by N L Hinkens
Bridget led the kids to the waiting room and sank down in a wingback chair near the door.
“Mommy, I’m hungry,” Harper whined.
Bridget widened her eyes. “Already? We just ate.”
“Two hours ago,” Henry corrected her.
With a bemused shake of her head, Bridget fished a twenty-dollar bill out of her purse and handed it to him. “Go find yourselves a snack. You can head down to the café on the ground floor if you want or look for a vending machine somewhere. Don't be long, and whatever you do, stick together.”
“Thanks, Mommy!” Harper chirped, skipping out the door after her brother.
Bridget released a heavy breath and leaned back in the chair. Something dug into the small of her back and she shifted forward again. Dragging Steve’s coat out from under her, she felt the rectangular shape of his phone in one of the pockets. Her pulse ratcheted up a notch. With only the tiniest flicker of hesitation, she pulled out the phone and punched in his passcode. If she could find out why Keith and Steve had met at the coffee shop yesterday, she might be able to get to the truth of what had happened to Jen.
First, she scrolled through Steve’s contacts. There was nothing listed under Carson, or Jen, or Keith. Next, she opened up Steve’s emails and began browsing through them. Her chest tightened until she could scarcely breathe. There it was—an irrefutable testament to her husband’s betrayal—a long thread between Steve and [email protected] dating back several months.
10
With trembling fingers, Bridget opened up the email thread and began reading the most recent communication Jen had sent to Steve.
Keith definitely suspects something. We need to move quickly. Can you get those assets transferred to my name?
“Look what I got, Mommy!” Harper squealed, bursting back into the waiting room holding aloft a bag of Cheetos and a bottle of Sprite.
Bridget bit back her irritation at being interrupted right on the cusp of deep diving into whatever it was that had been going on between her husband and Jen Carson. She hurriedly stuffed Steve’s phone back into his jacket pocket, and eyed the offending items Harper was gleefully displaying, grimacing inwardly at the sight. Henry knew his sister wasn't ordinarily permitted to snack on such poor nutritional choices, but it was her own fault—she’d sent them to look for a hospital vending machine, after all. “You're one very lucky ducky it was Henry who took you and not me because I’d never have let you buy that junk,” she said in a tone of mock disapproval.
Harper nodded, a broad smile breaking out across her face at the realization she was going to be allowed to keep the forbidden snacks.
A moment later, the door opened again, and Steve walked in, Quinn trailing behind him. “Ah, here you all are,” Steve said. “The nurse told me to let you know the doctor’s finished so we can go back in now.”
Quaking on the inside, Bridget hurried over to give Quinn a hug. “I’m so sorry about your mom, and your grandpa.”
When she released him, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and pressed his lips together, striking an oddly indifferent pose. “Thanks.”
“Let's go say goodbye to Grandma, and then we’ll get you kids home,” Steve said, reaching for his jacket.
Bridget averted her gaze. She didn't need to read any more of the emails to know what she was dealing with. Jen and Steve had been carrying on an affair right under her nose. It sounded like Steve might even have been planning to leave her. Had he been helping Jen move assets around—preparing to set up a new life with her? Bridget’s heart began to pound with fear at the implications. What if he’d hidden their money and left her penniless? He was the one with the head for numbers, and she'd always trusted him implicitly with their finances. A stupid mistake that might cost her dearly now that it seemed their marriage was on the verge of collapse.
When they pulled up outside their house, Bridget’s heart lurched at the sight of a squad car parked at the curb. It was already happening. The City Crime Line had wasted no time relaying the tip she’d given them. Two men climbed out and strode toward them. The plainclothes officer nodded a greeting. “Mr. and Mrs. Hartman, I wonder if we might have a word with you.”
Steve frowned. “What’s this about?”
The officer directed a meaningful look at the kids. “It might be better if we spoke inside.”
Henry and Quinn exchanged a wary look. Once again, Bridget had an inkling there was something amiss between them, but she couldn’t figure out what it was.
“Uh, sure,“ Steve said, leading the way to the front door.
Harper slipped her hand into Bridget’s and tugged on it urgently. “Why are the policemen here?”
“I’m not sure, honey. But it’s nothing for you to worry about. Why don't you go to your room and play with your Barbies for a bit?”
Steve led the detectives into the family room while Bridget shooed the kids down the hallway to their bedrooms. “Don’t come out until we come get you,” she warned them.
She joined the men in the family room and sat down on the other end of the couch from Steve. She kept her eyes averted, not wanting to catch her husband’s gaze. She was half-afraid Steve would be able to pick up from the guilt in her face that she was the reason the police were here. She couldn't help wondering if the officers could tell from their body language that something was awry between her and Steve. Why else would a husband and wife not sit together hand-in-hand to hear why two police officers had shown up unexpectedly at their house?
“I’m Detective Wright,” the older man began. He gestured to his companion. ”This is Officer Lopez.”
Bridget nodded in the direction of the young, muscular officer with the square jaw and almond-colored eyes. She squirmed under his scrutiny, even though he proffered her a warm smile. She could feel the weight of guilt grow heavier in the room, and she suspected her face was not masking her emotions well.
“What can we help you with?” Steve asked in a brisk, businesslike tone.
Bridget seethed inwardly at his insolence. He must have some inkling why they were here. Surely, they could see straight through him. She wet her lips nervously as she ran through her options. This was her chance to get everything out on the table and tell the police about the body she'd seen in the trunk of Steve’s car. But that would open up a whole other can of worms that might implicate her for concealing evidence, or worse—the police might suspect her of being involved in Jen’s murder. Better to wait and let the police get to the bottom of things on their own.
“I understand you were working late last Friday night, Mr. Hartman,” the detective said.
“Please, call me Steve, and yes, I work late most nights.”
“We received an anonymous tip that a woman who looked like Jen Carson was spotted leaving your office building. Did you happen to see her?” The detective sat back with an expectant expression on his face. He had the air of a seasoned veteran, comfortable waiting as long as it took for the truth to bubble to the surface.
Steve blinked several times, the color draining from his face. Clearly, he hadn’t expected this. Bridget could sense he was scrambling to find a way out and coming up short. Any lies he told now would only affirm his guilt. After a long, uncomfortable silence, Steve cleared his throat. “As a matter of fact, she stopped by my office briefly.”
Detective Wright drew his brows together, giving a slight nod, as though approving of Steve's decision to come clean. He pulled out a note pad and pen from his pocket and flipped it open. “What time was this at?”
Bridget stared at the carpet in front of her feet. Six-forty-five. She’d been there too. Of course, she had no intention of sharing that information with the police.
Steve folded his arms and frowned. “I couldn't say for sure. Somewhere around seven. I worked for another couple of hours after she left.”
Detective Wright looked across at Officer Lopez as if to make sure he was tracking, and then turned his attention back to Steve. “What was the nature o
f her visit?”
Bridget squeezed her hands together in her lap, feeling the sting of tears in her eyes. One email had told her all she needed to know about the nature of Jen Carson’s visit with her husband.
Steve rubbed a hand over his jaw. “She … wanted some advice.”
Officer Lopez leaned forward and smiled, dimpling his fresh-faced cheeks. “What kind of advice are we talking about?”
Steve threw him an irritated look, before making a point of addressing Detective Wright. “She needed some financial advice. I'm an accountant.”
Detective Wright jotted something down in his notebook. “And why did she come to you for this advice?”
Bridget gritted her teeth. Why indeed, Steve? Let’s hear you explain that one away.
Her husband’s forehead was beginning to glisten with a sheen of sweat. “I knew her from way back in high school. She put in a good word for me when I applied for this job—she knew Ken Bartlett who founded the company. It turned out well for me, I worked my way up to partner. Naturally, I felt I owed her a favor. I told her if she ever needed any financial advice to come to me.”
“And so she did,” Detective Wright said in a contemplative tone. He tapped his fingers on his knee for a moment and cast a curious glance at Bridget as if assessing how much of this was news to her. “Was your relationship strictly business?”
Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes, of course. What are you implying?”
The detective leaned back and raised his palms in a placating manner. “I'm only here to gather the facts, Steve.”
“And I'm giving them to you. Like I told you, I was returning a favor by helping her out with some financial stuff.”
Detective Wright flipped over a page in his notebook. “Can you be a little more specific about the type of financial advice she was looking for?”
“Why’s it important?” Steve retorted, the expression on his face darkening.
“In light of the fact that she was murdered later on that evening, it could turn out to be very important.”
Steve gave a resigned sigh. “She was worried her husband was moving assets around and trying to hide money from her. They weren’t getting along particularly well.”
“Yes, her husband mentioned she was having an affair.” Detective Wright pinned his gaze on Steve, the disarming smile on his lips at odds with the steely glint in his eyes. “Did you know about that?”
Steve shook his head in a bewildered manner. “No. She told me Keith was having an affair.”
“Did you believe her?”
Steve shrugged. “I didn’t know her well enough to say either way. Or Keith either, for that matter. At any rate, it was irrelevant to the advice she needed.”
“That’s debatable. Were you aware that Jen brought nothing of monetary value into the marriage? The assets she was trying to protect weren’t hers to begin with.”
Steve narrowed his eyes. “None of which has any bearing on the advice I gave her. I wasn't suggesting she do anything illegal. She just wanted to make sure Keith didn't leave her penniless in the event they divorced.”
Detective Wright gave a thoughtful nod. “I see.” He snapped his notebook shut, before getting to his feet. “Thank you for your time, Steve. That’s all the questions we have for now. You’ve been very helpful.”
He pulled a business card out of the sleeve on his notebook and held it out to Bridget. His eyes bored unsettlingly into hers. “Please don't hesitate to call me if you think of anything else at all that might assist us in our investigation.”
11
As soon as the officers left, Steve announced that he had to go to the office, purportedly to catch up on the work he hadn’t managed to complete on Sunday. Bridget wasn’t fooled. She’d been married to him long enough to know that he’d been badly shaken up by the cops’ visit. No doubt, he needed space to clear his head and finesse his story going forward.
Bridget shivered and hugged her arms tightly to her body, Detective Wright’s words lingering in the air.
Please don't hesitate to call me if you think of anything else at all that might assist us in our investigation.
Of course, she had something that could assist them. Something that would immediately trigger a full-scale investigation into her husband, not to mention generate a warrant to search their house and even seize their property—the Mercedes at a minimum, possibly their computers and phones. Child Protective Services might even come for their children if they were both detained. Did Detective Wright know she was the person who’d called in the anonymous tip, or was she just being paranoid about the pointed look he’d given her as he’d handed over his card? Was she over-analyzing his parting words, or had he wanted to let her know that he knew she was hiding something?
She needed to calm down and think rationally. The Crime Line employee had assured her repeatedly that she would remain anonymous—there was no way for anyone to track her down. Detective Wright had simply been going through the motions. Don't hesitate to call was nothing more than police jargon, the same generic remarks they made to everyone when they handed over a business card. But Bridget wasn’t going to give the police anything else—not when she was no longer sure of Steve’s role in all of this.
If Keith had blackmailed him into disposing of Jen’s body, then her husband was every bit the victim Jen had been—at least concerning the murder. The affair was another matter altogether. She couldn’t risk muddying the waters any more than she already had. She’d wait until the cops unraveled the tangled case on their own steam and got to the truth of what had happened.
Glancing at her phone, she let out a groan when she noticed how late it was. She hadn’t defrosted anything for dinner—not that she was in the mood to cook anyway. Maybe she could run into town and pick up something instead. She made her way down the hallway to ask the boys what they wanted, slowing her pace when she detected raised voices coming from inside Henry’s room.
“How would I know why the cops are here?” Quinn snapped, a defensive edge to his voice. “Do you really think I’m dumb enough to tell them your dad was doing my mom?”
“I dunno. Maybe you felt sorry for your dad now that your grandpa’s sick and all.”
“Don't be stupid. What difference does that make?”
“You tell me,” Henry growled back.
“I swear to you it wasn’t me who called the tip line.”
“Whatever,” Henry retorted. “Let’s play Fortnite.”
Bridget drew a shallow breath through her nostrils and let it out again slowly. Keith must have told his son the police had received an anonymous tip. And of course, Henry would suspect Quinn was behind it. After all, it sounded as if the boys knew all about Jen’s and Steve’s affair. Had they found out about it from Keith? Bridget rubbed her brow. It made no sense that Keith had asked the man who’d been sleeping with his wife to look after his son. It seemed to fit with her new theory that Keith had killed his wife and blackmailed Steve into getting rid of the body. Maybe he was counting on Steve being beholden to him for every little thing from now on.
Bridget took another quick breath before opening Henry’s door and peeking in. ”What do you boys want for dinner? I'm going to run into town and pick up something.”
“Pizza, Hawaiian,” Henry called out from under his desk where he was busy plugging in a slew of wires.
Bridget moaned in protest. “We had pizza last night.”
“Panda Express, then.”
“Is that all right with you, Quinn?” Bridget asked.
“Yup, great, thanks.”
She hesitated, her hand resting on the door handle. “Have you heard anything more from your dad about how your grandpa’s doing?”
Quinn shook his head. “Dad said he’d pick me up when he was done at the hospital.”
“Okay, keep me posted. You’re welcome to spend the night. Henry, keep an eye on Harper for me. I’ll be back shortly.”
She was getting into her car when she h
eard a vehicle pull up alongside the curb. Turning to look over her shoulder, she spotted Keith Carson climbing out and waving to her.
“How's your dad doing?” she forced herself to ask as he approached. All the while her stomach twisted as she wrestled with the grisly supposition that had been preying on her mind. Had Keith Carson murdered his wife?
Keith grinned. ”You can ask him yourself.” He gestured to his car. “They discharged him already. I’m driving him home. Turns out it wasn't a stroke at all, just low blood sugar. The knucklehead forgot to eat.”
Bridget walked over to the car and leaned down to the passenger window. “Hi, Jack. Glad to hear you're feeling better. You gave everyone a scare.”
He eyed her with a circumspect look and waved a meaty hand dismissively. “Yeah, the doc tells me it was low blood sugar.”
Bridget stretched a sympathetic smile across her face. “Well, it’s easy to forget to eat when you're under stress. I'm … sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” Jack pressed his lips tightly together, his face a mask of suppressed emotion.
Bridget moved away, loathe to upset him any further. He didn't look like the type of man who enjoyed displaying his emotions, especially to a virtual stranger. She wondered what he would think if he could read the suspicions in her mind about his son. Maybe he had his own suspicions, and the stress of it all had caused him to pass out.
“Quinn’s inside,” she said, turning back to Keith. “The boys are playing video games. I was just going into town to pick up some dinner. You're welcome to join us if you want.”
“Thanks, but I should be getting home. Dad’s worn out. And there’s—” He broke off and whooshed out a breath. “As you can imagine, there's a lot to take care of. So many loose ends. And with the police breathing down my neck, interrogating me every step of the way, it’s been hard to find the time or the motivation to tackle anything.“
