Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 01 - Spouse Trap (3 page)

FOUR

As Madeline wore a path in her plush carpet, the Maserati’s dulcet purr startled her back to reality. She made a lunge to turn off her lights. Just the thought of seeing Steven made her shudder. But before she heard his car door open, her survival instincts kicked in. She racked her brain for the best line of attack, deciding in the end to feign total ignorance.

In order to make Steven think she was still unaware of his part in Saturday night’s betrayal, she had to act as though saving her marriage was still her highest priority. She checked her appearance in the mirror and hastily combed her hair with her fingers. She grabbed a lipstick off her dressing table and applied a light coat and pursed her lips. She definitely felt like she’d survived a day in hell, and it showed.

The front door opened and Madeline braced herself. “Okay, okay, okay,” she said under her breath as she tried to steady herself. She heard Steven’s footfalls as he retreated to the far side of the house. She took long, silent strides as she tried to catch him before he reached the guestroom.

“Steven,” she said softly, stopping him in his tracks.

“Madeline, I’ve had a hard, trying day…” Steven said, sounding both weary and put upon.

“I realize that. So have I.” This last comment earned her an impatient sigh.

“I don’t want to get into this right now, Madeline,” he said, his tone hard and implacable.

“Steven, you can’t go away for three days thinking the worst of me,” she said, clutching his sleeve as he turned away from her. “Please let’s talk this over. This is all some sort of horrible nightmare, but I’m completely innocent—I swear to you.” To add sway to her plea, she began to cry, silently, tears springing from her eyes on cue.

“I
cannot
get into this now. I’ve got a very early flight out tomorrow—”

“But Steven, I can’t bear for you to think I cheated on you.” Steven gave her a stony look before stepping into the guestroom.

“Steven, no…don’t shut me out—you have to believe I would never do anything to hurt you.” Madeline swallowed hard; she was so into her role, she found herself hopeful as Steven stared at her. But instead of softening, he slammed the door in her face.

This affront made Madeline quake with rage. She took three sharp breaths before resuming her performance. She was not actress enough to weep like she meant it, when really what she wanted to do was hurl obscenities at him for demeaning her in the most unimaginably hostile way. What he’d done was criminal, really. But she forced herself to focus on the task at hand and moaned pitifully through the door.

“Steven…Steven…I can’t believe this is happening…” She snuffled loudly, waiting for some indication that she was getting his attention. “Steven,
please
open this door! I can’t stand this! I can’t live without you…
Steven! Steven!” she called out, banging her fists against the door.

“Stop that this second,” Steven said, yanking her into the room. “Does everyone have to know what a desperate, despicable tramp you are?” he railed. Madeline glanced off the edge of the bed, barely catching her footing. She had been a little too successful in getting Steven’s attention, and the look in his eyes now gave her concern for her safety. She backed away as she murmured his name softly, beseeching him with outstretched arms.

“I’m only going to tell you this one more time, Madeline—our marriage is over. I don’t care if you swear your innocence in front of God Almighty, I don’t believe a word you say. And the reason is simple. I have proof—hard, cold proof to the contrary. So, you can blather away all you want, but I will never trust you again. It’s as simple as that. Even if I could forgive you, I’d never be able to look at you without seeing you with that other guy.”

Madeline gulped air, trying to approximate the proper emotion for Steven’s dismissal of her. Steven, hands on hips, breathed heavily as he kept his face averted from hers.

“You better go now,” he said, opening the door and standing back to give her ample room to pass. She tried to implore him with her eyes, but he wouldn’t look at her. She took one step beyond where he was standing and stopped abruptly as he automatically tried to close the door behind her.

“I will never stop loving you, Steven. And I will never believe that I deliberately cheated on you. Maybe someday I can prove it to you.” With that last proclamation, Madeline walked away. With the sound of the door closing quietly behind her, she gritted her teeth and sucked in air.
It’s war now, Steven.

FIVE

The sound of footfalls crunching on the gravel drive woke Madeline from her troubled sleep. She had stayed awake most of the night, making notes to herself, trying to chart the events that led to her current situation and what her next moves should be. She squinted at her watch: 5:05. She heard a car door close and more faint crunching as she imagined Hughes walking around to the driver’s side. She craned her neck and caught a glimpse of the Maserati as it glided down the driveway.

Madeline rubbed her aching shoulder as she pried herself from the chair. The legal pad fell from her lap and she stooped with effort to retrieve it. She tried to make sense of the scrawled notes, but she had made them under duress and they were too cryptic to decipher easily. She tossed the pad on the table and did a few minutes of gentle stretching while she got her mental bearings. By the time her muscles were loosened, she recalled her activities during the wee hours of the morning.

After storming away from the guest wing the previous night, Madeline had made a large highball and retreated to her side of the master suite. She had taken her computer back to her sitting room and researched prenuptial agreements and private investigators. Steven was using both of these tools to railroad her out of her marriage, so she figured she needed to retaliate in kind.

The problem was—as Steven reminded her less than twenty-four hours earlier—Santa Barbara was a pretty small town when you were part of a highly-visible couple. Finding an attorney or a private eye whom she could trust implicitly wasn’t going to be so easy. The quick education she had just gotten on the
real
Steven Ridley made her understand his impeccable exterior hid a sinister, calculating heart. In her paranoid state, it was possible to imagine that his tentacles reached all through the city. Finding someone who wasn’t somehow beholden to him might be impossible.

The only good news at this point was she had the house to herself for three days. It rankled her that Steven had basically ordered her off the property by the time he returned from Dallas, like she was some tawdry piece of filth not worthy of being in her own home. She should’ve listened to her father; he was the only one who had voiced any reservations about the “benign” prenuptial agreement Steven’s attorney insisted she sign.

From this vantage point, it was clear Steven had made sure he had an out if he ever needed one. It would’ve never occurred to her he was capable of faking infidelity on her part. The question still nagging at her was
why?
She had a solid suspicion, but she had to find the specifics behind it. Nothing would make sense until she did.

But she had one card Steven was unaware of, and it was the only thing that was keeping her sane and coherent. Had she not witnessed the payoff to the P.I., she’d probably be suicidal by now.

Since she had Steven pegged as a bastard of the worst order, she felt she had carte blanche to deceive him right under his nose. She was pleased with her performance last night; it had just the right amount of groveling and pathetic hopefulness. She was certain Steven bought the act without picking up on her true feelings. Now that he was out of the house, she could take a breath and plot her next moves.

She did have the disadvantage of not knowing what Steven had told Erma and Hughes. But she’d use the same stoic, brokenhearted routine around them, if they brought anything up, which was doubtful. She hopped in the shower, constantly turning over each piece of the puzzle as she searched relentlessly for answers and clues she had missed.

SIX

After her shower, Madeline ventured to the kitchen for coffee. Besides getting the caffeine she desperately needed, it would give her a chance to get the lay of the land—find out how Erma and Hughes reacted to her presence. Steven had to have at least told Hughes about her imminent departure, as he was saddled with the duty of relocating her personal possessions by Saturday.

When she entered the kitchen, Erma was just unlocking the back door. Madeline had lost sight of how early it still was.

“Good morning, Mrs. Ridley. I suspect you’re looking for some coffee,” Erma said. Though she had affected ease, Madeline could read the discomfort in her manner. “Won’t take but a couple of minutes,” the housekeeper assured her, as she turned on the coffeemaker.

Erma always made sure the coffee was ready for brewing before she retired for the evening; it was one of the qualities that had so endeared her to Madeline. The thought of being ousted from her comfortable life—a life that she had put a lot of effort into—made her heart constrict painfully and the taste of bile rise in her throat.

“I’ll bring it to you in your room, if you like, Mrs. Ridley,” Erma offered over her shoulder. It was clear to Madeline that Erma felt uneasy around her.

“That’d be great,” Madeline said, backing away.

“Would you like something to go with it? Toast and a couple fresh eggs?” Erma asked, pulling two brown eggs out of the basket she had carried in.

“Ah, maybe later,” Madeline replied cheerily for Erma’s benefit. As Madeline passed out of the kitchen, she felt certain Erma had been briefed by Hughes of the marital discord between her employers. Other than that, Madeline hadn’t learned anything.

Madeline was continuing her research of the night before when Erma came to offer more coffee. Madeline smiled as she raised her oversize coffee cup.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to make you a little breakfast?” Erma asked, her face full of concern. Madeline pushed away from her desk.

“You’re right, I should eat something or I’ll be shaking from all that caffeine,” Madeline said with a laugh. “I’d love a slice of toast and a poached egg. Maybe some fruit, too. Whatever you’ve got.” Madeline was scanning the emails she had no intention of answering when she belatedly realized Erma was still standing there.

“Is there something else…?” Erma eyed the floor for a moment while she summoned her resolve.

“I just wanted to say that both Mr. Hughes and myself are very sad that you’ll be leaving us…” Erma averted her gaze again. Madeline could see she was on the verge of tears. “I know this isn’t my place, but it hurts to see you and Mr. Ridley not getting along. I’ve never worked for a nicer couple than the two of you. I’m just going to keep it in my prayers that you’ll patch things up with Mr. Ridley. The thought of you leaving him is breaking his heart. I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have said that,” Erma sobbed, as she fled the room.

Madeline watched Erma’s departure with her mouth hanging slack.
So that’s how the bastard’s spinning it,
she thought bitterly. Steven had found a way to turn her into a double villain: an unfaithful tramp
and
a fickle wife.

SEVEN

After working at her computer until her neck and shoulders began to ache, Madeline pushed away from the desk, her mind a seething jumble of information and half thought-through plans. As she stretched her kinked muscles, she decided the best way to assimilate everything she had researched was to go for a run. She changed, tied her hair back, grabbed her sunglasses and cap and jogged out the front door.

She traversed along the path, past the pool and the gardens, then let herself out the security gate that led out to the deeded trail. She turned right, angling back above her property, choosing the path that would be more challenging on the front end.

After ten minutes of a butt-burning climb, during which she thought of nothing more than putting one foot in front of the other, the trail eased to a more manageable incline. As her heartbeat stabilized, she was able to focus her attention on formulating a strategy for dealing with her underhanded husband.

As she ran, her brain started another list:

Get referral from Cheryl for a good L.A. divorce attorney

Contact P.I. – see list

Set email to auto-responder

Get money

It occurred to her she would need to withdraw a large sum of money from their joint account so she could work under the radar. She did have a separate account that she’d transferred when she relocated from Denver—her private little nest egg, so insignificant in size, she’d all but forgotten about it.

As she jogged along, it hit her that her small savings account was still in her maiden name. That was a bit of luck, she thought. Once Steven made her a signatory on his accounts, she had stopped using her own meager funds. What was $25,000 compared to the high six-figures of their joint accounts? It wasn’t much, but it gave Madeline an unexpected lift to realize she wasn’t entirely without assets of her own.

But while Steven was away, she needed to withdraw as much from their checking account as she could without setting off any alarms. That would be her first stop of the day, she thought, as she circled back toward home. Although exercise had been a good way to jumpstart her brain, nothing would be as reassuring as taking action. The sooner she got her artillery in place, the better she would feel. Three and a half days was not a lot of time to erect a line of defense capable of thwarting her diabolical, devious husband, but it had to be enough.

Madeline skimmed over her revised notes while she brushed her teeth. From what she had read online, it was possible to break a prenup if certain conditions existed. According to one site, “clear proof of coercion, duress, fraud, or bad intent” will void the document. If having been drugged and raped in order to be divorced without a settlement wasn’t clear proof of “bad intent,” nothing was. But she would need to hire her own private investigator to connect the photos to Steven. The thought of such a task made her feel empty inside.

Though she believed it wise to seek legal counsel outside of Santa Barbara, she felt it was important to hire a private investigator who was familiar with the area. After scrutinizing every local P.I. she could find online, she narrowed it down to one: Burt Latham.

There were others who offered a broad range of services and expertise, but Mr. Latham had the added benefit of being a one-man operation. This appealed to her immensely; the fewer people who knew about the trouble she was in, the less likely information would leak out. She had to be extremely cautious about who she spoke to, and knowing this made her understandably nervous.

Another bonus to choosing Burt Latham, P.I. was the location of his office, which was in the building adjacent to Saks Fifth Avenue. If Steven was going to have her tailed in his absence—and there was no reason to think otherwise—she’d have to be very cognizant of her every move.

One of the best features of Saks was the valet parking in the rear. She could go in through the back entrance and any P.I. operating alone would have no other choice but to wait for her to exit the lot or follow her around the store. All she had to do is linger on the first floor long enough to determine if someone was lurking around her. That would be a risky move for anyone trailing her. Besides, she’d have to go back to her car at some point.

She felt relatively sure no one would risk being noticed in the store. Her gut told her she’d be able to slip out the front entrance undetected and up the stairs to Burt Latham’s second floor office. The only unknown would be if she’d find him in or not. But she couldn’t take a chance trying to call him; for all she knew, her calls could be monitored.

She dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, ballet flats and a long, shawl-collar cashmere cardigan. She added a pair of designer earrings and several bracelets. She packed her favorite Prada handbag and steeled herself for her mission.

As she drove down East Valley Road, Madeline amended her plan to include a first stop at the post office. This would give her an opportunity to see if anyone was following her. After she angle parked, she pretended to search for something in her bag while she kept her eyes on the side view mirror, checking each vehicle that passed behind her. She was both alarmed and satisfied when Russell Barnett and his silver Honda Accord passed behind her car. She took a couple deep breaths and put her plan into action.

Though she didn’t have any reason for going to the post office, she waited in the long line for fifteen minutes to purchase a book of stamps. For good measure, she walked along the storefronts, stepping inside a clothing boutique where she pretended to browse. As she suspected, the P.I. had parked several slots down from her Porsche. She caught a peripheral glimpse of him while he hid his face behind a newspaper.

From the Upper Village, Madeline drove to Montecito Bank & Trust. The bank manager jumped to attention when she walked into the lobby. Madeline asked if she could speak to him in private. He graciously ushered her into his office. Fifteen minutes later, she departed, a cashier’s check for $20,000 tucked securely in her bag.

Ordinarily, she would’ve gotten back into her car and driven to the next stop, but as her other bank was less than two blocks away, Madeline thought it best to walk and put her tail through his paces. She arranged for a confidential meeting with the assistant manager in one of the glassed-in offices. She explained that she had an existing account in her maiden name, which she wanted to keep that way. She turned over the cashier’s check for deposit and asked if she could convert her savings account to checking.

“That would be no problem,” Adele assured her. “I can give you temporary checks to hold you over until some can be printed for you.” This threw Madeline off for a moment. She’d have to rent a mailbox somewhere before she’d have an address to use.

“Thanks. I’ll have to postpone ordering any. I’m in the process of moving,” she added without elaborating further.

“That’s no problem. Just give us a call and we can change the address in our system and place the order,” Adele said pleasantly. “Is there anything else I can assist you with, Mrs. Ridley?”

“Yes, I need a credit or debit card for use with this account. And I’d like it to be in my maiden name. Can I get that now?”

“Absolutely,” Adele said, rising from her chair. “Let me get this check deposited and I’ll activate a card for this account right now. It will only take me a few minutes. Can I get you some coffee or water while you wait?”

“Water would be nice. Thank you.” Once Adele left the room, Madeline stood up on the pretense of examining the painting of Butterfly Beach behind Adele’s desk. This gave her the opportunity to glance around the office, see if Steven’s hired spook had followed her inside. She wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t, but it made her feel better to know for sure.

Now that she had skimmed off a bit of pocket money, she felt a little more relaxed as she walked back to her car. It took a bit of looking, but she caught sight of the silver Honda parked a few spaces down Coast Village Road as she exited the parking lot.

She didn’t bother to keep tabs on Mr. Barnett until she exited the 101 at Carrillo Street. As she stopped at the red light at De La Vina, she pretended not to notice his Honda in the right lane two cars back. She crossed Chapala and turned left into the parking lot behind Saks. Justin, the valet on duty, greeted her with his easy banter and backed her car into the closest spot, ready for a quick departure.

Though shopping really was the last thing on Madeline’s mind, she had to at least make a show of browsing, if for no other reason than to make sure she hadn’t been followed into the store. It had suddenly occurred to her that she didn’t know for sure if Russell Barnett was a lone wolf or if he had associates he could call on to help with surveillance. After pausing to look at scarves and handbags, killing about five minutes and feeling fairly certain no one had followed her in, Madeline made her move.

She pushed through the heavy glass door to the sheltered colonnade in front of the store. She turned left and walked inside the columns until Saks ended and the neighboring building jutted out, forcing her onto to the sidewalk for a few feet. The stairway up to the offices above the retail spaces came up so quickly, she nearly overshot it. She ducked in, glancing quickly at the directory to make sure she had the right location.

She walked cautiously down the narrow hallway that housed an assortment of professionals, including an architect and a website designer. At the end of the hall, she found what she was looking for. She took a deep breath and turned the knob. The door was locked.

Having made it this far only to come up empty-handed, Madeline suddenly lost a good bit of her courage. She had already assigned Burt Latham to the role of savior and protector; it was the hope of arming herself with her own investigator that had given her the wherewithal to take up the battle against Steven’s underhanded agenda. Not being able to engage an ally left her feeling as vulnerable as she did the day before, when her world collapsed and her husband turned into a sinister stranger.

She tried the handle again; no luck. She could hear the muffled voices of the other tenants and their clients, but she saw no one. She rapped on the door and waited. Nothing. She tried again. As she was about to walk away, she caught sight of a notepad and a pen tied to a string on the far side of the doorjamb. She hesitated for a moment, then took the clipboard off the crude hook.

The problem was she didn’t know what kind of message to leave. She didn’t want to give out her cell number, in case someone was keeping tabs.

She was about to put the notepad back when she came up with another plan. She wrote out her name, the time, stressed the urgency of needing to meet with him, and that she would return in one hour. She folded the paper and slid it under the door.