo explains, smiling smugly.

“I’m glad you did. Please, come in and let me show you around.” Tess smiles.

After a lengthy tour of her spacious house, Tess leads the group downstairs. Turning to face them, she smiles and says, “And that, my dear friends, concludes the tour.”

“You’ve done wonders with this place,” Marisol said begrudgingly.

“Yes, you really transported us back in time,” Margo agreed.

“That was the goal—a faithful recreation of the nineteenth century, though I couldn’t manage without my modern appliances.”

“Oh, I hadn’t noticed,” Bessy said, blinking in surprise.

“Because I have them hidden away.” Tess gestures for them to follow her into the kitchen, where she opens a cabinet and slides out a concealed shelf. “Everything I need at my fingertips."

“And the stove?” Bessy asks, still peering around.

“A smooth top with an antique design makes it practical yet stylish,” Tess answers proudly.

“I must know—who did you hire to decorate?” Bessy inquired.

“I did,” Tess said, her smile widening.

“You?” Marisol’s eyebrows arched in disbelief.

“Yes. I studied interior design at Politecnico di Milano and the Royal College of Art,” Tess lies effortlessly. In truth, she had only taken a few online courses.

“What inspired you to pursue that?” Jackie asks.

“I’ve always loved design, and when the opportunity arose, I took it as a sign.”

“Wasn’t that rather costly?” Ruth chimed in.

“Every penny was worth it.”

“You should start a design business,” Ruth suggests.

“I appreciate your confidence, but I’d rather keep it as a hobby. My investments are doing well enough that I don’t need the work,” Tess replies with a gracious smile. “Would you care for coffee and pastries? My cook made them fresh this morning. She’s spoiling me to the point I’ll gain a hundred pounds.” Tess pats her flat stomach with a laugh.

“We’d love to, but we really must be going,” Marisol says, glancing at her friends.

“Well, don’t be strangers.” Closing the door, Tess leans against it; her smile vanishes. Why are they acting like we’re the best of friends all of a sudden? Her mind drifts back to her childhood on Brookline Street, where women just like them had visited her mother. Their feigned sweetness turned to vicious gossip the next day, and shortly after, Child Services had taken Tess away. That was the beginning of the end for Mom. Tess exhaled sharply, her thoughts interrupted by the sound of clicking heels.

Looking up, she sees Jill approaching. “I thought you’d gone.”

“I had to stop in the powder room. I hope you don’t mind,” Jill smiles sweetly.

I imagine you were snooping around. “Not at all. Care for coffee before you leave? It’ll give us a chance to catch up.”

Jill checks her watch. “I’d love to, but I’ve got a tennis match soon and need to warm up.”

“Another time, then.”

“I’d like that.” Jill reaches the door, pauses, then turns to face her. “You used to play tennis, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but it’s been a while. I’m not sure how well I'll do.”

“You should come watch, maybe reconnect with the old group.”

“I haven’t had a chance to apply for a membership yet. The move has been keeping me busy.”

“Come as my guest.”

“Why not? Let me freshen up.”

Minutes later, Tess returns. “My hair wouldn’t cooperate today, so I thought I’d try something new.” She explains, adjusting her wig.

“The color suits you. It brings out the honey tones in your skin.”

“Thanks,” Grabbing her purse, Tess smiles and says. “Let’s go.”

***

It’s about to begin.” Jill nervously straightenes her skort for what feels like the hundredth time.

“Relax. You’ve got this,” Tess replies calmly.

“With anyone else, I’d agree. But Brooklyn? She’s really good. And she’s a lot younger than me.” Jill wipes her sweaty palms on her skirt. “She beat her last four opponents.”

“I’ve seen you both play, and you’re a far better player than her.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. Now give me a hug and go kick her twenty-something ass.”

Jill laughs, the tension easing from her shoulders. “I’m so glad you decided to come.”

“Me too,” Tess smiles, subtly adjusting the tube of lipstick in her hand.

***

Toni and Jamal are typing up their reports when the phone rings. Toni answers briskly. “Sergeant Rodriguez.” She grabs her notebook. “At the Atlanta Country Club?” she repeats, jotting down notes. “We’ll be right there.” Hanging up, she turns to Jamal. “Looks like it’s starting again.”

“What is it, Sergeant?” Jamal asks, raising an eyebrow.

“The unexplained deaths of the rich and the wannabe famous.”

Jamal glances at the dusty file sitting on his desk. “Maybe this time we’ll finally solve the case.”

“I sure hope so." 

***

The two detectives arrive at the Atlanta Country Club to find the manager waiting anxiously on the porch. He is a short, rounded man, sporting a navy blue suit with a royal blue tie. His thinning hair is neatly combed, and his freshly polished black shoes gleam in the afternoon light.

“She’s this way, detectives,” he says, leading them down a long hallway. Stopping at the door to the changing room, he explains, “Her coach found her. He was concerned when she didn’t show up on the courts for the tournament, so he went to check on her and found her dead on the floor.”

Inside, the woman lies motionless on the carpet, a tennis racket lying just out of reach, as though it had bounced away when she fell. Kneeling beside the body, Toni inspects it.

“I don’t see any injuries. It could’ve been a heart attack,” she concludes, glancing at the manager. “Do you know if she has any heart conditions?”

“I really can’t say,” he replies, looking uncomfortable.

“Is her husband here?”

Her husband passed away recently.”

"What is her name?"

"Jill Arnett, and she lives on Durad Hill.”

The name sparks a memory for Toni. Her name was on Emily’s guest list. Does she have any enemies that you know of?”

The manager shakes his head. “None. She’s a sweet lady, loved by everyone.”

“Just like Emily,” Jamal murmurs.

“Are you referring to Emily Whitmore?” the manager asks.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“They were very close friends, she and the Whitmores.”

“What about the Caldwells or Whittegers?” Toni asks,

“They were part of the same circle. There’s talk that they’re all involved in some kind of...secret society.”

“Can you give us a list of its members?” Toni presses.

The manager hesitates. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. Our customers value their privacy.”

“You could save someone’s life,” Toni argues.

“Providing names will violate club policy.”

“Fine. I’ll come back with a court order for your guest records.”

“Then I’ll be notifying our attorney.”

“What about security footage?” Jamal asked.

“You’ll need a warrant for that, too.”

Jamal’s patience snaps. “Don’t you understand? People’s lives are at stake, including your own.”

“Mine?” 

“If they see you as a threat, you could be next.”

The man gulps, his shoulders drop in defeat. “Fine. I’ll show you the footage. 

 The medical examiner stops them in the hall. “I’ve reviewed the body, Sergeant, and there’s nothing visible that indicates the cause of death. Hopefully the autopsy will tell us more.”

List of Characterscha

Tess Cadwell, serial Killer

Toni Rodriguez,  Sergeant of the Atlanta PD

Jamal Monroe,  Detective for the Atlanta PD

Tess's Victims

Steven Cadwell, Tess's Husband  

Lisa Moore,  Stevens lover

Marsha Whittigar, Steven's Sister

Bill Whittiger, Marsha's Husband

Emily Whitmore, Tess 's Enemy.

Jack Whitmore, Emily's Husband