Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 02 - A High Price to Pay

by Cynthia Hamilton

  “Hi, I’d like a pizza delivered…small, with prosciutto and goat cheese…” Madeline gave her address and phone number as she pulled into her driveway. She was practically salivating at the thought of food as she walked up her front steps and unlocked the door. She stepped into the entry and juggled her load as she prepared to turn the alarm off. Before she could get a hand free, she realized she didn’t hear the familiar whiny buzz. The lights on the controls were also off.

  “I could’ve sworn I turned it on,” she muttered as she walked over to dump her handbag, the clothes she’d been wearing that day and the new dresses from Saks on the sofa. When everything clanked and thudded to the floor, a prickling sensation went up and down her skin. She fumbled her way to the light switch by the entry. As the overhead fixture illuminated her surroundings, she became so light-headed, she thought she would faint.

  She stood, rooted to the spot by the front door, ready to fight or flee when her mind sent her the signal. But it was difficult to make sense of the seemingly innocent scene in front of her.

  As her eyes roved around her living room, the changes registered with ghoulish effect. There was no blood, no dead body, no broken vases, nothing missing; everything was there, only everything—down to the artwork and the rugs—had been moved, rearranged. The sensation of familiarity juxtaposed with foreignness had a completely disorienting effect. She got down low and crab-walked to her handbag, as if she suspected the furnishings were apt to relocate again without notice, knocking her over in the process.

  Once she had her phone, she speed-dialed her partner. By now her hands were shaking uncontrollably.

  “What’s up?” Mike asked through a mouthful of food.

  “I need you to come over here right away.” Madeline’s words hit Mike like a punch in the gut.

  “Where’s here? Are you hurt?” he asked, standing up and pushing his chair away in one fluid motion. He hastily wiped his mouth while waiting for her reply, which didn’t come soon enough for him. “Maddie, are you all right?”

  “Yes…”

  “Where are you? Tell me what’s happened.” A wheeze escaped Madeline’s throat, but nothing else. She knew what she saw, but it felt like too much work to explain it. “Maddie! What’s happening? Talk to me!”

  Madeline filled her lungs with air and let it seep out slowly. She knew how to handle suddenly threatening and inexplicable situations. But she’d let her guard down on her home turf—a big mistake that couldn’t happen again.

  “Everything in my living room has been rearranged.” The line was quiet. “Are you still there?”

  “What do you mean? Your furniture’s been moved?”

  “Yes. It’s all…everything is in a different place than it was when I left it this morning.”

  “Are you sure the cleaning lady didn’t do it?”

  Madeline grunted irritably. “Yes, I’m sure. For one thing, she doesn’t come on Thursdays. And she couldn’t possibly move the mesquite coffee table by herself. Just please get over here.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  While waiting impatiently for Mike to arrive, Madeline worked up the courage to investigate the rest of the house. She checked the kitchen first, knowing there was little that could be altered, unless someone had the time and inclination to rearrange her cupboards.

  When she turned on the light switch, she found the room to be exactly as she had left it. Heaving a sigh of relief, she took her coffee cup over to the sink to rinse it out. Before her hand reached the faucet lever, her heart took another jolt. This time it came from seeing her Wusthof butcher knife lodged through the center of an apple and left in the sink, apparently as a warning.

  Madeline backed away slowly while the threat registered. She turned to flee the room, belatedly setting the coffee cup back on the kitchen table. She grabbed her phone and called Mike again.

  “I’m almost there,” he said before she could get a word out. “Maddie, are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” she managed to say at length.

  “What is it? Did you find something else? Have you called the cops?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “Do it now. I’m two minutes from you.” Madeline crept past the living room and down the hall to the bedrooms and bathroom. “Maddie, did you hear me? Are you still there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here,” she whispered as she turned on the bathroom light. No slash marks through the shower curtain, at least.

  “Listen, go outside and wait for me on the front steps. Leave any lights on. I’m turning up your street now. Hang up and call the police, okay?”

  “All right, I’ll be on the sidewalk.”

  Madeline swooped down and grabbed her handbag on her way out. She never quite got over losing the last Prada bag and all its contents. At least she’d have something if the house suddenly burst into flames. This last thought propelled her out the door and down the steps, just as Mike’s old Mercedes lurched into the driveway.

  EIGHT

  Mike and Madeline made a small island as they stood in the middle of her living room, fielding questions from the local police and federal agents. Madeline guessed there were at least eight individuals linked to law enforcement combing every inch of her little house, inside and out. As she was giving her statement of events for the second time, the group was interrupted by an FBI agent wearing a bullet-proof vest over a long-sleeve shirt.

  “We located the source for the alarm system under the house. The wires have not been cut. By the evenness of the dust that was covering it, I’d say it hadn’t been touched. We took photos and had it dusted for prints anyway.” FBI Agent Caulfield nodded his thanks and the man left to pursue other clues.

  Both Madeline and Mike were picking up certain vibes from the investigating teams. Oddly, the locals seemed to treat the B&E of Madeline’s home more seriously. They found this especially curious since the Feds had turned Yeoman to get more evidence against Usherwood.

  “Excuse me,” Madeline butted in as Agent Caulfield grilled her again on the time frame of events. “Why am I getting the impression this scene is all immaterial to you?”

  Agent Caulfield cocked his head as he considered this accusation. “Ma’am, we’ve got six agents collecting evidence from virtually every surface of your home. We responded to Detective Slovitch’s call in under thirty minutes. What about our response troubles you?”

  “She’s just had a horrible shock,” Mike said, trying to make nice for the sake of cooperation.

  “You don’t need to apologize for me,” Madeline snapped, stepping in front of her partner to further confront Caulfield.

  “What’s really bothering you, Ms. Dawkins?” Caulfield asked, tucking his pad under his arm as he appraised her.

  “When Yeoman’s body was found at Lake Cachuma, why didn’t that put the FBI on high alert?”

  “It did.”

  “Oh, really? Then why was it overlooked that I had as much skin in the game as Yeoman where Usherwood is concerned? Maybe more, considering his whole rotten operation was brought down by me.”

  “It wasn’t, I can assure you—”

  “I’m not assured,” Madeline said, hands on hips as she faced off with Caulfield. “How can I feel assured when I was such an obvious target for Usherwood, yet there was no surveillance on my home?”

  “Ma’am—”

  “It’s Madeline. Madeline Dawkins. Former kidnap victim of Lionel Usherwood.”

  Agent Caulfield lowered his head and took a deep breath. “Madeline, how about if we have a seat somewhere?” Caulfield raised his hand to get the attention of the closest investigator. “Has the kitchen area been sampled yet? We need a place to sit,” he said.

  “Let me find out.” The young man slipped into the kitchen and reappeared a few seconds later. “Kitchen table and chairs are good to go.” Caulfield extended his hand and le
t Madeline lead the way. Mike gave Caulfield a look and fell in step behind her. When they were seated, the agent who gave them the all-clear appeared with the box of now-cold pizza that had been delivered in the middle of the law enforcement convergence. He placed it on the table and walked away.

  Mike opened the box, hoping the aroma would spark Madeline’s appetite. One whiff of it made the color drain away from her face. Mike got up to shift it to the counter, but the same man who brought it to the table intercepted it. He took it to another area that had already been cleared.

  Agent Caulfield directed his remarks to Madeline. “Contrary to what you might think, we have considered you as a likely target for Usherwood, if in reality he’s the one who took out Yeoman.”

  Madeline’s shrug was like a dare. “So…that translated into what, exactly? Have you been reading my emails or tracking my calls? It certainly doesn’t appear that you’ve had anyone watching my place.”

  Caulfield cleared his throat. “Actually, we did have surveillance on your house and place of business.”

  Madeline reared back in astonishment. “Then how the hell did Usherwood slip past you?” she asked, her voice teetering on shrill, arms extended in exasperation.

  Caulfield kept his gaze steady as he answered the rebuke. “We’ve had agents making regular tours of your area. Obviously, counterespionage is Usherwood’s stock in trade. He wouldn’t come near either of your places if he detected our presence.”

  Madeline barked out a harsh laugh and leapt to her feet. “Are you kidding me? You…” she was so furious, she could barely get the words out, “you were basically using me as bait, weren’t you?” Mike got to his feet in an attempt to calm her down. It didn’t work. She brushed his hands away and turned all her anger and indignation loose on the agent.

  “All you care about is catching the big criminal. You don’t give a damn about collateral damage, do you? If I happen to die in the process of you getting your man, it would just be one more offense to tack onto his sheet. Wouldn’t that make it an even bigger catch as far as the bureau is concerned?” Madeline glared at Caulfield hotly, begging him to cross her again.

  “You’ve got it all wrong,” Agent Caulfield said, his tone almost lethargic.

  Madeline grunted at his response. “How have I gotten it wrong? What if I had arrived earlier and surprised Usherwood? You’d be measuring blood splatters right now instead of giving me the third degree.”

  “How about a drink?” Mike offered.

  Madeline shook her head. She was using the last bit of her energy to hold the FBI accountable for their lax surveillance techniques and the invasion of her home.

  “What are you going to do now? Have you got any clue where Usherwood is? Are you going to have someone trail me around town and camp out on my doorsteps?” Exasperated, she lurched toward the sink for a glass of water.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am—we’re still dusting for prints,” another uniformed agent said, halting her in the middle of the room. She could feel tears brimming in her eyes as she glared dejectedly at him.

  “Can you just bring me a glass of water?”

  “Sure…I can do that.”

  “Thank you.” Madeline turned back to Mike and Caulfield, all her anger suddenly spent. She sank onto a chair and stared blankly at the table, her arms tucked between her legs, her back uncharacteristically bowed. Mike and the agent exchanged glances.

  “It doesn’t appear that you’ve registered with one of our victim specialists,” Agent Caulfield said.

  Madeline looked up at him blankly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “We have special agents who deal directly with crime victims. Because Usherwood is one of our cases, and since he abducted you with the intent of killing you, we can offer special services—”

  “Like what? A personal bodyguard? A safe house?”

  “Like counseling,” Caulfield said.

  Madeline stared at him in disbelief before laughing harshly. “Counseling? That’s the kind of help I’m going to get from your agency? Am I hallucinating?” She turned to Mike. “Get me out of here,” she said as she turned away.

  “I’m afraid you can’t go yet. We still need your help here.”

  “And I need the kind of help you can’t give me, apparently. Knock yourselves out—tear the place apart. And if you find anything useful, I’d like you to share it with Detective Slovitch. He’s got our contact information.”

  Mike fumbled one of his cards out of his wallet and handed it to Caulfield.

  “Are you going to have anyone covering her?” he asked.

  “We’ll continue with the resources we have in place.”

  “Great,” Mike said caustically as he went in search of Madeline. He found her trying to enter her bedroom. She was getting the bum’s rush from one of Caulfield’s men. Mike could tell she was trying not to lose her patience and on the verge of failing.

  “I just need to pack a few of my things so I can get out of here,” he heard her say.

  “We haven’t finished in this room yet, ma’am.”

  “Quit calling me “ma’am” and get out of my way. I have a very busy schedule the next few days and I need a change of clothing. I can’t go running around in my karate clothes indefinitely,” she said trying to get past the agent. Mike intervened before she got herself arrested.

  “Let’s go, Maddie. We can come back in the morning,” Mike said, gently leading her down the hallway. She gathered together the items she’d dropped when she came in and led the way out to Mike’s car. At that point, she didn’t care if she ever saw her house again. A change of scenery did sound very appealing, like Tahiti or Bora Bora.

  She huffed mockingly at her indulgent fantasy. She was stuck in Santa Barbara in the middle of the biggest event she’d ever overseen and taken on her first case, which at this point seemed like just one more headache.

  That she couldn’t even hide away in her own home to fortify herself for the coming days was a fitting insult in an already gloomy scenario. She was on Lionel Usherwood’s hit list and had to babysit a hot mess for a three-day narcissistic wallow. To top it off, she had to find out if an illegal alien had stolen valuable heirlooms from a famous director’s mother. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember why she thought being an event coordinator and a private investigator were such good career moves.

  NINE

  Madeline sat back as Mike slid a plate of scrambled eggs and hot buttered toast in front of her. She smiled wanly at him and picked up a piece of toast and brought it to her mouth, but it hung there as if she had either forgotten how to eat or couldn’t quite stomach food yet. She set it back on the plate and placed her elbows on either side of it. Mike set a mug of steaming tea next to her and sat down.

  “Maddie, try to eat something before it gets cold,” he said softly, rubbing her knee under the table. “I know what I forgot,” he said as he got up to retrieve a jar of expensive cherry preserves. He cracked the seal and ladled a dollop of the bright red jam onto a slice of toast.

  “Now doesn’t that look good?” he said, his features animated as if he were speaking to a child. Madeline laughed, though in her condition it sounded more like a sputter. “Please…one bite?” Mike negotiated.

  Madeline moistened her lips and took the slice of toast Mike held in front of her. She took a bite and chewed mechanically, her head lowered. Once she had dispatched that bite to her stomach, her natural instincts for self-preservation kicked in. She ate two more bites and then went at the eggs in large forkfuls.

  “Good?” Mike asked.

  Madeline nodded, managing a shy smile. “Do you have any cream?” she asked, taking the tea bag out of the mug. Mike was out of his chair like a shot. “And some sugar,” she said through a mouthful of food.

  Once she had pierced the knotted barrier in her stomach, she realized how ravenous
ly hungry she was. She had been famished when she ordered the pizza three hours earlier. Now that she was wiping up the last traces of egg with her toast, she already felt more like a human being.

  “Want some more?” Mike asked as Madeline dipped the last corner of toast in the jam.

  “Okay.”

  Mike beamed as he plopped another slice in the toaster.

  “What about you?” she asked, turning around in the chair to face him.

  “I was just finishing my carnitas tacos when you called.” He sat down next to her, taking one of her hands in his. Madeline knew he was worried about her, but she didn’t feel like discussing it. She gave his hand a squeeze and let it go. She ran both hands through her hair and pulled it back and tied it in a loose knot. She sat staring at her plate, unwilling to look at Mike. She let out an ironic laugh and sighed heavily.

  Mike sat watching her, his face so full of concern, it seemed almost mournful. Madeline found it hard to look at him. She got up and wandered the small kitchen. She stopped in front of the toaster and stared, willing the bread to brown so she’d have something productive to do.

  “Maddie, I’ll take care of that,” Mike said, getting to his feet. “Come and sit down.”

  “I don’t want to sit down,” Madeline said, her voice edgy.

  “I understand if you don’t want to talk to me, but you should talk to someone.”

  “Oh sure…like an FBI ‘special agent?’” she barked cynically. Mike came and stood next to her, but this made her feel even edgier.

  “I need to take a shower,” she said, heading toward the bathroom.

  “What about your toast?” When Madeline didn’t answer, he popped the toast up and went after her. He found her sitting on the corner of his bed, arms wrapped around herself, head bent. He stood there without speaking, unsure of how to help her. After a minute she finally looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears.