Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 01 - Spouse Trap

by Cynthia Hamilton

  Madeline turned slowly to face the path, her mind retracing their steps. It seemed a shorter distance this time than it did the first, but she didn’t feel confident in her recollection. Fear had warped both escapes.

  “I think it was further in,” she said. Had there been another turn in the walkway? She shook her head apologetically.

  “It’s no problem. Would it help to refresh your memory if we went inside the public rooms, retrace some of your steps that evening?” The suggestion sent her into a panic.

  “No, no—I can’t do that!” she said under her breath as a couple passed them on the sidewalk. “Everyone in there knows who I am.”

  “Alright. Time to get you back to your hotel,” Burt said, gently escorting her to the driver’s side of the Mercedes. “Are you okay to drive? Do you want me to follow you back?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, breathing hard with relief. “Would you mind sitting with me for a minute, let me get my bearings back?”

  “Not at all.” Burt took the key from her hand and unlocked her side, holding the door open while she seated herself. He went around the front of the car where she could see him and unlocked the passenger’s door. He ducked in and placed the key in the ignition

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Better. Sorry I couldn’t be more useful.” Burt held up his hand to stop her. “It’s been a really long day,” she said, becoming more fatigued as she recalled just how long and emotionally charged it had been.

  “It’s been a really long week,” Burt corrected her. She laughed half-heartedly. They sat in silence for a few more minutes. The only sounds they could hear were the crashing of the waves and the occasional passing car. Burt recognized her fragile state of mind and didn’t want to leave until she had time to recover.

  “You must have a very strong stomach,” Madeline said, breaking the soothing silence.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t think I could stand to dredge through the sordid details of other people’s lives. I’m having trouble just dealing with my own.” Burt chuckled.

  “To me, it’s a matter of sifting through the garbage to find the truth.”

  “Is there such a thing as the truth in situations like this?”

  “Yeah. It’s not always easy to find. There are usually several variations of the truth, but there’s always at least one solid fact at the center of every conflict. I guess I’ve always thrived on getting to the core of the matter, righting a wrong, helping people get out of jams.” Burt shrugged. “Just my calling to be nosey, I guess.” Madeline thought this over for a moment.

  “What about the ‘ick’ factor? Don’t you ever get sick of humanity?” Burt favored her with a lopsided smirk.

  “I make sure I take a long, hot shower at the end of every day,” he said. This made Madeline smile.

  “Speaking of which,” she said, pushing the key into the ignition, “I think I’m going to need to bathe twice tonight.”

  “I better get back to work. I’ll check in with you tomorrow, let you know what I’ve found out.”

  “Thanks, Burt,” Madeline said.

  “Get some sleep,” he said, then stepped out and closed the door. He waited until the Mercedes receded from view, then headed for the lobby, taking the long way through the grounds, retracing their steps. He played back the conversation they had at the Douglas Preserve in his head, wondering if he’d jinxed his luck by confiding in a client. I better not be slipping, he thought. There was no room in his line of work for mistakes.

  Madeline lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to assimilate everything that had happened since morning. She was dead tired and having difficulty remembering all the encounters she’d had. Hopscotching around wasn’t helping matters. She forced herself to start at the beginning of the day—a day so long and disturbing, she felt like she’d aged two years.

  “Okay, disaster number one—the credit card debacle. Disaster number two—Steven freezing our bank accounts. Disaster number three—the missing jewelry.” This last offence got Madeline off the bed and pacing. There were too many injustices to take lying down.

  “Number four—Elizabeth Collins-Wainwright. Oh that miserable, lying, ruthless bastard!” She fairly bristled with anger as she raided the freshly stocked minibar. This time she couldn’t be bothered with ice. She drank the double in straight gulps and braced herself for the one-two punch of the burning gullet and the onset of pleasant numbness.

  Every bit of this nightmare was perfectly calculated. God knows how long he’s been romancing Elizabeth Whatever-the-fuck. He’s probably got it worked out that he’ll move her in right after he’s got me moved out. This last thought ignited a flame of defiance. “Maybe I just won’t move out. Maybe I’ll continue to play the repentant, confused dope, hanging onto hope and my undying love for that scum-sucking piece of shit!”

  Madeline flopped onto the sofa. No, the mere thought of actually having to look at him again was enough to veto that plan. She had her attorney now; they’d wait for the first volley and respond in kind, plus start hitting him up for financial support while they haggled over the details of the divorce. But hopefully that wouldn’t last long; hopefully Burt would have something concrete to tie Steven to the frame-up. Then the tables would be turned. She had a pleasing visual of Steven being hauled away in handcuffs as Madeline slammed the front door of her house.

  That gleeful apparition disappeared as soon as reality reared its ugly head. She was so far from untangling the ropes Steven had hogtied her in, she had no time to indulge in fantasies. She had to keep her guard up and stay proactive. She sighed and scraped at the cold, hardened cheese left over from the enchiladas she’d picked up on the way back to solitary confinement.

  As she ticked off tomorrow’s must-do’s, she absentmindedly polished off the leftover tortilla chips and salsa. She grabbed a beer out of the minibar, enjoying the whooshing sound as she pulled the tab back. She tilted her head and drank straight from the can, something she hadn’t done since her college days.

  The beer and the carb-overload definitely buoyed her spirits. She found the notepad and began to diagram her strategy for the following day. It was going to be relatively easy compared to the previous day. But just thinking about saying goodbye to her house and Erma and Hughes made her anxious. She got off the sofa and perused the hotel snacks.

  She gave into her sudden craving for sweets and ripped off the wrapper of a dark chocolate bar. It tasted impossibly good. She hadn’t allowed herself to eat anything like that in years—none of it. She pulled up her sweater and eyed her full belly with defiant detachment. Good thing I joined a gym, she thought as she dropped the wrapper in the pile with all the other trash.

  Feeling satiated, she ran the bath water, stripped out of her clothes and brushed her teeth. While she washed her face, a fresh wave of depression broke against her false sense of serenity. She sank to the edge of the tub and gave herself over to tears of self-pity.

  “This can’t be happening,” she lamented. “This simply can’t be happening.” She turned off the water and lowered herself into the bathtub, all effort to stem the tide of tears abandoned. She cried until she could barely see out of her swollen eyes, then cried some more. Every time she thought there was nothing left to mourn, she’d find a fresh wound to pick at.

  “What did I do wrong?” she wailed. She beat her hands against the now tepid water, sending sprays all over the floor. “What in the hell did I do wrong?”

  As she wallowed in all her grievances, she realized she was finally cried out. There was no use railing against fate; her enemy was her husband, for whatever reason. Now that she had calmed herself, she reviewed what Burt said to her at the fitness center. It gave her a sharp pang to think all this evilness stemmed from not providing Steven with an heir.

  If only I hadn’t lost
the baby, she thought. But it chilled her more to imagine having given Steven a child and then suffering the same kind of rejection. And what sort of father would he have been? She splashed cold water on her face and climbed out of the tub, mortified by the thought of his demonic need for control. Why didn’t I notice it before?

  As she wrapped the bathrobe around herself, she had to acknowledge that she was not blameless; she had been looking for a man of wealth and privilege to sweep her off her feet, and she hadn’t once scratched his immaculate facade in search of his soul. She tossed the evidence of her despair-induced gluttony in the wastebasket, turned out the lights and crawled under the sheets. She was safe for the time being, but she needed to be on top of her game if she was going to make it out of this marriage with her sanity intact.

  TWENTY-TWO

  It was still dark out when Madeline pulled on a sweatshirt and primed herself for an early morning run. There was no sign of life in the lobby as she pushed out the front door. She could see the first rays of light coloring the clouds over the ocean as she turned left and headed for the Mission.

  The number of cars and service vehicles on the road increased as the sun established itself over the horizon. She turned in front of the Mission and ran past the rose garden and up the incline of Alameda Padre Serra. When she reached Jimeno Road, she headed back down into the city. Her descent rewarded her with a spectacular view of Santa Barbara, the harbor and the Channel Islands.

  The day was officially underway by the time she got back to her hotel. Even though it was Saturday, people were out—many of them carrying empty bags as they flocked to the Farmers Market. Madeline quickly showered and dressed. She grabbed a blueberry muffin and an apple in the lounge off the lobby before heading to the car. Her mind was focused, as if this day were no different than any other day in her busy life. She had a schedule to keep; it was all about getting the job done. Emotions were not going to get in her way anymore. She was through with self-pity, at least for the time being.

  The first stop was Verizon to report her phone stolen and purchase a new one under her maiden name and her own SSN. She beat the rush and was out of the store in thirty minutes, new iPhone in hand, with all her data restored and a new phone number.

  She was exhilarated at having possession of her favorite tool again with the added bonus of anonymity. Her old phone number had disappeared and not a soul had her new one. She felt sly and in charge, like her old, efficient, no-nonsense self. So far, this day was off to a good start.

  Despite her early start, the movers were already there, lounging against their truck, Hughes standing a wary vigil over them. They jumped to attention when she pulled up the driveway and quickly got to work. True to their word, Erma and Hughes had all the contents of her dressing room packed in wardrobe boxes. They were loaded in forty minutes.

  There was a minor snag when the driver wanted to confirm the destination. Madeline had forgotten to arrange for them to store her things until she had a place to live. Their orders were to deliver everything to the Yanonali Street address. After a few anxious minutes, everything was straightened out. Madeline had them wait while she made one more walk-through.

  She took stock of her sitting room, picking up odds and ends to be boxed and stored along with the rest. But the task made the reality of what she was doing all too final. She looked around, taking in all the cherished, familiar sights. She looked at the objects in her hands—a hand-blown Murano glass vase from a trip to Italy and a photo of her and her girlfriends in Paris—and laid them back down on the desk.

  There was no way that siphoning off a few mementos was going to keep her tethered to the life she was being forced to give up. If her clothing and accessories hadn’t been packed and carted off for her, she doubted she’d have the heart to do it herself. What was the point, anyway? She had no place to take them yet. The beach house wasn’t an option; if Burt was right, then she’d be monitored like a zoo exhibit. Without looking at anything else, she walked straight through her bedroom and foyer and out into the bright February sunlight.

  Now that she had dealt with all the imperatives of the morning, she had time to chart her next course of action. Sitting outside a coffee house on State Street with a latte in front of her, she started a new list.

  Topping the list was Housing, followed by Money and Assistant. The assistant she had, but because of lack of money and a place for her to work, her assistant, Lauren, would have to go. This fact niggled at her almost as much as her own dire situation. But the truth was, she didn’t have anything for her to do, except for answering emails from people who were destined to snub her once word of the Ridley divorce got out. So, where did that leave her?

  Madeline watched the parade of Saturday morning foot traffic, in all its dubious splendor. Downtown wasn’t what it was when she moved to Santa Barbara, but neither was the rest of the world. If I had any sense, I’d be checking out other cities, she thought as she finished the dregs of her coffee.

  But she didn’t want to leave Santa Barbara. She loved it. She didn’t have to be married to Steven Ridley to enjoy the city. She could create another identity for herself and disappear into the woodwork. Once she was out of the Montecito social scene, she could do anything she liked; no one would care anymore. The titillation over the circumstances of their breakup would be forgotten when a fresh scandal took its place.

  Having been so busy dodging Steven’s land mines, there was another possibility she hadn’t really considered: if she had any luck at all, she could be holding the winning hand. There was the distinct possibility—from what Burt and the attorney had told her—that Steven could end up being the one out on the street.

  It was nice to fantasize about counter-suing him and having his unscrupulous ass thrown in prison, but the likelihood of Steven having overlooked any possible obstacle to the furtherance of his master plan seemed pretty doubtful. It was better to stay focused on her immediate needs and let the professionals go after Steven Ridley with everything they had.

  Though the last thing she should be doing was shopping, it was the only thing that appealed to her at the moment. She left the coffee house and walked up State Street to Saks where she could bask in the glow of recognition while she still had her good name. As soon as she entered the store, she let everything slip from her mind. She was going to shop—browse, at any rate—and only buy anything that she absolutely couldn’t live without.

  After a pleasant stroll around the handbag and shoe departments, she stopped at one of the cosmetic counters as she toyed with the idea of picking up some ultra-expensive eye cream to undo the damage from all the tears she had shed. As she waited patiently for the sales associate to finish up with another customer, an attractive young woman caught her eye.

  “Madeline?” the young woman asked with a bright, hesitant smile. Madeline turned toward the woman, racking her brain for a name to go with the face. “You are Madeline Ridley, aren’t you?” the twenty-something asked awkwardly.

  “Yes,” Madeline said, smiling cordially, hoping the woman would save her the embarrassment and divulge her own name. Instead, she reached into her satchel and produced a fat enveloped.

  “You’ve just been served. Have a nice day.”

  “I can’t believe this,” Madeline cried into the phone. “He must have someone following me again.” She had called Burt as soon as she was safely back in Mike’s car. She had taken a circuitous route, doubling back and meandering all through Nordstrom and hiding out in the ladies’ room a couple times to make things more difficult for whoever was trailing her.

  “I take it you haven’t made your tail yet.” Madeline looked in all three mirrors before answering.

  “No. I don’t know who it is.” She was almost too mad to talk. She had a fury building inside her and she was afraid she might bite someone’s head off.

  “Steven’s obviously planning his punches fo
r full effect,” Burt said. “If you can keep your objective clear in your head, then his pranks won’t be as effective.”

  “Pranks?” Madeline replied acidly. She clamped her hand to her forehead to steady herself. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

  “It’s alright. I usually wave the verbal abuse charge for the first two offenses.” This made Madeline laugh. “That’s better. Just remember you’ve got a team behind you. And right now, I think you need to make contact with your attorney.”

  “You’re right. I know.” She sighed deeply as she searched for Barry Houstein’s business card. “And of course he does this on a Saturday. I’m sure I won’t get a call back until Monday, if I’m lucky.”

  “Try emailing him, too. Everybody’s glued to their smartphones these days. Who knows? Maybe he’ll feel like racking up some billable hours on the weekend. All you can do is try. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any better luck last night after you left. But I am pursuing other avenues that might be just as effective in thwarting Steven’s plans.” Now Burt had Madeline’s full attention.

  “Such as?”

  “I don’t want to go into it over the phone, but I’m working every angle. The more ammo we have, the less power he’ll have to torment you and strip you of your rights. If my hunch pans out, he could be taken out of the equation altogether.” These words struck her as being rather sinister, though she couldn’t understand why she should care.

  “How do you mean?” she asked.

  “Let’s just say that when a person goes on a rampage for no apparent reason, it usually means they’ve lost control somewhere along the line.” Madeline was still mystified but intrigued. “I think I’ve found his weak link, or more specifically, his motivating factor.”