Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 01 - Spouse Trap (14 page)

TWENTY-FOUR

“I had an interesting talk with your predecessor today—your husband’s second wife,” Burt said, as he pretended to coach Madeline through a series of stomach crunches. Madeline froze mid-crunch.

“My predecessor was Steven’s
second wife?”
she asked incredulously. Burt nodded and Madeline flopped back against the mat.
When would the deceit end?
she wondered.
Do I even know the first thing about my husband?

“But probably not the wife you know about. Something told me you were unaware of Steven’s complete marital history,” Burt said, as Madeline worked herself into a sitting position.

“I feel like a fool in a nightmare,” she said, flabbergasted by her compounding ignorance. Burt regarded her sympathetically. “Well, at least there’s only
one
wife who wasn’t accounted for,” she said, struggling to her feet. She sat down on the workout bench and Burt joined her. The only other diehard fitness fiend had called it quits. They now had the room to themselves.

“That we’re aware of,” Burt cautioned. Madeline couldn’t help but laugh. The bad dream had become too farcical not to. “But he could’ve used another name that I haven’t uncovered yet.” It took Madeleine two beats to comprehend his meaning.

“Don’t tell me…”

“Steven Hartford, like the insurance company. That’s the way the former Mrs. Hartford put it.” Madeline stared at him aghast.

“How do you know her ex-husband is the same man I’m married to? What proof do you have that Ridley isn’t Steven’s real name?” Madeline asked defensively. It was bad enough to think her husband had framed her in a sexually explicit manner. But using an alias, flying to Boston instead of Dallas? Madeline was starting to have doubts about the man she’d hired to get the goods on the man she’d married.

“Actually, Ridley is Steven’s real last name. For some reason, he chose an alias during the time he met Margery Gulbranson. Hartford came up when I pulled a credit header with his social security number. I thought that was pretty interesting, so I ordered a full factual credit report and did some research around the previous addresses. I cross-checked all the addresses and did title searches and found the name Margery Hartford.” Madeline was too stunned to speak.

“They were divorced in 1996. Mrs. Hartford is still very bitter about it. They were married for three years, and according to her, he took her to the cleaners.”

“
He
took
her
to the cleaners?” Burt nodded.

“Margery’s first husband was quite well off. When he died of stomach cancer in ’92, he left her with close to six million dollars.”

“How did Steven take her to the cleaners? They weren’t married very long, if what you’re saying is true. If she’s bitter about the break up, she might be trying to get back at him,” Madeline suggested.

“It’s easy enough to verify. I can get a copy of their divorce agreement.”

“How?”

“We detectives have our sources,” Burt replied. “You’d be astonished what info is out there just for the asking.”

“So…if she’s telling the truth, which I’m not convinced of yet, how does this help me?” Madeline was on her feet, facing Burt, her body language telegraphing her sudden distrust of her private eye.

“Because she was more than happy to help me out when I explained that he was working over another unsuspecting woman.” This revelation did not make Madeline happy.

“You told her about my case?” she asked indignantly. “You assured me you would keep everything I told you confidential.” With all that had transpired in the last week, she had plenty of pent-up anger to vent. She could feel her body gearing up to unload on the nearest person, which meant Burt. This wasn’t the first time he’d taken grief from frustrated clients.

“I told the ex-Mrs. Hartford nothing about your situation,” Burt said calmly.

“But you just said…”

“I originally told her I was an old friend from high school, looking to reconnect with Steven Hartford. She said she had no idea where he was and wouldn’t help him under any circumstances. That’s when I knew I had an ally.”

“You lied to her?” Madeline made no attempt to hide her disapproval.

“In our business, it’s called ‘pretexting’—fabricating a scenario designed to elicit facts from a source close to the suspect. In this case, I started with one pretext, pretty certain she’d give me a piece of her mind. Once I knew how she felt about Steven Hartford, aka Steven Ridley, I dropped the charade and explained that I had been hired by a woman who was going through a situation similar to hers.”

“Which is what, exactly?” Madeline asked, warming to the results of Burt’s work if not his methods. He shifted on the bench as he chose his words carefully.

“Blackmail. The same basic tool he’s using on you, with a twist.” Burt could tell by Madeline’s expression he’d struck a nerve. “He was twelve years younger than Margery when they got married. She was just getting over the death of her husband, feeling insecure about being single at the age of forty-seven. Steven ‘enveloped her in a dream,’ as she put it. She was overcome when he proposed, but nervous. Steven worked on her, assuring her the age difference meant nothing to him. They were married five months after they met.” Madeline stared at Burt in awe.
So, this is why people hire private investigators,
she thought.

“But Steven isn’t blackmailing me,” she said, trying to fit the pieces together.

“He’s holding those photos over your head to get you to comply with his demands.”

Madeline realized this was true. Steven had gotten her so off-balance with his incessant surprise attacks, she’d lost track of the initial motivating mechanism. In reality, Steven had never actually threatened to broadcast those photos; he’d only lamented how they would damage
his
reputation if they were ever made public. She was dancing to his tune just because he claimed to be the injured party. She sank back onto the bench next to Burt while she absorbed the whole rotten setup.

“You following me now?” Burt asked.

“Yeah, I think I’ve got it—finally.

“In Margery’s case, Steven had home videos of them in rather passionate and unbridled moments.”

“She told you that?” Madeline asked, incredulous that she’d disclose such a thing to a stranger over the phone.

“She put it more delicately, but I got the gist of it.”

“Oh my God. Okay…so, how does knowing Steven blackmailed his second wife help me?”

“Every piece of information we dig up helps us understand his true motives and where he’s going. So far we already know he’s been staying with a recently divorced woman worth millions, and that he received a settlement of three million dollars from his second wife. This tells me he might have actually married you for love.”

Madeline looked at Burt, trying to figure out if he was putting her on. When he held her gaze, she turned away. She couldn’t understand why she found that possibility so disturbing, but it hit her like a punch to the gut.

“But unfortunately, for whatever reason—either the need for more money or lack of an heir—I think it’s safe to assume Steven is back in the market for a new wife. My hunch here is it has more to do with financial need than the lack of offspring. Now I will start focusing on his business assets and see if I can find any irregularities.”

“How are you going to do that?” Madeline felt sure Steven would be as crafty at hiding any wrong doings as he had been at disposing of unwanted wives.

“The old-fashioned way—poring over any and all public records I can get access to. That will require time, but I think it will be a good way for you to get leverage against him, in the event we can’t prove he was behind the incident at The Edgecliff. In any case, I’ve got a lot of ground to cover still. How are you holding up?” he asked, thinking of the bomb Steven had dropped on her earlier.

“I’m okay, I guess. I honestly feel like I’m in limbo land—like I’m here, but not here. Like I’m watching a distorted version of my life that I have no control over. In the course of one week, I feel as though Madeline Ridley has been deconstructed, leaving me to figure out just who the heck I am now.” She gave Burt a sad, ironic smile.

“Even if we get proof Steven was behind all this, I’m never going to have my life back. Either he wins or I win, but in both cases I won’t be married to him anymore. I won’t have the same role to play, and from where I’m standing now, I wouldn’t want any part of it again, anyway. I’ll have to reinvent myself somehow. But I’d really like to settle the score before I slink out of Steven’s life. There’s just no way in hell I’m going to let him get away with what he’s done to me.” Burt regarded her silently for a moment.

“I can already see a change in you. I see the fighter emerging. I don’t think Steven knows who he’s toying with.” This observation made Madeline smile. “Okay, I think that’s enough iron pumping for one day,” Burt said, standing. “Got to stick my face back in the computer. We’ve got a skunk to skin.”

TWENTY-FIVE

Madeline sat in the Mercedes, enjoying the sun-warmed air inside the car after the brief walk in the cool afternoon breeze. Aside from warming herself, she occupied her time by trying to assimilate all of Burt’s recent discoveries. There was so much to process, and she was still harboring a fair amount of denial. Never in her life had events buffeted her so fast and furiously. It was all she could do to stay on top of the barrage of new developments.

But the real reason she sat with the engine off was because she lacked any kind of practical plan. The thought of going back to the hotel room filled her with despair. She had no home anymore; most of her possessions were in storage, she was sitting in a borrowed car, and her husband was already romancing a rich divorcée. If the downward spiral continued, she could find herself homeless soon. She slumped against the seat, wondering if this speculation was merely self-pity or a dose of reality.

She was aware of a gnawing in her stomach, a reminder she hadn’t eaten anything since morning. She needed to eat, but she couldn’t stand the thought of food. Or eating take-out, or sitting by herself in a restaurant. She needed to find a place to live so she could at least feel somewhat grounded. She needed to sell her car. She needed to call Mike and see how that was progressing. She needed to do many things, but all she really wanted to do was kill Steven.

A strong desire to drive to her former home and confront her future ex with everything she knew—the payoff to Barnett, the surreptitious trip to Boston, and the missing necklace and earrings—was powerful enough to set her in motion. She started the car and headed out the parking lot, a heady steam of anger making her drive Mike’s stately old car like her road-hungry Porsche.

As she tore down the open road, a string of avenging curses made her adrenalin pump.
Oh, it would be so satisfying to expose his heinous deeds in front of the staff,
she thought gleefully.
They deserve to know the truth about their employer. But it might be more satisfying to sneak onto the property, take a shovel from the gardener’s shed and bash his rotten brains out.

A thought occurred to her that almost made her choke: what if Steven had already ensconced his new love interest in the house? What if she got there and broke up some revolting scene of domestic bliss? After she recovered from the shock of that possibility, her fury returned, fanned by the outrage she had been too off-kilter to acknowledge.
But wouldn’t that make the confrontation that much more fulfilling?
A malicious smile worked at the corners of her mouth as she envisioned giving the next Mrs. Steven Ridley a rundown on her suitor’s marital history.

But as she exited the freeway and drove up San Ysidro Road, passing all the familiar streets, home to many friends and acquaintances, her anger deflated, leaving her feeling empty and anguished. She wanted vengeance; she wanted to make Steven answer for all the wrongs he had committed against her. But she couldn’t confront him, not yet. She would only be giving him the satisfaction of unhinging her and giving away any hope of nailing him properly, in a way that would stick.

She turned left onto East Valley Road, away from the direction of their house. Now she moved at a crawl, in a manner more fitting the vehicle and her vanquished frame of mind. She wiped at the slow leak of tears, admonishing herself to stay strong.
We’ll get him. With Burt’s help, he will see his day of reckoning,
she promised herself.

“I’ve had five calls on the car so far,” Mike said. “One guy offered me $65,000—sight unseen.” Madeline huffed wearily.

“What’d you tell him?” she asked as she picked at the potato salad that came with her club sandwich.

“I told him to piss off. He was probably a dealer, looking to make a quick flip.”

“Five calls—that’s not very many,” Madeline worried.

“The ad’s only been up a few hours. I think we’ll get some good nibbles. What would be the lowest offer you’d take?” Mike asked. Madeline could hear him chewing on the other end of the line. It struck her as mildly comforting that they were having a long-distance meal together. At least it was better than eating alone.

“I don’t know. I’ve had that figure of eighty-seven thou’ in my head, but I’m sure that’s not realistic.”

“No, not in this market. My personal feeling is you’d be lucky to get anything over seventy-five.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Madeline said, getting up to get herself a coke. She marveled at the way her eating habits had gone the way of everything else in her life, namely south. “If you get an offer that high, jump on it. I’m going to need the money.”

“Just remember, I’m a man of means now, so I can help you.”

“I appreciate that,” Madeline said, suppressing a laugh. Who would’ve guessed that Mike Delaney would’ve ended up more financially secure than her?

“Hey, I’ve got an idea—why don’t you come stay with me? I’ve got a really bitchin’ pad—you’d love it. It’s got a separate guest suite, totally styled-out—”

“I’m too whipped to drive down there right now,” Madeline protested.

“I’ll come get you,” Mike offered enthusiastically.

“That won’t work. I’ve got your car, remember?”

“Oh. Well, after we get the Porsche sold, we can fly up and get it. Or better yet, take the train. I’ve always wanted to take the train out of Union Station. Wouldn’t that be fun?” He was so giddy at the prospect, Madeline almost regretted bursting his bubble.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” she said.

“Why not?”

“I’m all strung out here. Most of my stuff is in storage, I need to find a place to live—which I can’t do if I’m down there—”

“Maybe you should look for a place down here. Maybe I can raise the rent on one of my tenants and make them leave. I’m telling you, this place is a gem.”

“Mike, thanks, but I don’t want to live in L.A. I love Santa Barbara.” They sat in frustrated silence for a moment.

“Are you going to be okay, Maddie?”

“Yeah. Eventually. I have a feeling the worst of it isn’t over yet.” Mike huffed angrily.

“What else could that bastard possibly do to top himself?”

“I can’t even let myself go there,” Madeline said, dropping her fork in disgust. “Anyway, I should go…” She felt Mike’s empathy through the phone. And maybe something more, maybe a longing to be with her like in the old days. But those days were in the distant past, never to be repeated.

“Call me, anytime. I mean it, Mad Dawg. I’ll always be here for you. And I’m available to kick some ass—anytime, anyplace.” Madeline laughed, blew a kiss into the phone and disconnected. She sat there, phone dangling from a limp wrist. Inertia was setting in and she didn’t see a way to prevent it. She could think of things to do, but the will to do them was absent.

Her phone vibrated for the umpteenth time, signaling another message. She hit the button and saw the depressing news that she had 113 new emails. She tapped the icon and brought up the list. More poured in as she scanned through the older communiqués. In streamed four red flagged messages from a frantic Jane. She cut to the chase and read the last one first.

Maddie—where the hell are you??? I just left your house. Erma told me you moved out this morning—what the hell??? I ran into Carla—she said you lost your phone, which explains why your number is disconnected. CALL ME!!!!!

Madeline groaned and scanned similar entreaties from Jane. She deleted all the promotional emails as she went along. Not only was she not interested in shopping the latest trends, she no longer had an unlimited credit line at her disposal. She was so relentless with the delete button, she almost deleted a message from Lauren.

Hey, I’m back! Had too much fun!! I called your cell. # out of service. What did I miss? Hope you get this ms. Call me. Lauren

Another wrinkle: what to do about Lauren. Even if she could afford to pay an assistant $2,500 a month, she didn’t need one anymore. But she couldn’t stand the thought of firing her without notice; she’d have to give her a month’s severance pay and try to place her with one of her friends, if anyone would still speak to her once word got around.

She opened her laptop and got online, picking up her search for a place to live. The vacation rental idea was still her best option; it would be her best chance of finding something immediately. It would also give her some flexibility on the departure date, which was important. She had to keep reminding herself that she had an attorney who was being paid to void the prenup. If that happened, she would be entitled to half their assets. That thought made her smile. Then she’d be able to hold her head up high. People would forget all about the breakup of Montecito’s darlings and it would be business as usual. It all came down to finding Steven’s fingerprints, literally or figuratively. She just hoped Burt was the right guy for the job.