The Deadly Book Club: A Thriller

Part 1

Before

The Day Of

The Killer

Her computer screen glows, and the killer’s heart thrums in anticipation of tonight’s virtual book club meeting. Jessie picked the book this month, a debut horror by a Taiwanese American author because Jessie wants to support people like herself. The Bookers, as they were named by Kate, and their monthly private meetings are the envy of those in the book world, from authors, to publishers, and fellow influencers. Many have tried to penetrate their circle, but none have succeeded. Their book club nights have always been special to the five members of the Bookers. But tonight, tonight is going to be the most special book club of all. Because one of them is about to die.

They are five of the most powerful book influencers of their time, ranging in age from twenty-seven to fifty-three: Leigh, Jessie, Sidney, Kate, and Helena. Even though they all read across genres, they each have their favorites. Leigh loves romances and is about to get her own happily-ever-after when she marries her fiancé in six months. Jessie can’t get enough of horror and true crime, the grittier the better. Sidney is a sucker for psychological thrillers, Kate for literary fiction. And Helena, well, Helena champions the underdog, the books she feels didn’t get enough attention.

They raise their lychee martinis in a toast, ready to kick off this meeting. The killer looks at her own uplifted glass, admiring the way it sparkles in the light. She takes a sip, allowing the cool liquid to burn down her throat. Using her fingers, she pops one of the liquor-soaked lychees into her mouth. Her teeth sink into the fruit with determination and sweetness explodes on her tongue, overriding the slight bitterness of the vodka. She swallows and puts down her glass.

She has her instructions, and she’s about to carry out the plan. Everything is ready, checked and double checked, covering all possibilities because she is a careful planner and is leaving nothing to chance. Her eyes flicker over each face on the screen before it settles on the one that she’s targeted. She pauses, wondering if she can really do as she was asked. She waits for uncertainty or regret to flood her body, but there is nothing. She gives a small smile, thinking how clever the whole plan is. No one will see this coming. Once this is done, she can live her life in peace the way she wants, without having to answer to anyone.

Her hands hover above her laptop and then her fingers fly over the keyboard until everything is ready, just like she rehearsed. She gives herself one last chance to back out, but she knows she won’t. This is too important. She needs to follow through. She presses a key and their screens freeze before going dark. The women squawk, wondering what the hell is going on. They can hear each other but can no longer see each other. The killer pushes up off her chair and stands, grabbing the weapon with her hand.

Showtime.

CHAPTER

1

One Month Ago

Jessie

JESSIE TANG STOOD underground at Grand Central Terminal and pulled her cell out of her purse. She’d been about to descend the last flight of steps to the 7 subway when an incoming text ding had stopped her. She assumed it was her father asking when she’d get to Flushing for their monthly family dinner. Instead, it was a short text from Leigh.

WTF???!!!! Accompanied by a picture.

Jessie heaved a sigh of exasperation at Leigh’s drama. She clicked on the photo and her eyes widened when she saw her own image on the screen. She recognized the boat she was on, the wind whipping her hair behind her, one hand on her forehead to shade the sun in her eyes, her head thrown back in joy. She recognized the Jason Wu floral sundress she was wearing, bought specifically for that trip. A trip she hadn’t told anyone about yet. She never posted a photo from a place she’d just been. She always waited days, sometimes weeks.

People pushed by her on both sides, their chatter and the noise of the trains pulling in and out of the station fading as Jessie stared in shock. Her mind spun and she blinked hard, knowing this was all a mistake, and she’d soon snap out of it and come back to reality. Because how ridiculous was it to think that Leigh, of all people, would have known about Jessie’s private trip with Marco to Turks and Caicos? She willed her brain to figure out a logical answer for why she was looking at a picture of herself on a boat that no one should have known she’d been on.

Because no one, no one, knew about Jessie’s secret career—not her closest friends, not even her brother and sister. Her traditional Taiwanese parents would die, just keel over and expire if they ever found out how she really made her money. As glamorous as it was to be rubbing elbows with the top athletes in the world, sports writers like Jessie didn’t make a lot of money. And Jessie had promised herself, ever since she was a child living in the small, cramped two-room apartment in a roach-infested building with her immigrant parents and two siblings in Flushing, Queens, that she would never be poor again. Back then, they’d had to rely on leftovers that her father brought back from the Chinese restaurant he worked in to keep their family of five fed. She’d had to wear clothes given to them by a nearby church and still remembered the wash of shame when another girl recognized the dress she was wearing.

How had Leigh come into possession of this picture, a photo that Jessie hadn’t even known had been taken? Marco wasn’t one of her regulars, but he’d been vetted. He made his money in real estate—what kind, exactly, Jessie didn’t know or care. They’d met for drinks first to scope each other out, since Jessie didn’t accept an invitation from just anyone. She knew Marco had been checking her out too, to see if she was really as spectacular as she was touted to be.

And she was. Jessie could tell by the gleam in Marco’s eyes that he was far from disappointed. She’d learned early on that she’d been blessed when it came to her looks, and she wasn’t above using them to get everything she wanted. At five seven, she was tall for an Asian woman, with a killer body thanks to her daily workouts. She’d tracked the way Marco’s eyes had gone to her impossibly long legs with well-defined calves, showcased in her three-inch Louboutin heels, bought by Phillipe a month earlier when he’d taken her to Paris for a week.

She knew the effect she had on men. She’d tossed her gleaming dark mane over her shoulder so that it fell to the middle of her back, turning so that Marco got the full effect of her pout. She had the face of an angel but the mind and backbone of a loan shark.

She knew what she wanted, and being a doctor or a lawyer like her Taiwanese parents hoped wasn’t in the cards. School and studying bored her to death, and she’d never survive the years needed for medical or law school. At the same time, she knew she wanted a life full of caviar and designer clothing, five-star hotels and private chefs. And she’d been smart enough to figure out how to get it. She wasn’t ashamed, yet it wasn’t something anyone else needed to know about. It was her little secret.

Another text from Leigh startled Jessie out of her thoughts.

What’s going on, Jessie? Is what Marco’s saying true?

Jessie gritted her teeth. How the hell did Leigh know about Marco? No one was supposed to know about Marco, or Jonathan, or Andy, or any of the half dozen or so men who paid for Jessie’s very well-lived lifestyle. When had Marco taken this picture? The questions swirled in her brain as she tried to decide how to answer Leigh. Deny? Admit to nothing? Deflect?

Her phone rang, and when she saw it was Leigh, she knew she was in trouble. Leigh claimed to hate talking on the phone (although in Jessie’s experience, Leigh called her way too often for someone with an alleged allergy to voice calls). Jessie knew this meant Leigh was dying to get the scoop. There was no way Jessie could ignore her because Leigh was persistent and would keep trying until Jessie gave in. The bitch.

Taking a deep breath, Jessie accepted the call, putting the phone to her ear as someone jostled her with an elbow to her side.

Tell me everything. Are you really … Leigh’s voice dropped when she said the next words. A call girl?

No. Jessie shook her head adamantly, even though she knew Leigh couldn’t see her.

But Marco said—

Jessie cut her off. How do you even know Marco? Where did you get this photo?

Marco is Damian’s brother, Leigh said, the glee in her voice evident. You didn’t know?

Jessie wanted to slap off the smile that she was sure was on Leigh’s face. No, she hadn’t known Marco’s brother was Leigh’s fiancé. They hadn’t talked about family at all. That wasn’t what Marco paid her for. What were the chances that one of her clients would turn out to be connected to someone who knew her? This was terrible. Dread spread through Jessie like poison as the implication of what this meant settled in her stomach. Marco was Damian’s brother!

Damian says Marco often hires high-end call girls, Leigh dropped her voice to whisper the last words, because he’s had it with women chasing him for his money.

Escort, Jessie hissed out. Marco hires escorts, not call girls.

Whatever. Leigh’s tone was dismissive. So, you admit you’re an escort. She rushed on before Jessie could counter. The point is, he does it because he’s so good-looking.

Despite herself, Jessie couldn’t help remembering the way Marco looked on his private plane as they flew to Turks and Caicos. His dark wavy hair falling over one brooding eye, his chiseled chin that looked as if it could cut a diamond, and his broad chest that had cushioned her head so perfectly. His leg had been pressed against hers, his presence large and warm, and his subtle citrusy cologne wrapping around her like tentacles. A spark had lit up inside her, and she knew this was going to be a very good trip.

He’d taken one of her hands in both of his and said in his deep voice, I have money. I’d rather pay for the company of a beautiful and smart woman who knows upfront what the arrangement is, than be subjected to the hordes of superficial women who surround me. I don’t need or want a wife. I want intelligent conversation and a satisfying fuck.

The word fuck had sent vibrations humming through Jessie’s body as if she were a tuning fork. She’d been mesmerized by his sultry lips, wanting to lean in and take the bottom one between her teeth. He’d reached out and pulled her to him, sliding the thin strap of her black Balenciaga tank top down over her shoulder. She shivered now, remembering being under that rock hard body in the plane, his gentle touch a juxtaposition to the gruff persona he’d presented. If she was the falling-in-love type, she might have fallen a bit for Marco that weekend. But Jessie didn’t do love or relationships. She didn’t need a man to complete her. She used them to get what she needed out of life, and if they were lucky, they’d see her again. On her terms.

Leigh’s sigh echoed down the phone line. "It’s kind of romantic, like in Pretty Woman. Marco is into you, that’s why he sent Damian that picture. I happened to see it. Leigh’s tinkling laugh cut through Jessie like a knife. Imagine my surprise when I was like, wait. That’s Jessie!"

Jessie closed her eyes even as she was screaming, shit, shit, shit. The squeal of brakes from an incoming train matched the scream in her mind. This couldn’t be happening. She’d always been so discreet, protecting her clients’ privacy as well as her own. And of all people to find out, why did it have to be Leigh? High maintenance, pretentious Leigh, who’d never had to work a day in her life, going from her rich father to her even richer fiancé. Privileged Leigh, who really believed the world revolved around her and that money bought happiness. Jessie clamped her lips together hard and rubbed her temple with her free hand. This was bad. Really bad.

Jessie? Hello? You still there? Wait until the other Bookers find out. Leigh’s smug voice had Jessie’s head whipping up so fast she saw stars.

No, Jessie ground out. "You cannot tell anyone. It’s not what you think."

But it is. Jessie could well imagine the smirk on Leigh’s face. I’m sure the girls will be discreet. We can’t not share! Her voice changed, hardened. And besides, it’s exactly what I think. Damian and Marco are extremely close. How’d you get into the business? Marco said you were expensive. You go, girl!

Jessie breathed out pure fire. If Leigh had been next to her and not far away in Chicago, Jessie would have hit her over the head with whatever she could get her hands on. She would not allow Leigh to ruin everything she’d worked so hard for. Unadulterated hatred for the other woman ran through her veins and Jessie fought to calm down.

You’d better keep your mouth shut, she growled, even as she knew it was a weak defense against Leigh’s delight.

I can keep my mouth shut. Leigh paused, for dramatic effect. However, my silence comes at a cost.

Jessie sucked in a breath. Are you threatening me? she asked in a low voice.

No threat at all, Leigh said, and another wave of fury at her frenemy swept through Jessie. You know what I want.

This couldn’t be happening. Jessie was supposed to be on the 7 train right now, on her way to be the dutiful daughter her parents thought she was. Her mouth watered as she thought of the bawan that she knew her father was making that day. The chewy, semi-translucent skin of the Taiwanese meat ball dumpling made with rice flour and sweet potato flour and filled with pork, bamboo shoots, and mushrooms was one of Jessie’s favorites. Her father thought of Jessie as his baobei, his treasure, the good Taiwanese daughter who made him proud. Her lips curled, though, thinking of her mother. Her father should have left her years ago. And yet, they stayed married, despite her mother’s many indiscretions.

Jessie blew out a breath, not wanting to think about her hatred of her mother. She smoothed a hand down the dowdy tan dress that covered her collarbones and came down past her knees, her feet encased in black ballerina flats. Jessie was a chameleon. She could slide into the skin of the respectful Taiwanese daughter, and then the next minute, become a sophisticated lady of luxury. She was a respected sportswriter one minute, and a very well-paid escort the next. She knew how to handle her parents, giving them enough to be satisfied, yet never sharing her true life with them. She gave them money every month, but they thought it was from her real job. Looking at her phone, she realized she was going to be late. Her father’s bawan was waiting and nothing was going to come between Jessie and her father’s cooking.

I told you, I can’t get Cash Malone to come to Damian’s birthday party, Jessie said through gritted teeth. I don’t have that much clout. Leigh had been on Jessie’s case ever since she’d heard about the interview Jessie had done with Cash, the current hot quarterback of the NFL, who’d won three Super Bowls in the last four years.

Yes, you do. Leigh’s voice was icy. You interviewed him in his home. I’ll pay whatever he wants. Damian would die to meet Cash.

I gotta go. Jessie tried to keep the anger out of her voice. She didn’t have time to deal with Leigh right now. I’m meeting my parents, and I’m already running late. Jessie was about to hang up when Leigh’s voice stopped her.

Wait. If you don’t help me, I’ll tell your parents what you really do.

Jessie sucked in a breath and almost choked on the fumes of unwashed bodies, urine, and that pervasive musty subway odor that was prevalent in all stations. She lowered her voice to a hard whisper. Don’t threaten me.

I’m not. Leigh’s voice was light. You help me, and I’ll help you. Think about it.

Bye. With a shaking hand, Jessie hung up.

She ran down the stairs to the lower platform, and then stood behind a pole so no one could push her off the platform onto the tracks, trying to control her temper. It had taken Jessie years to get where she was in the sports journalism world and she was proud of it, even if it didn’t make as much money as she’d have liked. She’d started out as an unpaid intern and slowly moved her way up to her current position. She practically lived and breathed everything sports, which was a necessary part of her job.

She’d thought she’d meet an athlete and marry him, or that at least the lifestyle would live up to her expectations. It hadn’t. Until one day, when she had overheard the football player she was interviewing take a phone call and saying something about the woman he’d hired for the weekend. Her ears had perked up, and she’d struck a bargain with the man: her silence for his contact. She’d never looked back, and now she and that football player were the best of friends.

There was no way Jessie was going to allow Leigh to spoil her perfect life. Jessie’s blood boiled as she imagined all the ways she could shut Leigh up. An accidental fall off her balcony. Drowning. Poison. To distract herself from her murderous thoughts, she went to her social media, swiping through posts just as a train pulled into the station. She found a seat and the lure of photos and videos finally calmed her rage. As her eyes scanned her phone, she realized her friend Kate’s account was oddly silent. Kate posted every other day without fail. And there’d been nothing for five days. What was going on?

Feeling terrible for not checking on her friend, Jessie sent Kate a quick text. Of all the women in the Bookers, she was closest to Kate. They had the same sarcastic sense of humor and blunt outlook on life, and often texted each other private messages, gossiping about the other women during their book club nights.

Not getting a reply, Jessie sent another message.

Are you okay? Need to talk? I’m here if you need me.

Still nothing, which again, for Kate, was unusual. She was about to put her phone down when it dinged with a text alert. It was from Sidney, about the collaboration post they’d planned for the next day, to help a debut author at a small press with her cover reveal. The book was gritty enough to satisfy Jessie’s thirst for blood (in books of course), but with enough twists and an end you won’t see coming to hook Sidney, and they wanted to help the author break out.

Mandy’s party is about to start but wanted to make sure we’re good for tomorrow at 10am ET?

All set, Jessie texted back, biting her lip. Sidney had insisted they roll out the cover reveal on a Monday, whereas Jessie preferred to do those on a Wednesday or Thursday. But Sidney had more followers than she did, so what did Jessie know?

Putting her phone away, Jessie looked out the subway windows, noting they were already outside on the elevated rails in Queens. She would call Kate once she got out of the subway. Jessie could afford to take Ubers and taxis, but she actually liked the subway. It was real life, a way to keep herself grounded. Her parents were afraid of subways, thinking someone would push them onto the tracks just for being Asian. Fear kept them in Flushing, never leaving, unless Jessie’s sister drove in from Connecticut and took them somewhere.

Jessie clenched her jaw, more determined than ever not to allow Leigh to blow up her life. She loved her parents, but she didn’t love their life. She’d rather be dead than live like that. She had to figure out what to do about Leigh, how to silence her for good.

CHAPTER

2

One Month Ago

Sidney

SURPRISE!

Sidney Aquino beamed at the shocked look on her best friend Mandy Hsu’s face. Sidney only had time to pull Mandy in for a quick hug, whispering happy birthday in her ear before her friend was swept away into the crowd.

You did it. Sidney’s husband, Nicholas, came up behind her with their three-year-old son, Nicky, in his arms.

Auntie Mandy was so surprised. Five-year-old Jamie danced around Sidney, her dark wavy hair bouncing. We did a good job, Mommy.

We did. Sidney high-fived her daughter before looking around the room.

With the help of Nicholas’s assistant, Teresa, and a team of party professionals, they’d transformed the private dining room in an exclusive San Francisco restaurant into a tropical paradise. Fake palm trees were scattered around the room, and in one corner, sand filled the floor, creating a mini beach (the manager had freaked about the sand, but Sidney had reassured him that she would have it all cleaned out after). Tiki bars lined one wall, and everywhere you looked were fragrant tropical flowers like hibiscus, birds of paradise, plumeria, and gardenias in giant vases and in arches strewn with giant green fronds. A Hawaiian track played over the speakers.

A small white Bichon Frise came running up to Sidney, panting happily at her. She bent to scoop him up in her arms. Casper! She nuzzled his nose, and he gave her a lick in return. He was so well behaved the restaurant owner had allowed him to be present.

Sidney had rescued him a few years ago from the house where he’d been tied up outside, dehydrated and covered in sores. She’d cut the chain keeping the poor dog tethered to a tree and taken him, even when the owner, a man in his sixties with a shaved head and a cigarette dangling from his mouth, had come out and confronted her. She hadn’t been afraid of that cruel man. They’d found six more dogs and four cats in his home, all starving and living in filth.

People who hurt animals were the lowest of the low in her book, and she’d made sure his reign of terror had stopped. He would never mistreat another animal again. She remembered the man’s shock when she’d come out of nowhere a few days later, baseball bat in hand. She’d broken both kneecaps and smashed his hands, leaving him in his backyard where she’d snuck up on him in the dark. He never knew what or who had hit him because she’d disguised herself well. Just like her father had taught her.

Her eyes cleared when Casper poked her with his nose. No one will ever hurt you again, she said, snuggling him against her chest.

She was just about to grab a glass of champagne off a waiter’s tray when her cell buzzed in her hand. She looked down and her forehead knotted in irritation. It was Leigh again. She’d been calling Sidney multiple times a day for the past two days. With a grimace, Sidney picked up the call as she put her dog back on the ground.

You didn’t tell him, did you? Leigh’s shrill voice made Sidney’s head throb.

Leigh, Sidney sighed. Mandy’s party just started. She turned to ask Nicholas to get her a glass of champagne but realized he and the children were no longer at her side.

You have to promise me. Leigh’s voice was urgent. Forget what I told you. I was drunk. I had no idea what I was saying. Nicholas can’t know.

Sidney’s eyes scanned the room. It’s really not our business. Nicholas knew Damian Walters, Leigh’s fiancé, because Nicholas was an investor in Damian’s hedge fund. Sidney’s eyes narrowed when she spotted Nicholas in a corner with Teresa, deep in conversation.

Sidney—

Sidney cut her off. I don’t have time for this right now.

Oh, Leigh huffed. You think you’re too good for me, now that you’re more popular than Kate?

Sidney sighed. No. And I’m not more popular than Kate. She’s the celebrity, not me.

Leigh scoffed. People think she’s to blame for that author Eliza Crandall’s death.

Sidney swallowed her annoyance and made her voice light. I really have to go. We’ll talk about this later, okay? Bye, darling. And she hung up before Leigh could say another word.

She knew she’d angered Leigh, but she really couldn’t deal with her right then. Sidney turned her phone to do not disturb and grabbed a glass of the Taittinger Comtes de Champagne Rose from a passing waiter’s tray. Only the best for her very best friend.

She and Mandy had known each other since they were eight, the only two Asians in their very white neighborhood in Georgia. Sidney and her parents had moved there from New York when she was in third grade. Her Filipino father, who chaired one of the country’s largest conglomerates with interests in airlines, banking, and telecom, had gotten it into his mind that he wanted his children to grow up like Scarlett O’Hara. Gone with the Wind was his favorite book (never mind that Sidney thought the book was racist and problematic when she was old enough to understand). His wife wanted to live in Hawaii or back in her beloved Puerto Rico, not in a southern state known for peaches. But she’d acquiesced, because he had promised they could live wherever she wanted after a few years.

Sidney had loved Georgia. She loved the Southern accents of her classmates and within weeks of arriving, had acquired one of her own. She loved the climate, after the cold winters in New York. But most of all, she had loved Mandy from the moment Sidney had witnessed two boys bullying her. Sidney had marched over and kicked one of them in the shins, not caring that she’d been sent to the principal’s office. There had been a look