"You'll notice how busy the club is right now. We're hosting a silent auction today, but it's usually a little more peaceful." The prim, petite woman who introduced herself as Jackie fluttered her hands about the place, flashing her long nails and sparkly dangly bracelet in the sunlight with every motion. She flipped her feather pixie. "But anyway, this is the courtyard. If you ever want a one stop spot for finding out what events are taking place, Heather's always here to give tours and provide information." Jackie fluttered her nails toward a slender blonde woman in a preppy suit, speaking animatedly with a group of middle aged women.
She flashed a beaming smile back at the expensively dressed woman behind her. "You just moved into the Villas, you said? Such beautiful houses."
Ronnie pushed a curtain of delicately waved, glowing golden locks off of her shoulder. "We did," She confirmed, in a head voice that sounded completely wrong to her ears after years of lapsing back into her comfortable chest voice. "To be perfectly honest, though, I might be rethinking it. I heard that a woman just two houses down was killed in her own home."
Jackie's cheery expression transformed into something that almost seemed morose, if it weren't for the exaggerated part of her lips. "Oh, I know," She crooned. "Scarlett was the chair of our committee. It's just awful, we're all so upset." In the next second, her smile was back, bright and expositional as ever, and she touched a tiny, tanned hand to Ronnie's elbow. "But, honestly, the crime in this area is next to zero, it's the safest place. And on top of the gorgeous homes, this club is the absolute perk. It has the best restaurant in town, renowned masseuses, and the best spa services in any of the surrounding three counties. Any kind of active exercise interests you may have are offered here—" She shot a side-eye at Ronnie's thick stature, analyzing everything that could be seen beneath her Ted Baker sundress and Ferragamo pumps. "And we host all sorts of different hobby classes seasonally. There's always something to do here."
Ronnie shifted her bag to her other arm and gazed out across the acres of tennis courts and golf greens. "It's certainly beautiful. I must say, you're very convincing. I'm sold."
Jackie beamed, her eyes practically reflecting dollar signs. "Wonderful, we're so happy that you'll be joining us. Shall we discuss our memberships over lunch?"
Ronnie gladly gestured for Jackie to lead the way, and very quickly found herself seated at a small round table with a tablecloth that had a much higher thread count than her bedsheets and glinting china dishware that cost more than her motorcycle.
As the woman prattled on and on about their membership options, the extravagance of which she lauded convincingly and the cost of which she never mentioned, Ronnie chatted along girlishly and laughed in soft crystalline tones until the muscles in her throat hurt.
Finally, with paperwork signed and more money spent than Ronnie had ever legally spent on her entire life, Jackie put her application binder aside and picked up her salad fork. "So, tell me, Veronica, what do you do? You seem very athletic, are you into sports?"
Ronnie didn't miss the inflection at the end of her sentence that inferred a distaste for the idea of a brawling athlete amid her perfectly polished droves of delicately petite tennis players. She didn't let that sway her from reciting details from her carefully crafted cover story. "No, not sports. I do dabble in personal training, but just in my off time." She noted with quiet surprise that the salmon salad on her plate was definitely the best she'd ever had.
Jackie appeared somewhat appeased, and brushed her bangs away from her sharply angled eyebrows. "Oh, that's lovely. What do you do in your on time?"
Ronnie feigned a modest shrug, and pretended that she didn't mind that her next lie would paint her as a vapid trophy wife. "I model." She sipped daintily from her water and smiled airily at the surprised look on the other woman's face. "I have contracts with a number of luxury athletic brands." The laugh that followed sounded flippant. "What can I say, it pays for my shoes and keeps me trim."
Jackie mirrored Ronnie's tone and did her best to cover her sudden air of judgement. "It certainly does, you look fantastic."
The grace of social lies.
Ronnie knew she'd be the talk of the women's committee the moment their lunch concluded.
"And what does your husband do?"
Adopting a sugary glow, Ronnie made a show of twirling her glimmering ring stack. "Oh, he's a CEO for Apex Systems. It's really the most wonderful company. He had to spend two weeks in Italy this summer, and he took me with him, it was just amazing." She wished she'd spent two weeks in Italy instead of the last two weeks she'd spent in court with her mother. "And what about you? What do you and your husband do?"
While Jackie filled the next thirty minutes with her husband's vocation—he was a lawyer—and her own hobbies—all of which were confined to activities provided by the club—Ronnie realized that it really didn't matter what kind of woman one had to be to fit in at the club, it only mattered what kind of job her husband held. The club served merely as an expensive day care for wives while husbands tended to their offices and attended to their mistresses.
When Jackie mentioned Scarlett Marquesa in passing with a wince, Ronnie leapt at her opening.
"So what happened to her? Scarlett Marquesa? I really am kind of worried about living in the Villas."
At the gleam in Jackie's eyes, Ronnie knew she'd have no issues getting some gossip about the murder.
Jackie leaned forward conspiratorially. "It happened during her own party. We were all there. It was horrible."
Ronnie let false thrill and horror paint her face. "You saw it happen?"
Jackie drew back, pressing a hand to her chest as though to physically distance herself from the memory. "The way she fell over the balcony—I mean, she practically fell on my shoes. I can't believe she was poisoned right in front of us." The deputy of the women's committee swiped away a tear that Ronnie hadn't actually seen her shed.
"That's terrible. But—if it happened at a party, then wouldn't it have to be—" She broke off shamefully, like she was embarrassed to suggest that one of her new club associates might have murdered a woman.
Jackie, however, pounced at the idea. "One of us?" She finished gleefully. "I know, how Agatha Christie. It's perfectly wicked. You know, I have my own suspicions." She was beaming with unreserved thrill.
Ronnie leaned in, eyes darting around dramatically. "Who?"
"One of the girls on the committee, Patience Brodbence. She wanted to be chair, and when Scarlett was elected instead, she started hating her and never even tried to hide it."
Gasping delicately, Ronnie let her eyes open wider. "One of your own committee ladies?"
Jackie waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, Patience is a force of nature. You'll meet her, she's lovely."
More social lies, or just a startling lack of awareness?
"You really think Patience would kill the chair over losing an election?"
Jackie rolled her eyes. "Scarlett wasn't without her vices. Patience wasn't the only one who could get fed up with her, the poor woman." Jackie dabbed at her lips and then smiled approvingly as she noticed Ronnie reapplying her lipstick with a tube from Chanel. "Shall we go meet the girls?"
the MENTALIST
"It's such a pleasure to meet you, Veronica." An older woman with spiky blonde hair smiled sweetly, shaking Ronnie's hand. She wore a nametag that identified her as Heather, the woman from the courtyard. "We're holding a party tomorrow night in Scarlett's memory. Why don't you and your husband come? It's always easier to get settled in with the neighbors over drinks and soft music."
Ronnie beamed appreciatively. "We'd love to, thank you."
"It's at my house, and I'm in 704, across the street from you." Heather gave Ronnie a once over and then fixed a kind smile on over the drawn and tired expression that she was trying to hide. "Scarlett would have liked you, I can already tell. She was quite the athlete; practically lived on the tennis courts."
One of the other women, Patience Brodbence, a tall, blonde, skinny beauty with an outfit entirely made by Nike, scoffed and rolled her eyes at that.
Jackie shot Ronnie a significant look.
Another woman, a pleasant-looking brunette named Mandy Realjak leaned in to Ronnie. "It must seem strange, hearing us talk about a dead woman all the time, but you have to understand—it just happened and we all just loved her."
Patience rolled her eyes again.
"I feel so sorry for Victor and their son. He's only ten. It's so sad." Heather said mournfully, turning sad eyes to Ronnie. "It really is quite a shock to all of us."
At that, Patience briskly hiked her tennis bag up her shoulder. "I've got to get going. I've got practice. It was nice to meet you, Veronica."
As Ronnie returned the impersonal farewell, she noticed Jackie's eyes trained hungrily on something behind her. Before she could turn and look, a warm hand pressed against the small of her back and slid to cup the curve of her waist.
"There you are." A low voice said near her ear, sounding only slightly wooden.
That was her cue. The team would be coming to ask their questions, so it was time for her to make her exit.
Turning her face towards the voice, Ronnie let a sweet smile spread her lips at the sight of Cho, richly dressed in a dark Brooks Brother's suit. "Honey," She greeted in a syrupy voice that all but made her cringe. "These are the girls on the women's committee. Jackie, Heather, Patience, and Mandy. Ladies, this is my husband, Kimball."
He seemed to feed off the smooth, seamless energy with which she introduced him and leaned comfortably into his side, beaming up at him with a proud, slightly infatuated smile.
"Pleasure to meet you all." Cho greeted charmingly as Jackie fluttered a flirty wave in his direction. He ignored her and fixed his attention back on Ronnie. "Are you ready to go?"
"Yes, of course." Ronnie cheerfully said goodbye to the group of women, promising to see them all tomorrow, before allowing Cho to head for the parking lot with her on his arm.
"How did it go?" He wondered under his breath, glancing up only briefly as Jane and Rigsby appeared around the corner.
Ronnie caught a wink from Jane as they strode right past without a word. "We're off to a good start, except that they're all very invested in the fact that we're all neighbors now."
Cho didn't get it. "So?"
"So—I think we need to move in together."
the MENTALIST
Ronnie sat cross legged on top of the only piece of furniture yet in the newly borrowed Villa Estate 205, which happened to be a sturdy little coffee table. She still wore the borrowed Ted Baker sundress and the designer makeup for the sake of remaining in character in case one of the neighbors decided to stop by, but she couldn't help kicking off the borrowed Ferragamo heels.
She passed a bundle of crime scene photos back to Cho, who sat on the floor leaning against the coffee table, reading the crime scene report. "'Now we're even' written in lipstick? I think Jackie's right, it's got to be one of the women."
Cho pursed his lips at the page, not glancing up. "Maybe. Or framed to look that way. Do you know what lipstick that is?"
Blinking blankly at the photo of the napkin message, she felt a flurry of emotions swarm her thoughts. Did she know what shade and brand of lipstick had been smashed into a cocktail napkin like a crayon? Did she step into designer clothes and suddenly have the magical ability to identify expensive products at will?
"How should I know? I wear Nyx."
"I don't even know what that means." Cho rolled up the sleeves of his shirt past his elbows, promptly receiving a glare from Van Pelt as she strode into the room just in time to see him creasing his made-of-money rented shirt.
"Please don't do that." She requested flatly.
Ronnie raised her eyebrows at the stiff authority that had entered her tone.
Grace had reached her 6 month anniversary of being on Lisbon's homicide unit and had requested to take point on the case, which Lisbon had skeptically granted.
The skepticism hadn't worn off by the time Van Pelt made her first decision of ordering Cho and Ronnie to infiltrate the ranks of the wealthy by going undercover as a rich married couple.
At the moment she was supervising a team of movers hauling in furniture and belongings so that Ronnie and Cho could pretend they were new homeowners if any of the busybodies decided to stop by before the case was concluded.
"Another member of the women's committee, Asra, is suspected of having an affair with Victor Marquesa, our victim's husband. Rigsby is on his way to talk to her now." Van Pelt announced. "Jane also thinks one of the committee is the killer, so I need you to stay on them." She nodded to Ronnie.
"Done."
Grace turned to Cho. "You'll both stay here tonight. Maybe get dinner at the club to be seen socializing. I want the women to draw Ronnie into the committee. Scarlett's keys still haven't been located since before her death. We're assuming they were stolen. We need to know what she had keys to and who stole them."
the MENTALIST
If Ronnie had learned one thing from living with her questionably rich, shmoozing mother, it was that dinner warranted its own outfit.
Around seven o'clock, wandering up the curved staircase of an enormous house that she would die to own, but have to sell her body to afford, she found her way to the massive walk in closet attached to the master bedroom.
It wasn't full of priceless designer gowns and jewelry as it might have been if a wealthy young couple had actually moved in, but four garment bags hung on the rod and four pairs of shoes were lined up neatly beneath them.
Ronnie unzipped each bag and mentally calculated how many years it would take her to acquire even that many dresses on her salary.
She didn't realize that Cho had wandered in to personally experience the dazed look on her face as she stood blinking at the four outfits.
"More or less than a Range Rover?"
Ronnie jumped, flinching away from where he leaned against the built-in jewelry display case. Her heart hammered wildly, sending a flood of heat into her throat, startled by his sudden appearance almost directly behind her.
He actually grinned cheekily at her response. "Did I scare you?"
Smacking his chest with a backhand, Ronnie huffed out the last of her adrenaline in a breath and selected one of the dresses, pulling it out of the garment bag. "Less than a Range Rover."
Cho's face returned to its natural blank expression as he crossed his ankles comfortably.
"But more than a Camaro."
He scoffed. "That's way too much of our income to afford."
She tiptoed past him to tuck herself behind a changing screen and unzipped her dress. "Actually, if I save the percentage of my paycheck that Carla used to steal from me, it's basically free."
Hearing Cho push through his own selection of rented, extravagant clothing, she shrugged out of the Ted Baker and slung it over the top of the changing screen.
"But why spend that much on a dress when you could save money for a house? Our retirement? All this designer stuff is unreasonably expensive." Cho's voice wondered.
Ronnie examined her dark blue dinner dress for a moment before unzipping it and stepping into it. "Actually, to an extent, having expensive taste raises the quality of men that women are attracted to."
Cho didn't hesitate for a second. "Being wealthy has nothing to do with quality."
She shrugged and flipped her hair out of the collar as she slipped her arms into her sleeves. "You're right, I used the wrong word. But if I have expensive taste in clothes, that means I have expensive taste in men."
She worked the zipper halfway up and tried to finish the rest of it from above, but the dress was too fitted around her shoulders to permit that kind of maneuvering.
Cho had gone silent and she peeked around the side to see if he was still there.
He was, buttoning a new shirt up to the collar.
Ronnie stepped out from behind the changing screen and turned around, showing him her back. "Zip me up?"
A few seconds passed in silence.
Warm fingers brushed the smooth plane of her back and a tingling sensation danced across her skin as Cho dragged the zipper up to the nape of her neck.
"Thank you," she stepped away before she could think too hard about the way her stomach was fluttering. Toeing into some matching shoes, Ronnie selected a handbag and left him in the closet alone.
the MENTALIST
Rigsby was stationed outside the club in a discreet CBI vehicle while Cho and Ronnie went in for dinner, clearly bored to tears by himself as he began chatting as soon as they sat down in the dimly lit, busy dining room. "What do you think about older women?"
They had him in their ears just in case something occurred to tip the case in any particular direction, but one look at Cho's closed off expression told Ronnie he was already regretting it.
She picked up a menu and scanned the choices. "He's not talking to me."
Cho sighed. "Where's this coming from? I don't think about older women. My mother's an older woman."
Gazing casually around them with a light smile, Ronnie took note of Jackie and a man who was presumably her husband sitting at a far table, ignorant to the agents' presence.
"Not old old, just older, you know? Older than you." Rigsby muttered, audibly irritated.
Ronnie raised her eyebrows at Cho, who was already staring at her with a somewhat horrified expression. "Why are you asking? You're not trying to set me up with someone, are you?"
She could have laughed at the thought of Cho unironically going out with one of the girls from the club. If he thought a Valentino was less practical than a car, he wouldn't be striking the fancy of any of the women she'd met.
"That's rude, Rigsby, you can't set a man up on a date while he's already on a date with his wife."
Cho glared at her, to which she responded by tossing him a dazzling smile and hoping there wasn't lipstick on her teeth.
"Turns out," Rigsby plowed on. "You look up the available scientific evidence on the internet, and they've got less hang ups, they're at their sexual peak, and they like themselves way more than younger women. That's what you said, right Ronnie? Secure women?"
"What the hell happened to you at that country club?" Cho demanded flatly.
Her mind went back to the Casanova case when she'd informed Rigsby that secure women don't need to be treated poorly to be seduced, and she frowned in confusion. "I did mention secure women, but I don't remember encouraging you to date outside of your age range."
Cho had his eyes on his menu. "Evidently he's into old women. It's that librarian kink."
She barely hid her disgust. "Ew, Cho."
"Hey." Rigsby snapped. "It's Kimball. Don't break character in public."
Ronnie's eyes went wide as she and Cho locked gazed. "That doesn't count."
A smirk was playing at the corner of his lips. "That does count. You called me the wrong name."
She shook her head in firm denial. "It doesn't count. No one's around to be in character for, otherwise we wouldn't be talking to Rigsby."
Cho conceded silently with a frown.
"So, which older woman?" Ronnie wondered, triumphant.
They listened to Rigsby stutter about not having anyone in particular in mind as the water came by and took their orders, and then as soon as he was gone, Cho placed his napkin in his lap and said, "If it's not relevant then why did you ask me?"
"Don't know why I bothered." Rigsby grumbled. "It's obvious you're into younger ones."
Shocked, Ronnie stared at Cho. "Ew, Cho."
He stared back, confused. "What?"
"Not young girls." Rigsby amended. "Younger girls."
Before Ronnie could figure out what he meant by that, a high pitched, snooty voice broke the peaceful atmosphere. "Veronica! Kimball!"
Jackie approached their table loudly, waving her hands.
"Is that Jackie?" Rigsby wondered.
Ronnie stamped a matching grin on her face and waved back. "Jackie, hello. We decided to try the restaurant."
The older woman practically fanned herself. "Oh you'll love it, it's to die for. I just thought I'd pop over here and invite you to my morning spin class. I know you're a personal trainer and everything but I thought it might be nice."
That was the perfect opening for more casual investigating. "I'd love to, that sounds like a blast, thank you."
Jackie gave a little squeal of excitement and rushed away, bidding them goodnight and informing Ronnie she'd see her at seven.
Ronnie turned from her departing new friend to find Cho watching her with a fake, put on smile. "Sounds like a blast?" He mimicked in a nasally attempt at a head voice.
Dropping her own tone back into her chest, she flashed him a sarcastic smile. "I can't look like a bulldog *and* sound like a bulldog, Cho."
He let his eyes fall to the navy blue dress she wore that sloped over the caps of her shoulders and hugged her curves. "You don't look like a bulldog."
Sipping from her glass and then staring at the crimson lip print she'd left slashed across the surface, Ronnie gave a ringing laugh that didn't sound like her. "To these women I look like Arnold Schwarzenegger."
Cho shrugged and glanced around. "These women look like Hilary Clinton. They're not really in a position to judge."