by Nesly Clerge
Wrapped in a long cashmere robe, she waited as a tall cup filled with steaming coffee. The cup was just to her lips when the doorbell rang. Through one of the glass panels on the side of the door, she saw an unfamiliar, modest car parked in the circular driveway. Certain someone was either looking for odd jobs or at the wrong house, she opened the door. The slap to her face came fast and hard.
“You bitch.” Penelope’s face blazed crimson.
Chelsea rubbed her cheek. “That’s rich, coming from you. Now get the hell off my property. Be damn grateful I won’t have you arrested for assault.”
“If anyone needs to be grateful about not having charges filed against them, it’s you.”
“A little early to be hitting the bottle, isn’t it? Or has your guilty conscience led you to start drinking your breakfast?”
Penelope balled her hands into fists. “Your innocent act doesn’t fool me. I know you too well. You’re the one who needs to stay off my property.”
“You are drunk. Go home and sleep it off. And stay the hell away from me.” Chelsea pushed the door to close it.
Penelope shoved the door back. “I’m sending you the bill, and you’d better damn well pay it as soon as you get it.”
“What bill?”
“Four new tires and a crappy rental car.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Just stop it. You ever slash my tires again or do any other damage to any of my property, I will have you arrested.”
“I haven’t been anywhere near your house or your car. Nor do I intend to be ever again. If someone slashed your tires, it’s likely another wife whose husband you’re playing whipped-cream fantasy with.”
“So, you’re going to stick with that poor-little-misunderstood-Chelsea farce. You even have the puzzled expression down to perfection. Probably practice it in the mirror. I’ve put up with your I’m-so-wounded facade long enough.”
Chelsea remained at the threshold as Penelope stomped to the rental car and sped away.
She was sure of two things: she hadn’t slashed the tires, and no way was she paying the bill.
CHAPTER 84
Concerned staff at the hospital had commented about his appearance, asked if he was ill. Garrett’s expression, and the tone used to reply that he was fine, signaled them to drop the topic. He opened the top folder in the stack on his desk then closed it, unable to concentrate. Scrubbed his hands hard over his face.
His cell phone buzzed. Penelope. Again, and still showing up on the screen as Dr. Jacobs. How clever he’d thought he’d been when he’d arranged that deception. He’d already deleted fifteen voice and text messages from her in the last hour and a half. He couldn’t continue to ignore her, because he knew she wouldn’t give up. The last thing he wanted was for her to show up at the hospital. To barge down the hallway, demanding to see him. Time to tell her to stop.
“I’m at work, Pen. I can’t just drop everything when you call.”
“I need to see you.”
“Not a good idea.”
“I didn’t mean right this minute, Garrett.”
“We’re not going to see each other again. Ever. Period.”
“Just a damn minute.”
“I’m out of minutes.”
Penelope softened her tone. “You’ll want meet with me. Believe me. You’ll be glad you did.”
“I’m not in the mood.”
“When I tell you the truth about Chelsea, you’ll thank me.”
“What are you on about?”
“Not now. It has to be in person.”
If that was the only way to get her out of his life, so be it.
“Where and when?”
CHAPTER 85
If Penelope had so much as her shoes off, he was leaving. The woman was poison. Garrett unlocked the door to the Presidential Suite and crossed the threshold.
Penelope, seated on the edge of the familiar sofa, poured wine into the extra glass on the silver tray resting on the coffee table. “It’s not a firing squad, Garrett.” She held up the glass. “But you’ll need this.”
He closed the door and walked to her, took the glass and sat in a chair positioned at a ninety-degree angle to the sofa. “Okay. You got me here. What’s so damn important?”
“I’ll get straight to the point.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
“Chelsea isn’t the aggrieved little spouse you think she is. She’s deceived you. And she’s quite good at it.”
Garrett checked his watch and sighed. “I don’t have time for this.”
“She’s cheating on you.”
Garrett took a gulp of wine, swallowed and said, “Bullshit.”
Penelope shook her head. “Fact. And it’s not the first time.”
Garrett motioned with his free hand for her to get on with it. “Okay, let’s hear your spiel.”
“She’s been involved with someone for months.”
“If that were true, why would you just now be telling me?”
“Because she’ll go after you for adultery, even though she’s guilty of the same thing.”
“Chelsea would never cheat, and we both know it. You’re pissed at her because you’re guilty and don’t like how it feels.”
“I only feel guilty that she found out. But I’m not lying. She may have started out having sex with the guy because she was angry with you, but now she believes they’re,” she made quotation marks in the air with her fingers, “‘in love’. She had every intention of divorcing you. Guess she figured catching you in the act was the way to go. She just never realized she’d catch you with me, the keeper of her dark secrets.” Penelope snickered.
Garrett flashed back to Chelsea’s statement about wanting a divorce, but he recognized a con when he saw one. Penelope was playing him. Best to go along just to see exactly how far she’d try to take it. “All right. I’ll bite.”
Penelope formed her lips into a pout. “Don’t tease me, Garrett. You know how I love when you bite me. And where.”
“That’s it. I’m out of here.” Garrett stood.
Penelope pulled a book from behind her. She turned it over to the back cover and handed it to him. “That’s the guy. Her lover. Your competition. He’s her most recent dark secret.” She barked a laugh.
Garrett looked at the photo of the author then at Penelope. “How far are you going to go with this charade?”
“It’s not a charade. And I’m going to tell you just how far Chelsea did go.”
CHAPTER 86
Garrett downed the wine in one gulp, grabbed the bottle and refilled his glass. “You have proof of any of this?”
“I can give you enough details that demonstrate proof.”
“I’ll give you five minutes. Tops.”
“Let’s go back to the first time she cheated on you.”
Garrett rolled his eyes. “Here we go.”
“Chelsea had an affair with a lawyer in her firm. Eric Eisenberg. You remember him?”
“Vaguely. I only saw him once at the one Christmas party I went to, and just long enough to be introduced.”
“Chelsea didn’t just have a few thrills with Eric, she got pregnant with him. About a year before Kimberlie was conceived.”
“I think I would have known if—”
“Garrett, you’re an enthusiastic lover and excellent provider, but totally self-absorbed.”
“You’re not scoring any points, here.”
“You don’t pay attention to Chelsea—or anyone, for that matter—unless it suits your purpose to. You’re so full of yourself, you can’t believe she’d look at another man or that another man would pay attention to her. Go ahead and look as mad at me as you like, but we all know it’s true.”
“If you’re trying to piss me off, it’s working.”
“Chelsea had an abortion.”
“You’re really going for broke.”
“I drove her to the clinic and to my house afterwards, until she felt ready and able t
o go home, able to look and act as though nothing had happened.”
“Again, bullshit.”
“The man’s wife, Patricia, found out about the affair. She confronted her. Chelsea hadn’t told Eric she was pregnant, but Patricia recognized the signs. Told Chelsea if she didn’t get an abortion, she’d report the affair to the firm and call you. Chelsea agreed, but also got Patricia to sign a non-disclosure agreement stating she’d never tell, in exchange for seventy thousand dollars. I went with Chelsea to make the withdrawal at the bank. The money came out of her America account.”
“We don’t have any accounts at that bank.”
“You mean you don’t. If you feel like digging that far back, you’ll find proof she has an account you don’t know about, in her maiden name, if she still has it, that is. We haven’t talked about it since that time. But, I can give you the approximate date of the withdrawal, if you want it. The signed agreement should still be in a safety deposit box at that bank, also under her maiden name. Unless she decided enough time lapsed that it was safe to destroy the evidence.”
Garrett went to the window with the book in his hand. He stood silently, seething. A minute passed and he said, “What about this Luke Thompson guy?” He couldn’t wait to hear whatever nonsense Penelope was about to spew. It was so obvious: she’d seen the book on the nightstand or was with Chelsea when she bought it.
Penelope filled him in on the details she knew about how Chelsea and Luke had met. “Many of the nights these past few months, when Kimberlie was at a sleep-over and you were satisfying your appetites, Chelsea was satisfying hers. With him. According to Chelsea, he’s more than equipped to do that, if you follow my meaning.”
Garrett kept his back to Penelope. “Where’s this affair supposedly taking place?”
“I asked, but she refused to tell me exactly where. Although, for an untraceable Christmas gift, she came up with myriad places like a public bathroom, the Bentley, out in nature, before it turned cold, of course. I have to give her credit. I never imagined she could or would be so inventive. Maybe you didn’t know that about her, either. Vanilla through and through. Your words, verbatim. Or maybe it was you who treated her that way. Maybe she found your technique unimaginative, boring, so why make the effort?”
“Believe me, she wanted it. Still does.”
Penelope laughed. “Maybe once. But she told me you can’t compete with him. Said you overestimate your proficiency. Or, maybe it has something to do with how well endowed he is.”
Garrett walked back to his chair but didn’t sit. “How long did it take you to come up with this elaborate lie?”
“Poor Garrett. Your ego is just too inflated to imagine any of this is true. But it is.”
Garrett smirked and clapped his hands. “I have to hand it to you. This is quite a performance.”
“You want proof? Get it yourself.” She waved a hand. “Check her phone for calls and text messages. Maybe she deleted them, but maybe she knew you’re too stuck on yourself to ever suspect anything like that from her, or that you’d ever check her phone. Especially because you wouldn’t want her to check yours.”
“You’re not going to give up, are you?”
“I don’t know how you can confirm the bank information, since that’s private, but the withdrawal was made the first week of April 2004. I gave you the name of the lawyer and his wife. Maybe the wife will spill it to you. Since she can be bought, make her an offer as an incentive.”
Garrett studied Luke’s photo then tossed the book onto the chair. He headed for the door.
Penelope stood. “What are you going to do?”
He turned. “Not your business. Stay away from us.”
Garrett closed the door behind him, but not fast enough to block out Penelope’s laughter.
CHAPTER 87
The Hilton Hotel room in Waltham would have to suffice. Until Chelsea calmed down and begged him to come home, that is. And that needed to happen soon.
Garrett tossed the wrapped bundle onto the bed. He detested paying for his few new items of clothing to be laundered. What man drives up to such a place in the most expensive Porsche money can buy and doesn’t own a washer and dryer or pay a housekeeper?
It was necessary to put a halt to their temporary split before word got out. He’d made Kimberlie swear not to tell anyone. But that was only one plug for a number of possible leaks. Humiliation wasn’t his style.
He kicked off his shoes and ordered a steak and baked potato from room service. Called back and added a bottle of their best merlot to the order.
He turned on the TV. Turned it off. Went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. Did a search on Amazon for Luke Thompson. Three books. He checked the first two. Both had few reviews and two and a half stars. Some author he was. He clicked on the third book.
The reviews for A Dark Walk were predominantly excellent or exceptional. Chelsea had once commented about something she’d read in the novel, not that he’d paid any real attention to what she’d said. It was something about the pain of being hurt by someone you thought never would do that. Something about how the author must have felt that way to be able to write about it.
He continued to scroll and read the reviews. Then he saw Chelsea’s profusely glowing comments about the book. And about Thompson. He clicked on the book cover to look inside. Saw the author had thanked his wife, Brandi, for being his inspiration. Did Thompson mean his wife inspired him to write, or did he mean she inspired him to feel the pain he wrote about?
Whatever.
But now he knew Penelope was lying. Not only would Chelsea not cheat on him, she’d never do it with a married man, and certainly not twice.
The knock on the door startled him.
The tray was placed on the coffee table, as directed. The tip was put into the hand eager to receive it.
The wine was consumed.
The food left untouched.
CHAPTER 88
Garrett stepped out of the shower. He wiped the moisture from the mirror, shaved, and dabbed concealer under his eyes to diminish the dark circles. Donned in new slacks, shirt, and jacket, he brewed a pot of coffee and left a message at his practice that he’d either be in late or not at all. That would inconvenience staff, but they’d have to figure it out for themselves. He took a cup of coffee to the sofa and watched the time.
At five till nine, he looked up America Bank & Trust’s main number. He knew who he had to get to help him. Bob Adams was one of the vice presidents and a member of City Club; they’d sat at the same table for lunch many times. It was an informal relationship at best, but it was the only way he’d likely be able to confirm Penelope’s story.
At five after nine, he keyed in the number. “This is Dr. Garrett Hall. Bob Adams, please.” It took only seconds for the connection to be made.
“Garrett, good to hear from you. You finally decided to give us some of your business?”
“Actually, I want to do some business with you, of a personal nature.”
“Okay, you’ve got me curious.”
“I’d rather talk in person. How about lunch today at the club?”
“I can do that. But it has to be between one and two.”
“I’ll see you at one, then.”
“What’s this about?”
“We’ll talk then. I’ll go a little early and get a table. Ask at the desk.”
Garrett ordered a light breakfast from room service, made another pot of coffee, and used his iPad to look up Luke Thompson on Facebook.
He found an author page on the site. Found that Thompson lived in Waltham. Personal photos had been posted, along with brief blog-type missives about what it was like to be a novelist. From the photos, it was easy to see Thompson was tall, at least taller than the others in the images where he wasn’t alone. People probably considered the guy attractive.
He scrolled down the page, stopping at a photo of Thompson in swim trunks. It showed a man who didn’t have an ounce of anything loose
on his body and defined muscles in all the right places. He’d be powerful in the sack. If he knew what he was doing. What did Chelsea know about good sex? Not much. Not in his experience. Always wanted him to get it over with.
Garrett didn’t hear the first round of knocks on the door. The second round, louder and harder than the first, got his attention. He ate the toast and finished the coffee, leaving the omelet and sausages.
His search for additional information about Thompson continued, with him growing more agitated, based on what he learned. He returned to the photo of Luke in trunks. Images of Chelsea and the author began to play in his mind. No way could he or would he believe they were lovers.
Similar images and others, provoked by imagining Luke and Chelsea engaged in some of his own escapades, tortured him until noon.
At five after, Garrett tucked one of the envelopes provided by the hotel into his jacket pocket and closed the door behind him. There was one errand he had to take care of before heading to the club.
CHAPTER 89
He’d almost finished his second double Scotch over ice by the time Bob Adams waved then wove his way to the table. Garrett rose and extended his hand. “Thanks for meeting with me.”
Adams had his hand on the chair across from him. Garrett pulled out the chair to his right. “Sit here, Bob. If you don’t mind.” He waved for a waiter, who zipped to the table.
Adams shrugged and sat. Both men gave the waiter their drink orders.
“What can I do for you, Garrett?”
“Let’s order first.”
“You don’t look so good. You okay?”
“Just going through a temporary rough patch.”
Adams frowned. “Financial?”
“Personal.” He asked and let Adams talk about his family. Not that he listened, just nodded and made proper sounds at the right places in the one-sided conversation.
Garrett sat straight and said, “Finally. Our drinks.” They gave their food orders to the waiter.
