Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 01 - Spouse Trap (27 page)

FIFTY-ONE

The plane landed in Los Angeles at precisely 7:15, fourteen minutes ahead of schedule. Madeline experienced a strange sensation as she looked at her watch and discovered she had traveled for eighteen hours, only to arrive at the exact same time on the same day she had departed from Guam. It was a surreal feeling to discover that she had already lived a day that had yet to begin.

By the time she took her checked bag off the carousel, LAX was already in high gear. Madeline moved with the throng that billowed from the exit doors out into the morning rush, as travelers competed for viewing space along the curb. She caught sight of an Alamo shuttle as it whooshed past her. She sighed and stepped out of a taxicab’s way and waited for the next shuttle. Another popped up on the horizon within two minutes. She waved it down.

Twenty minutes later, she was walking the lot, looking for the best car in her price category. Spoiled as she’d been for the last twelve years, she had little awareness of the makes and models in the “intermediate” range. She regretted her decision to compromise, and almost went back inside to upgrade. But an influx of savvy travelers changed her mind. She selected a silver Hyundai Elantra, loaded her bags in the trunk and pulled through the gate. Five minutes later, she was on the 405, headed north.

Now that she was back on familiar turf, Madeline began to relax. It felt good to be back in civilization, good to be out of the false summer and back in the brisk late-winter chill. She was also buoyed by her travel back in time, now seeing the advantages of having cheated another day out of life. She would be in Santa Barbara two and a half days earlier than Steven realized, giving her roughly three workdays to unearth enough proof to turn the tables on him.

Once she made it out of the L.A. sprawl, she decided it was time to eat. As far as food and sleep went, neither had appeared in regular intervals since the night of the ball.
Was that really only two and a half weeks ago?
she wondered, as she pulled off the freeway and headed in the direction of one of the chain restaurants in the Oaks Mall.

While she waited for her hearty American-style breakfast, she decided it was time to check in with Mike. But she still had to deal with calculating the time difference between California and Guam in keeping with her charade. Realizing it was only 3 a.m. ChST, she set an alarm for 5:00, PST. Her mind reeled as she tried to keep her previous schedule straight. There had been too much action topped off with a double dose of jet lag.

As Madeline drove through the parking lot trying to find an exit that would put her in the right lane for reentering the Northbound 101, she passed several shops lined up in the last leg of the shopping complex. She digested the existence of the various stores subconsciously, not giving them a thought as she waited in line to exit the lot.

She was edging along with the traffic when something of significance registered in her brain. At the first opportunity, she executed a quick left and worked her way back to the shop that had belatedly caught her attention. She found a space near the front and parked, her mind mulling over a whole new approach to what she was about to embark on.

“Perfect,” she said, as she grabbed her bag and started thinking about what color would be best: bleached blond, brunette or red.

“Good morning!” the saleslady greeted her as she entered Imelda’s House of Wigs. “How may I help you today?” the woman asked, smiling eagerly.

“Well…I’m not sure,” Madeline said. She deposited her heavy tote on one of the stools lined up in front of the counter, which was topped with featureless heads displaying hairpieces in a variety of styles and colors.

“Are you looking for a wig for yourself?” the woman inquired politely. It occurred to Madeline that purchasing wigs could be a touchy subject. She imagined there was a certain amount of embarrassment attached to
needing
a wig. Madeline smiled broadly to assure the woman she was looking for recreational use only.

“I was driving by and thought it might be fun to wear a wig to a party I’m going to on Saturday,” Madeline lied.

“Oh, yes—so many of our clients like to ‘test-drive’ a new look. A party is a great place to see what kind of reaction your choice will get. Did you have anything specific in mind?” she asked, fluffing a couple of the wigs on display. “A specific color or length, perhaps?”

Madeline examined the row of potential candidates, her eyes shifting to the shelves behind the counter.

“And we have even more on the other side of the store. My name’s Maureen, by the way.” Madeline turned to take in the thirty or so hairpieces behind her. “And if you don’t see what you’re looking for out here, I’ve got many more styles and colors in the back.”

Since this idea was so spur of the moment, Madeline had to ask herself what it was she was after. The obvious objective was to make herself unrecognizable while she skulked around Santa Barbara, AWOL from Guam. She was drawn to the fun wigs—bright shades with lots of length and curls—but what she really needed was something so ordinary, no one would give her a second look. She wanted to deflect attention, not draw it.

As she selected a few to try on, she could sense Maureen’s disappointment at her rather humdrum choices. She sat down and let Maureen help her get the first wig on.

“Your hair is so pretty,” Maureen said as she gathered Madeline’s hair and twisted it into a tight bun, which she secured with bobby pins. “We don’t get many people with hair as nice as yours in here,” she confessed as she scrutinized her handiwork in the mirror.

Madeline laughed at her reflection. With different accessories and makeup, no one would know her. She tried on four different wigs. They all produced the desired effect, and she had trouble making up her mind. The old Madeline would’ve solved the problem by purchasing all of them. The new Madeline limited herself to just two: a blunt cut dark brunette with eye-skimming bangs that gave her a sexy, mysterious air, and a short, light blond wig that made her look like she’d just stepped off a yacht, not as a passenger, but as part of the crew.

Madeline left the shop with two wig boxes. Inspired by the idea of going incognito, she headed for a nearby drugstore and picked up a few items that would further alter her appearance.

The first stop was at a rack of sunglasses. Her designer frames were too eye-catching and envy-producing, and therefore memorable. She found a pair of oversize black-rimmed glasses that went well with her dark brunette wig. She decided white rims with rhinestones were just the right touch for her sun-bleached blonde.

She then picked out shades of lipstick she would never wear, and eye shadow and liner, which she didn’t wear at all. She was certain she wouldn’t even recognize herself once she had completed her transformation. But as she caught her reflection in the window of her rental car, she realized she had overlooked something. What she needed to solidify the look was clothing that cost a fraction of what she was accustomed to spending, and accessories to match.

The smug satisfaction of her latest tactical maneuver started to seep away as she rounded Mussel Shoals. Taking its place was an odd fluttering in her stomach and an increase in her breathing, which came now in short, shallow bursts. Once she hit Carpinteria, her anxiety had given her sweaty palms and a tension headache.

She rubbed her tight right shoulder with her left hand and forced herself to breathe deeply and exhale fully. This helped, and soon she could sense an inner change taking place. She was mentally girding herself for battle, the battle of her life.

FIFTY-TWO

Madeline pulled into the driveway of the Paradise Motel on upper State Street. It was quite a step down from her last three accommodations, but it suited her purposes well. It was centrally located and convenient to everything. Yet, in all the years she had lived in Santa Barbara, she had passed it dozens of times without noticing it. It was exactly what she needed: a hideaway as invisible as her new self.

After checking in, she drove to the back of the motel complex and parked in the last slot, directly across from her room. She took her luggage in, but didn’t bother to unpack. In two short weeks, she had turned into a transient, likely to be on the move from one day to the next. It was an odd lifestyle for her, but with all that was required of her to stay one step ahead of Steven, she didn’t mind being ready to relocate at a moment’s notice. She only hoped her vagabond days would come to an end soon.

Her current digs didn’t offer much in the way of amenities or furniture. She pulled the only chair up to the bed and laid her paperwork out in front of her. She checked the time: 1:45. She studied the data she had printed in the executive lounge during her stopover in Hawaii.

Though she didn’t have the benefit of knowing what site Burt had gleaned his information from, she was able to locate several sites online that provided what she needed. She had been able to search for all outstanding first and second trust deeds held by RAM, L.P. What she had netted was 67 names, with addresses, amount owed, and the date the liens were filed.

As she went over the data again, she tried to get her head around exactly what she should being doing with this information. She sat, arms across her chest, as she broke down her quest into basic components.

Burt had suspected Steven of receiving payoffs on some of these loans without returning the funds to the investor coffers.
Blind pools
, Madeline recalled from the dinners Steven had regularly used to ensnare new investors.
Okay, that part made sense.

So, by not returning the proceeds from the payoffs to the pool, Steven had defrauded his investors, whom he had a fiduciary responsibility to protect. But the reason no one caught on was because Steven’s firm continued to service these paid-off loans, sending monthly interest checks on whatever was supposedly still loaned out from the blind pools…

And, at the same time, Steven had not removed the liens on certain properties RAM, L.P. had financed, which meant some of the borrowers were also defrauded because the repayment of their loans was not recorded. Their payoffs had found their way into Steven’s pockets instead. In other words, the deeds of trust had not been reconveyed and their properties were still encumbered.

What all this amounted to was embezzlement and fraud, both crimes that could strip RAM, L.P. of their licenses to do business, open them up to huge lawsuits from investors
and
borrowers, and hopefully send Steven to prison for many years.

Madeline nodded, a smile breaking across her face.
Now I understand why Burt was so eager to go after this angle.
There were real smoking guns somewhere in this list of data, and Burt had found at least five of them. All she would have to do is find out which of these borrowers had been swindled. And to do that, she would need to compare the list of outstanding liens with the actual deeds of trust filed against each property, then contact each borrower to learn which ones had paid off their loans.

Madeline rubbed her aching neck. She had flown through so many time zones, her body didn’t know the difference between day and night. She felt fatigue seeping into her brain and muscles, but she couldn’t give into it yet. The task ahead of her was daunting, but she didn’t have the luxury of putting it off until tomorrow, or whenever she woke up. She’d pick up a coffee on her way to the courthouse and worry about sleep later.

For now, she had to work at the art of disguise. She opened the two wig boxes, laughing at her purchases. On one hand, it was kind of a charge to don a different persona. On the other hand, it felt rather ridiculous.

She held the two wig forms beside her head and tried to decide which one was better suited for a day at the courthouse. She opted for the blond; it was less dramatic and benign enough for dealing with civil servants. She pinned her hair up and secured the hairpiece, fluffing and styling it with her fingertips.

As she regarded herself in the mirror, images of a bewigged Burt flashed across her mind. She let out a huff, both sad and amused. Maybe Burt was coaching her from the great beyond. She wanted to think so, and not just because she needed the help. What she really wanted from Burt was forgiveness for getting him into this mess and getting him killed.

She shook off the reverie with effort and took the makeup she had bought out of its plastic packaging, and began to alter her appearance with a few well-placed dabs and streaks of color. She applied a nearly-nude shade of lipstick and stood back. It was good, but the clothes and jewelry had to go.

Once she had dressed and accessorized herself beyond all recognition, she took the essentials out of her big tote and put them in the decidedly inferior handbag she had bought earlier. She added the pages of borrower information, stood on the bed to check herself out from head to toe, and seized what was left of the day.

Madeline finished her coffee and dropped the cup in the trash can in front of the public library. When traffic permitted, she crossed in the middle of the street, heading for the recorder’s office. She found the window she wanted behind a line three deep. She took her place behind the others and listened for clues on how to ask for what she needed.

After waiting in line for ten minutes without advancing, Madeline began pondering the likelihood of getting all the records she wanted before the office closed. It was already 3:15. From what she had observed, requested files came in small batches. She could just about imagine giving the clerk heart failure with a request for the deeds of trust on 67 properties.

So far, the man at the front of the line had asked for items individually, which was why it was taking so long. There were two others ahead of her whom she could watch and gather more about the protocol. Maybe today would have to be spent learning the proper procedure for looking at files in bulk. She didn’t like the thought of having wasted a day. It gave her a knot in her stomach.

At 3:45, Madeline was giving up hope of even speaking to the clerk. There were other windows where the lines moved along more quickly, but she was apparently at the only one where she could get what she’d come for. Another person came through the door and groaned at the line. He checked his watch and left.

“Does it usually take this long to get information?” Madeline asked the woman ahead of her.

“It depends. The guy in the front seems to be asking for a lot of files.” Madeline smiled grimly and reevaluated her plan.

After all she had gone through to get back to Santa Barbara early, she was aggravated to have her plans thwarted by bad timing. She reprimanded herself for wasting precious time shopping for disguises. She started to fret in earnest that she’d lost the chance to get the proof she needed. Suddenly, a fragment of the last conversation with Burt came back to her.

“Seeing as you’re stuck in Guam for several more days, I’ll put their statements in a safe place.”
Madeline froze at the recollection. Burt had already done all this leg work. He had personally gotten copies of all outstanding liens held by RAM, L.P. What she was embarking on would be duplicating steps Burt had already taken. What she really needed to be doing was looking for Burt’s safe place—provided he’d had enough time to cache the borrowers’ statements before he plummeted into the ocean.

Madeline swore under her breath as the line refused to move. Part of her believed the most prudent course of action would be to complete this process, take a look at the trust deeds with her own eyes, and track down the individuals who had been duped. The other part of her was all for getting the hell out of there and start searching for Burt’s hiding place.

There was a distinct problem with the current game plan: somewhere in the process of uncovering Steven’s illegal doings, Burt had set off an alarm that had gotten him killed. If she went through the same steps, she could trip the same wire. The man at the counter finally stepped away and she inched forward.

But ditching this avenue in favor of speeding the process along and keeping her neck out of the noose also had its drawbacks, namely, where to start looking. The obvious answer was Burt’s office, which was only three blocks away. She tuned into the scene ahead of her, and sensing another protracted exchange, switched to plan B.