The Other Woman: A psychological suspense thriller

by N L Hinkens

  “Mommy, look what I drew!” she said, pulling a colorful butterfly out of her backpack.

  Bridget stole a glance over her shoulder. “That’s beautiful, honey. Did you have a good day at school?”

  Harper let out a petulant sigh. “Well, it wasn't very good because Ainsleigh and Samantha said Daddy was a bad guy.”

  Bridget tensed. So it had already begun. She’d expected her children to become targets, sooner or later, but it still cut to the bone to hear the cruel barbs Harper’s classmates were throwing at her. ”Well, that's not very nice of them.”

  “It's true though,” Henry chimed in.

  “No, it's not!” Harper said, sounding indignant.

  Bridget shot her son a warning glance. “That's enough, Henry.”

  He shrugged and turned to stare out the window.

  When they reached the house, Bridget made Harper a snack and then sent her to her room to play.

  “I need to talk to you, Henry,” Bridget said, sitting down at the kitchen table next to him where he was methodically working his way through a plate of microwaved cheesy nachos.

  “Yeah, what?”

  “Detective Wright’s going to stop by later on this afternoon. He wants to ask you a few questions.”

  Henry stopped chewing and threw her an alarmed look. “What about?”

  “I think he wants to ask you about an argument you overheard at Quinn’s house—between his parents.”

  Henry narrowed his brows. “I don't want to talk about it.”

  Bridget pinned a gaze of pained exasperation on him. “It's important, Henry. And it could help your dad.”

  He seemed to consider this for a minute. “You mean the cops think Keith might have killed her?”

  Bridget nodded. “He’s still a suspect. Maria heard him threatening Jen on more than one occasion.”

  Henry answered with a careless shrug. “They were always arguing. Doesn’t mean anything.”

  The doorbell rang and they locked eyes for a fleeting moment.

  “That’s probably Detective Wright,” Bridget said. “Just be civil. I'll stay in the room with you, And remember, you don't have to answer anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

  She opened the door to see Detective Wright and Officer Lopez standing on the front step.

  “Is your son home?” Detective Wright inquired, slipping off his sunglasses. “We’d like to ask him a few questions about an incident he may have witnessed at the Carsons’ house.”

  ”Come in,” Bridget replied stiffly.

  She led them through to the kitchen where they both shook hands with Henry, before seating themselves at the table. Detective Wright pulled out a notebook and smiled genially at Henry. ”I understand you're good friends with Quinn Carson.”

  Henry shot a wary look at Officer Lopez before responding. ”Used to be.”

  Detective Wright raised a sharp brow. “I can appreciate that this situation must be very difficult for you both.”

  Ignoring the comment entirely, Henry jerked his knee up and down, waiting on the detective to continue.

  “Did you ever hear Quinn's parents arguing?” Detective Wright asked.

  Henry frowned. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, they were always arguing.”

  “What did they argue about?”

  “Money and stuff.”

  Detective Wright tilted his head questioningly, like a predator sniffing the air for a hint of blood. “Stuff?”

  Henry's cheeks reddened. ”Who was cheating on who, that kind of thing.”

  “Did you ever hear Keith Carson threaten his wife?”

  “He said he’d kill her if she tried to leave him.”

  Detective Wright jotted something down on his pad. “I talked to Quinn earlier. He mentioned that you two followed his mother to your father’s office.”

  Bridget sucked in an icy breath. It was news to her that Henry had accompanied Quinn.

  Henry squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. “It was Quinn’s idea. His dad told him his mom was having an affair. Quinn wanted to know who the guy was.”

  Detective Wright nodded thoughtfully. “I assume you were both pretty shocked when you found out that Mrs. Carson was visiting your dad?”

  Henry shifted his jaw side-to-side. His eyes flipped to Officer Lopez and then to Bridget. She smiled reassuringly at him.

  “Yeah, I guess,” Henry conceded, a note of repressed anger in his voice.

  Bridget squeezed her eyes shut, trapping the tears that suddenly sprang up. How could Steve ever make it up to Henry? Their son was angry, frustrated, and embarrassed. Every teenage boy wants to look up his father, not hang his head in shame each time his name’s mentioned. Even if Steve hadn’t killed Jen, he had done irreparable damage to his family by having an affair with her.

  Detective Wright scratched the side of his nose before continuing. “Henry, do you think your dad killed Jen Carson?”

  Bridget let out a gasp. “You can’t ask him something like that about his father. Not without a lawyer present.”

  Henry folded his arms in front of his chest defiantly. “I know he killed her.”

  A gleam of curiosity came into Detective Wright’s eyes. ”That's a pretty strong statement. Do you have any evidence to support your claim?”

  Henry curled his lip. “None that I can give you.”

  Officer Lopez cleared his throat. ”Son, you do understand that you can be prosecuted if you knowingly withhold evidence.”

  An uncertain look flickered across Henry's face.

  “Just tell them what you know,” Bridget pleaded. “You won't be in any trouble if you speak up now.”

  Henry brushed his knuckles across his lips nervously. “I … saw her body.”

  Bridget's eyes widened. She squeezed her hands together in her lap, her horrified gaze riveted on her son. What did he mean? Had he seen Jen after she’d been killed? Is that what he and Quinn had been whispering about all this time? Why had Henry not mentioned it before now?

  Detective Wright and Officer Lopez exchanged a loaded look. The detective placed his hands on his thighs and leaned forward. ”Where did you see her body, son?”

  Henry's eyes flitted restlessly around the faces in the room. He was clearly agitated, jerking his knee up and down in place again. Bridget was torn between wanting to say something to reassure him and wanting him to hurry up and tell them the truth.

  Henry opened and closed his mouth before finally choking the words out. “In the … trunk of my dad's Mercedes.”

  Bridget clapped her hands to her mouth, staring in horror at Henry. She wasn’t the only one who’d seen Jen in the trunk of her husband’s car that day. She couldn’t begin to imagine how horrific a discovery that must have been for Henry. And to think he’d kept it to himself all this time.

  Detective Wright scribbled furiously on his notepad. “When was this? It's very important you tell us exactly when you saw the body, Henry.”

  He wiped a sheen of sweat from his upper lip, unable to meet the detective’s gaze. “Last Friday night.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us about this before?” Officer Lopez asked.

  Henry furrowed his brow, fidgeting with his sleeve.

  Detective Wright painted a sympathetic smile on his face. “It's okay, I get it if you were trying to protect your dad.”

  Henry sniffed. Bridget could tell he was on the verge of tears. She really should put an end to this interview before he broke down. He was traumatized enough as it was. But she had a feeling he had more to say, and she desperately needed to hear what it was. Had he told Quinn about his discovery?

  “I was only trying to help,” he muttered.

  “What do you mean you were only trying to help?” Detective Wright prodded. “What did you do, Henry?”

  He shook his head and wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. His shoulders shook uncontrollably.

  Bridget’s chest tightened. A foreboding feeling crept over her skin. A part of her wanted to reach ou
t and comfort her child, but another part of her was too numb to react.

  After a moment, Detective Wright leaned back in his chair and gave a subtle nod to Officer Lopez. He excused himself and left the room. A few minutes later, he returned with an iPad. Bridget watched with mounting trepidation as he set it up on the coffee table in front of Henry and hit play. She stared at the screen, panic rising up her throat when she realized it was the footage of Jen’s body being thrown into the dumpster.

  “No!” she cried out. “You can't show that to him. He's only a child.”

  Detective Wright turned to Henry. “I think you've already seen it, haven't you son? That’s you, tossing Jen Carson’s body into the dumpster, isn’t it?”

  17

  Henry's eyes darted frantically to Bridget and back to Detective Wright. “What? No! That isn't me!”

  Willing herself into action, Bridget dashed over to her son and wrapped her arms protectively around him. ”It's all right, Henry, calm down.” She turned and cut a glare in Detective Wright’s direction. “How dare you come in here and accuse my son like that! You’re frightening him!”

  The detective’s gaze lingered on Henry. “What did you do when you discovered Mrs. Carson’s body?”

  Henry wet his lips. “Nothing. I was too scared.”

  “Did you tell anybody what you’d found, Quinn perhaps?”

  Henry shrank back, a look of horror on his face. “No, of course not.”

  The detective tapped a finger on his chin. ”Didn't you think it was important to tell someone that there was a dead body in the trunk of your dad’s car?”

  Henry's lips parted but he said nothing as the color slowly drained from his face.

  Bridget stood, shooting daggers at Detective Wright. “I think you’d better leave now. You came here under false pretenses. You’ve shown my son traumatizing footage and falsely accused him of participating in a horrendous crime, all without a lawyer present.”

  “I asked him a reasonable question considering the fact that he’s admitted to finding Jen Carson’s body in his dad's Mercedes,” Detective Wright replied, unfazed.

  Bridget gripped Henry more tightly. ”Well you heard his answer, it wasn't him. This interview’s over.”

  Officer Lopez reached for the iPad and got to his feet. Detective Wright nodded in Bridget’s direction. “Thanks for letting us speak with Henry. We'll be in touch.”

  As soon as the officers had driven off, Bridget spun around to face Henry. “What in the world were you thinking, keeping that from me?”

  “I didn’t want to say anything. I didn't want Dad to get in trouble.”

  “Well you’ve only made matters worse, Henry. Now you're under a cloud of suspicion too.”

  “His eyes welled up with tears. “I’m sorry, Mom. I should have told you. I didn’t want you to find out about the affair, or any of it. I knew it would kill you. I was afraid you’d divorce Dad.”

  Bridget swallowed back the retort on the tip of her tongue, moved by the emotion in her son’s voice. Henry had meant well in trying to shield her from heartbreak. But she’d found out anyway, and it had been the kind of seismic shock you hoped you’d never have to endure in your lifetime. Bridget twisted her fingers together nervously. The only thing worse would be to find out that her son had disposed of Jen’s body. Henry claimed it wasn’t him in the video, but Bridget had her doubts.

  The figure, easily over six-foot, had moved with the agility of a young man. She loosed a rough breath as she replayed the image of the figure trudging toward the dumpster with Jen’s body wrapped in a blanket slung over one shoulder. If she had to lay a wager on it, she’d say the figure moved more like her son than her husband—and a mother knew those kinds of things. But for now, she would keep her mouth shut. If Steve had killed Jen, he could go down for disposing of her body as well, as far as Bridget was concerned. In the meantime, she had to hold her family together and carry on as best she could.

  “It’s almost time to leave for volleyball practice,” she said, glancing at her phone. “Go get your gear together and fetch your sister.”

  “Do I have to go—”

  “Yes!” Bridget snapped. “We still have our lives to live.”

  Henry gawked at her for a moment, before getting to his feet and striding out of the room.

  Bridget dropped her head into her hands, her shoulders shaking with barely repressed emotion. Who was she kidding? Their lives as they’d known them were over. It didn’t make any difference if Henry showed up for volleyball practice or not. He wouldn't be playing with the team in a few short weeks from now, or ever again for that matter. If Steve was charged with murder, Henry wouldn’t be welcome on the team, and none of them would be welcome in the neighborhood. But for now, Bridget had to put on a brave front for the kids’ sake and keep powering ahead. Maybe, just maybe, by some miracle, this would all be resolved, and Steve would come home tonight a free man, with his name cleared.

  When they pulled up outside the school a short time later, Henry grabbed his sports bag and exited the car without a word.

  “Don’t forget it’s Mrs. Dennison’s turn to bring you home,” Bridget called after him, but he’d already bolted out of earshot.

  A couple of moms, chatting outside their cars, turned their heads in her direction and immediately turned away again. Bridget felt a flush rise up her neck. No doubt, they’d heard the rumors. She was as good as exiled. In fact, she was surprised the coach hadn’t called her this afternoon to ask her not to bring Henry tonight. Sooner or later, one of the moms was bound to call and complain that her child was being forced to play on a team with a murderer’s son.

  Bridget rammed the shifter into drive and peeled out of the parking lot without a backward glance.

  “You're driving too fast, Mommy,” Harper chided.

  “Mommy’s in a hurry,” Bridget replied tersely.

  “Why? Is Daddy coming home?”

  Bridget’s stomach knotted. “I’m not sure, honey. But if he is, we want to be ready for him, don't we?”

  “Yup, we do. That’s why I’m going to draw him a picture.”

  “I’m sure he'll love that. What are you going to draw for him?”

  “Me, and you, and Henry, so he doesn't forget about us anymore.”

  Bridget’s eyes blurred with tears. If only it were that simple. If only she could be sure that Steve hadn’t been sleeping with Jen Carson. Maybe then she could dare to believe that he hadn’t murdered her, or even helped cover up her murder. But, as it stood, she didn't know what to believe. Steve had been involved with both the Carsons on one level or another. The email evidence was all there.

  Back at the house, Bridget sent Harper to tidy up her toys while she emptied out the dishwasher and reloaded it. After she’d finished cleaning up the kitchen, she unloaded the dryer and folded the kids’ clothes, her thoughts circling back to the footage of the unidentified male tossing Jen’s body into a dumpster. Much as she hated the thought of it being Steve, it terrified her to think that it might be Henry.

  Her stomach churned with misgivings as she carried a big pile of Henry’s jeans and T-shirts into his room and started putting them away in the dresser. If she left them for him to handle, they’d still be sitting here a month from now. Glancing around the space, it occurred to her that this might be an opportune time to take a quick look around and make sure there was nothing incriminating in Henry's room. Her breathing grew shallow at the thought of what she might stumble across. What if he really had thrown Jen’s body into the dumpster? He might have kept a memento, intending to give it to Quinn—her fuchsia scarf or some other item, maybe even her purse. Her heartbeat thundered in her chest. She threw a glance over her shoulder to make sure Harper wasn’t lurking in the hallway and then closed the door, ready to begin.

  First, she peered under the bed where Henry kept several shoeboxes stuffed full of miscellaneous items. She began sorting through them, quickly losing herself in some old birthday cards and
concert tickets, and various other keepsakes. Catching herself, she hastily returned the shoe boxes to their spot beneath the foot of the bed and moved on to the bedside table. The drawer was jammed so full she could barely wrench it open. Inside, was a miscellaneous stash of coins, pens, a catapult, an old phone, and empty candy wrappers—nothing significant.

  She knelt by the bed, slid her fingers underneath the mattress and ran them down both sides of it, but came up empty-handed. Getting to her feet, she peered curiously around the room looking for any other obvious hiding places. Tackling the chest of drawers next, she rummaged through the piles of T-shirts and shorts to make sure Henry hadn’t hidden anything beneath his clothes. She flinched when the bedroom door rattled.

  “Mommy, I'm all done,” Harper said, waltzing in dressed in her fleece cat pajamas. “Will you read me a story now?”

  “I’ll be right there, just putting away the laundry,” Bridget said nailing a chirpy tone with a hint of hysteria. “Go get your teeth cleaned.”

  With an air of resignation, she closed the dresser drawer and made her way to Harper's bedroom to embark on the lengthy bedtime story ritual that her daughter eagerly anticipated every night. With a bit of luck, she’d have time afterward to go back and look around in Henry’s room some more.

  Twenty minutes later, Bridget closed the Who was Sacagawea? book that Harper was currently enamored with and kissed her daughter on the forehead.

  “Will Daddy be here when I wake up?” Harper asked, sounding wistful.

  Bridget smiled sadly at her. ”I’m not sure, sweetheart. But Mommy will be here. Mommy will always be here for you.”

  Harper grinned back and closed her eyes, wriggling down contentedly beneath the duvet.

  Bridget closed the bedroom door behind her and leaned back against the wall, her breath coming in short, painful jabs. It was overwhelming to think she might be on the brink of becoming a single parent, solely responsible for raising Henry and Harper. Her parents would do what they could to help, of course, but there was no getting around the fact that they weren’t as sprightly as they had once been. And if she was forced to move out of the area, she wouldn't even have them for support.