Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 01 - Spouse Trap

by Cynthia Hamilton

  On top of boarding a trans-Pacific flight after a night of zero sleep, she’d have a five-hour-forty-minute layover in Honolulu. She massaged her neck as she tried to envision pulling this off. She went back a screen and tried a different approach. A business-class one-way ticket would cost her $2,905. It would be well worth it. At least she’d be able to sleep somewhat comfortably.

  Out of curiosity, she checked first-class. She balked at the price tag of $9,329 and gratefully settled for business-class. She thought through the steps carefully before booking the flight. She clicked the button, setting her plan into motion.

  Now that she had set this crazy new plot into action, she had to go over the next steps very carefully. She was aggravated at herself for getting rid of the rental car, for now she wanted to make one last stop at the Westin to clear out the rest of her things. She had to figure this out.

  She rang the front desk and asked that her bill be prepared; something had come up and she needed to leave early. She also asked for a cab to pick her up in 30 minutes.

  That done, Madeline selected her travel attire and laid it out on the bed. She charged her laptop, cell phone and Kindle. She then hopped in the shower. While still in her underwear, she rounded up all her personal items and packed them for the long journey back to Santa Barbara. She managed to get it all packed into her LV carry-on and her tote, though both were bulging.

  Now it was time to get dressed, something she had not been looking forward to. While it was still in the high 70s at 4:30 a.m., she pulled on the black slacks she had worn on the trip over, along with a black T and black cashmere trapeze cardigan. She then selected a pair of unworn shoes from the bunch she’d picked up at Saks. They elevated the outfit to a whole new level.

  For the embellishments, she put on the diamond stud earrings, Rolex watch, the tanzanite pendant, and her four-karat diamond wedding ring—all carefully selected to give her the look of understated wealth, which she knew could come in handy at check in. If she was really lucky and the plane wasn’t full, she might get bumped up to first class. It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened, which supported her lifelong belief that dressing mattered.

  According to her watch, she had five minutes left before the cab arrived. It was Monday, mid-morning in California. She took a deep breath and placed a call to Mike. He answered on the fifth ring.

  “Am I catching you at a bad time?” she asked.

  “No, I’m up. Already had my run, shower and shave.” Madeline had trouble with the image of Mike Delaney running.

  “Oh, good,” she said, resisting the impulse to mock him. “I’m glad I caught you.”

  “What’s up?” Mike asked, his demeanor turning serious.

  “Nothing…”

  “Isn’t it the middle of the night there?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Yeah. I’m still having trouble syncing to this crazy time difference. By the time I get used to it, I’ll be back home.” Home. She had to stop using that word. “Anyway, I finally broke down and bought something to help me sleep, so I was afraid I’d oversleep and miss calling you.”

  “Well, that was thoughtful of you. I’m sorry you can’t sleep. That sucks. After all you’ve been through, you really need to have good sleep. Maybe when you’re back here you’ll be more relaxed.”

  “Yeah, hopefully,” Madeline said, her eye on the clock. She let out a yawn that didn’t require much faking.

  “Better let you get some shut eye. I miss you,” Mike said, catching her off-guard.

  “I miss you, too,” she said, a guilty feeling niggling at her. She almost confessed her true intentions, then stopped herself in time. “Look, if I don’t call tomorrow, don’t get panicky, okay? It just means I’ve finally broken the sleep drought.”

  “Alright. You’ll be back here when? Wednesday? Thursday?”

  “Thursday. But I’ll definitely call you before then.”

  “You better!”

  “I will.”

  “Okay. Sweet dreams.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Maddie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I love you.” Madeline held her breath for a second.

  “I know you do.” She held the phone to her ear for a few seconds longer, then saw that the call had been ended. The phone in her room shattered the silence with its harsh jangling tone. She seized it before it rang again.

  “Your taxi’s here, Ms. Dawkins.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be right there.”

  FIFTY

  Madeline told the cab driver she’d be gone as long as half an hour, but to keep the meter running. She took the room key from her pants pocket as she entered the Westin, holding it out so that any late-night security would know she had a right to be there.

  She slid the key card into the slot and opened the door as quietly as possible. She crept to the bathroom and flushed the toilet, using the noise as a cover while she bundled up her cosmetics and toiletries in a towel and laid them on the bed. She retrieved Steven’s Louis Vuitton carry-on and quietly set about packing it with all the things she had left in the closet, then added the toiletries.

  One thing she hadn’t counted on was the disposal of the cheap suitcase she’d picked up in Santa Barbara. She pulled the tags off and carried it over to the bed. She flattened it out and gently slid it underneath the bed frame. She put the tags in her tote, along with the other miscellaneous items lying around.

  Whatever was in the dresser drawers was going to be left behind, for she couldn’t risk the noise a squeaky drawer might make. So far, all the sounds that could trigger the wireless mic had been consistent with getting up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom.

  She lifted the LV carry-on off the bed and held it aloft as she took it to the door. She gave herself a few seconds to go over everything in her head before placing the key card on the dresser. She breathed deeply and crept to the door, easing the handle down. She removed the “Do not disturb” card from the inside of the door. She positioned herself and the bag, then opened the door and slipped out.

  She let the door come almost to a close, then caught the heft of it on her hip and let it slide noiselessly over the strike plate while she held the handle down. She raised the handle and the door securely closed without making a sound. She placed the “Do not disturb” card in the key slot.

  That ought to take care of that, she thought, as she exhaled deeply and walked down the hallway to the elevators. At 5:15, she walked through the lobby as the hotel showed the first signs of preparing for another day of service.

  Madeline smiled gratefully as the flight attendant placed a cup of chamomile tea on her tray. She enjoyed this small triumph of finagling her way into a first class seat. All she had to do was make polite conversation and ask for an application for their frequent flyer program. The rest came as a spontaneous gesture on the part of the representative.

  When she’d finished the tea, she rang for the attendant and asked that she not be awakened for meal service; she was dead tired and needed to get some sleep. The attendant gave her an extra pillow and wished her sweet dreams.

  Madeline made herself as comfortable as possible, closing the window shade to darken her space. As exhausted as she was—mentally, physically and emotionally—sleep was not as easy to coax as she’d hoped. There were still too many doubts and fears that hadn’t been laid to rest yet.

  In an effort to clear the slate, she started a mental list of all the loose ends that were niggling at her subconscious. She had received two calls from the 805 area code as she was walking to her gate. She let both go to voicemail. The calls could only be from people returning her calls, as no one else with that prefix had her new cell number.

  Madeline couldn’t decide what to hope for the most: a call back from a detective agency or from one of her rental inquiries. S
he’d check them out during her layover in Honolulu. She smiled to herself. She was definitely enjoying the fact she had set this ambush in motion, and had finessed it so she’d have access to the executive lounge where she could conduct a few hours of business before the flight to Los Angeles.

  There were of course two huge concerns that she refused to let intimidate her: fear for her safety and the small matter of having broken the agreement to produce a super-quick divorce. From her soft leather perch, she shrugged off those concerns. Everything depended on her ability to get enough evidence against Steven to send him to prison for years, hopefully decades.

  What else? she wondered, drumming her fingers on the armrest. She’d have to arrange for a rental car pick up in Los Angeles. She thought about getting her list out, but sleep was peeking coquettishly around the corners of her eyes. She needed to set alarms so she could call Mike at intervals to keep him securely in the dark. She hated lying to him, but she couldn’t risk his safety.

  She shook her head as thoughts of Burt’s death jostled her budding confidence. The only thing she had going for her was the fact that she’d already hit rock bottom. Sure, there could be more pain ahead, especially if Steven managed to cover his tracks on the embezzlement and fraud. He already had the solution at hand. He had the advantage over her of being a duplicitous double-crosser from way back. She really didn’t stand a chance…

  But as she reflected on being so grossly out-matched, a technicality occurred to her that actually did put his plans in jeopardy. Unless he had the influence to sway the laws governing Guam divorces, Madeline had just thwarted his quick divorce/rapid marriage plan by leaving Guam before meeting the seven-day-stay requirement. Of course, once Steven learned of this, she’d have a target on her back.

  Oh, what a treacherous course this has become, Madeline thought as her lids closed and blissful sleep took the rudder from her hand.

  FIFTY-ONE

  The plane landed in Los Angeles at precisely 7:15, fourteen minutes ahead of schedule. Madeline experienced a strange sensation as she looked at her watch and discovered she had traveled for eighteen hours, only to arrive at the exact same time on the same day she had departed from Guam. It was a surreal feeling to discover that she had already lived a day that had yet to begin.

  By the time she took her checked bag off the carousel, LAX was already in high gear. Madeline moved with the throng that billowed from the exit doors out into the morning rush, as travelers competed for viewing space along the curb. She caught sight of an Alamo shuttle as it whooshed past her. She sighed and stepped out of a taxicab’s way and waited for the next shuttle. Another popped up on the horizon within two minutes. She waved it down.

  Twenty minutes later, she was walking the lot, looking for the best car in her price category. Spoiled as she’d been for the last twelve years, she had little awareness of the makes and models in the “intermediate” range. She regretted her decision to compromise, and almost went back inside to upgrade. But an influx of savvy travelers changed her mind. She selected a silver Hyundai Elantra, loaded her bags in the trunk and pulled through the gate. Five minutes later, she was on the 405, headed north.

  Now that she was back on familiar turf, Madeline began to relax. It felt good to be back in civilization, good to be out of the false summer and back in the brisk late-winter chill. She was also buoyed by her travel back in time, now seeing the advantages of having cheated another day out of life. She would be in Santa Barbara two and a half days earlier than Steven realized, giving her roughly three workdays to unearth enough proof to turn the tables on him.

  Once she made it out of the L.A. sprawl, she decided it was time to eat. As far as food and sleep went, neither had appeared in regular intervals since the night of the ball. Was that really only two and a half weeks ago? she wondered, as she pulled off the freeway and headed in the direction of one of the chain restaurants in the Oaks Mall.

  While she waited for her hearty American-style breakfast, she decided it was time to check in with Mike. But she still had to deal with calculating the time difference between California and Guam in keeping with her charade. Realizing it was only 3 a.m. ChST, she set an alarm for 5:00, PST. Her mind reeled as she tried to keep her previous schedule straight. There had been too much action topped off with a double dose of jet lag.

  As Madeline drove through the parking lot trying to find an exit that would put her in the right lane for reentering the Northbound 101, she passed several shops lined up in the last leg of the shopping complex. She digested the existence of the various stores subconsciously, not giving them a thought as she waited in line to exit the lot.

  She was edging along with the traffic when something of significance registered in her brain. At the first opportunity, she executed a quick left and worked her way back to the shop that had belatedly caught her attention. She found a space near the front and parked, her mind mulling over a whole new approach to what she was about to embark on.

  “Perfect,” she said, as she grabbed her bag and started thinking about what color would be best: bleached blond, brunette or red.

  “Good morning!” the saleslady greeted her as she entered Imelda’s House of Wigs. “How may I help you today?” the woman asked, smiling eagerly.

  “Well…I’m not sure,” Madeline said. She deposited her heavy tote on one of the stools lined up in front of the counter, which was topped with featureless heads displaying hairpieces in a variety of styles and colors.

  “Are you looking for a wig for yourself?” the woman inquired politely. It occurred to Madeline that purchasing wigs could be a touchy subject. She imagined there was a certain amount of embarrassment attached to needing a wig. Madeline smiled broadly to assure the woman she was looking for recreational use only.

  “I was driving by and thought it might be fun to wear a wig to a party I’m going to on Saturday,” Madeline lied.

  “Oh, yes—so many of our clients like to ‘test-drive’ a new look. A party is a great place to see what kind of reaction your choice will get. Did you have anything specific in mind?” she asked, fluffing a couple of the wigs on display. “A specific color or length, perhaps?”

  Madeline examined the row of potential candidates, her eyes shifting to the shelves behind the counter.

  “And we have even more on the other side of the store. My name’s Maureen, by the way.” Madeline turned to take in the thirty or so hairpieces behind her. “And if you don’t see what you’re looking for out here, I’ve got many more styles and colors in the back.”

  Since this idea was so spur of the moment, Madeline had to ask herself what it was she was after. The obvious objective was to make herself unrecognizable while she skulked around Santa Barbara, AWOL from Guam. She was drawn to the fun wigs—bright shades with lots of length and curls—but what she really needed was something so ordinary, no one would give her a second look. She wanted to deflect attention, not draw it.

  As she selected a few to try on, she could sense Maureen’s disappointment at her rather humdrum choices. She sat down and let Maureen help her get the first wig on.

  “Your hair is so pretty,” Maureen said as she gathered Madeline’s hair and twisted it into a tight bun, which she secured with bobby pins. “We don’t get many people with hair as nice as yours in here,” she confessed as she scrutinized her handiwork in the mirror.

  Madeline laughed at her reflection. With different accessories and makeup, no one would know her. She tried on four different wigs. They all produced the desired effect, and she had trouble making up her mind. The old Madeline would’ve solved the problem by purchasing all of them. The new Madeline limited herself to just two: a blunt cut dark brunette with eye-skimming bangs that gave her a sexy, mysterious air, and a short, light blond wig that made her look like she’d just stepped off a yacht, not as a passenger, but as part of the crew.

  Madeline left t
he shop with two wig boxes. Inspired by the idea of going incognito, she headed for a nearby drugstore and picked up a few items that would further alter her appearance.

  The first stop was at a rack of sunglasses. Her designer frames were too eye-catching and envy-producing, and therefore memorable. She found a pair of oversize black-rimmed glasses that went well with her dark brunette wig. She decided white rims with rhinestones were just the right touch for her sun-bleached blonde.

  She then picked out shades of lipstick she would never wear, and eye shadow and liner, which she didn’t wear at all. She was certain she wouldn’t even recognize herself once she had completed her transformation. But as she caught her reflection in the window of her rental car, she realized she had overlooked something. What she needed to solidify the look was clothing that cost a fraction of what she was accustomed to spending, and accessories to match.

  The smug satisfaction of her latest tactical maneuver started to seep away as she rounded Mussel Shoals. Taking its place was an odd fluttering in her stomach and an increase in her breathing, which came now in short, shallow bursts. Once she hit Carpinteria, her anxiety had given her sweaty palms and a tension headache.

  She rubbed her tight right shoulder with her left hand and forced herself to breathe deeply and exhale fully. This helped, and soon she could sense an inner change taking place. She was mentally girding herself for battle, the battle of her life.

  FIFTY-TWO

  Madeline pulled into the driveway of the Paradise Motel on upper State Street. It was quite a step down from her last three accommodations, but it suited her purposes well. It was centrally located and convenient to everything. Yet, in all the years she had lived in Santa Barbara, she had passed it dozens of times without noticing it. It was exactly what she needed: a hideaway as invisible as her new self.