Ronnie Masters | the MENTALIST (COMPLETE)

SCARLETT FEVER : pt I

"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."