Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 01 - Spouse Trap

by Cynthia Hamilton

  “It was my pleasure, Mrs. Ridley,” Hughes replied modestly. Madeline wished there was something she could say, some way of explaining that she was not the villain in this drama. But she could tell by his actions and his demeanor that regardless of what his employers were going through, he still had a great deal of respect for her because of the kindness she had shown him over the years.

  Hughes relieved her of the carry-on and stowed it in the trunk. Madeline placed the tote on the floor of the passenger’s side and crossed in front of her car to the driver’s side. She was just about to get in when she remembered the movers.

  “Oh, Hughes—to make things simpler, I’ve arranged for movers to come at 9:00 tomorrow. They’ll take care of boxing up everything, so you don’t need to worry about it.”

  “Are you sure, Mrs. Ridley?” Hughes asked doubtfully. “Erma was going to supervise me with the packing of all your clothing. I took the liberty of ordering twenty wardrobe boxes, on Erma’s advice. She said that way there wouldn’t be crowding. We were going to start on it this afternoon, unless you prefer we didn’t.” Again Madeline was touched by his thoughtfulness.

  “Of course, that would be very much appreciated. I would feel a lot better having you and Erma take care of my things than strangers.” Madeline could feel her throat close up, in spite of her desire to remain calm. “Thank you, Hughes. I’ll see you in the morning,” she said, ducking into the refuge of her low-slung car.

  Madeline drove down Olive Mill Road in a daze. When she came to the stop sign, she had to force herself to remember where she was going. She fished the list out of her bag and scanned over it with eyes that flitted unseeingly until someone behind her honked.

  “The bank,” she said, trying to focus her mind. “Both banks.” She turned right onto Coast Village Road and drove to the Montecito Bank & Trust parking lot, giving herself a minute to collect her thoughts. The objective here was to remove her most valuable pieces of jewelry from the safety deposit box. She wanted to withdraw more money to secrete away in her own bank account, while she had a chance.

  As she was getting out of her car, someone called her name. She swiveled around and caught sight of Lucy Montenegro heading her way. Madeline groaned but covered it with a bright smile.

  “Lucy, how are you?”

  “I’m just fabulous! How about you—your picture’s everywhere these days,” she said, holding up the latest edition of the Montecito Gazette. There she was again, in that damnable dress with her damnable almost ex-husband. Madeline turned up the wattage on her smile, hoping nothing more would be required of her.

  “I just picked this up, so I haven’t had a chance to read the article—but how about the headline? Madeline Ridley and Carla Dickens: Montecito’s power fundraising team. Nice job!” Lucy said, somehow turning all of Madeline and Carla’s hard work into something only valuable for its social implications.

  “Listen, I was talking with Becky Morrissey about recruiting your talents for the Cheetah Rescue Project. We’ve got some powerful connections, but…not everyone has the same gift for shaking the change loose, if you know what I mean.”

  Madeline opened her mouth to beg off, but Lucy steamrolled right over her. “You don’t have to give me an answer right now—just think about it, okay?” Madeline nodded as she shifted her body in the direction of the bank.

  “I will think about it, Lucy—I promise. But right now I’ve got to get some banking out of the way, or I’ll be late for an appointment.”

  “Oh, sure. I was just going in myself…” They fell in step, Lucy gushing gratuitously over the cover photo. “I loved that dress on you, by the way. It was perfect for the event. Almost like Valentino designed it with that in mind,” she said with a giggle as Madeline held the door open for her.

  “Okay, I’ll talk to you later,” Madeline said, stopping pointedly at the assistant manager’s desk. Lucy waggled her goodbye and left Madeline to conduct her business.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Ridley,” Lois said, standing to greet her.

  “Good morning, Lois. I need to put something in my safe deposit box and get a cashier’s check for ten-thousand dollars,” she said. Lois’s throat constricted as she swallowed hard. “Is there a problem?” Madeline asked, her tone at once solicitous and challenging.

  “Umm…Excuse me one moment, please,” Lois said, leaving Madeline standing at her desk. She returned shortly and told Madeline the branch manager would like to speak to her privately. Madeline made no attempt to hide her displeasure from Lois, but she donned a neutral mask as she walked across the lobby, head held high.

  “Madeline,” Ben Larreman greeted her, while dismissing Lois with a half nod.

  “I don’t know what all the secrecy’s about—I just want to put some of my jewelry back in our safe deposit box and get a cashier’s check,” Madeline said. Ben was already shaking his head apologetically. “What is it?” Madeline demanded as politely as her irritation would allow her.

  “Steven telephoned me last night—at home.” Right away, Madeline knew where this was headed. She was glad they were away from prying eyes and ears because she was one word away from throwing a major tantrum.

  “I can’t believe Steven would drag you into this,” she said, her voice a notch below shrill. “Look, Ben—you’ve always been our go-to guy, always been there whenever we needed something done. But I really don’t think it’s a bank manager’s job to put himself in between two warring spouses.” It was a flat-out affront to his integrity, one designed to make him resent Steven’s imposition. Madeline stared at him with eyebrows raised, challenging him to play by the book.

  Ben cleared his throat, swallowing the insult with effort. “Steven asked me to freeze all your joint accounts because someone had hacked into his computer.”

  Madeline let out a petulant huff. Knocked out once again. Steven sure knew how to land his punches.

  “I’m sorry, Ben,” she offered humbly, “I didn’t know about that. You see…” Madeline gave him a doleful look, which Ben was gentleman enough to accept without further apology.

  “Let me get someone to bring you your box,” he said, walking her toward the door. “Once I get the all-clear from Steven, I’ll unfreeze your accounts.”

  “Thank you, Ben. Please forgive my outburst.” Ben waved it away with a benign smile.

  “Don’t give it another thought.”

  Madeline stared at the contents of the box in disbelief. Aside from some insurance papers, there was nothing else in it. Never in her life had she ever felt such outrage; she now completely understood the concept behind the phrase “crime of passion.” If Steven had been in the room with her, she would’ve had no remorse bashing his skull in with the virtually empty deposit box.

  At the same time, she had never felt such fatigue—not physical fatigue, but fatigue of the spirit. She couldn’t mesh the two currents of emotion, nor imagine how it was possible to feel both at the same time. She listlessly dropped the useless documents back in the box and closed the lid. She locked it—a farce it ever there was one—but denial made her unlock it and look inside again.

  What upset her most was that she was actually heartbroken to find the things given to her as tokens of love and devotion had been taken away out of pure evil spite. It would be one thing if she really had cheated on Steven. But the reality was much, much worse. And taking back the diamond necklace with the dramatic teardrop emerald and matching earrings he had given her on their fifth anniversary was cruel, insulting and demeaning. It made her wish with all her heart she had never met Steven Ambrose Ridley.

  She left the bank in a state of numbness. She exited the parking lot and headed down Coast Village Road to the freeway entrance. But at the stop sign, she broke down. She turned right and drove toward the beach.

  She parked on Butterfly Lane where there were no other cars and cried hersel
f out. She was drained, angry—make that livid—but mostly terribly sad. She couldn’t understand what she had done to deserve this kind of treatment, especially from the man who had promised to love and cherish her for the rest of his life.

  Again, crying helped. It relieved the pressure that had built up inside her head making it almost impossible to think. But she was thinking now. With dry-eyed determination, she picked up the remnants of her well thought-out agenda for the day and realized she had forgotten to stop at her own bank. She touched up her makeup and turned the car toward the cemetery and back around to Coast Village Road.

  It took longer than she had hoped to obtain a deposit box from her bank, but at this point it was essential she have one. When the guard left the room, she stowed her most expensive jewelry in the box. As a safety precaution, she removed all but one of the seven photos, which she slipped into a new envelope, and rolled the one with the other six to fit inside the box. That was her insurance policy. With the way things had been happening, she couldn’t afford to take any chances.

  Feeling somewhat in control again, she stopped for coffee and a muffin to go at Starbucks. When she got on the freeway, she called Mike and updated him on her schedule. They arranged to meet after her appointment with the attorney.

  “Wish me luck,” Madeline said as she signed off.

  “Hey, you’ve got something better than luck going for you—you’ve got me in your corner,” Mike said with his usual bravado. Madeline laughed weakly. Oh great, she thought ending the call on that doubtful note. Now I’m really in trouble.

  SEVENTEEN

  Barry Houstien listened to Madeline recount the events of the last six days. She paused at one point to hand him the envelope containing the single photo of her inflagranti delicto. The attorney made no reaction except to ask if he could make a copy of it for his file. Madeline agreed as long as he assured her no one else would see it.

  “Also, I found a copy of our prenuptial agreement,” she said, pulling it out of her tote.

  “Excellent. I’ll make a copy of that too. And while I’m doing that, I’d like you to make a list of your community property assets—real estate, retirement accounts, etc., with addresses and approximate values.” He handed Madeline a legal pad and a pen and excused himself.

  While she was at her task, she struggled not to think of him entertaining his associates with the sordid picture of her at the worst moment of her life. But he returned so quickly, she was relieved of that humiliating visual. He handed the photo and the prenuptial agreement back to her and resumed his seat, his mind already focused on the document.

  “Well, it’s pretty straightforward,” he said, flipping back to the page with the infidelity clause. “The photos are his proof that you’ve been unfaithful and broken that agreement, which then relieves him of the obligation of providing a divorce settlement and alimony.”

  “But I wasn’t unfaithful to him, Mr. Houstien,” Madeline said, her voice becoming strained with agitation. The attorney held up his hand to reassure her.

  “I’m on your side, Mrs. Ridley. And call me Barry,” he said smiling in an effort to make her relax. Madeline’s features softened and she returned a cautious smile.

  “Please call me Madeline,” she said. “And I’m going to start using my maiden name, which is Dawkins.”

  “Alright, Madeline. But don’t get me wrong when I say the document is straightforward. If we can prove your version of what this photo represents, then our job is also pretty much by the book—we move to have the prenup dissolved on the grounds that evidence was manufactured in order to claim you violated the infidelity clause. So, that leaves you with the burden of coming up with the proof that he somehow orchestrated all this in order to leave you without a cent.”

  “I’ve hired my own investigator, and he’s working on it as we speak,” she replied hopefully.

  “Good.” Barry swiveled in his chair as his lawyerly mind connected the inevitable dots. “You know, if you can prove your claim, you’re looking at a lot more than just getting what by law is owed to you,” he said, leaning forward, visions of protracted legal battles stretching across his mind’s eye.

  “For starters, you’ll be a very sympathetic party to this divorce. We can make a rock-solid case for mental cruelty, bodily and psychological harm. Plus, you can press a number of charges against him, including conspiracy to commit assault and battery, accomplice to the assault and battery, as well as soliciting for prostitution, if he did indeed hire someone to commit the sexual assault.

  “Honestly, after what you’ve been put through, this guy would be extremely likely to spend time in jail. I don’t know about you, but if anyone did to me what it appears your husband did to you, I would find that outcome very satisfying.

  “And while we’re at it, we can also file a civil lawsuit against your husband on the grounds of fraud, intentional infliction of emotional distress, civil assault and personal injury stemming from an intentional tort. We’ll have him buried in suits and countersuits,” Barry said, a grin of professional glee spreading across his face. Madeline’s shell-shocked expression made the unseemly smile fade away.

  “Can we really get him?” she asked, her voice sounding small and far away.

  “Mrs.—Madeline, if your investigator can get concrete proof that he’s behind these photos, the answer is yes.” Madeline sat back, allowing herself to breathe as she took it all in. As if reading her mind, Barry added, “How confident are you with your P.I.?”

  “I think he’s good. He has excellent qualifications. He was with Special Forces in the military, and a detective with LAPD for ten years before going solo. So far, he seems sharp and competent.”

  “If you have any doubts, we have our own stable of investigators who are crackerjacks.” Madeline realized she still had the legal pad in her lap. She handed it over for Barry’s perusal. His head nodded slightly as he glanced over the figures.

  “Am afraid I don’t really know what kind of bank accounts we have except our checking account. I’m sure there are others. I don’t know anything about his business aside from the fact that it’s very profitable.”

  “Why don’t you write down the name of the business and the address and I’ll put my team to work on that. And then I guess we need to discuss my fee…”

  Madeline looked up from the menu just in time to see Mike alight from an early model Mercedes convertible parked across the street from the restaurant. She had to smile in spite of her mood. She watched the breeze ruffle his shoulder-length, light brown hair and Hawaiian shirt as he limberly dodged traffic. As he approached, his eyes scanned the windows, though she couldn’t tell if he was looking for her or merely admiring his reflection. When he waved heartily, she figured it was the former, or possibly a combination of both.

  “Even with all the hell you’ve been through, seeing your face still makes my heart stop,” he said, bending to kiss the top of her head. The smell of ozone wafted off him as he brushed past and flopped down opposite her.

  “Hello, Mike,” she said, closing her menu to regard him. Though the years showed on his face, he still had the same irresistible, rakish good looks. His smile was contagious, and soon she was fighting to retain her composure. There was something about him that radiated disdain for morality and a perverse delight in all things forbidden. He reached across the table with his long arms and took her hands in his. She held his gaze for a moment, then gave his hands a squeeze and released them.

  “I haven’t ordered yet, but I need to. I’m starving and I don’t have much time,” she said, browsing the menu solely as a diversionary tactic.

  “I was surprised you wanted to come here,” Mike said, laying his menu aside. “I thought The Ivy or Fig & Olive were more your style these days.”

  “I’m in need of some comfort food. Besides, Montecito isn’t exactly swimming in true delicatess
ens,” Madeline said, smiling up at the waitress who was poised to take their order.

  “What can I get you folks?”

  “I’ll have the Reuben with horseradish instead of the Russian dressing.”

  “Corned beef, pastrami, or turkey?”

  “Corned beef.”

  “Potato salad, coleslaw, French fries or onion rings?”

  “French fries.”

  “And you, sir?”

  “I’ll have exactly the same as her, and a side of onion rings,” Mike said, handing the menus to her.

  “Anything else to drink?” Madeline shook her head.

  “I’ll have a Coke,” Mike said. The waitress nodded and was off. “So…how did it go with the attorney?” Madeline took a sip of icy water, the glass slippery with condensation.

  “Good, I think,” she said, as she ineffectually wiped at the water drops on her pants.

  “Yeah…? Can you stop Steven from divorcing you without a settlement?”

  “If we can find proof he set me up.”

  “How hard is that going to be?” Madeline gazed out the window at the passing traffic.

  “I don’t know. That reminds me—I’ve got to call Burt before I head back.”

  “I wish you’d stay down here for a while. I’ve got plenty of room,” Mike said, appraising her from his relaxed position. Madeline huffed curtly. “Hey, I’m not trying to put the moves on you,” he said, leaning over the table, attempting to persuade her his motives were purely compassionate. “Giving you a safe place to lay low is the least I can do for you.”

  Madeline ran her hands through her hair as she leaned back and tried to pop her spine back into alignment. Mike’s compliment aside, she felt much worse for wear. She felt as though she were in a strange movie where odd characters kept popping out of the shadows, saying things that made absolutely no sense.

  On one hand, she kept thinking this was all a charade and that Steven would snap back to his old self and everything would be picture perfect, like it was before. Equally ludicrous was the haunting feeling she was guilty of cheating after all. She certainly felt guilty of something—guilty of being hopelessly stupid, guilty of looking past Steven’s obvious personality defects, seeing only his glamorous lifestyle and all the luxury and security he could provide her.