Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 01 - Spouse Trap (10 page)

SEVENTEEN

Barry Houstien listened to Madeline recount the events of the last six days. She paused at one point to hand him the envelope containing the single photo of her
inflagranti delicto
. The attorney made no reaction except to ask if he could make a copy of it for his file. Madeline agreed as long as he assured her no one else would see it.

“Also, I found a copy of our prenuptial agreement,” she said, pulling it out of her tote.

“Excellent. I’ll make a copy of that too. And while I’m doing that, I’d like you to make a list of your community property assets—real estate, retirement accounts, etc., with addresses and approximate values.” He handed Madeline a legal pad and a pen and excused himself.

While she was at her task, she struggled not to think of him entertaining his associates with the sordid picture of her at the worst moment of her life. But he returned so quickly, she was relieved of that humiliating visual. He handed the photo and the prenuptial agreement back to her and resumed his seat, his mind already focused on the document.

“Well, it’s pretty straightforward,” he said, flipping back to the page with the infidelity clause. “The photos are his proof that you’ve been unfaithful and broken that agreement, which then relieves him of the obligation of providing a divorce settlement and alimony.”

“But I wasn’t unfaithful to him, Mr. Houstien,” Madeline said, her voice becoming strained with agitation. The attorney held up his hand to reassure her.

“I’m on your side, Mrs. Ridley. And call me Barry,” he said smiling in an effort to make her relax. Madeline’s features softened and she returned a cautious smile.

“Please call me Madeline,” she said. “And I’m going to start using my maiden name, which is Dawkins.”

“Alright, Madeline. But don’t get me wrong when I say the document is straightforward. If we can prove your version of what this photo represents, then our job is also pretty much by the book—we move to have the prenup dissolved on the grounds that evidence was manufactured in order to claim you violated the infidelity clause. So, that leaves you with the burden of coming up with the proof that he somehow orchestrated all this in order to leave you without a cent.”

“I’ve hired my own investigator, and he’s working on it as we speak,” she replied hopefully.

“Good.” Barry swiveled in his chair as his lawyerly mind connected the inevitable dots. “You know, if you can prove your claim, you’re looking at a lot more than just getting what by law is owed to you,” he said, leaning forward, visions of protracted legal battles stretching across his mind’s eye.

“For starters, you’ll be a very sympathetic party to this divorce. We can make a rock-solid case for mental cruelty, bodily and psychological harm. Plus, you can press a number of charges against him, including conspiracy to commit assault and battery, accomplice to the assault and battery, as well as soliciting for prostitution, if he did indeed hire someone to commit the sexual assault.

“Honestly, after what you’ve been put through, this guy would be extremely likely to spend time in jail. I don’t know about you, but if anyone did to me what it appears your husband did to you, I would find that outcome
very
satisfying.

“And while we’re at it, we can also file a civil lawsuit against your husband on the grounds of fraud, intentional infliction of emotional distress, civil assault and personal injury stemming from an intentional tort. We’ll have him buried in suits and countersuits,” Barry said, a grin of professional glee spreading across his face. Madeline’s shell-shocked expression made the unseemly smile fade away.

“Can we really get him?” she asked, her voice sounding small and far away.

“Mrs.—Madeline, if your investigator can get concrete proof that he’s behind these photos, the answer is yes.” Madeline sat back, allowing herself to breathe as she took it all in. As if reading her mind, Barry added, “How confident are you with your P.I.?”

“I think he’s good. He has excellent qualifications. He was with Special Forces in the military, and a detective with LAPD for ten years before going solo. So far, he seems sharp and competent.”

“If you have any doubts, we have our own stable of investigators who are crackerjacks.” Madeline realized she still had the legal pad in her lap. She handed it over for Barry’s perusal. His head nodded slightly as he glanced over the figures.

“Am afraid I don’t really know what kind of bank accounts we have except our checking account. I’m sure there are others. I don’t know anything about his business aside from the fact that it’s very profitable.”

“Why don’t you write down the name of the business and the address and I’ll put my team to work on that. And then I guess we need to discuss my fee…”

Madeline looked up from the menu just in time to see Mike alight from an early model Mercedes convertible parked across the street from the restaurant. She had to smile in spite of her mood. She watched the breeze ruffle his shoulder-length, light brown hair and Hawaiian shirt as he limberly dodged traffic. As he approached, his eyes scanned the windows, though she couldn’t tell if he was looking for her or merely admiring his reflection. When he waved heartily, she figured it was the former, or possibly a combination of both.

“Even with all the hell you’ve been through, seeing your face still makes my heart stop,” he said, bending to kiss the top of her head. The smell of ozone wafted off him as he brushed past and flopped down opposite her.

“Hello, Mike,” she said, closing her menu to regard him. Though the years showed on his face, he still had the same irresistible, rakish good looks. His smile was contagious, and soon she was fighting to retain her composure. There was something about him that radiated disdain for morality and a perverse delight in all things forbidden. He reached across the table with his long arms and took her hands in his. She held his gaze for a moment, then gave his hands a squeeze and released them.

“I haven’t ordered yet, but I need to. I’m starving and I don’t have much time,” she said, browsing the menu solely as a diversionary tactic.

“I was surprised you wanted to come here,” Mike said, laying his menu aside. “I thought The Ivy or Fig & Olive were more your style these days.”

“I’m in need of some comfort food. Besides, Montecito isn’t exactly swimming in true delicatessens,” Madeline said, smiling up at the waitress who was poised to take their order.

“What can I get you folks?”

“I’ll have the Reuben with horseradish instead of the Russian dressing.”

“Corned beef, pastrami, or turkey?”

“Corned beef.”

“Potato salad, coleslaw, French fries or onion rings?”

“French fries.”

“And you, sir?”

“I’ll have exactly the same as her, and a side of onion rings,” Mike said, handing the menus to her.

“Anything else to drink?” Madeline shook her head.

“I’ll have a Coke,” Mike said. The waitress nodded and was off. “So…how did it go with the attorney?” Madeline took a sip of icy water, the glass slippery with condensation.

“Good, I think,” she said, as she ineffectually wiped at the water drops on her pants.

“Yeah…? Can you stop Steven from divorcing you without a settlement?”

“If we can find proof he set me up.”

“How hard is that going to be?” Madeline gazed out the window at the passing traffic.

“I don’t know. That reminds me—I’ve got to call Burt before I head back.”

“I wish you’d stay down here for a while. I’ve got plenty of room,” Mike said, appraising her from his relaxed position. Madeline huffed curtly. “Hey, I’m not trying to put the moves on you,” he said, leaning over the table, attempting to persuade her his motives were purely compassionate. “Giving you a safe place to lay low is the least I can do for you.”

Madeline ran her hands through her hair as she leaned back and tried to pop her spine back into alignment. Mike’s compliment aside, she felt much worse for wear. She felt as though she were in a strange movie where odd characters kept popping out of the shadows, saying things that made absolutely no sense.

On one hand, she kept thinking this was all a charade and that Steven would snap back to his old self and everything would be picture perfect, like it was before. Equally ludicrous was the haunting feeling she was guilty of cheating after all. She certainly felt guilty of something—guilty of being hopelessly stupid, guilty of looking past Steven’s obvious personality defects, seeing only his glamorous lifestyle and all the luxury and security he could provide her.

Madeline smiled wanly at Mike as she linked her fingers in his. They sat there for a moment, not saying anything, just sending and receiving the comfort that comes from having been through a lot with each other. Without warning, Madeline burst into tears. Alarmed by the sudden breakdown, Mike slipped in beside her, wrapping his arms around her as she shook, great sobs wracking her whole body.

“What can I do to help?” Mike asked as Madeline sat back and dried her tears on her napkin. She laughed helplessly as she tried to blot the wet patches on Mike’s shirt. Mike pulled her hand away and kissed it. A current passed through them, one that threw her further off kilter. She let go of his hand and began searching through her purse. She pulled out her compact and groaned at her reflection.

“Stop—you look ravishing.” She laughed out loud at this.

“If you’re buttering me up for a loan, I can’t help you right now,” she cracked, discreetly dabbing powder on her face.

“Ha, ha,” Mike said, stung by the wisecrack. “I’ll have you know I’m quite financially secure now, but thanks for your concern.” Madeline gave him a sideways glance.

“Yeah?” Her eyes traveled out the window to the brown, two-door Mercedes with the top down, circa 1960, as if putting it and Mike together for the first time.

“It was my dad’s. He left it to me, along with an apartment complex in West Hollywood. You should see it—old-time ’40s glamor. It’s priceless.” Madeline stowed her compact, her eyes never leaving Mike’s.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know he passed away,” she said, laying her hand on his arm. Mike’s features became pensive, but the mood passed quickly.

“Yeah, it’s been a couple years now,” he said, sitting up straighter as their food arrived. Madeline ate a fry while she waited for further disclosure.

“You got everything you need for now?” the waitress asked, her mind already on her next task.

“Yeah, we’re good,” Mike said, avoiding Madeline’s inquiring gaze for as long as he could. “We came to terms with each other about a year after I sobered up. We were good together at the end. He had emphysema for five years, but I didn’t even know about it until I finally got over myself and went to see him. There’d been a lot of bad blood between us, as you probably remember. But we both had been through enough bad times to know what mattered and what didn’t. Anyway…”

“I’m glad you were able to get past your differences,” Madeline said before she worked her teeth around the impossibly full sandwich.

“Yeah, it all worked out in the end. I took care of him for eighteen months, and now he’s taken care of me. That man saved almost every nickel he ever made. Kind of made up for all my frivolousness. So, if
you’re
in need of a loan, look no further.” Madeline had to laugh. This was certainly a unique situation for them; it had always been the other way around, as far back as their college days.

“Thanks, but I’m not there yet. I do have to sell my car, though. That’s something I’m not looking forward to. I need the money, but I just don’t have the time to deal with it.”

“I bet you’re going to miss a ride like that. Where is it?” Mike asked, craning his neck to look out the window.

“It’s parked two cars in front of yours.” Mike leaned over the table to look up the street.

“
Sweet!
Hey, I’ve got an idea—let’s trade.”

“That’s not really going to help me,” Madeline said.

“What I meant is, you take my car back to Santa Barbara, and I’ll get yours sold for you.” Madeline stole one of his onion rings while she tried to figure out if he was joking. “It makes sense, if you think about it. I’ve got nothing but time on my hands, and this is a much better market for selling a vehicle like that.” Madeline still wasn’t convinced, nor was she sure she could really trust him with something as important as this.

“You can trust me,” Mike said, reading her thoughts. “I’m a solid, sober dude now—no booze, no drugs, no money worries, no monkey business.” Madeline took another bite as she weighed the pros and cons of his offer.

“Do you think you can get a good price for it?”

“I’ll put it out there and see what kind of responses I get. We already know what the Kelley Blue Book is on it.”

“How does it run?” Madeline asked of the Mercedes. She said this out of due diligence, but judging from the exterior, it had probably been babied the past fifty years.

“Like an elegant racehorse with nothing to prove.” Madeline smirked at the analogy. If there was anyone who knew racehorses, it was him. “Hey, if it makes you feel any better, I checked out what the Benz would fetch—just out of curiosity—and it was significantly more than you could get for yours.”

“Really?”

“About thirty-five grand more.” Madeline took another look at Mike’s eye-catching car.

“Are you sure you want to loan it to me?”

“Sure. I know where you live…actually, that’s not true anymore. Where are you going to be living, now that Steven’s given you the boot?” Madeline groaned and dropped what was left of her sandwich.

“Oh shit,” she murmured, shaking her head in disbelief. She filled Mike in on Steven’s rotten stunt that cost her the vacation rental.

“Unbelievable. That guy’s a psycho. Forget the car trade—I’m going back with you.”

“What? Why? No,” Madeline said adamantly.

“Then you’re not going back,” Mike said, snagging the last onion ring as Madeline made a move for it.

“I have to go back, Mike. I’ve got to join the gym so I have an anonymous place to meet the private investigator. Plus, I’ve got a committee meeting at seven. Oh, God—I’m dreading that. And I’ve got to meet the movers at nine tomorrow morning to get all my stuff out of the house before Steven returns.”