Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 01 - Spouse Trap (22 page)

FORTY

The persistent ringing of a cell phone woke Madeline. She looked around as she raised herself off the bathroom floor. Shaken and disoriented, she came to life in short bursts as she pieced together the memory of what had leveled her.

She lurched out of the bathroom and staggered to the balcony, a wild hope spurring her forward. She grabbed Burt’s phone, her heart sinking again as she discovered it was not the one ringing. By the time she realized this, her iPhone had gone silent.

She clutched both phones to her chest as she stumbled back inside. She bumped against the bed and sank onto it, the expression on her face that of disbelieving fear.

Slowly, she lay down on the bed and inched her way toward the head, where she traded the useless phones for a pillow. She buried her face in the thick loft and began sobbing.

She had almost fallen into a merciful sleep again when her phone rang, jolting her to alertness. She hesitated a moment before answering.

“Hello.”

“Hey there,” Mike said in his oddly jocular and languid tone. “Sorry I missed your call earlier…” It crossed Madeline’s mind what had prevented him from answering her call, but only as an observation. She found that she cared about nothing. It was as though she had passed the point of feeling and entered a state of permanent apathy.

“Are you okay?” Mike asked after the lengthy pause.

“Burt’s dead,” she said flatly.

“Burt? Your P.I.? What? Dead? How do you know?” he asked incredulously.

“I found out online,” she said, as she forced herself into a semi-upright position against a clump of pillows.

“Where?” She gave him the URL and listened as he tapped on his computer keys.

“It’s the first story on the right, under ‘Breaking News.’” Mike mumbled as he read the report to himself. “Read it to me,” she said hoarsely. She hadn’t gotten past the headline and the photo of her now-deceased private eye.

“‘The body found on Hendry’s Beach has been identified as Burt Latham, a local private investigator. His body was discovered by a parks department maintenance crew. Detective Michael Driscoll of the Santa Barbara Police Department says the death is being treated as ‘an accidental death by drowning’ pending an autopsy. “From the injuries to the body, it would appear Mr. Latham fell to his death from a height of approximately forty feet, which is consistent with the height of the bluffs at the Douglas Family Preserve. That scenario fits with the direction of the current and the timeframe in which the victim was last seen,” Det. Driscoll commented. He added that they do not suspect foul play at this time.’”

Mike waited for Madeline to say something. He could hear the rustle of tissue and faint whimpering. He didn’t know how to comfort her from a distance. He was also still absorbing the implications of what had happened. It slowly occurred to him that Madeline was feeling more than a sense of loss; the fact that her P.I. was now dead boded badly for her personally.

“I’m flying to Guam,” he announced, eliciting a wheezy, fatigued laugh out of her.

“No you are not,” she said, drying her swollen eyes. She took a deep breath and expelled a cloud of sorrow. She went limp with exhaustion and fell back against the pillows.

“I’m not going to let you stay there all by yourself,” Mike said assertively. His attempts at chivalry were as ludicrous as they were comforting.

“Don’t be silly. By the time you got here, it’d be time to turn around and go back.”

“There’s a flight leaving tomorrow morning—looks like the same flight you were on. Gets into Tamuning at 8:45 p.m. Tuesday night. What…?”

“See what I mean? You’d get two days of 18-hour travel for barely a day here on Guam. That’s not happening, so forget about it. I’ll be fine. Nothing’s going to happen to me. Steven can’t get to me here.” Even as the words left her mouth, she began to wonder if that wasn’t just wishful thinking.

“I’m coming. I don’t care about jetlag—I can’t stand the thought of you dealing with this all by yourself.” Madeline let out a long, weary sigh.

“I appreciate the offer, Mike—”

“It’s not an offer, it’s an announcement,” he said. Madeline recognized that implacable tone in his voice. She hung her head as she listened to him drone on.

“No, Mike—listen to me!” she said more forcibly than she had intended. “Think about it…the last guy who stuck his neck out for me is now dead. I can’t be worrying about your safety as well as my own.”

“But that’s my point. You need someone to protect you—”

“And who’s going to protect
you
?”

“I can handle myself,” Mike said defensively. Madeline laughed harshly.

“Right. You’ve got more experience with the criminal element than a recently deceased ex-Marine, ex-cop, private investigator. Sure, I believe that.”

“Maddie, this is not okay. I’m going to be worried sick until you get back here. And by the way, you are
not
going back to S.B. now that your P.I. is dead. That’s non-negotiable. You’re staying with me until you get the goods on that mother—”

“But Mike, how can I do that if I’m down in L.A.? I have to go back…I have to find another detective to take over…” Madeline’s voice trailed off as the synapses in her brain started firing again. She didn’t have Burt anymore, but she had to have someone pick up the trail he’d been on.

She got up on unsteady legs as Mike continued to assert himself as her protector. She opened her laptop and began searching for private investigators. It occurred to her that she did not exactly fit the bill of an ideal client, having a P.I. die during the course of an investigation on her behalf.

“Okay?” Mike asked.

“I’m sorry, I was thinking about something.” She heard a long, frustrated wheeze on Mike’s end.

“I was saying the best thing for you to do under the circumstances is stay the hell away from Dodge. Comprende? When you lay it all out, you’ve got to realize you’re ahead at this point. You’re alive and well and you’ve got half a mil, plus the eighty I’ve got for you. This is good. It’s enough to start a new life with. I know you’re not interested in picking up where we left off—I totally get that. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be here for you emotionally, or financially, for that matter.”

“Mike…” Madeline sat back from the computer and tried to put everything in perspective. “Look, I need your emotional support—I’m not trying to reject that. Believe me, you’re all I’ve got now, and I’m so grateful that you’re here for me, figuratively speaking. I’m not going to commit to any plan right now. I’ve got way too much to sort out. And really, even though I’m completely devastated by Burt’s death, I know I have to get my head together.”

“I just wish I could help you,” Mike said, his voice low and raspy.

“You can. You can help me brainstorm. We can do this over the phone. We’ll just go through it piece by piece until we have a timeline of all the events that have happened since the night of the fundraiser. I’ll take notes and once we have it all laid out in front of us, maybe some clues will surface. Can you help me with that?”

“Sure, absolutely. You want to do it now?”

“Yeah. The sooner the better. I won’t be able to rest until I can make some sense of what’s happened, and what I should do next.”

FORTY-ONE

Ninety minutes into their conversation, Madeline had a comprehensive outline of events that occurred over the last two weeks—by any measure, the worst fourteen days of her life. She had four pages of notes on her computer and had sent a copy to Mike’s email so he could analyze it, hopefully finding hints to what Steven’s next move might be.

“You know, there are a couple things here that are still unknowns,” Mike said as he read over the summary. “The big one is that we don’t know for sure if Burt was killed or if he did accidentally fall to his death. If the latter is true, then we might be able to assume Steven is satisfied with the quick, uncontested divorce and that you won’t get any more trouble from him.”

“I’d really like to believe that, especially since it would be my fault if he was murdered.”

“Not necessarily,” Mike said. “You don’t have any idea what kind of vendettas Burt might have racked up against him over the years. It could just be a terrible coincidence that someone offed him in the middle of your case… It could happen,” Mike argued as Madeline rejected the idea.

“Too coincidental.”

“It’s good to look at this set of facts from all angles. It was your idea and it’s a good one. So, you can’t go dismissing a theory out of hand without some fact to back it up.”

“You’re right, you’re totally right. Whew. I think we need a break. I’m exhausted and half-deranged from hunger and grief. Let’s knock off for now and talk it over again later. What time is it there?”

“Quarter to seven.”

“Saturday night, right?

“Right.”

“And it’s quarter to one Sunday afternoon here. Okay, finally I’m on a reasonable schedule. I’ll get some lunch and…well, maybe we should just wait until tomorrow to talk,” she suggested.

“We don’t have to talk about this, but I definitely want you to check in with me later, before I go to bed.”

“Are you sure I won’t be interrupting anything?” she asked mischievously.

“Are you sure you don’t care if you were?” Mike asked, eliciting a groan of protest from Madeline.

“Don’t be silly…”

“I think you care more than you want to admit…”
Mike teased her. Madeline laughed. There would always be a murky, grey area between them, romantically speaking. But Mike could always be counted on to lift her spirits.

By the time Madeline undid the damage of her emotional breakdown, she barely made it to Prego before the lunch service was over. The wait staff didn’t seem to mind, so she gratefully luxuriated in the peacefulness of the nearly empty restaurant.

She ordered a glass of red wine, a mixed greens salad with a caprese salad on top, and a prosciutto and goat cheese pizza. It struck her as unseemly to have such a ravenous appetite after just learning of Burt’s death, but she knew grief could manifest itself in strange ways. She was also glad she wasn’t repulsed by the thought of food; she could already tell her bizarre hours and lack of regular meals had knocked a few pounds off her already lean figure.

The wine came, and not a moment too soon. She took several sips and felt the alcohol do its job. She was almost feeling the return of her equilibrium when snippets of the last conversation with Burt flooded her thoughts.

Why didn’t I tell him to drop it? Why did I tell him to get those statements? He so much as admitted it was a dangerous move. Why the hell did I let him walk into that danger?

She reached for her wine glass with a shaky hand. Her aim was off and the glass toppled, spewing red wine all over the white tablecloth. The waiter was at her side in seconds, quickly swapping out the soiled linen with a fresh one.

“I’m so sorry,” Madeline said, mortified by her clumsiness. But the waiter wouldn’t hear of it. The hostess appeared with another glass of wine as another waiter brought her double-decker salad. They were overly solicitous before making themselves scarce so she could enjoy her lunch in private. Madeline figured she probably wasn’t the first unhinged customer they’d encountered on a tiny island that specialized in divorces.

The food and wine were such treats, she almost forgot her dire predicament. But she was still in trouble up to her neck. She had to come to grips with the truth or she would never make it to safety.

As she sipped her second glass of wine—or third, depending on how you were counting—she made a silent pact with her former private eye, promising him she’d find out the truth about his death in exchange for some otherworldly guidance. She sealed the deal with a prayer for his soul and an entreaty for the strength it would require to continue her battle without Burt Latham, may he rest in peace.

When the waiter offered her coffee and dessert and assured Madeline she was not keeping the staff overtime, she ordered a cappuccino. She appreciated the quiet buzz of the restaurant in transition mode; it was a good environment for marshaling her thoughts and determining what her priorities were. A calm settled over her that she felt certain was heaven sent.

Despite the alcohol, or maybe because of it, her thoughts were now clear and orderly. She would retire to her room and do some research on other private investigators in her area. She would have to be careful how she approached prospective replacements for Burt; it was hardly a glowing endorsement that the last guy who attempted to help her was now undergoing an autopsy.

But as Burt had said, Santa Barbara was a small community, especially in his line of business. That, and his apparent cooperation with other P.I.’s in different cities, led her to believe one of his peers might be inclined to find out the truth about his demise.

As it was a Saturday night in California, it would be a lot to hope for that she’d get a return phone call. Chances were high she wouldn’t hear back from anyone until Monday morning, PST. She’d scope out her options, make some calls, send some emails and wait as patiently as possible. Other than that, she didn’t know what else she could do but think. If she could concentrate hard enough, surely she could grasp the situation from all sides and determine the best course.

This led her back to the beginning: identifying her objective.
What is it I want to accomplish?
she asked herself. Well, killing Steven was still at the top of her list of fantasies. But realistically, she knew that would either be impossible or lead to an even more miserable existence.

So, pragmatically speaking, what did she want? She wanted to find out the truth about Burt’s death and she wanted to nail Steven for setting up her rape. She knew an autopsy would be the starting point for the former. She also knew that if Burt couldn’t get anywhere on the rape, it was unlikely another P.I. could at this point.

That left her with going to the police with her photos and her story. How likely were they to believe her without Burt’s credibility to back her up? At least he had made an appointment with a detective prior to her leaving for Guam. That was one bit of luck. Now if she could only remember the detective’s name…

There was still one other avenue of possible recourse, and that was proving Steven had misappropriated borrower and investor funds. This was the money shot, as far as she could determine. Burt had found proof of his embezzlement; all she had to do was find what he had uncovered and take it to the D.A.’s office.

She let her mind drift back to their conversations. How exactly had Burt traced the breach of fiduciary responsibility? He said he had done a search of properties that listed RAM, L.P. as a lien holder. How did he do that? Madeline drummed her fingertips on the table, coaxing the missing pieces from the fringes of her memory.

He said that information was available at the County Recorder’s Office,
she recalled.
But he also said there was a website where he could search for that kind of information.
She took another sip from her almost empty cup, pleased she was able to conjure up these valuable timesaving insights. So, the question now was how to find that website.

As she figured she had many hours of computer work ahead of her, she paid her bill, tipping generously for having been so lavishly accommodated. Her mind was moving into its characteristic tunnel-vision mode. She was on her game and ready to start work.

She was so focused on her thoughts, she was blindsided by the sudden appearance of her annoying fellow diner from the sushi restaurant.

“Hey, slow down…” he said affably. “It’s island policy to take it
slow,
” he said, smiling like he was one of God’s most irresistible creations. Madeline’s face was a stony mask of disinterest. “I sat next to you at the sushi place last night, remember? Paul Jahnke…?”

“I’m sorry, I’m in a hurry,” Madeline said, waiting impatiently for one of the elevator doors to open.

“You’re not going back to your room, are you? The fun’s out there,” Paul said, motioning in the general direction of the pools and the beach.

“I’m not feeling well,” she said, her eyes riveted to the numbers above the elevator doors.

“Sorry to hear that. Hey, maybe you’d like to give me a jingle later, when you’re feeling better…”

A ding sounded and a door opened. Madeline scooted down and waited as the passengers left the car. She got in, pressing the “close door” button as fast as she could. She held it down, hoping her new nemesis wouldn’t be able to call the car back by pressing the “up” button. The elevator hesitated. She kept her finger jammed on the button. She heard the sound of another car announcing it was going up. She felt the shifting of pulleys as she began to ascend.

Once she was on her floor, she walked briskly to her room, slipped inside and deadbolted the door. Fortunately, her room was only three doors down from the elevators. She listened for the ding and the sound of the elevator doors opening, while keeping her eye trained on the peephole. After a few minutes, she relaxed her guard.

Now that she was safe in her room, she found her paranoia a little silly. But then again, it wasn’t like serious trouble hadn’t been hovering over her for weeks. She had to start going with her gut feelings, now that her hired protector was permanently out of commission, probably because of her.

She found Paul Jahnke unsettling; maybe he wasn’t just trying to get lucky. Madeline’s adrenaline started pumping as a new fear presented itself. Was it really farfetched to think Steven would go to extreme lengths to frame her, possibly having her P.I. killed, without making sure she kept up her part of the bargain?

The way she and Burt had reckoned it, clearing a path for the future Mrs. Ridley was of utmost importance. Until Madeline was out of the way, she was a stumbling block to saving Steven’s hide. Maybe it was worth it to him to have an informal babysitter, someone who could keep tabs on her and make sure she fulfilled the residency requirement.

Madeline sank into a chair as she contemplated this hypothesis. It would certainly be in keeping with his M.O., but Mr. SoCal didn’t really fit the picture. For one thing, she had sat down next to him at the sushi restaurant, not the other way around. She hadn’t made any dinner reservations and even she didn’t know where she was going to eat.

So, that put Paul Jahnke out of the running as far as spooks went. But she’d been oblivious to her surroundings ever since she arrived. That was not prudent of her. She had to keep her wits about her at all times. And she wasn’t going to sleep until she figured out if someone was watching her every move.

She looked around the hotel room. How would she know if it had been bugged? She didn’t know the first thing about surveillance devices, except that they could be very tiny and hidden almost anywhere.

This unnerving thought got her off the sofa. She couldn’t just sit there and be spied on. But what could she do?
Oh, Burt—what should I do?
She had worked herself into a mild panic now. She had to take some kind of action or she would go mad.

As casually as she could manage, she went to the closet and assessed her belongings. While ostensibly deciding what to wear, she was calculating what she felt comfortable leaving behind. She had a beach tote that she emptied of beach paraphernalia, replacing it with the pricey shoes still wrapped in their bags, plus all her cashmere sweaters and a pair of jeans.

She left her boots and the casual stuff—along with everything she had purchased since she got there—in the closet. She took her jewelry roll out of the safe and dropped it in her handbag. She relocked the safe, left enough clothing and personal items lying around—including all of her toiletries and her travel bags—slipped the laptop into the beach tote and grabbed her purse.

When she emerged from the elevator, she headed straight for the car rental agency at the Nikko Hotel. She rented a Ford Mustang convertible for the remainder of her stay and arranged to drop it off at the airport.

Once she had everything securely stowed in the trunk, she headed for the duty-free shopping mall. There she purchased replacements for her carry-on bag and cosmetics. She drove down the main road to the larger retail chains and bought toiletries and new tunics, shorts, a bikini, T’s and flip flops.

Using the map she was given at the car rental agency, she got her bearings and headed for the southern part of the island for a day of sightseeing, which would give her an excellent opportunity to find out if she was being followed.