Burt came out of the shadows as she hit the walking path. They walked without speaking for a couple of minutes, as walkers and dogs found their way out of the park. Closing time was near and soon they were the only ones heading the wrong direction.
“It’s going to be a spectacular sunset,” Burt said, as he canvassed the area. Madeline shivered as the wind blew her hair in several directions at once. Burt walked her to the cliff’s edge to watch the evening’s vibrant display of color against the darkening sky, then took pity on her and led her back in the direction of the exit. They found a bench shielded by a stand of trees and took a seat.
“I spent some time at The Edgecliff today,” he said. “I showed the front desk staff photos of Steven and Russell Barnett, and gave a description of the mystery man, but nobody remembered any of them checking in last week. I don’t suppose you can remember the room number you were in?”
Madeline thought back to the horrible morning when she had awoken completely disoriented. She remembered looking at the phone—that’s how she figured out where she was. The number would’ve been on the front of it. If only I’d thought to look…
“No,” she said. “I left through the French doors.”
“Do you think you’d remember what area you were in? If we went back there, do you think you could recall which path you took?”
“Possibly.” Madeline shivered harder at the thought of reenacting her getaway from the scene of the crime. If only I’d known it was a crime scene then…
“We’ll try that then. We’ll go back this evening when it’s dark.” Madeline nodded woodenly.
“Anyway, I got them to check the reservation log and neither Steven’s nor Barnett’s name showed up. No big surprise there. I imagine Steven’s managed to keep several degrees of separation between himself and everyone he’s used to frame you. I’ll go back there later when the shifts change and see if I have any better luck. I wish I could have access to the entire reservation log. If we can get something we can take to the police, their detectives will have complete access to that and the surveillance cameras. Those things would give us what we’re looking for.”
Madeline took this news in only superficially. Her mind was still preoccupied with thoughts of Steven and the woman in Boston. It was like another character had joined the macabre performance that waltzed through her head on a continuous loop. She felt as though she was suffering a mental breakdown. This was lasting way too long to be a nightmare. Perhaps her mind had slipped a cog and she was now drifting into insanity.
“I’m sorry… What were you saying?” Burt looked at her features in the fading light.
“I said, maybe it’s time to turn this matter over to the police.”
“What? Why?” she asked, alarmed.
“Because a crime was committed against you, Madeline—several, in fact.” Her eyes welled up again, an occurrence that was becoming all too common. Burt put his arm around her tentatively. That simple act, coupled with his last words, caused the dam to burst again.
“I’m sorry,” she said, pulling away from him, ashamed of her breakdown. I really am ready for the rubber room, she thought, disgusted with herself. “Are you quitting?” she asked, her voice raspy with fear and embarrassment. Burt coughed lightly.
“No, I’m not quitting. But I do think you should get some counseling.” Madeline looked at him aghast. She was losing her mind, and everyone could see it. Burt almost laughed at her distress.
“Madeline,” he said, taking her hand in his, “don’t get me wrong. I don’t think you’re crazy. And I’m not going to abandon you. I feel a personal need to get satisfaction in this case. But you’ve been dealt more crap in the last week than most people see in a year. You need to talk to someone—an experienced grief counselor.” Madeline sniffed and looked him in the eye.
“It’s not that I don’t think you’re handling things. You’re holding up amazingly well. But you’ve been severely traumatized, over and over.” He held his tongue for moment while Madeline absorbed what he was saying. “You need to talk to someone who can take you through the process of acceptance and healing.”
“I’ve got my friend, Mike—and I’ve got you,” she said. “At least I have two people who know the truth and believe me.”
“There’s no question of that—not anymore.” This remark struck Madeline as odd.
“You didn’t believe me when I came to see you…what day was that…yesterday? God, I can’t believe that was less than 36 hours ago…” she removed her hand from his.
“It’s not that I didn’t believe you then,” Burt said. “I don’t make judgments about my clients. In my line of work, I have to stay open to every fact that comes my way. You probably never considered this, but not only innocent people employ private investigators. Take your husband, for instance.”
“So, you were going through the motions, regardless of whether I was telling the truth or not?” she asked, her tone hard and aggrieved.
“Yes. I’m doing my job, the job you hired me to do. But in your case, I know on whose side the truth lies.” Madeline regarded him, trying to gauge his sincerity.
“How do you know?” she asked. Burt stood and held out his hand to help her up.
“The park’s about to close,” he said. They walked in silence a short distance before Burt spoke again. “I’ve become pretty good at assessing people, regardless of what I told you earlier. But like I said, I postpone judgment until it’s all said and done. There have been several cases where—if I hadn’t held to my credo of not mentally assigning guilt or innocence—I would’ve been completely duped.
“But I don’t believe that anyone who erroneously claims to have been forcibly raped while drugged—and has photos to prove it—would shed a tear upon learning her husband was cheating on her. If you were trying to frame your husband, and not the other way around, that news would not come as a surprise to you. You would’ve been looking for a way to get even with him for hurting you, and this would all be more ammo to use against him in court. Then it would be up to the judge to sort out who was the bigger louse. But I think you’ve been completely broadsided by what’s happened to you.”
“So, you know I’m telling the truth,” Madeline said, testing the words out loud.
“Yes. And I’m breaking my personal code by telling you that,” Burt said, shepherding her out of the park.
“I really appreciate hearing that, Burt,” she said as he walked her to the only other car in the parking lot besides his. “It means more to me than you can imagine.”
“Where’d you get the car?” Burt asked, admiring Mike’s babe magnet.
“How did you know it wasn’t mine?” she asked.
“I checked for all the vehicles registered to you, Steven and his company. This one didn’t show up on any of my searches.” Madeline was slightly taken aback by this news. When she went seeking a private investigator, it didn’t occur to her she’d be investigated. Burt read her discomfort.
“When I take on an assignment, the first thing I do is run searches on all the public databases I have access to. Like I said earlier, I have had clients who’ve hired me for less than honorable reasons. Compiling every verifiable fact I can get my hands on is standard operating procedure for me. Think of it as wanting to have all the jigsaw pieces before trying to put the puzzle together.” Madeline had to admit that a proactive detective had to be a plus as far as she was concerned.
“Everything I unearth will remain strictly confidential, unless I’m subpoenaed to give evidence in court,” he added. “By the way, have you gotten a copy of the guest and donor lists yet?”
“I should be getting them at the meeting tonight.”
“Sorry, I don’t mean to push.”
“Well, I’d rather have a too-thorough P.I. than a lazy one. You and the attorney are the only weapons I�
��ve got right now,” Madeline replied as she held out her hand. Burt took it solemnly.
“We will nail this bastard. It might take a little longer than we’d like, but we will get him. Call me later and we’ll set up a time to meet at The Edgecliff.”
TWENTY
“So…even though it feels like we just finished the annual fundraising, it’s already time to start planning next year’s event,” Arielle Liscombe said, eliciting resigned groans from some of the board members. “What’s that saying about resting on our laurels?” Arielle asked, her picture-perfect smile belying the fact that hard work never bothered her, as long as someone else was doing it.
“Don’t worry, Arielle—I’m still fired up from last weekend!” Carla Dickens said with a high cackle of enthusiasm. Madeline rubbed the sore spot between her eyes, wishing she were anywhere but there.
“Fabulous. That’s just what I want to hear,” Arielle said.
“My mind’s been in overdrive since the event,” Carla continued. “I thought everything came off splendidly, and of course, the amount we raised was frankly beyond our expectations. But as I said, I’ve been coming up with all these other ideas that would just add to the sizzle—”
“I’d love to hear your ideas, Carla, as I’m sure all of us would, but right now we need to focus on the agenda,” Arielle said, clearly wresting control of the meeting out of Carla’s all too eager hands. Carla’s face froze, leaving her with an expression that was startled, euphoric and baffled all at once. “We must first discuss the benefactors’ thank-you dinner, which I think should be held at the San Ysidro Ranch. All in favor of this, raise your hands…”
Madeline sat through the interminable meeting comprehending little of what was said. Other than the occasional kicks and aggrieved looks from Carla, Madeline was only cognizant of her own personal drama. Several times she had to restrain herself from getting up and walking out the door, away from the veiled bickering and the tedious urgency of issues that didn’t mean a thing to her anymore.
Every now and then she was hit with the fact that her days in this rarified environment were surely numbered. The glowing looks of admiration she received whenever she dared to raise her eyes from the printed agenda nauseated her. She was tortured with glimpses into the near future when news of her upcoming divorce from Steven would be wagging every tongue in town.
The way everyone praised her tireless efforts and the roaring success of the benefit made her feel that much worse. She doubted anyone in the room would be caught in her company once Steven’s version of their breakup hit the airwaves. Though she couldn’t bear to think of it, Steven’s new propensity for meanness almost assured that those disgusting photos of her with the stranger would make their way around town, if not the entire world.
“Are you alright?” Carla whispered, snapping Madeline out of her dismal reverie.
“Yeah,” Madeline replied, straightening up in the chair, trying to look cheerful and alert, but not pulling it off very well.
“It’s probably exhaustion,” Carla said, hand to her mouth in an attempt at discretion.
“Was there something you wanted to add, Carla?” Arielle asked, interrupting herself with feigned solicitude.
“Oh, no,” Carla said, tight smile on her face. As soon as Arielle had the floor to herself again, Carla murmured “bitch” out the side of her mouth. For some reason—probably because it was the most lighthearted moment of her day—Madeline burst into a fit of giggles which she covered with a coughing attack. Grateful for the excuse, Madeline left the room in search of water.
“I don’t care if her husband is our biggest benefactor—I think this organization needs a good shuffling,” Carla said as she sidled up next to Madeline at the refreshment table. If Carla thought this sentiment was a news flash, she was only kidding herself. Madeline was sure Carla dreamed of the day when her name came up first on the local NHDF board of directors’ masthead. “Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t really seem yourself.” Madeline took a deep breath and let it wheeze out of her.
“I don’t know—maybe I’m coming down with something,” she replied, hoping that would scare Carla away. “I really miss Lauren,” she added, with such weariness Carla laughed sympathetically.
“I told you you’d regret giving her a whole week off,” she bragged. Madeline huffed. “You know, you’re just feeling the anticlimax of the benefit. I’m sure that’s it.”
“You think so?” Madeline asked, though she wasn’t the least bit interested in Carla’s theories. In fact, she had absolutely no interest in a thing anyone in the building had to say. She was only there on Burt’s insistence that she mingle with her peers while she still could. This might be the last chance she had to find out about her behavior Saturday night. But all she could think about was drowning her sorrows—and maybe herself—in a hot bubble bath.
“Honey, think about it…you put a year into the planning of Saturday’s ball, and pouf! it’s over in a flash, and now we’re starting over at square one like it never happened.” I wish it never happened, Madeline thought morosely. “Really, it’s no different than a wedding—except there was no honeymoon!” Carla brayed at her witticism.
“But if it’s any consolation, you couldn’t have been more radiant if it were your wedding.” Carla stopped her prattle long enough to regard Madeline fondly. “You really were something that night,” she said with a chuckle, shaking her head.
“What are you talking about?” Madeline asked, mortified by her tone and the suggestive leer on her face.
“I’m talking about your Las Vegas nightclub persona.” Madeline’s ears started to buzz and her face turned red. Carla took this as a sign of Madeline’s normally self-effacing manner being forced to reconcile with her more outlandish, usually dormant self.
“Why do you think the bidding became so frenzied? It was all you, girl. I wish I could take credit for it. Had I known what a ham you could be, I would’ve never gotten up there with you. What are you looking for?” Carla asked as she watched her co-chair dig through her handbag.
“Did I seem drunk?” Madeline asked, pretending not to care. Carla waffled her hand non-committedly.
“No, I wouldn’t say drunk. Just relaxed…you know, self-assured. I’d say you had a light buzz on. But nothing like Natalie! She was in a world of hurt the next day, let me tell you. Were you drunk?” she asked belatedly.
“I don’t know. No, not drunk…just a little intimidated at being up there.” Carla laughed loudly, a jarring sound to Madeline’s ears.
“If that’s the case, you sure hid it well. Did you lose your keys?” she asked. The way Madeline continued to scrounge through her tote was starting to get on her nerves.
“I’m trying to find some ibuprofen.” Madeline’s search was made all the more difficult due to the large manila envelope she was too paranoid to leave unattended.
“Got a headache? Here, let me hold that envelope for you.” Madeline grabbed it just as Carla tried to snatch it out of her way.
“I just remembered I’m out of them,” she said as she hastily stuffed the pornographic bombshell back in her bag and zipped it closed.
“I’ve got some. Let me get my bag. Oh, that reminds me—did you get those lists I sent you?” Madeline stared at her uncomprehendingly. “The guest list and the donor list,” Carla prompted her.
“Oh…ah…I’m sure I did. Sorry, with Lauren being gone and losing my cell phone, I just feel completely discombobulated.”
“How’d you lose your phone?” Carla cried out in sympathy. Madeline shrugged. “I’m sure it’ll turn up,” Carla said, patting Madeline affectionately on the arm as she went back into the conference room to get her purse.
Madeline had to smile at the image of her iPhone resting at the bottom of the toilet tank in her bathroom. She wondered idly if Steven’s goons could still track it fro
m its watery grave as she seized the opportunity and disappeared through the front door before anyone else could waylay her.
TWENTY-ONE
Madeline stood on the curb across the street from The Edgecliff, waiting for her rendezvous with Burt Latham. Merely being so close to where her life began its unraveling made her feel tense and vulnerable.
“Where the hell are you, Burt?” she muttered under her breath while debating whether she should get back in the car or stand out there feeling conspicuous. I’ll give him two more minutes, she vowed as she tried to read her watch in the dim light radiating from a street lamp.
“I’m right behind you,” Burt said. Madeline turned and saw his silver hair glimmering in the light. The tank top, shorts and wig he’d been wearing earlier had been replaced with a dark suit, open-collar dress shirt and his attractively greying hair. The transformation took Madeline by surprise. He motioned for her to follow him. She hesitated only slightly before falling into step with him.
“You think you were in one of the cottages,” he said, seeking confirmation as he led her down the pathway that wound through the high foliage into the maze of cottages, each containing four separate rooms. Madeline nodded. She was trying to remain calm, but the physical memory of her early morning departure made her pulse race. She stopped suddenly, grabbing onto Burt’s arm for support.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I don’t think I can do this,” she said, trembling.
“Okay, that’s fine. We’ll turn around and get you out of here,” Burt said soothingly. Madeline held onto his arm until they were back on the sidewalk by her borrowed car.
“Are you okay?” he asked. Madeline nodded hesitantly.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be. I’ll have another crack at the front desk staff. I’ll see if I can find out who booked rooms in this section that night and take it from there.” Burt looked back in the direction they had just come from. “Did you get the sense we were close to where you exited Sunday morning?”
Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 01 - Spouse Trap Page 12
