Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 01 - Spouse Trap

by Cynthia Hamilton

  As soon as she pulled up, Hughes appeared to ask if she needed any assistance. She thanked him, told him no, and told him she was going out again. While she was thinking of it, she went in search of Erma and told her she’d be having dinner out with friends. As she walked to her bedroom, she debated whether she should tell her she’d probably stay at the beach house that night. She retraced her steps to the foyer, then changed her mind. Any knowledge of her comings and goings would surely be passed on to Steven.

  This thought stopped her in her tracks. She hadn’t given her shadow a thought after lunch. Was she followed? Wasn’t she supposed to report back to Burt Latham if she lost sight of Russell Barnett? This worry sent her into high gear. She stripped and pulled on running clothes, then packed a carry-on bag with assorted wardrobe essentials, plus her toiletries bag, her laptop and chargers. She was out the door and down the driveway without any more contact with Erma and Hughes.

  Madeline reached Loon Point and looked back toward Miramar Beach. She had run without stopping, her mind churning as fast as the sand beneath her feet. She panted as she rested, hands on her knees, bent over until she caught her breath. She had run hard, her muscles pumping like pistons, in hopes of outrunning her nightmare. As her chest heaved and heart thumped, she had to admit she was no closer to understanding what the hell had happened to her perfect life.

  She headed back in the direction she had come. She could see well beyond Miramar Beach to the harbor and the Mesa. She pushed her aching muscles and tried to get back into the rhythm that had brought her to Summerland so swiftly. But after thirty seconds, she became too dispirited by the coastal beauty, a sight that normally filled her with joy.

  It’s no use, she thought as she walked, hands on hips, head down, ostensibly studying the tracks left by shore birds. As she confronted the here and now, she began to cry, much to her embarrassment. There was no one around to witness her shame, but crying with abandon wasn’t going to help matters. She had to focus her mind and figure out what she was going to do.

  Just the thought of having to sift through the rubble of her failed marriage made her cry all the harder. She gave up and sat on a rock, letting it all out.

  After sobbing like she’d hadn’t done since her mother died, she felt surprisingly lighter inside. She dabbed at her wet face, using the backs of her hands as squeegees, and got to her feet. She fell into a comfortable jog as she sniffled her way past Summerland. When she rounded Shark’s Cove at Fernald Point, her mind was as steady as her breathing.

  Now that she could think clearly, she reviewed her list of known facts:

  I was drugged and raped

  I have the photos to prove it

  Someone set me up

  Steven wants a divorce

  Steven hired a private detective.

  As this last known fact registered, Madeline saw it in a completely different light than before. She ground to a halt as she seized on it and turned it around in her mind. Steven did hire a detective after slamming her with the photos, but maybe it was because he had his own doubts about them. Maybe Steven hired Barnett to keep tabs on her to see if she had contact with her supposed lover while he was out of town. Or maybe Steven was secretly trying to vindicate her…

  Madeline stood there drinking in this fragile hope. It filled her to the point that she twittered with happiness. She started to run, her optimism spurring her on. Maybe Steven was secretly trying to prove her innocence. Twelve years of marriage was hard for anyone to just throw away on circumstantial evidence. Well, it was pretty damning evidence, circumstantial or not. But it was possible that Barnett had been hired to clear her. Maybe Steven was having the P.I. search for whoever was responsible for the disgusting photographs…

  Madeline climbed the steps to the beach house, her mind now completely focused on building this hopeful theory into a plausible truth. She ran every element of the last five days through her mind while she showered and washed her hair. She had maintained her innocence from the beginning and had never wavered. That was definitely a point in her favor. Plus, she swore to Steven the night before that she’d never stop loving him, in spite of the fact that he was kicking her out. That was all good. She hadn’t confessed, she hadn’t turned nasty on him…

  By the time she had dried her hair, she had more or less established this rosy scenario as irrefutable reality. Steven wouldn’t just instantly toss her aside, not even if he had strong physical evidence that she had cheated on him. He’d want to know for sure. She had never once given him a reason to doubt her fidelity. That had to count for something.

  She was putting on her makeup when she heard the unfamiliar ring of her loaner cell phone. She ran to the bedroom, scrambling to find the right phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Glad I caught you. Where are you right now?” Burt asked, his voice low.

  “I’m at the beach house,” Madeline whispered back.

  “Inside?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you walk outside, right now?” Burt’s urgency was starting to frighten her.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Walk as far from the house as you can. I’ll call you in a couple minutes.” Madeline struggled into a sweater and headed for the side door, grabbing her tote on the way out. The way Burt was talking, she was half afraid the place was about to blow up. She was past the old, defunct Miramar Hotel by the time the phone rang again.

  “Sorry to be so cloak and dagger,” Burt said as soon as she answered, “but it occurred to me that we didn’t have enough time to go over precautions.”

  “Oh,” Madeline replied, looking back over her shoulder at the house she’d just vacated. It was still intact. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself.

  She was glad Burt had called because she wanted him to confirm for her that it was plausible her suspicions about Steven might be unfounded after all. He had intimated as much at his office. But she wanted to see if he really felt it was a possibility, or if he was covering all bases out of habit. As she stood there in the sand, the cool breeze and the alarming call making her extra alert, she realized how quickly she’d become invested in that hope.

  “I’m sorry I had to cut our meeting short, but I had to finish up another case. So…”

  “So…,” Madeline echoed.

  “What concerns me is the fact that your husband has not only hired Barnett to trail you, but that he also has his own in-house security detail. You mentioned that Steven wants you out of the main house by the time he returns from Dallas.”

  “That’s right. He told me I could live at the beach house until the divorce is final. But there’s something I wanted…”

  “This is what I’m thinking… Is Barnett still shadowing you?”

  “No, I didn’t see him after I came here earlier today.”

  “What time was that?”

  “Um…1:30, quarter till two.”

  “Here’s my gut take on what’s going on—Steven tells you to be out of the Park Lane house by Saturday. He arranges for your things to be taken to the Miramar house by the time he gets back. He leaves town, which gives you the impression he’s away and unaware of your activities. He knows you stayed at the main house last night. This gives his security team time at the beach house to install surveillance devices. Barnett waits for you to leave Park Lane this morning, informs Steven’s security that you’re out, then follows you around town until he gets the all-clear.”

  Madeline had listened to this long-winded theory impatiently. She was anxious to tell him her own theory, to get his concurring opinion, to put her mind to rest. But as Burt’s hypothesis unfolded, Madeline’s body went rigid. It had the unmistakable ring of probability shaped by a professional investigator’s instincts. Only minutes ago she was certain Steven was secretly on her side. Now listening to Burt’s logical, unbiased appraisal o
f the situation, it hit her how desperate and pathetic it was to hope her problems could be so easily solved.

  “Are you still there?” Burt asked.

  “Yes, sorry…I’m here. I hadn’t thought about that,” Madeline muttered, a fresh wave of panic and distrust quickly eroding her pleasant fantasy.

  “If I could be sure your place wasn’t being watched, I’d find a way to clear the beach house myself. But for all we know, Barnett could be driving around in a rental car, which would be a common enough move in a surveillance case. Or Steven’s own guys could be watching it remotely. My guess is you’re not going to feel comfortable unless you know for certain the place isn’t bugged.”

  Madeline bit her lower lip to keep from crying. Problem was, she really wanted to cry. There was so much injustice in what had happened to her in less than a week, she couldn’t get her arms around it. She needed a friend she could confide in, someone she could tell the whole awful story to. But this was too much of a bomb to lay on anyone, even if she could bring herself to admit the facts and suspicions surrounding the demise of her marriage.

  “I’m sorry, what were you saying?” Madeline asked, her voice thick with emotion.

  “I was just suggesting that you might rest easier tonight if you took a room in a hotel. At least you’d be assured the place wasn’t bugged.”

  “Okay. That sounds like the best idea.” Madeline hung her head, feeling pushed into a corner once again.

  “There’s a small inn downtown that I like to use to keep tabs on my clients. It’s very discreet and they know me there. If you’re comfortable with that, I can book you a room and set up my own surveillance on the street. That way, if you’re still being watched, we’ll know. By the way, where’s your car parked?”

  “In the garage. The door’s down.”

  “Good. I don’t mean to scare you here, but you know better than anyone the ruthlessness of whoever set you up.” Madeline glanced across to Santa Cruz Island as she braced herself.

  “Burt…can I just run one stupid thought passed you?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Could it be remotely possible that Steven hired Russell Barnett to find out if I was telling the truth? Maybe he’s hired Barnett to find out who took these pictures and why,” Madeline suggested, trying to keep her enthusiasm in check. The silence on the phone told her she was about to have her hopes dashed for good.

  “I would say that was as good a theory as any, if I didn’t have a piece of information I haven’t told you yet. I’m just starting to work on your case, but the first thing I did was have the airline manifests checked to confirm Steven’s travel plans.” Madeline stood stock still. Could the situation possibly get worse?

  “Steven boarded the 6:05 flight to LAX out of SBA on American Airlines. But he didn’t continue on to Dallas. He boarded an 8:10 flight to Boston. I’ve got my feelers out, but haven’t gotten any confirmation back on his final destination.”

  Madeline barely heard this last sentence. Her mind was filled with images of Steven ranting at her, calling her a whore, slamming the door in her face. It was all true, what she had suspected since she saw the payoff: Steven was a scheming, conniving bastard. God only knew what he was really up to.

  But if it involved framing her to stiff her on a divorce settlement and alimony, it had to mean he was one of the cheapest, cruelest men alive, or that he was in deep financial trouble. Whatever his reason for sabotaging the beautiful life she had made for herself, she wasn’t going to play the patsy.

  “Madeline?”

  “I’m still here. What’s the name of that hotel?”

  “Eastside Inn. On Garden, just up from Canon Perdido. And there’s one more thing—do you belong to a gym?”

  “No. We have a gym at home.”

  “I want you to sign up for a membership at the Santa Barbara Fitness Club tomorrow. They have a 30-day refundable policy, which should take us through this investigation. We can meet there discreetly without attracting attention. You know where it is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Great. Go in as early as possible tomorrow to sign up, then we can arrange to meet later on.”

  “Okay.”

  “If you try to contact me on this number and I don’t answer, don’t leave a message. I’ll see I have a missed call from your phone and I’ll call you back. Any questions? I know this is a lot of skulking around and I’m sure you’re not used to it.” Madeline laughed half-heartedly.

  “You could say that. I never thought I’d be hiding from my husband’s goon squad and fleeing my own homes out of fear of being spied on.”

  “We’ll get the facts sorted out and you’ll be in charge of your life again,” Burt assured her. Madeline shook her head mournfully; it was hard to imagine she could outsmart her evil husband, let alone have a life to be in charge of again.

  THIRTEEN

  Madeline caught a glimpse of Burt Latham relaxing casually next to his car as she drove into the motor court of the Eastside Inn. He signaled to her with a nod of his head as she handed her keys over to the attendant. She carried her tote and a deli bag while the attendant fetched her other things. Once she was checked in and had been escorted to her room, the hotel phone rang.

  “Is the room satisfactory?” Burt asked.

  “Very,” Madeline replied as she glanced around at her temporary digs.

  “You need anything before I leave?” She looked skeptically at the salad she had picked up on the way over.

  “No, I think I’m good.”

  “Okay. I’m going to head home and get back to work. Call me if anything unusual happens or if something spooks you.”

  “I will,” she promised.

  “Alright. Rest well and I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Madeline replaced the receiver. She felt vaguely uneasy knowing that her protection was now off-duty. She took stock of the amenities her small but well-appointed suite had to offer.

  The minibar was the first thing she checked out. It had the customary array of booze in miniature, including half-bottles of local wines. She reached for the chardonnay, then changed her mind. She opted instead for two scotches, which she opened and poured into a glass with a few cubes of ice.

  She took her highball into the bathroom, where she discovered an oversize tub perfect for soaking in. Maybe later, she thought as she shed her sweater. As she reentered the sitting room, she realized the drapes were still open. She approached them from the side, keeping her silhouette out of view as she tugged the draperies closed.

  “Oh God,” she moaned, dropping into an overstuffed chair. She took a slug of her drink and enjoyed the burning sensation as it went down. The burning was soon replaced with a pleasant numbness. She drained the glass and sat there debating what her next move should be: make another drink, eat her unappetizing salad, take a soak, have another crying fit. In the end, she opted for sitting in the semi-darkness, as it required the least amount of energy and no effort.

  Downing her meager cocktail had the hoped-for calming effect. The details of the last two days’ events continued to bump around the fringes of her mind, but it was as if the sound had been turned off. She had become momentarily deaf to her fears and doubts.

  It wasn’t until her stomach registered a loud complaint that she realized how hungry she was. She reached over and removed the compostable container out of the deli bag and used the plastic fork to attack the wilting lettuce and limp vegetables. Unfortunately, she had a raging hunger but no appetite. A few bites were all it took to lose interest in eating altogether.

  She hoisted herself out of the chair and started to unpack her things. She plugged in her laptop and charged both phones—her iPhone and Burt’s loaner—and stashed the Saks shopping bags in the closet. She stripped out of her jogging clothes and into a pair of grey cashmere sweatpants and tunic
. She grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge and seated herself on the sofa cross-legged, placing her laptop in the cradle between her knees.

  After prioritizing her needs, she began searching the internet. The most pressing matter at this juncture was to find a good divorce attorney outside the area. She made a search of L.A. lawyers, taking down names as she scrutinized the copious offerings. She narrowed it down to one, with two backups. She hoped and prayed she could wangle an appointment the next day. She sighed heavily at the thought. This was a whole new arena for her, one that made her feel like a loser just for having to enter it.

  Now that her primary concern had been sorted with a mental note to call for an appointment first thing in the a.m., Madeline staggered to the bed, where she keeled over like a felled tree. She lay there on her back with arms flung out to the sides, her body aching from too much of everything, her mind a rotating barrage of anxieties. She drifted off into a brief, terror-filled sleep. When she jerked awake, she was so disoriented, it took her several petrified seconds to figure out where she was.

  With her heart pounding, she headed for the bathroom, where she sat on the toilet in a daze. She managed to get herself up by realizing she would be paralyzed by this whole situation if she didn’t fight it with every ounce of strength she could summon. At this point, her weapons were limited, but she did have a private investigator and her God-given smarts. It was time she put the latter to use in earnest.

  Time for another list, she thought as she seated herself at the desk. She took the hotel notepad and pen from the desk drawer and proceeded to put an order to her most pressing concerns. Next to the number 1, she wrote down the name Barry Houstein, Esq. and his contact information. After jotting down the number 2, she sat back, stumped.

  Okay…she prompted herself…I’ve got legal worries, financial worries, safety worries and housing worries. As she had addressed the legal issue, she put down find a place to live next to #2. This got her mind into gear. It was already Thursday night; she had less than two full days to remove her belongings from the Park Lane house. Knowing the new Steven Ridley, he might have all her things hauled to the dump just out of spite. There was no telling how deep his cruel streak ran.