Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 01 - Spouse Trap (2 page)

TWO

Madeline slowed down as she scanned the lot behind Steven’s building for a parking place. All were taken, as she feared. She crept further down the street, spotting a space on the opposite side of the one-way street. She pulled forward and reversed into the spot.

Once parked, she drew a deep breath and silently rehearsed her plea one last time.
Steven, I need you to hear me out—I need to tell you what happened to me after you left The Edgecliff Saturday night. I believe someone is deliberately trying to ruin our marriage or your reputation, and I think these photos are proof…Steven, I think I was raped…

This last thought made Madeline perspire all over. She turned the key in the ignition and cranked the A/C to full blast. She drew in the cool air and tried to fight back the tears. The possibility of having been drugged and raped had been completely overshadowed by Steven’s rash conclusions.

Ordinarily, being the victim of a sexual assault would’ve out-ranked other worries. But making Steven see that she’d never cheat on him, under any circumstances, was her top priority. If she could get through that, maybe she could face what she didn’t have the courage to accept now. But that would have to wait. Saving her marriage was the most immediate challenge.

“Okay,” she said, nervously inspecting her makeup in the visor mirror and steeling herself for battle.

As she was checking the passenger’s side-view mirror for traffic, she spotted Steven standing in front of the back staircase. Just as Madeline was about to seize the moment, a man crossed the street to join him.

As Madeline craned around to get a better look, both men glanced discreetly up and down the street before Steven pulled a slim envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to the man, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. The man skimmed through the contents quickly, then offered his hand to Steven. After a brief handshake, the man started up the street and Steven went up the rear staircase.

Madeline waited for the man to pass, watching as he made his way up the street. She had been anxious to go after Steven, but the exchange she just witnessed struck her as highly unusual. As the man darted across the street ahead of the traffic, Madeline put her head down.

Once the man reached the sidewalk a couple cars ahead of her, Madeline slid out of the driver’s seat and casually began to follow him at a safe distance, her footsteps absorbed by the sound of passing traffic. When he turned left at the corner, Madeline rummaged through her large handbag, keeping her face down until the man was out of sight. She waited a few seconds before following him down Sola Street.

She was half a block behind him when he paused to let traffic pass before crossing Anacapa Street. Once he turned left and was out of her sight, she started running, only slowing as she neared the corner. She reached it just in time to see the man slip a key into a lock and disappear through the door.

Madeline stepped behind a tree for cover as she snuck glances at the old Craftsman home-turned-office. Her heart stopped as she read the business name emblazoned across the plate-glass window: Russell Barnett, Licensed Private Investigator.

A wave of heat rushed over Madeline as her brain registered this news. She took a couple backward steps, but she couldn’t pull her eyes away from the building.
What is happening?
she thought, as she gasped for air. She found herself unable to think or move. She felt rooted to the spot, as if what she had witnessed had turned her to stone.

A shrill horn blast brought her back to reality just in time to see Russell Barnett exit his office. Madeline ducked behind a van and inched her way toward the front in order to observe the P.I. With casual alertness, Russell scanned the block before getting into a silver Honda Accord.

Madeline edged toward the rear of the van, staying completely out of sight as the Honda pulled out of the small lot and headed down the one-way street. As soon as his vehicle cleared the intersection at Victoria Street, she turned to flee to the safety of her car, where she could sort through the implications of what Steven’s involvement with a P.I. meant.

By the time she reached the BMW, there was no room for doubt: Steven was paying a man for a job completed. She had run every possible scenario through her mind, searching and hoping for any other reasonable explanation for what she’d seen.

She had grudgingly shot down the desperate hope that Steven had hired this man to find out who had sent the photos to him. There simply hadn’t been enough time between receiving them and the payoff. There wouldn’t have been time for a meeting to examine the evidence, to go over possible suspects, to initiate a plan and secure hard evidence. Besides, she had the photos. Of course, Steven could’ve made copies, but that didn’t really change anything.

No, the payment was for a service already rendered. And by the weakness in her knees, Madeline was sure the assignment had already been carried out, and that Steven was satisfied with the results. If she couldn’t prove otherwise, she had to face the fact that her husband no longer wanted to be married to her.

For several minutes, Madeline rehashed every alternative that would justify the need for hiring a private eye, in hopes that her instincts were wrong. The type of business Steven was in required careful vetting; whether it was for financing start-ups, would-be film producers, land-rich individuals in need of private mortgages, or the investors culled to back them—everyone was subjected to in-depth background checks. Knowing who he was dealing with was of paramount concern to Steven and his group of investors.

But Steven had an in-house security team that handled everything from vetting to protection. She could think of no other reason for Steven to hire the services of a lone P.I. Not a single one, and she’d thought so hard, her head was splitting.

She suddenly felt the need to put a safe distance between Steven and herself. She started the car and pulled out into the street, driving by rote, with no destination in mind. Where could she go? She couldn’t bear the thought of running into anyone she knew. She sure didn’t want to be anywhere near Steven, but as long as he was at the office, she might as well take advantage of being at home, where she could think in private. She turned at Mission Street, headed for the 101 south.

Fifteen minutes later, she was winding up the steep drive to her house, her beloved home, the place she had been so happy for the last five years. Tears blurred her vision as she parked the car out front, leaving the keys in the ignition for Hughes. She entered the house unnoticed and headed straight to her sanctuary—her spacious, 20 x 20 square foot closet, her favorite room in the house. Her favorite room in the world.

As soon as she passed through the doorway, some of her anxiety began to melt away. Ever since they built the house, this room had become Madeline’s fantasy hideout, nerve center and think tank. It was where Madeline felt most at home. This was hardly surprising, considering her love of fashion. But it was in this dressing room that she not only clothed herself to perfection; this was where she had invented the trendsetter who had soared to the top of Santa Barbara’s social ranks with amazing alacrity. This is where she became Madeline Ridley, hostess and benefactress extraordinaire.

She eyed her reflection distractedly in one of the full-length mirrors as she kicked off her shoes, her mind roving over the events and discoveries of the last four hours. Her mental state had fluctuated from guarded to horrified, determined to devastated. As she regarded herself, she could feel the mix of all those emotions churn together, making her feel as though she might faint.

She sank to the round ottoman by her dressing table, once again trying to order her thoughts. On a gut level, she believed she had been the victim of some vile plot. No matter which way she worked it, she had been set up by someone: Steven, or someone else out to blackmail Steven.

If it was the latter, why weren’t the photos accompanied by some sort of demand?
What if they had been and Steven didn’t tell me? What if he was trying to protect me?
Madeline got up and began to pace. If Steven was trying to protect her, then he wouldn’t have shown her the photos and accused her of infidelity. Or demanded a divorce. She slumped onto the chair in front of her vanity table, stymied.

If that scene had been set up at the request of the mystery man, what would the motive have been? Sending the photos to Steven without a specific threat didn’t serve any purpose, except for destroying their marriage. But who would gain from that?

Intriguing question,
Madeline thought, as she rose out of the chair and went to get a bottle of water from the mini fridge. She took a long drink and retrieved her laptop from her sitting room, then headed back to the dressing room.

Someone in love with Steven might want to break up our marriage,
Madeline thought with a pang. Even in her hyper-susceptible state, this theory seemed a little farfetched. But everything about this situation seemed incredible.

As she returned to her dressing room, her heart stopped. There, hanging on a hook, waiting to be photographed and archived, was the red lace Valentino gown, fresh from the dry cleaners. The sight of it made her feel sick. She set down the water bottle and her computer, drawn to the dress with a mix of revulsion and curiosity.

I wish you could tell me what you saw that night,
she thought as she examined it for signs of damage. Her lingerie had been demolished; she disposed of the flimsy pieces in a public trash can, possibly discarding valuable DNA evidence. But the dress looked as fresh as it did when it had arrived at the house last week. There was nothing to indicate that the wearer had been forcibly pulled from it.

“Oh, there you are, Mrs. Ridley,” Erma said with a light laugh as she held her hand to her chest. “I thought I heard you come in, but when I put the dress up I didn’t see you.”

“Sorry, Erma—I came straight in here when I got home. I should’ve let you know I was back,” Madeline said, trying to act as if everything was perfectly normal in the Ridley household.

“Mr. Ridley phoned. Said he tried to reach you, but he got your voicemail. Asked me to tell you he won’t be home for dinner. Said he’ll be going straight from work to a business dinner.” Madeline nodded her head knowingly.

“That’s fine, Erma. Don’t worry about dinner for me. If I get hungry, I’ll make a sandwich or something.”

“Are you sure, Mrs. Ridley? I could prepare a piece of salmon—that won’t be any trouble.”

“No thanks, Erma. I’ll be fine, really. In fact, why don’t you take the night off—leave early for a change,” Madeline said, busying herself at her computer.

“Are you sure, Mrs. Ridley?”

“I’m sure. You’ve been working as hard as everyone else—harder, I’m sure. And frankly, I’d love a night of doing nothing. I’m just bushed,” Madeline said, slouching back in the chair for emphasis.

“I bet you are. Okay, then I’ll get out of your hair, if you’re sure you don’t need me for anything…”

“Not a thing.”

“Alright, Mrs. Ridley. I’ll see you in the morning.” Erma took one last glance around, making sure everything was in order before she backed out of the room.

Madeline let out a deep sigh and mulled over the latest developments. So, Steven wouldn’t be coming home until late. Obviously trying to avoid her. As soon as she heard the back door close and Erma’s footsteps as she walked toward her cottage, Madeline jumped up and went through the bedroom she shared with Steven to his side of the master suite.

After twelve years, Madeline knew Steven’s habits down to the smallest detail. She knew which luggage he used for short business trips; she knew what suits he would likely take to Dallas in late winter, and what kind of shirts, ties, shoes, etcetera. With one glance, she could see that Steven’s bag had already been packed for the trip. But it wasn’t there.

From his dressing room, Madeline walked through the entry hall, past the living room and the dining room to the guest wing. Of the three guest rooms, she figured Steven would likely choose the one at the end of the hallway, the largest room with the best views, as far away from her as he could get.

Sure enough, she found his bag and a suit of clothes arranged on a hook in the armoire. His toiletries had been moved from his bathroom and stood awaiting his arrival. Simultaneously mad and hurt, Madeline left the guest room and wandered like a stranger in her own home.

In Steven’s mind, their marriage was over. But Madeline wasn’t prepared to see it end like this. There were far too many unknowns at this point, and there was no way she was going to let herself be painted with the brush of adultery until she could prove without a doubt that she was guilty. Or more precisely, that she wasn’t.

THREE

After wandering aimlessly around her elegant home without noticing her surroundings, she found herself in Steven’s study. She stood in the doorway, picturing him sitting at his desk, the late afternoon sun filtering in from the window behind him. The memory of such a familiar sight caused Madeline to choke up. Tears began to run down her cheeks as she sank into the leather chair she had occupied countless times over the years.

She wiped ineffectually at the tears as she recalled happier moments spent in this room—discussing travel plans, dinner parties, his latest achievements and her minor triumphs—all of which seemed so trivial in retrospect.

As the light grew dimmer with the setting sun, Madeline reached over and switched on the desk lamp. With the illumination came a sudden urge to snoop, something she had never been the least inclined to do in the past. She rounded the desk and sat in Steven’s chair as she perused what little there was in plain sight.

Finding nothing of interest on top of the desk, Madeline tried the center drawer. Everything was orderly; just a tray of pens, blank notepads taken from hotel rooms around the globe, and an ashtray from a famous restaurant in New York, filled with assorted unlabeled keys. She tried the top drawer on the left and found it full of software discs. The large drawer below was locked. She tried the other side.

After picking through the top left drawer and finding nothing that implicated Steven in a hateful setup, Madeline tried the lower drawer. It appeared to be full of files pertaining to household expenses. She soon lost interest in the search.

She contemplated trying the keys in the ashtray to see if any might open the locked drawer, but she discovered this kind of prying didn’t appeal to her. If Steven had any involvement in what transpired Saturday night, she seriously doubted he’d leave any evidence of it at home. She wouldn’t know what to look for anyway.

She pushed away from the desk and idly wandered around the room, picking up photos taken of them throughout the years. They’d had so many happy times together. As she studied their wedding photo, she found it impossible to believe their marriage was about to end in divorce. Their compatibility was something she’d taken great pride in. Naturally, they’d had their disagreements, but neither of them had ever been prone to rages or fits. Both valued their unified front too much to let domestic squabbles get in their way.

That’s what made Steven’s behavior since Saturday night so puzzling. It was as if someone had thrown a switch and turned him into a distrustful, jealous husband. The fact that his personality change came just prior to her blackout made her even more apprehensive about the circumstances she now found herself in. The more she thought about it, the harder it was to believe the whole situation hadn’t been contrived in order to extricate her from his life. What she couldn’t fathom was
why?

She caught her reflection in the glass case that protected Steven’s prized first editions. It had been a hard day, emotionally speaking, and Madeline could see it in her posture. She immediately pulled herself to her full height, chin up, shoulders back. The light from the desk lamp threw unflattering shadows along her jawline, causing her to lift her head higher. This helped, but she couldn’t deny that even though she was still holding up well, she was now at the age where defying gravity was a full-time job.

She had crossed the big psychological barrier—40—a few months ago. As vanity had become a necessary mechanism in her daily life, she had stepped up her efforts to rewind the effects of time. In reality, she was as fit as she’d ever been, but there were telltale signs that couldn’t be excised, all of which pointed to the fact she wasn’t pushing 29 any longer.

Steven had ribbed her about turning forty, but only—she thought—because she was so sensitive about it. But now, as she faced the inexplicable end of her marriage, she had to wonder: did her defamation have anything to do with Steven wanting a younger wife?

As Madeline pulled herself away from her puzzled reflection, she was left with another fact to consider: her apparent inability to conceive. A humorless laugh escaped as she realized that from Steven’s point of view, she had reached the point of diminishing returns.

With an even heavier heart, Madeline returned to her private quarters in hopes of corralling all the suspicions and worries that had been rocketing through her brain the last eight hours. She grabbed a legal pad and pen—her favorite mode for capturing her thoughts—and settled in her corner chair.

She drew a line down the center and began her two separate lists:

Facts

Awoke @ The Edgecliff

My lingerie was ripped

3 scratch marks

No theft

7 photos with the Italian (?)

Hand-off to detective

S wants a divorce

Having listed everything she knew to be factual, she listed her suspicions:

Unknowns

Was I drugged?

Did S pay detective for the photos?

If so, why??

Why does S suddenly want to get rid of me?

As she read this last question, the obvious conclusion hit her like a punch in the face, making her head recoil from the jolt of it. She sat rigidly, stunned by her failure to see the obvious. Steven had the advantage of surprise on his side, she realized, as the treachery of his gambit finally hit home.

There was only one scenario that wove all these facts and question marks together, and realizing it was such a shock to her system, she was instantly filled a white-hot hatred of the man she had married. Her hand jerking in anger, she summed up the answer to the riddle:
Adultery + prenup = no divorce settlement.

Madeline stared at the truth behind Steven’s wounded husband outrage, as she drew rings around the equation. The longer she looked at it, the more certain she became. It was really quite simple, as far as acts of treachery go.

Once Steven decided it was time to get rid of her, the plan was a cinch. It probably took all of a day to concoct and execute. Once he hired a sleazy private investigator, he only had to wait for his cue—the Open Your Heart Valentine’s Ball—and seize the opportunity to storm out and leave her behind.

Madeline seethed as she continued to jot down what she now bet were solid facts.
It was such a perfect setup
, she thought bitterly as she recalled how compromised she felt by Steven’s sudden exit. What could she have done? She couldn’t have gone after him; the fundraiser was her baby.

“That fucking son-of-a-bitch,” Madeline hissed as her pen ripped through the paper. She threw the tablet aside and began furiously pacing her now too-confining dressing room. She felt so claustrophobic, she longed to jump in her Porsche and tear down the quiet lanes, racing to the freeway where she could really vent her fury on the open road.

But she let that fantasy die out; if she was in a war with Steven, she needed to collect her wits. Crossing her out of the picture without a penny was almost insignificant compared to what he had done to her psyche. The thought that he was even capable of such acts of cruelty and abuse made her start crying again. Unlike her earlier tears, these were hot and full of vengeance.