Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 01 - Spouse Trap

by Cynthia Hamilton

  Though her current residence was fine for a night or two, she had to have something bigger and less expensive—not that she cared about the price as long as Steven was ultimately paying the bill. But she rationalized it’d be better for her in the long run if she used those funds on tangible items that could be resold on eBay, if and when she got really hard up for money.

  She grabbed her laptop and tapped on the keys absentmindedly as she ran through her requirements. She needed a place she could move into quickly without having to commit to a long-term lease. That was one set of issues. It also had to be a decent size—a studio apartment in some dark complex wasn’t going to cut it. She’d need at least a two-bedroom to house all her clothing. And she needed something furnished. She typed in “furnished short term rentals Santa Barbara.”

  Her search came back with a broad assortment of offerings. But as she clicked through the listings, she became discouraged. The rentals she liked were either unavailable for weeks or too pricey. If she got into a rental situation, she wouldn’t be able to pay with a credit card, so price was a consideration.

  As she scanned further down on her search, she came across several ads for vacation rentals. That was the perfect solution, once she thought about it. She clicked on site after site until she found one that didn’t overwhelm or aggravate her. Right away she spotted a cute Spanish-style cottage in West Beach, just two blocks from the ocean.

  After viewing the photos of the 2-bedroom, 1 bath with charming private backyard and off-street parking, she clicked on the calendar. It was available for the rest of February and all of March. She filled out the inquiry form and emailed it to the owner.

  While she was searching for backups, she received a reply. The property is available for the period you requested and can be shown tomorrow. The monthly rate for off-season is $2,750. Madeline quickly replied that she’d take it—sight unseen—and asked that the rental agreement be emailed to her as soon as possible.

  With all the mental anguish she’d been through the last few days, the prospect of settling herself somewhere outside of Steven’s domain made her feel almost lighthearted. Living in that part of town would be fun. It was only a temporary arrangement, until she could get her life sorted out.

  But even if she could prove Steven had her set up to be raped and photographed, it would take time to get what she was legally owed. She was hanging all her hope on what Burt had told her, that a prenuptial agreement could be broken under certain circumstances. At this point, she couldn’t consider the alternative.

  To reassure her fragile psyche, she located her tote bag and the envelope with the “proof.” It gave her a fresh pang of anxiety to imagine what her situation would be like if she lost those photos. Once a disgusting and horrifying reflection on her, they now represented the silver bullet that would release her from Steven’s treachery—if, that is, Burt Latham could dig up evidence that would provide her with the gun.

  By now it was 8:15. Madeline felt like she’d been awake for two days, which basically she had been. Dead tired as she was, she was still too keyed up to even imagine trying to go to bed. She knew she’d never fall asleep with her mind running in twenty different directions. She stripped off her clothes and got in the shower.

  She forced herself to stay under the hot spray until she couldn’t stand it any longer. It helped. By the time she dried off, she was so relaxed she could barely keep her eyes open. She gathered her phones and turned down the bed. She lay down, enjoying the sensation of release as her muscles gave up the fight and went limp. She switched off the light and closed her eyes.

  Just as she was about to drift into a deep sleep, the process reversed itself, making her instantly wide awake. She rolled over, trying to push thought from her mind. Now no position felt comfortable; her body had become as restless as her mind. After thirty minutes of flipping back and forth, she gave up and switched on the light. She looked at the clock. Only 9:25.

  It’s too early to go to bed, she rationalized, as she threw back the covers. But what could she do at this hour? Her brain was fried by the constant bombardment of the last day and a half. She marveled at the way time had become so elastic, leaving her in one long, never-ending day.

  She reached for the remote control and started flipping through the channels as she propped herself against the headboard. This diversion lasted five minutes before the mindless blathering became harder to endure than her own improbable drama. She switched the TV off and got out of bed. She grabbed another bottle of water and sat back down at the desk.

  Her list wasn’t very impressive; she knew she had a lot more to deal with than just finding an attorney and a place to live. She started a new list—a random list—where she could record the miscellaneous tasks that had to be dealt with by Saturday night.

  Get new DL with maiden name

  Withdraw more $$

  Arrange for movers

  Sign up at SB Fitness Center

  Get a P.O. Box

  Remove jewelry from safety deposit @ MB&T

  Get safety deposit box @ my bank

  Put photos in new box

  Committee meeting @ 7pm

  Realizing that she was about to careen into a new day—possibly without sleep—kicked her anxiety into high gear. She got up and paced, fighting the urge to cry out of utter frustration.

  “I’m going to go insane!” she said out loud. Just hearing her own voice was reassuring. She needed to talk to someone. This solitary confinement was going to drive her out of her mind. She grabbed her phone and scrolled through her contacts, landing on Robert Dawkins. She clicked to open his info and stared at his photo.

  “Oh, Daddy,” she moaned, sinking to the sofa. Her finger hovered over his phone number, but she backed out before the call was placed.

  It would make all the difference in the world to get her father’s input, to hear the comforting sound of his voice telling her that everything would be all right, that Steven would pay for what he’d done to her. But there was no way to edit out the seamy details; they were essential to the sudden collapse of her bright, beautiful life. And there was no way she could bear to burden her father with the truth. He would take it even harder than she did. Plus, he’d want to dismantle Steven with his bare hands.

  As she traced her finger back up the screen of her phone, rejecting the long list of contacts, she came across a name she hadn’t thought of in years. She tapped lightly to display the details. Before she could talk herself out of it, she could hear the ringing as her phone connected to his.

  “Hello,” the voice said, slightly groggy, obviously unaware of who was calling him.

  “Mike, it’s Madeline.” In the quiet, she could imagine him squirming to a more upright position.

  “Madeline,” Mike said, drawing out each syllable. “Madeline Dawkins. Excuse me…Madeline Ridley,” he said, his tone a little playful, a little sarcastic.

  “Michael Delaney,” Madeline said in the same mocking tone.

  “My, my, my…what could I have possibly done to rate a phone call from you? It’s not my birthday, I don’t think…”

  “I won’t insult you by pretending I’ve called to see how you’re doing,” Madeline said, hoping to preempt any more condescending remarks.

  “That’s what I’ve always liked about you, Mad Dawg—you just tell like it is,” Mike said with a cynical snort. This was a mistake, Madeline thought, tempted to end the call. “Hey, indulge me a little—I haven’t heard from you for five years—”

  “It hasn’t been that long,” Madeline protested. “I saw you at Monica’s wedding. That wasn’t that long ago,” she argued, but she couldn’t say for sure when that memorable occasion had been. Just mentioning it got a laugh out of Mike.

  “Oh God, you’re right! How could I forget that? Anyway, it’s been years since you favored me with phone call. A
re you that hard up for entertainment?” Mike asked snidely as he went to the refrigerator for something cold to drink. Madeline let the sting of his remark subside before answering.

  “I need someone to talk to,” she said. Mike held the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he twisted the cap off a soda bottle. The somberness of her tone got his attention.

  “What’s up, Maddie?” He took a swig from the liter bottle as he returned to the sofa. He switched off the TV to give Madeline his undivided attention.

  Now that she had someone she could confide in, she didn’t know where to start. The longer she hesitated, the more apprehensive Mike became.

  “Are you okay?” Madeline cradled her head in the heel of her hand. “What’s going on?” he prompted again.

  “I’m in a very bad situation,” she said, her voice hollow.

  “How bad? Are you in jail?” he asked after a brief pause. This made Madeline laugh weakly.

  “Not yet. I could be though, if I kill Steven.” Mike let out an appreciative ahhh.

  “Okay…guess you better give me a little background info.”

  FOURTEEN

  Madeline gave Mike what he asked for in a succinct outline, beginning at the ball. When she was finished, the line was so quiet, she had to ask if he was still there.

  “Yep. I got every word of it. I’m just trying to digest it all. Jesus, what a fucking nightmare. What a fucking bastard!” Madeline kept quiet while he absorbed everything. “Oh my God, this is like one of those psychological thrillers. Holy Christ. What are you going to do?”

  “I…I’m going to fight him. I don’t know how, exactly. It really all depends on what my P.I. can unearth. Oh shit, I forgot to tell you… According to Burt, Steven didn’t actually go to Dallas. He took a flight from Santa Barbara to L.A., but he got on a flight to Boston instead.”

  “So, you think maybe he’s two-timing you?”

  “Why else would he make a big point of saying he’s got a business meeting in Dallas if he’s really going to Boston? Burt’s got his ‘feelers out’ to confirm his final destination.”

  “Well, that was a good move on your part, hiring your own spook.” Mike became reflective again. “Maddie, Maddie, Maddie. You poor baby. You do not deserve shit like this. That son-of-a-bitch is very damn lucky he’s not within driving distance. I’d risk prison time to give him just a taste of what he deserves.”

  Though she could tell Mike was almost as infuriated as she was, hearing his reaction was a balm for her raw nerves. She relaxed against the sofa, effectively letting some of her load transfer to her old friend and former lover.

  “So, you’ve got a couple days left before that asshole gets back to town. What’s the agenda?”

  “I hope I can get in to see an attorney, or at least set something up. I’m worried about money. I don’t know if he’s going to want anything up front. I really don’t have access to much, and who knows how long that’s going to last me—even without exorbitant legal fees. I’m thinking about selling my car…”

  “What’s it worth?”

  “I don’t know. It’s less than a year old. I think I’ve only put about 6,000 miles on it.”

  “What’s the make, model and year? I’ll check it out on Kelley Blue Book,” Mike said as he logged onto his computer.

  “It’s a 2011 Porsche Carrera S,” Madeline said, knowing she was going to get some ribbing for this. Mike let out a low whistle.

  “Well, at least you’ve got some chips to play with. I take it the car’s in your name…?”

  “Yes, it was a fortieth birthday present.”

  “At least you got that out of him,” Mike said. His pragmatism struck her as being a little crass until she remembered who they were talking about. “I’ll assume it’s got everything but the butler… Okay…retail price, $91,300. Private party sale, $87,700. Does that make you feel any better?”

  “A little. Now how do I go about selling it? I don’t have the time to be placing ads and dealing with inquiries,” Madeline said.

  “I think you’d have better luck selling it down here—bigger market and bigger egos. What color is it?”

  “Ruby red.”

  “Nice. Sure you don’t want to just give it to me? After all we’ve meant to each other?” Madeline let out a soft snort. “Okay, just checking…”

  “I don’t see how I can sell it down there while I’m up here—unless I take it to a dealer, but I wouldn’t get as much for it.”

  “When will you know if you’re coming down?”

  “I don’t know. It depends on if I can get in to see an attorney down there. I’ve got a list of things I need to take care of up here… I don’t know—I’ll just have to wing it.”

  “Alright, when you know what your agenda’s going to be, call me. I’m not sure what help I can offer, but I’ll do anything for you, Maddie. You know that.”

  These were the words she’d been craving to hear. She let all the air escape from her lungs. It made her feel like she was ridding her body of toxic gases. At least she had one more person on her side.

  When Madeline awoke from a deep slumber, she yawned and stretched, a peaceful expression on her face. But reality soon sabotaged her naturally sunny disposition. She sat up abruptly and took stock of her surroundings and registered their implications. She sighed heavily, her spirits taking a tumble as she came to grips with all the chores and errands on her list, none of them qualifying as habitudes.

  She allowed herself five more minutes to get adjusted to her new status and review the objectives of the day on her mental list. After plotting a path that would take her through Santa Barbara and Los Angeles—hopefully—she got up and availed herself of the complimentary coffee. Once she got that brewing, she took a quick shower and got herself physically and mentally ready for the long day ahead of her.

  Had she been thinking more clearly, she would’ve grabbed more impressive clothing from the main house, outfits that would subtly announce her station in life. But she had brought more serviceable pieces—black slacks, boots, cashmere sweaters for layering. She put on the pants and a cream-colored sleeveless sweater and a long, open-front cashmere cardigan with bell sleeves. It was all elegant, expensive attire, but it made her feel drab. And forty. And almost divorced.

  As she was putting on her diamond studs, it hit her she had bags of new finery perfect for transforming her look. Hurriedly, she grabbed the shopping bags from the closet and rummaged through them until she found what she was looking for. She pulled off her boots and slipped her feet into the zebra-striped pony hair Manolo slingbacks.

  “Now we’re talking,” she said, as she admired her enhanced ensemble. “The necklace!” she remembered as she contemplated her reflection from the waist up. She rooted around the piles of tissue paper until she found the small box with the silver chain and pendant. “Perfect,” she declared, admiring the way it pulled everything together. She grabbed her Prada tote bag, gave herself one more look for courage and left the room.

  As she strode through the lobby to the front door, the day manager hastened to catch up with her.

  “Mrs. Ridley? Hi, I’m Jeff Bowen,” he said, extending his hand. Madeline, puzzled and a little annoyed by the interruption, was slow to shake it. “If I might have a word with you, in my office,” Mr. Bowen said, his voice just above a whisper. His cautiously discreet manner was like a blow to Madeline’s solar plexus, but she covered it with an air of pragmatic efficiency. She nodded for him to lead the way.

  “We tried to process the card number we got from you yesterday, and we received a message to call the issuer of credit immediately. They told us the card was reported stolen last night,” Jeff Bowen said from his side of the desk.

  “That’s not possible. I’ve had it in my possession the whole time, and I certainly didn’t report it stolen,” Madel
ine said, as she removed it from her wallet to prove this was all some sort of mistake. The way Mr. Bowen’s eyes were glued to the card caused Madeline to retract it from his reach.

  “Since Burt Latham made the reservation for you, we contacted him first thing this morning. He explained that you are going through a divorce and that it’s becoming rather acrimonious.

  “Because of our relationship with him, and our regard for our clientele, I have to tell you we were ordered by the creditor to seize your card. If you can pay the balance of your bill in full by another means, I’ll tell them we were unable to retrieve the card. But if you try to use that card again, it will be confiscated. Just a word of warning,” Mr. Bowen said.

  He was trying to walk the tightrope of bearer of bad news and welcoming host, not an easy thing to do. Madeline almost felt sorry for him. She put the now useless card back in her wallet and took out her new debit card, which she handed to him without a word.

  “Thank you. I’ll be just a minute,” he said as he excused himself, leaving Madeline to fume in private.

  This humiliation had chased away the last bit of doubt and naiveté. Steven was going to systematically beat her down; that was obvious now. But he had already blown her out of the water by demanding a divorce; why was he wasting his time with stunts like this? Just to prove he’s in the driver’s seat? Maybe it was to make himself so odious to her that she’d back off her claim that she’d never stop loving him.

  “I’m sorry for all the unpleasantness, Mrs. Ridley,” Mr. Bowen said as he came back into his office. Madeline stood and took the proffered debit card, placing it back in her wallet while the manager fumbled over himself trying to smooth over the incident.