The Loyal Wife_A gripping psychological thriller with a twist

by Natalie Barelli

  I sit back down. I’m still shaken up, but I decide to ignore her outburst. “How did you get there?” I ask, tapping the picture.

  She makes a face, like she’s in pain. “Dad asked me never to tell anyone. He made me promise.”

  “Yeah, well, forget about that. Unless you want to go to jail.”

  “No! But I—”

  “You can’t keep secrets just because your dad tells you to! You’re not a child, Maddie! This girl is dead! You have to tell the truth, you don’t have a choice anymore.”

  She’s thinking about it. It doesn’t escape me that I kept secrets for Mike too. I’m no better than Madison. Although, he’s the master manipulator. He’s pulling the strings and we don’t even know it.

  “Dad asked me to go to Austin and pick up a package for him. He didn’t want to entrust it to a courier, because of its contents. That’s what he told me. I don’t even know what was in it.”

  “Nothing precious, I’m sure of it. It was just a ploy.”

  “He gave me that coat, the one in the picture. But I could see it had been used. I didn’t want to wear it. He said it was so that no one would recognize me. It had to do with work he was doing for the government, he said.”

  I have to put my hand on my mouth to stop myself from snarling. Work for the government?

  There’s a sharp noise from somewhere inside the house, and we both jump. When I look at Madison, I see that she’s as scared as I am. What the hell is going on?

  “Where’s your dad?”

  “He had to go to New York, he said he’d be back tomorrow.”

  With her, I bet. I can hear the wind outside, the precursor to a storm. “It’s okay. It’s the blinds upstairs. The window must be open.”

  She blinks, then resumes. “He gave me a hat and a pair of sunglasses. Then he gave me a phone. I asked what I was supposed to do with it, he said not to worry about that. Just to make sure it was turned on when I landed.”

  “He used a scheduling app. Clever. That’s how he got those texts sent to her mother.”

  “Who?”

  “Charlene’s mother received two texts from Charlene’s phone. One at the airport after landing, and one thirty minutes later from downtown.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “This picture,” I lift the printout, almost push it under her nose, “is the picture that was circulated when she went missing. Didn’t you recognize yourself?”

  “But I’ve never seen it!”

  “Don’t you watch the news?”

  “No? Do you?”

  I shrug. “No.” Obviously I did keep a close eye on this story, but not close enough apparently.

  “I guess she didn’t rate enough to make it to my Twitter feed,” she says, without a hint of irony. Then, in a trembling voice, she asks, “Are you going to tell the police?”

  “No, Mike will have to do that. He’ll come clean about what he’s done, I give you my word. You don’t need to worry about anything. Please don’t mention our conversation to him, okay? I mean that. He won’t face up to what he’s done, yet, but he will. I just need to talk to him first.”

  “What will you do?”

  “I’ll make him understand.”

  “You won’t… hurt him, will you?” She gnaws at the side of her thumb.

  “Jesus, Maddie, of course not.”

  * * *

  Later, when I get home, I’m so wired that I can’t sleep. Fortunately, Joan is still up and in the mood for a chat. She brings us a bottle of something cold and two glasses.

  “You know, that was the closest I’ve been to my step daughter. Can you believe that?” I tell her over a glass of sparkling wine.

  “What brought that on? What did you chat about?”

  “Maybe one day I will tell you, but not now.”

  “Oh dear! Of course, don’t tell me the details. Some kind of crisis I assume. There’s something about a crisis that brings people together, I find.”

  I nod. “I suppose you’re right. You’re on better terms with your husband now, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, yes, we’re very good friends. We always were, until that—hiccup of ours. But with our children, too, somehow our family is stronger for it.”

  “That’s a glass-half-full way of looking at it,” I say. I don’t know whether to admire her or pity her. But I know what she means. When Mike is convicted and goes to jail, as he will, surely, Madison’s going to need all the support she can get. I’m already worried that she’ll feel guilty about the part that she will have played.

  Chapter Forty

  I call Mike, and the sound of his voice when he picks up sends shards of sadness down my throat.

  “Oh, Tamra, babe, where are you? I’ve been so worried! You okay?”

  “We need to talk.”

  I hear the relief in his sigh, as if I were offering some kind of olive branch. “Anything you want, Tamra. Do you want to come here to the house?” So suave, so kind.

  Such a bullshitter.

  “No. I’m staying with a friend. I’d rather you came here.”

  “Who’s your friend?” He blurts out. There’s a note of surprise in his voice, but something else too. Disapproval. I’m trying to think of a response when he says, “What can I do, Tamra? To make things right?”

  “Just come. Tonight.”

  “Anything you like,” he says. I give him the address, then I hang up.

  I sure hope I can pull this off. I place the small video camera Fiona lent me on the mantel. She said it was legal for me to record our conversation because I’m a party to it. Something like that. Joan is letting me use her living room so I spend the next thirty minutes testing the camera, positioning the armchair so that it is smack in the middle of the screen. That’s where he’s going to sit. I’ve got to get everything exactly right because I’m not going to let him go until he admits to everything he’s done.

  And then, I’ll give it all to Fiona.

  * * *

  Mike is due in about two hours, and I pace the room and watch the clock. I try to read a magazine, but I can’t take in a single word, and I keep starting the same article over and over. I force myself to sit still and breathe, to admire the pretty vase of snapdragons that Joan picked this morning from her garden. Then my phone chimes with a text. It’s from Mike.

  Hey baby, can I meet you at Lauren’s house instead? She’s gone to see Dwayne so we can have privacy and I need to stay close. Maddie’s in bed with the flu. Same time, okay?

  Well, at least he doesn’t even pretend anymore. Come to Lauren’s house! He must have told her that we’re meeting up tonight, and they’ve arranged to meet their exes at the same time. Unbelievable.

  I don’t want to go over there, I can’t believe that he would even suggest it. I’m about to reply, No, fuck you, my terms or nothing, but then I think of Maddie. She’s old enough to look after herself, isn’t she?

  I give her a call.

  “Hello?” she answers in a voice that sounds more like a whisper.

  “Oh wow, you are really sick. How are you feeling?”

  “Pretty shitty, actually. What’s up?” She barely finishes the sentence before a cough interrupts her. It’s muffled and far away, so I wait until it passes and she returns. “Sorry,” she croaks.

  “Do you have a fever?” I ask.

  “A hundred and four.”

  “Oh Maddie, you poor thing. You’re in bed?” This feels incredible. I’m having a normal, nice conversation with Madison, and she hasn’t snorted once.

  “Yeah, Dad’s made me a hot lemon drink and I’ve got some vitamin C.”

  “Okay, you look after yourself. Stay warm, you hear?”

  “Yeah,” she croaks. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Good.”

  “Have you spoken to my dad yet?”

  “Not yet, but soon.”

  “Okay.” Then lower, she adds, “You haven’t told the police about me, have you?”

  “No, of course not
. Don’t worry, Maddie, everything is going to be fine. I promise.”

  She’s silent for a few seconds, but I know she’s still there from the labored breathing. “Thanks, Tamra,” she says at last.

  “You bet.”

  I swear it’s the first time she’s said my name.

  I look at my phone screen.

  Okay, same time.

  And I hit send.

  * * *

  I still have a key to Lauren’s house, and after I buzz the doorbell, just to make sure, I use it. It’s dark by now, and there’s a chill in the air that makes the hair on my skin stand. Or that’s what I tell myself.

  I didn’t expect the wave of nostalgia that assaults me when I walk in, and it’s like a twist in my heart. Lauren wasn’t just my friend, she was my closest friend, and my confident. I have spent many hours in this house, laughing and sharing and doing all the things good friends do, and I haven’t grieved that loss yet.

  But now is not the time, so I take a deep breath and get on with it. Fuck off, Girlfriend. Not.

  I tell myself it’ll be fine. I actually say it out loud as I flick the light switch and the overhead chandelier illuminates the room. Then I turn on all the lamps, one by one, so we have max lighting here. Finally I go and find the most expensive bottle of wine I possibly can, and pour myself a drink. I sure don’t want to get drunk, but I need something to make me relax. I take my elegant wine glass back to the living room, sit in the armchair in the corner, and I wait.

  This house doesn’t have a porch. But if it did, I’d be sitting out there in a rocking chair with a Lever-Action Henry shotgun across my lap. It’s that kind of feeling.

  When I hear the front door open softly, my heart roars. I am so on edge that I almost drop my glass. I stand up quickly, expecting to see him.

  But it’s her.

  Chapter Forty-One

  “Maddie? You shouldn’t be here! How did you get here? You’ll make yourself really sick! Go home!”

  She coughs, a sharp sound, but when I look at her face, I see it’s not a cough. It’s a laugh, like a bark.

  “Oh, Maddie! You’ll make yourself sick,” she mimics. I recoil. There’s something wrong with her, but it’s not the flu. It’s like she’s all wired up, tense like a spring, her body vibrating at the slightest movement.

  “What’s going on?”

  She walks farther into the room, and I see the gun in her hand. I feel like my insides turn to liquid. “What are you doing? Your dad is going to be here any minute, why are you here?” My lips are shaking, and the words come out thick, blurry.

  “My dad is over at your friend’s house right now.”

  “No, he’s not, we changed the plans.”

  “No.” She shakes her head really fast, looking down. “I’m the one who sent the text from his phone and then deleted it. And your reply, too. He’s over there now, and he has no idea you’re here.”

  My head is spinning. I have to grab the side of the armchair to steady myself.

  “What’s going on?” I stare at the gun in her hand. It’s Mike’s gun. But I hid it. I can see myself doing it. “Where did you get that?”

  “I found it.” She juts her chin forward. “So what? It’s my house, I can look through your stuff whenever I feel like it.” She looks back at me and strangely, she hands the gun over to me. Her hand is shaking so much, I’m afraid she’s going to drop it. “I’m sorry, Tamra, but you’re going to have to shoot yourself in the head.”

  I can’t move. I can taste bile in my mouth. My head hurts. It’s like a million electrical wires short-circuiting inside my brain. She hasn’t moved, her arm still stretched forward with the gun in her hand.

  I don’t reach out for it. Not yet. “Why are you doing this?” I ask.

  “Did you really think it was my dad who ran over that bitch, Charlene? This whole time, you thought he did that?” Her eyes are red, bloodshot. There are dark, purplish circles under them. She’s so pale, she’s almost translucent.

  “I told you. I was there. I saw him.”

  “No, you didn’t. You saw his car, it’s not the same thing. Oh Tamra, man, when you told me, I swear I had to stop myself from laughing. You’re really not very bright, you know that?”

  “What are you saying?”

  “It’s all your fault!” she shrieks, tears running down her face. “It’s you! Everything is your fault! I’ve never wanted you in our lives. You weren’t supposed to be there! But you’re… like a bad smell that’s ingrained in the carpet. You just. Won’t. Go. Away!”

  My legs are wobbly under me. I lift a hand slowly, palm out, and I sit back down on the armchair. “What have you done?”

  She bites at the skin around her nails and I see that she’s drawing blood. “It wasn’t meant to go the way it went, okay? Just so you know. And it was her idea, I swear.”

  “Whose idea?”

  “Charlene!”

  “You knew her?”

  “Yeah I knew her. I met her online, through one of those beauty tips groups. And she was very pretty, don’t you think?”

  I just can’t believe what I’m hearing. Is she asking me to answer that question? I just shake my head. “I don’t understand.”

  “She was living in New York, so we started to hang out. I told her about you, about how you ruined everything. How you ruined my mother’s life, and my life, and my dad just didn’t care about us, not the way he used to. She and her boyfriend broke up and she had to move out. She was trying to get a job, make some money. She wanted to go to L.A.

  “One day, she told me about this idea she’d had. This brilliant idea, she called it. She’d come here and work for my dad, as an intern since she couldn’t do anything else, then she’d seduce him and pretend she’d gotten pregnant.”

  She watches me, to gauge my reaction I think. She gets her money’s worth because I am beyond shocked.

  “You can pick up those fake pregnancy tests on eBay for like, five bucks. We thought that a couple of months later they’d be married, lose the baby, then she could divorce him shortly after and walk out with some cash. All the while, obviously, you would have gone back to wherever crappy hole you came from.”

  If only. This whole plan is breathtaking in its naivety. I have to remind myself she was only eighteen or nineteen at that point, but still.

  “She really went for it, let me tell you! Every trick in the book. The button that comes undone at just the right moment, the brushing a little too close, you know the drill. But he wouldn’t bite. We’d almost given up when one night, they had to work late, and, well, one thing led to another and they had sex right there on top of his desk.”

  Her eyes are darting everywhere. Then she sits down on the arm of the sofa and lays the gun on her lap. I can’t take my eyes off it.

  “That was supposed to be the beginning of the end, but the next day, he took her aside and said it could never happen again. And he looked like shit. We knew it was over, so we faked the pregnancy, anyway, and asked for some money. I was going to make sure you found out, but I didn’t need to, because he told her that you knew all about it. And even that you’d drive her to the clinic.” She shakes at the memory.

  I think back to my conversation with Patti. It dawns on me that she didn’t know anything, not even about the one-night stand. But when she saw it in the paper, she couldn’t bear the thought he had kept something like that from her. She wanted to pretend she knew all along.

  “She wasn’t pregnant?” I ask.

  “No. The plan was that you’d drop her off and five minutes later, I’d pick her up.”

  “But… you weren’t even here! You were back in New York!”

  “I came back. I was here. I stayed at her place, the deal was done, I was going to help her move out and go back.”

  I’m stunned. It’s hard to wrap my head around this information. “But I saw Mike driving! I saw—”

  “I was driving. Dad was miles away.”

  I’m trying to think back
—the car, the windows, they’re partly tinted. “He had his cap on,” I say, to myself almost.

  “He’d left his Panthers cap in the car, I was wearing it,” she says.

  Oh God. I assumed everything. It was dark. I just saw a silhouette, my brain filled the rest.

  “And that’s where it was supposed to end. We’d split the money, and she’d go home. She had her ticket and everything. But then she started to rant and rave in the car that she found out that dad was going to run for governor, so she decided she’d sold out too cheaply. She wanted to double it. She said she’d go back to him the next day, tell him she didn’t get the abortion, and she wanted another half a mil’ to do it. I was supposed to drop her off at her place, but I didn’t know what she was going to do, so I kept driving.”

  She stops speaking, lost in her own thoughts. She’s a nervous wreck. I’m about to say something to calm her down, something soft and soothing, but she stands abruptly and I recoil farther back into the armchair. The gun is shaking in her hand, and it’s terrifying. I should have grabbed it when I had the chance.

  “We argued, like, out of control. I told her to forget about it, it was out of the question. She said she’d sell her story to the tabloids. They’d pay good money for that, she said. She was shouting, I was shouting, I just kept driving because I didn’t know where to go. Then I remembered our old house was empty, and I could take her there, so we could talk, sort it out. But she ran out of the car and into the woods. I yelled at her to get back in, I couldn’t even see where she went. I was so pissed. After everything I’d done for her! She was walking away with half a million dollars, and now she behaved like a diva? Screw her! She could find her own way back. I pressed my foot on the accelerator so hard it made the car skid, and I blasted out of there. Next thing I know, she’s standing in the middle of the road.” She presses the heel of her hand against her forehead, then she starts hitting herself. “I couldn’t stop the car! There was nothing I could do!” She’s sobbing, her breath ragged and sharp, like a child.