The Betrayed Wife

by Kevin O'Brien

  “Jesus, what are you doing here?” he asked, standing in the center of his neighbor’s living room.

  Leah leaned against the living room entryway, between him and the front door. Her shoulder-length red hair was mussed, and she licked her lips. With her blouse still open, she traced her finger from between her cleavage down to her flat stomach. The pose might have been seductive if it didn’t seem so forced—and if she weren’t so scary. “I just want to be near you, Dylan,” she purred. “I know you had to push me away for the sake of your family. I understand that now. It’s actually very admirable. But I want you to know that I’ve never completely given up on you.”

  “My God,” he muttered, shaking his head. “How—how did you . . . ?”

  “I knew where you lived, of course,” she said, still doing that thing with her finger along her torso. “I’ve driven by your house hundreds of times over the years. Then I saw the ‘For Rent’ sign here. It was meant to be, don’t you see? The rent isn’t cheap, but I don’t care. I’ve still got quite a lot of money.”

  Dylan kept shaking his head. He couldn’t figure out why this was happening. She was still an attractive woman, and she probably still had her bag of sex toys. He couldn’t believe that, in seven years, Leah hadn’t found some other guy to latch onto. It had never occurred to Dylan that she might still be stalking him. He hadn’t even considered Leah when he’d been wondering about the texts to Sheila and Steve—or the woman who was following Brooke, phoning her at four in the morning. He realized it must have been Leah. Such scheming, bizarre actions seemed right up Leah’s alley. And she’d just now reminded him that she had money. She could easily afford a private investigator to delve into Sheila’s and his past. Dylan imagined some slimy detective giving Leah all the dope on Sheila’s sister. The guy could have found out about Toni and Eden, too. Dylan imagined some private dick spying on Brooke and him. Didn’t Brooke say she thought they were being watched?

  “You look good, Dylan,” Leah said. “It’s been so long since I’ve been in the same room as you. Remember the last time? Being this close to you again . . .” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m already wet.”

  “You stay away from my family!” he warned, stabbing his finger in the air at her.

  “I’m just here to make you happy, Dylan,” she said, unfastening the top of her jeans. “You don’t have to worry about me saying or doing anything to hurt your precious family. I moved here for you—for us. I’ve made it easier for us to keep seeing each other. No one has to know. I make you happy, you make me happy. Don’t you see? It’s a win-win for you. Whenever you’ve had enough of that mousy frump you’re married to, all you have to do is come next door to me. You two aren’t even sleeping together. I can see that from my window.”

  “Wait a minute,” he said. “You’re the one who trashed the garden, aren’t you?”

  She let out a startled, fake laugh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He didn’t believe her for a minute. She was a terrible actress.

  Leah peeled down her jeans, revealing a pair of champagne-colored panties.

  “Those texts to my son and my wife, those were from you,” he murmured. “And you’ve hired someone to follow me around, haven’t you? Or maybe you’re doing it yourself.”

  Leah shook her head and then stepped out of her jeans. “I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “The hell you don’t.”

  “I just want to make you happy, Dylan.” She tossed her jeans into the front hallway. “It’s what I’ve wanted all along. Now, come on. Don’t you like what you see?”

  “I want you to pack up all your shit and move out of here,” he growled. “I don’t want you anywhere near my family. You’re not going to intimidate me. I’ll tell my wife about you. I don’t care.”

  “Oh, big talker,” she laughed. “Have I got you good and mad now, Dylan? Do you want to hit me? Am I making you hot? Go ahead, let me have it.”

  His fists clenched, Dylan stood there, frozen. He’d never struck a woman in his life. But right now, more than anything, he wanted to punch Leah in the face—especially if it meant he’d never have to see her again.

  She came at him. “You want me, I know you do,” she murmured. Her hands went for his belt buckle. Then she started to unfasten his khakis.

  Dylan grabbed her by the arms, swiveled around, and pushed her toward the dining room. He just wanted her out of the way so he could get out of there. But Leah kept tugging at the front of his pants, groping him. Dylan got angrier and more frustrated. He slammed her into a side table. A fancy candle holder with a glass hurricane lamp tipped over, and the glass shattered with a loud pop.

  Leah shucked down his pants and boxer shorts. Before Dylan could pull away, she had her arms wrapped around his neck. One leg locked around his. She thrust her torso against him. “Go ahead,” she whispered. Her warm breath was swirling in his ear. “Tear off my panties, do it. I want you to.”

  Dylan pried himself from her arms. He almost tripped as he spun around to get away from her. He grabbed onto the back of a dining room chair to keep from falling. He regained his footing and started to pull up his boxers and pants. He realized he was standing in front of the window. He looked up.

  Just across the way, Eden stood at his kitchen window, gaping back at him.

  “Oh, shit!” he muttered, zipping up his pants. He was utterly humiliated. He staggered toward the living room to avoid being seen—though he knew it was too late.

  All the while, he heard Leah cackling.

  Dylan glanced back at her.

  She hadn’t bothered to move away from the window or even cover herself up. She seemed so smug and content, half-sprawled over the side table.

  Her mocking, triumphant laugh seemed to follow him out the front door.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Saturday—4:19 P.M.

  Steve kept wiping the raindrops off his phone screen so he could read the news article. It had taken him forever to find the story. He’d googled “Miranda Warren, Murder” and “Seattle Teacher Murdered,” and come up with nothing both times. He’d begun to think that his friend Sean had punked him about their teacher having been killed. But after walking in the rain to the number 49 bus stop, he’d searched Seattle News and finally found a brief article. At first, he hadn’t been sure it was about Ms. Warren. He’d thought maybe her photo from the teachers’ section of last year’s high school yearbook would be with the story, something to show what she looked like. But there was no picture. The headline read:

  Shoreline Woman Shot

  To Death in Home

  It was dated today and didn’t go into a lot of details. Ms. Warren was forty-one years old. A neighbor woman and friend of Ms. Warren’s had been jogging by her house early in the morning and noticed her door was open. She rang the bell. When no one answered, the neighbor stepped inside. She found Ms. Warren dead in the bedroom. She’d been shot once in the throat. The neighbor immediately called the police. There were no suspects in custody. The killer was still at large. Ms. Warren was divorced and had two sons, who had been spending the night with their father.

  Steve shuddered as he read the article—and it wasn’t just because he was damp and cold from the rain. As he put his phone away, he kept thinking about Eden.

  Last night, he’d heard someone in the hallway outside his door. He’d first heard the footsteps at one in the morning, and then, again a little after four. Eden could have snuck out of the house and returned during that time. Maybe her boyfriend had picked her up and driven her to Ms. Warren’s place. Maybe they’d killed her together.

  Hiking up his jacket collar, Steve glanced down the street for the number 49. No sign of it yet. His stomach was in knots from a weird combination of hunger and dread.

  Was his half sister a murderer? He knew for sure that she was a liar. He’d just seen her with her creepy boyfriend, who, according to Eden, was out of town.

  All t
hose true murder stories he’d read over the summer, and now somebody he knew had actually been murdered. It wasn’t so fascinating when it happened to someone he knew and liked. He just felt sick and sad. He’d had a little crush on Ms. Warren. She’d always been nice to him.

  Eden had been pretty bitchy to their teacher yesterday. And in her screwy way of looking at things, Eden seemed to think Ms. Warren was the one who had gotten her into trouble. Only a few hours ago, before he knew Ms. Warren was dead, he’d asked Eden about the thousand-word report on The Scarlet Letter that Ms. Warren expected from her on Monday.

  Steve shuddered again when he recalled her answer: “I’m not worried about it.”

  Of course she wasn’t.

  *

  With her arms crossed in front of her, Eden sat in a rocking chair. It had been in the basement guest room, but Hannah hadn’t wanted it, so the chair had been moved into Eden’s room.

  Dylan stood in the doorway. His hair and the top of his sweater were still wet from the rain. He’d been in such a hurry to get away from Leah that he’d left his umbrella next door. Once inside the house, he’d anxiously called out for Eden, but she hadn’t responded. He’d found her up here.

  She was glaring at him. She seemed more annoyed than shocked.

  “I’m sorry you saw that,” Dylan explained, still trying to catch his breath. “But it’s not how it looked. I know you’ll have a hard time believing this, but she attacked me and started to pull down my pants.”

  Shaking her head, Eden gave him a dubious smirk. “Oh, I’m sure,” she muttered.

  “It’s the truth!” Dylan insisted. “Her name is Leah, and she’s crazy—certifiable. I met her on a trip to San Francisco years ago. We—we messed around one night, and that was supposed to be it. But, like I say, she’s nuts. She started stalking me. She stopped after a while, and I thought I was rid of her. That was seven years ago. But now, she—she’s moved in next door . . .”

  Biting her thumbnail, Eden rocked in the chair and stared at him. She seemed slightly amused by the whole thing.

  Dylan realized he sounded like a fool—a fool who had let his dick get him into trouble again and again. “I had no idea it was her next door until just fifteen minutes ago, when I went over there because her dog wouldn’t shut up.”

  “It’s quiet now,” Eden murmured.

  “The dog ran out the door when Leah opened it for me,” Dylan explained, sagging against the doorway frame. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she was torturing it just so the barking would unnerve us. The poor mutt seemed anxious as hell to get out of there. And that dog wasn’t the only one, believe me. I wanted to bolt as soon as I realized our new neighbor was the same crazy woman I—”

  “Screwed one night in San Francisco?” Eden concluded.

  Frowning, Dylan nodded. “Okay, yeah,” he muttered. “And it was a huge mistake. Maybe I deserved all the shit I got from her. I probably had it coming. But you need to believe me, because I’m being completely honest here. I wasn’t having sex with her just now. She was all over me, but I was only trying to push her away.”

  Eden sighed. “If you’re worried about me telling Sheila or the kids, don’t sweat it. I won’t rat you out.”

  “Thank you,” Dylan said, breathing a tiny bit easier. “But that’s not it completely. It’s important to me that you believe me.”

  Dylan heard the front door open downstairs and flinched. He thought Leah might be barging into their house. He hurried down the hallway. “Who’s down there?” he yelled from the top of the stairs.

  “It’s me!” Hannah answered. “Can I spend the night at Gwen’s? It’s okay with her mom and dad.”

  Dylan stopped halfway down the stairs to see Hannah in the front hall. Now that she’d come in from the rain, she pushed her sweater hood off her head. She glanced up at him with an expectant smile. “I just have a few things to pack. Gwen’s waiting outside in the car.”

  “Well, wait a minute,” Dylan said. “What happened to the guy you were at the game with?” He wanted to make sure she wasn’t actually going off with him.

  “Jared,” she frowned. “He’s a drip. I ditched him at halftime. So is it okay if I stay overnight at Gwen’s? She’s waiting, Dad.”

  “I guess it’s okay. But you know your mother’s going to check up on this.”

  “Thanks. Yeah, I know,” she said, rolling her eyes. She headed toward the kitchen.

  “Well, who won?” Dylan called.

  “Gabe’s team!” she shouted over the sound of her footsteps racing down the basement stairs.

  Dylan headed back up to the second floor and then down the hallway to Eden’s bedroom door. She was still gently rocking in the chair. “So did Gabe’s team win?” she asked in a tone that said she didn’t really care.

  “Yes,” Dylan said.

  “Well, rah-rah for Gabe’s team,” she muttered.

  “You didn’t answer my question earlier,” Dylan whispered. “Do you believe me about what just went on next door?”

  “I guess so,” she said. She got to her feet and sauntered toward him. She put a hand on the door. “Anyway, you don’t have to worry about me saying anything.”

  “Thanks, Eden.” He started to leave, but hesitated and turned toward her again. “Are you—disappointed in me?”

  “You haven’t officially been my father long enough for me to be disappointed in you,” she replied. “Besides, my mother pretty much told me all about you. When it comes to sex, you’re just like Toni.”

  She slowly closed the door in his face.

  Dylan stood there for a moment. He was humiliated.

  At the same time, he was confused. From the way she talked just now, it almost sounded as if Eden’s mother and Toni were two different people.

  Saturday—5:22 P.M.

  Portland

  Practically everyone in the terminal for the Horizon Air flight to Seattle looked miserable. Someone’s baby was shrieking. There weren’t enough seats in the waiting area, so people were sitting or lying on the floor. All the carry-on luggage and bodies made the small terminal into an obstacle course. And they’d just announced that the flight would be delayed twenty-five minutes.

  Sheila was one of the many people standing. Antonia’s friend, Debra, had helped her tape up the boxes of photos, and they now leaned against the wall behind Sheila. She’d already decided to cram them under the seat in front of her so she wouldn’t have to battle for overhead space. Plus, she had visions of the boxes breaking open when she pulled them down, the photos spilling into the aisles. So she’d have no legroom, but it would only be for an hour.

  Since arriving at the airport, Sheila had been thinking about Eden and her surrogate mother, Cassandra. While in the TSA line, she’d called Debra for some clarification about a specific matter they’d discussed, but she’d gotten her voicemail. Sheila had asked Debra to call her as soon as possible.

  That had been only a half hour ago. At the risk of being pushy, Sheila phoned her again. Debra picked up this time: “Hi, Sheila?”

  “Yes—”

  “I was just about to call you back,” Debra said. “Things are starting to get crazy here, so I don’t have a lot of time. What’s up?”

  Sheila had a finger in one ear to help block out the baby’s screams. “I wanted to ask you about when Cassandra suddenly left Eden with Antonia this summer.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You mentioned that Cassandra has been incommunicado ever since,” Sheila said loudly to be heard over the child’s shrieks. “Do you know if Cassandra actually met with Antonia when she dropped off Eden? Or did Eden just show up at Antonia’s on her own?”

  “The way I understood it, Eden called Toni, giving her about an hour’s notice. Then she showed up at Toni’s place with all her earthly possessions.”

  “And Toni never talked to Cassandra about it—before or afterward?”

  “Never heard a peep from her.”

  “Do you think it’s possible that Cas
sandra’s dead?” Sheila asked.

  “What did you say? We don’t have the best connection. It sounds like some kid is screaming over there.”

  “Do you think that Cassandra might be dead?” Sheila repeated. “I mean, it sounds like Toni just took Eden’s word for it that her ‘other mother’ had moved to Florida.”

  There was silence.

  “Hello?” Sheila asked.

  “Yeah, I’m here. I was just thinking. Toni never said anything to me along those lines. But I guess it’s possible Cassandra’s dead. It would explain why Toni was never able to get ahold of her. Plus, I always thought it was strange that no one heard from her after Toni died.”

  “It seems awfully suspicious,” Sheila said. “First, Eden’s substitute mother disappears without a trace, and then a couple of months later, her real mother has a fatal accident . . .”

  In the background on the other end of the line, Sheila could hear someone talking to Debra.

  “Um, just a second, Sheila, I’m sorry.” Sheila waited and listened to the muted conversation. “Okay, okay, I’ll handle it,” Debra said to whoever was there with her.

  “Hey, Sheila, I’m sorry about that. Like I told you, it’s crazy here. I need to go. So do you really think Eden might have bumped off Cassandra—and then killed Toni? I mean, I can’t see her being clever enough to pull off something like that and get away with it, can you?”

  Sheila sighed. “Well, I don’t know. That’s what I’m asking you. The caretaker in Toni’s apartment building told me that both Eden and her boyfriend were able to account for their whereabouts when Toni was killed.”

  “Okay, then, there you have it,” Debra said. “And Toni seemed pretty sure Cassandra was in Tampa—whether to chase after some guy or because she’d gotten fed up with Eden, Toni didn’t know. Believe me, after a couple of months with that kid and her boyfriend, Toni was ready to dump her and disappear, too. I’ll bet this Cassandra will turn up soon enough. Listen, I’ve got to go.”