The Ruined Wife: Psychological Thriller

by Marin Montgomery

  She peruses the menu. I pretend to, suddenly nervous in her presence.

  “I talked to her.” I keep my head down staring at the appetizers on the menu.

  “Good.” She scrunches her nose. “We couldn’t find anything from what you told me.”

  “She said her parents died in a fire, older sis did as well, as a child,” I look up. “She’s an orphan.”

  “Who wants a baby,” Kauffman finishes.

  “I have more info for you.” A waitress arrives, dressed like a Pan-Am flight attendant. I run a hand through my hair and order a beer. She orders a cocktail. “I got a burn phone.”

  Her face lights up. “Perfect. Mind if I see?”

  “Yep, I have her phone number. You can see the texts if you’d like.”

  “Not worried about your sordid texts.” She rolls her eyes. “But I’ll take some of the details.”

  I pull it out of my pocket and turn it on. She motions to my side. “I’ll scoot over there, take some notes.” She slides out of her side and comes around to mine. I show her a couple of pictures, one I had taken of her at the coffee shop when I was pretending to text. It’s not a great picture, more of a side profile, but you can make out her hair color, body type, and though it’s blurry with no flash, it clearly shows a pregnant woman. Surprise registers on her face when she glimpses the grainy pic of Brynn but her poker-face returns before I can ask if she looks familiar.

  “Shoot that to my email.” She leans in to look at the phone. “Let’s see her contact info. Is there any other info she’s given you about living situations?”

  “No. Said she lives in an apartment.” I think for a minute, tapping my chin. “Oh, I got her license number.”

  “Fantastic.” She leans into her tote bag and pulls out a manila file. “Let me take some notes, and I can have my P.I. start to check into her story.” Her bracelets jangle as she moves them around, the silver metal clanking as they slam into each other.

  I give her Brynn’s last name, cell, and license plate number.

  “This is the only number she has of yours?” she whispers.

  I nod. “Oh…” I volunteer, “I’m going to go to one of her doctor’s appointments. Maybe I can grab an address and date of birth from paperwork they’ll have her fill out.”

  “This should be enough to start us.” She taps her pen. “I can start on my own with this info and bring in our investigator when we need more background. See if you can get her social security number. She should disclose it on forms at the office.”

  “Should I try to follow her?”

  She bites her lip, considering. “Nah. Advisable that you keep interactions to a minimum.”

  “Done.” The waitress brings our drinks and sets them down waiting for us to order food. We shake our heads, and she leaves.

  “She hasn’t approached your wife or child?”

  “My wife got in a car accident.” I spew. “Yesterday, she thought she was being followed.”

  Her body tenses. “That’s not good.”

  “No.” I’m contrite. “It’s not. I don’t want to think she could be involved.”

  “Police report filed?”

  “Yes. But my wife doesn’t know my suspicions. She said it was a man who followed her, maybe a friend of Brynn’s? Probably payback for asking her to take DNA test. She wasn’t thrilled.”

  “No one is.” She’s sullen, her elbows on the table.

  “I don’t know how to tell my wife about this.” I take a swig of beer, the taste usually goes down smooth, but today it bloats in my stomach.

  She grabs my hand for a split second. “Hang in there. We will get to the bottom of this.”

  “I know it’s my baby.” I play with the condensation on my glass as it slides down.

  “Probably is,” she agrees. “The question is what she wants. This seems more personal than child support or custody. She wants you.”

  I’m glum, running a hand through my hair. “I know.”

  “Can we buy her off if we have to?” Her silver Y necklace catches the light. “Do you have a stash of your own money?”

  “We have a joint account. I have a personal one, but it’s for vacations, extra spending money.”

  “Does your wife see it?”

  “Yes.” I nod my head. “We book our vacations out of it.”

  “Okay, let me do some checking into her.” She warns, “Remember, this could and will probably get ugly.” She stands. “I’m always for damage control.”

  “Tell my wife?” My hands start to tremble, the thought of telling my wife of seventeen years, the look on her face, the disappointment. I grip the chair edge of the booth, feeling the pressure as I clamp the burgundy leather, cotton poking out in spots, the frayed stitching.

  She sees the expression, my change in body language. “This isn’t comfortable, Steven. But she will find out, especially if this woman tries to extort money or integrate herself more than she already has into your life. She wants something.”

  “Yeah.” I slowly rise, the blood rushing to my face.

  “She wants money…” I murmur, “… or me.”

  “Either way…” She bites her lip. “There’s a steep cost.”

  “I’m gonna lose my family.” I choke the words out, a struggle as I think of what this is going to cost me.

  Everything.

  24

  The night in question

  My hands are tight on the steering wheel. I’m driving up the road to our house, Livvie dropped off at her friend’s home for the night. The last few weeks have been nail-biters, the constant stress is eating at me. I’m snapping off at all the wrong people—my wife, my daughter, my mom, my students.

  I run a hand through my hair and sigh. How do I get rid of this leech that’s permanently attached to me? Coming clean about the affair to Alastair was hard enough, gut-wrenching. I keep waiting for her to file divorce papers. And now the baby… I’m at a loss. I see years of court dates, attorney’s fees, and a child that’s lost in the mix. No, if I’m honest with myself, I don’t want the baby. We had a child. We tried for another, and it didn’t work. Livvie’s almost ten, she doesn’t need another sibling. If Alastair had miraculously come to me telling me that she was pregnant now, I’d be elated, but not overjoyed. It would be starting all over. A baby with another woman—a sly, conniving woman—the lengths she will go to. I shudder, my skin crawling as I picture her innocent face, her threats, her baseless accusations.

  My headlights sweep over the driveway, and I see a vehicle’s parked over the middle of the concrete. Alastair’s gone until tomorrow night, her backward glances one of finality as it relates to me. I think she’s finally done with me. I hadn’t called any of my guy friends, the idea of drinking or even the thought of fun makes me tired. I just want to relax, lose myself in a sci-fi movie, maybe find a project to do in my shed, use my hands, my brain, but not think of my never-ending dilemma.

  I throw my hands in the air—un-fucking-believable. It’s a Cadillac. Did Brynn borrow a car to sneak over? This cannot be happening. It was bad enough she was here babysitting. I try not to beat myself up about melding herself in our lives, our private haven. I guess when you have an affair, you sometimes let people into more of your life than you choose. When I park, it’s crooked, trying to avoid putting a tire track across the fake sod in the front. I squint my eyes in the dark at her ivory car. The interior light’s not on, I don’t see her sitting there.

  We have to get a security alarm. I’m spooked, I silently put that on my to-do list for tomorrow. Call security companies. It shouldn’t be the first train of thought to wonder why your future baby mama is at your house, but maybe she’s not feeling well. She probably helped Alastair book her flight to Atlanta and knows exactly when she’s coming home. I sigh.

  Removing the key from the ignition, I slowly get out, hesitating. The last person I want to see tonight is her.

  I see a dark shadow, and I freeze. It’s moments like these I wish I car
ried a gun.

  When the woman turns, her chestnut hair and tan skin illuminate under the front door light.

  Thank God, it’s not Brynn. I breathe a sigh of relief. I don’t know why Kauffman is visiting me at my home. Did I miss something? Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I check the call log. I have seventeen missed calls and twelve new texts. All from Brynn.

  “Am I glad to see you.” I whistle. “We need to talk.”

  She laughs, a guttural sound in her throat. “Sorry to come by on a Saturday night. Is Alastair around?”

  “No, she had a last-minute biz trip.” I groan. “And she probably wants to avoid me.”

  “I have some disturbing news. I couldn’t wait.” Her eyes narrow. “Can we talk?”

  My heart sinks, my hands start to tremble. I fumble to get the metal in the lock. “Come on in.”

  “Where’s your daughter?” She scans the living room as she follows me inside.

  “Sleepover.” I don’t want her to see the anxiety in my twitchy demeanor.

  “Okay.” Kauffman’s dressed casually. I’ve never seen her in denim and a long-sleeve plaid shirt. She looks like a regular human being, not the usual dragon-slayer she’s notorious for. “You need to tell Alastair,” she blurts out. The moment the words leave her mouth, she notices the look of dread in my set jaw. “I know, Steven, but this is getting serious.”

  “Do you want a drink?” I motion to the kitchen. “I’ve got some vodka in here or beer out back.”

  “A vodka would be great.” She sets her purse down on the counter.

  “Mixed with?”

  “Pineapple? Lime juice?” She raises her brows. “Grapefruit?” I check the cupboard for a bottle of Tito’s. “Have a seat.”

  “Thanks.” She grabs the easy chair, the one covered in decorative pillows.

  “Steven…” I sense hesitation. “I gotta come clean with you.”

  I glance up from pouring her drink. She’s visible to me from where she’s sitting, I hear her voice loud and clear.

  “I’m friends with your wife.”

  I bring the vodka and grapefruit over to the couch and hand her one. I stare at her, uncomprehending. Then it hits me. She’s always looked familiar. It wasn’t because of the television ads or the billboards. It’s because I’ve seen her in passing. This is the Mara that Alastair knows. She stopped by our party. I was so focused on Brynn’s behavior and concerned she would make a scene at the fiesta that I didn’t even put two and two together. The events that night were hazy as the party went on in my drunken stupor. Smacking a hand to my forehead, I feel like an idiot.

  “Mara,” I say her name out loud.

  “I haven’t talked to her about why you came to see me,” she hurriedly continues. “Client/attorney privilege. But… we’re in a very gray area.”

  I sink down into the couch leaning back as I consider this. “Shit,” I say.

  “We have bigger problems.” She’s not one to mince words. “Veronica or Brynn Bard don’t exist. Her actual name is Brianna Crawford.”

  I lean forward. “Huh?”

  “She did exist but not anymore.”

  “So, she gave me a fake name?”

  “Yes, in a way. That’s not all.”

  I nod, confused, waiting for her to continue.

  “I looked her family up,” Mara says. “I saw the articles. A family by the name of Bard did die. The articles all confirm that two parents, a daughter, and a family pet died. One escaped.”

  We lock eyes. “Steven… the girl that got out of the fire, she killed her family. On purpose.”

  25

  “What do you mean, ‘intentionally’? I stand up, drowning my drink in one gulp.

  “She was charged as a minor. Allegedly, she was abused, so was her sister. There was no proof, not to say she wasn’t, but the family kept their distance from everyone. Might be because they didn’t want their mistreatment of children known.”

  “Her parents abused her?”

  “She claimed they tortured her and her sister. Locked up food, beat them, starved them. Both went to school, but it was sporadic. They moved around a lot, and she told the police they ate dog food a majority of the time.”

  I feel sick, disgusted, and my hands ball into fists.

  “Brianna aka Brynn set fire to the house when everyone was sleeping. It was a run-down place, no batteries in the smoke alarms. They were renting a slum property out of the city limits.”

  “Why didn’t she save her sister?”

  “From what I’ve read, it’s unknown. They shared a bed and room. Why her sister didn’t follow her out is an uncertainty.” Mara takes a long sip of her drink before continuing. “The house was a total loss. No bodies to claim. They were charred.”

  “Did they charge Brynn or Brianna?”

  “She was having night terrors when they first put her in a foster home. Psychologists tried talking to her. She had a nervous breakdown at one point. They suspected arson, but it was a hard case to prove. With no smoke detectors, the house burned to the foundation. No witnesses. They weren’t confident they would be able to convict her.”

  “So, they released her into society?”

  “No, they put her in a troubled-girls home until she turned eighteen.” Mara bites her lip. “She moved out West after. She wanted a new name.”

  “Why did she say she was Veronica/Brynn? Didn’t she expect someone would put this together?”

  She stares at me long and hard. “No. There’s no reason you would. The records are sealed. I got a favor.”

  I stand up and pour myself another vodka. This time straight with no mixer.

  “There’s more.”

  “Does the name Crawford ring a bell?”

  My brow furrows as I think. The name ‘Crawford’ doesn’t bring to mind anyone I know. I work with a Crawford at the middle school and have a student with the last name.

  “What about Lancelot Crawford?”

  I shake my head.

  “Lance Crawford. Brianna Crawford.”

  “Mara, I don’t know those names.”

  “The drowning last spring.”

  Drowning? I can’t think of anyone that lost their life that I know.

  “The little boy who drowned in the daycare pool? That was Brianna aka Brynn’s son.” Easing myself onto the couch, I bury my head in my hands. A moment of clarity as I consider what Mara just said.

  The words hang in the air. I stand up to pace. The area rugs are going to be threadbare when I stop. Now, I want the floor to swallow me whole. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “She owns a temporary employment service.” Mara drops her voice. “She goes by Brynn Bard now and used that name to get hired to work with Alastair.”

  “You’re telling me a one-night stand that’s pregnant with my baby has been working with my wife to get close to my family?” I grab onto the fireplace mantel for support, leaning my head against it. A heart attack is sure to follow. I whip my head around. “How wouldn’t my wife recognize her?”

  Mara shrugs. “There was a lot of negative press, but Brianna had red hair then. She just changed her appearance enough. It wasn’t like Alastair was ever face to face with her when the drowning happened or subsequently.”

  I’m appalled. “She lost a child, so she used me to have another one to get back at my wife?”

  “Yes, that’s what I’m telling you.”

  “How did you figure this out?”

  “I wanted to find out where she worked prior to Aly’s firm. My P.I. was able to track down her employment history. Brianna was fired from her job at the interior design firm when she quit going after Lance died.”

  “Can you imagine how I feel right now?” What if Alastair and Livvie are in more danger than I thought? “She’s her administrative assistant and has access to everything. Alastair’s out of town at a conference. What if something happens to her?”

  “That’s what concerns me.” Mara stands. “I didn’t want just
to drop a bomb on you and leave, but I had to warn you. You gotta talk to Aly.”

  “She’s going to ruin me, ruin us,” I whisper.

  We hear a creak like a door opening. We ignore it. The house is old, every time the heat comes on, it’s a loud thunk followed by a shudder. Being built in the sixties, floorboards creak, and the house settles on its own terms.

  “I’ve got a date tonight with your neighbor, Hal.” Mara shrugs. “I don’t want to leave you like this. Are you going to be okay? Can you get in touch with Aly? It’s time she knew the truth.”

  I reach for Mara’s empty glass, standing as I take it from her hand. “I’ll tell her. I’ll call her as soon as you…” I don’t even finish my sentence when there’s a loud bang.

  26

  We both jump. It’s a knock on the front door. A muffled voice comes from behind it. “Hey, guys, it’s Hal.”

  “He must’ve seen my car in the driveway,” Mara murmurs. “Just be careful and aware of your surroundings if you go anywhere. Call me tomorrow if you need to revisit this.” She opens the door. “Hey, Hal.”

  “Hey, saw your car and thought we’d ask Aly and Steven if they wanted to join us.” He gives her a quick peck on the cheek.

  “No, Aly’s on a business trip.” She gives him a tight smile. “Hey, Steven,” Hal looks past her to me. I’m leaning against the edge of the chair, wanting nothing more than to sink back into it, bury my head in my hands, and cry. “Hey, Hal, you be good to our friend.” I try to impart something besides despair in my tone.

  “I will.” He smiles. “Even happier now for your parties.”