Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 01 - Spouse Trap (9 page)

“I’ll be there. Can you confirm the address for me?” Finally, something had fallen into place.

FIFTEEN

Buoyed by the hope of arming herself with a powerful attorney, Madeline’s brain began to crackle with productive thought. She hadn’t chaired or co-chaired several major fundraisers without coming away with the shrewd ability to dissect a block of time and squeeze every second out of it.

Next stop, the UPS store on Anapamu Street. She knew she couldn’t order checks or get a new driver’s license until she had a new mailing address. She filled out the form and was given the key to her new box.

That accomplished, she retraced her path to the DMV, which was across the street from the fitness center. Her timing was good; only two people ahead of her. She had done her research online and had her birth certificate and Social Security card with her; all she needed to do was fill out another form and have her photo taken.

Her Porsche growled out of the DMV parking lot and breezed through two yellow lights and onto the 101 South. Next stop: home, or what used to be home. She placed a call to the bank while in route and gave the assistant manager her new mailing address so her checks could be ordered. She paid for express processing, which would get the checks to her in three business days. Things were definitely falling in place now.

She made it to the Park Lane house before nine o’clock. Hughes, surprised by the hour of her return, didn’t reach the driveway until Madeline was walking up the front steps. She asked him to keep the car out front—she’d be leaving in less than an hour.

She swept into the house and headed to the storage closet in the master suite. She chose another carry-on, a Louis Vuitton with wheels—a particular favorite of Steven’s—and took it into her dressing room. She found her jewelry travel case and began to methodically secure her favorite and most expensive pieces in the folds and zipper pockets. What didn’t fit inside that case, she shoved haphazardly into a jewelry roll up. She placed both of these next to the LV bag; they would go on top, where she could get to them easily.

Next, she headed into Steven’s study and went straight to the center drawer, where she found the ashtray filled with keys. She wasn’t surprised when none of them worked on the locked drawer.

She stepped back from the desk, hands on hips as she pondered the situation. She needed that pink slip because she needed the money it would fetch. She tried to reassure herself that she’d replace her beloved sports car when this hellish nightmare was over, but she didn’t have much faith in anything at the moment.

She spied a letter opener on top of the desk.
Why not?
she thought, picking it up. She’d seen it done in movies, and she had no better ideas. Besides, this may be her last chance to get access. She tried to stick it in the keyhole, but it was too large for that. She needed something smaller, like a paperclip. She got one out of the center drawer and unkinked it. After jamming it in and jingling it this way and that, she tossed it in the waste basket.

It hit her as she stood there that the room was probably bugged.
Who cares?
she thought angrily. With renewed determination, she seized the letter opener and jammed it into the lock with such force that it stuck. She tried wriggling it free, but it wouldn’t budge. She sat on top of the desk, and with the bottom of her expensive new shoe, she stomped on it. All this did was hurt her foot and slightly bend the opener.

She got down and jerked the bent lever as hard as she could in every direction. She was scanning the room for another tool, when she spied a heavy onyx dish, a souvenir from a trip to Yosemite. She held the dish aloft with both hands, then thrust it down with all her might.

The combination of stone on metal produced a tinny, cracking sound, the final result being a severed letter opener. But on closer inspection, Madeline saw that the lock had been slightly dislodged. She pulled up on what was left of the opener and yanked it back and forth, loosening it further with each jerk. When it worked free of the hole, Madeline staggered backward, the metal remnant and the severed lock held aloft like a freshly-picked posy.

This triumph left her feeling elated, until a prudent sense of urgency spurred her on. She got the drawer open and rifled through the folders, coming at last to one marked “DMV Records.” She found the pink slip for the Porsche, which
was
solely in her name. After the stunts Steven had pulled lately, she hadn’t been sure of anything. She stuck the proof of ownership in the waistband of her pants and continued her search.

Might as well,
she thought, flipping through the rest of the files in the drawer. Nothing struck her as being helpful, but she decided to start from the front again, just to be sure. In her rush, she almost missed the folder marked “Madeline/1998.”

She opened it and found a stapled document that looked vaguely familiar. It was a copy of the prenuptial agreement she had signed just prior to her wedding twelve years earlier. Her signature dated August 13, 1998 was a harsh reminder of her gullibility and blissful ignorance. She folded it in half and stuck it in the top of her pants along with the pink slip. She pushed the drawer back and stuck the broken lock and letter opener in the center drawer.

As she headed back to her sanctuary, she ran a search for moving companies on her phone. She had the feeling she might have better luck with such short notice going with Starving Students Movers. She glanced at her watch: 9:15. Time was running out. She placed the call. She explained what she needed and when, and they promised to have a truck at her place by 9 a.m. the next day.

Now things were really starting to go her way. The angst she had been feeling about leaving her perfect home had been replaced by a sense of purpose and urgency. This was all about saving herself now.

She went to the desk in her sitting room and flipped through folders trying to locate anything of importance. She grabbed her passport and the statements pertaining to her personal savings account. She also discovered the annual statements for her almost forgotten IRA. She put all this in a manila envelope, grabbing a couple extras, just in case.

She glanced around the room, taking stock of her favorite personal possessions and keepsakes. What could she take and what would she have to leave behind? This reminded her that she needed to contact the owner of the vacation rental to set up a time to meet her and get the keys. She had already paid for the month in advance with her credit card…

Madeline’s mouth dropped open as she realized what she had inadvertently done. Her mind became so muddled, she couldn’t remember what she was looking for on her phone.

“Oh shit!” she swore, shaking with rage and anxiety. She sat down and willed herself to concentrate. She closed out of her contacts and searched her email until she found what she was after. She rang the woman’s number, desperately hoping she would answer and believe her explanation.

“Is this Elaine? Hi, this is Madeline Ridley…I booked your Yanonali Street rental…?

“Oh, yes… Your card was declined. I was told it had been stolen. I’ve actually reported the incident to the police.” Madeline began to sweat all over. She tugged off her cardigan, one arm at a time, while pleading with the woman to hear her explanation. After breathlessly informing her that she was in the middle of a nasty divorce, she discovered the line had disconnected.

“Oh my God, oh my God,” Madeline cried out. She felt like she was about to be sick. She stared at her cell phone while the reverberations of what Steven had set into motion registered in her brain. She put the iPhone down, realizing with a start that the woman now had her phone number. There could be a warrant out for her arrest soon, despite the fact that she hadn’t stolen her own card. This was becoming more of a nightmare than she could fully comprehend.

She grabbed Burt’s phone and called him as she walked through the bedroom to lock the door. She listened impatiently to his message, panicking as the fear of not being able to talk to him became a reality. She was just about to leave an urgent message when she remembered his directive to never do that. She ended the call and sank onto the ottoman as tears fairly leapt from her eyes. She was on the verge of letting go and giving in to self-pity and despair when her loaner phone rang.

“Where are you now?” Burt asked before she could get a word out.

“The Park Lane house.”

“Inside?”

“Yes.”

“Go outside, away from the house and any prying ears. But take your time—act naturally. Call me back in five.” Burt hung up.

“Okay. I will. See you then,” she said, playing along for any unseen cameras or microphones.

Madeline took advantage of the time by relieving her bladder and grabbing a bottle of water from her mini fridge. She packed a few more things in the carry-on and then casually went through her bedroom, past the foyer to the guest wing, letting herself out through a door in one of the guest rooms. When she had walked beyond the koi pond, she took Burt’s phone out of her pants pocket.

“What’s going on, Mrs. Ridley?” Burt asked, skipping the formalities.

“Please don’t call me that. My name’s Madeline. Madeline Dawkins. I’m going back to my maiden name as of this minute.”

“Okay, Madeline—take a deep breath and tell me what’s going on.”

It didn’t take long to summarize Steven’s latest act of sabotage, as Burt already knew that her credit card had been reported stolen. She then told him how she’d wangled an appointment with an L.A. divorce attorney that she was very anxious to keep.

“I came here to grab a few things and figure out what it’s going to take to remove my stuff before Steven returns tomorrow. I’ve got movers coming at 10 a.m., and I don’t have any place to send them,” she said, her voice tinged with hysteria.

“They can put your things in storage for the time being, so don’t stress yourself over that. I’m more concerned about the authorities finding you through your phone. You can’t be guilty of stealing your own credit card, but it might take a chunk out of your day to prove it.” Madeline snapped to attention when he said this. “The best thing to do is leave your phone there.” Madeline balked.

“I can’t leave my phone—it’s got my whole life on it,” she said, trying to keep her voice down.

“You can be tracked through GPS. Chances are, you’ve got apps loaded on your too-smart phone that can lead someone right to you. As far as your credit card company is concerned, someone—but not you—is fraudulently trying to use your card. The landlady you spoke to has that number now. She says she’s already filed a report with the local police. That phone is hot now. Stash it somewhere in your house—somewhere Steven wouldn’t think to look for it, like in his own closet. Make sure it’s turned off. Got it?”

“Yes, but I’ve got so much data on there that I need—all my contacts…”

“Take down any numbers you need in the meantime. Tomorrow you can retrieve it along with the rest of your things. Keep the credit card on you in the unlikely event that you get pulled over.”

Madeline was feeling the impotency of knowing Steven was holding all the cards. He was using strategies against her that she had only heard of in spy thrillers. She wasn’t cut out for evasion tactics; she was a fundraiser, a trophy wife, a Good Samaritan. But already she could feel a shift; she was going to have to become an adept street fighter. Her whole future now depended on it.

SIXTEEN

After checking the contents of her carry-on to make sure she had everything she had come for, she zipped it closed. She put the tote on her left shoulder and pulled the LV bag behind her, its rhythmic clacking announcing her departure. As she opened the front door, she caught sight of Hughes as he buffed out the shine on her now clean car. The gesture touched her, and at the same time reminded her of what she was being forced to relinquish.

“That was so nice of you, Hughes,” Madeline said, as she came to a halt behind her car.

“It was my pleasure, Mrs. Ridley,” Hughes replied modestly. Madeline wished there was something she could say, some way of explaining that she was not the villain in this drama. But she could tell by his actions and his demeanor that regardless of what his employers were going through, he still had a great deal of respect for her because of the kindness she had shown him over the years.

Hughes relieved her of the carry-on and stowed it in the trunk. Madeline placed the tote on the floor of the passenger’s side and crossed in front of her car to the driver’s side. She was just about to get in when she remembered the movers.

“Oh, Hughes—to make things simpler, I’ve arranged for movers to come at 9:00 tomorrow. They’ll take care of boxing up everything, so you don’t need to worry about it.”

“Are you sure, Mrs. Ridley?” Hughes asked doubtfully. “Erma was going to supervise me with the packing of all your clothing. I took the liberty of ordering twenty wardrobe boxes, on Erma’s advice. She said that way there wouldn’t be crowding. We were going to start on it this afternoon, unless you prefer we didn’t.” Again Madeline was touched by his thoughtfulness.

“Of course, that would be very much appreciated. I would feel a lot better having you and Erma take care of my things than strangers.” Madeline could feel her throat close up, in spite of her desire to remain calm. “Thank you, Hughes. I’ll see you in the morning,” she said, ducking into the refuge of her low-slung car.

Madeline drove down Olive Mill Road in a daze. When she came to the stop sign, she had to force herself to remember where she was going. She fished the list out of her bag and scanned over it with eyes that flitted unseeingly until someone behind her honked.

“The bank,” she said, trying to focus her mind. “Both banks.” She turned right onto Coast Village Road and drove to the Montecito Bank & Trust parking lot, giving herself a minute to collect her thoughts. The objective here was to remove her most valuable pieces of jewelry from the safety deposit box. She wanted to withdraw more money to secrete away in her own bank account, while she had a chance.

As she was getting out of her car, someone called her name. She swiveled around and caught sight of Lucy Montenegro heading her way. Madeline groaned but covered it with a bright smile.

“Lucy, how are you?”

“I’m just fabulous! How about you—your picture’s everywhere these days,” she said, holding up the latest edition of the Montecito Gazette. There she was again, in that damnable dress with her damnable almost ex-husband. Madeline turned up the wattage on her smile, hoping nothing more would be required of her.

“I just picked this up, so I haven’t had a chance to read the article—but how about the headline?
Madeline Ridley and Carla Dickens: Montecito’s power fundraising team.
Nice job!” Lucy said, somehow turning all of Madeline and Carla’s hard work into something only valuable for its social implications.

“Listen, I was talking with Becky Morrissey about recruiting your talents for the Cheetah Rescue Project. We’ve got some powerful connections,
but…
not everyone has the same gift for shaking the change loose, if you know what I mean.”

Madeline opened her mouth to beg off, but Lucy steamrolled right over her. “You don’t have to give me an answer right now—just think about it, okay?” Madeline nodded as she shifted her body in the direction of the bank.

“I will think about it, Lucy—I promise. But right now I’ve got to get some banking out of the way, or I’ll be late for an appointment.”

“Oh, sure. I was just going in myself…” They fell in step, Lucy gushing gratuitously over the cover photo. “I loved that dress on you, by the way. It was
perfect
for the event. Almost like Valentino designed it with that in mind,” she said with a giggle as Madeline held the door open for her.

“Okay, I’ll talk to you later,” Madeline said, stopping pointedly at the assistant manager’s desk. Lucy waggled her goodbye and left Madeline to conduct her business.

“Good morning, Mrs. Ridley,” Lois said, standing to greet her.

“Good morning, Lois. I need to put something in my safe deposit box and get a cashier’s check for ten-thousand dollars,” she said. Lois’s throat constricted as she swallowed hard. “Is there a problem?” Madeline asked, her tone at once solicitous and challenging.

“Umm…Excuse me one moment, please,” Lois said, leaving Madeline standing at her desk. She returned shortly and told Madeline the branch manager would like to speak to her privately. Madeline made no attempt to hide her displeasure from Lois, but she donned a neutral mask as she walked across the lobby, head held high.

“Madeline,” Ben Larreman greeted her, while dismissing Lois with a half nod.

“I don’t know what all the secrecy’s about—I just want to put some of my jewelry back in our safe deposit box and get a cashier’s check,” Madeline said. Ben was already shaking his head apologetically. “What is it?” Madeline demanded as politely as her irritation would allow her.

“Steven telephoned me last night—at home.” Right away, Madeline knew where this was headed. She was glad they were away from prying eyes and ears because she was one word away from throwing a major tantrum.

“I can’t believe Steven would drag you into this,” she said, her voice a notch below shrill. “Look, Ben—you’ve always been our go-to guy, always been there whenever we needed something done. But I really don’t think it’s a bank manager’s job to put himself in between two warring spouses.” It was a flat-out affront to his integrity, one designed to make him resent Steven’s imposition. Madeline stared at him with eyebrows raised, challenging him to play by the book.

Ben cleared his throat, swallowing the insult with effort. “Steven asked me to freeze all your joint accounts because someone had hacked into his computer.”

Madeline let out a petulant huff. Knocked out once again. Steven sure knew how to land his punches.

“I’m sorry, Ben,” she offered humbly, “I didn’t know about that. You see…” Madeline gave him a doleful look, which Ben was gentleman enough to accept without further apology.

“Let me get someone to bring you your box,” he said, walking her toward the door. “Once I get the all-clear from Steven, I’ll unfreeze your accounts.”

“Thank you, Ben. Please forgive my outburst.” Ben waved it away with a benign smile.

“Don’t give it another thought.”

Madeline stared at the contents of the box in disbelief. Aside from some insurance papers, there was nothing else in it. Never in her life had she ever felt such outrage; she now completely understood the concept behind the phrase “crime of passion.” If Steven had been in the room with her, she would’ve had no remorse bashing his skull in with the virtually empty deposit box.

At the same time, she had never felt such fatigue—not physical fatigue, but fatigue of the spirit. She couldn’t mesh the two currents of emotion, nor imagine how it was possible to feel both at the same time. She listlessly dropped the useless documents back in the box and closed the lid. She locked it—a farce it ever there was one—but denial made her unlock it and look inside again.

What upset her most was that she was actually heartbroken to find the things given to her as tokens of love and devotion had been taken away out of pure evil spite. It would be one thing if she really
had
cheated on Steven. But the reality was much, much worse. And taking back the diamond necklace with the dramatic teardrop emerald and matching earrings he had given her on their fifth anniversary was cruel, insulting and demeaning. It made her wish with all her heart she had never met Steven Ambrose Ridley.

She left the bank in a state of numbness. She exited the parking lot and headed down Coast Village Road to the freeway entrance. But at the stop sign, she broke down. She turned right and drove toward the beach.

She parked on Butterfly Lane where there were no other cars and cried herself out. She was drained, angry—make that livid—but mostly terribly sad. She couldn’t understand what she had done to deserve this kind of treatment, especially from the man who had promised to love and cherish her for the rest of his life.

Again, crying helped. It relieved the pressure that had built up inside her head making it almost impossible to think. But she was thinking now. With dry-eyed determination, she picked up the remnants of her well thought-out agenda for the day and realized she had forgotten to stop at her own bank. She touched up her makeup and turned the car toward the cemetery and back around to Coast Village Road.

It took longer than she had hoped to obtain a deposit box from her bank, but at this point it was essential she have one. When the guard left the room, she stowed her most expensive jewelry in the box. As a safety precaution, she removed all but one of the seven photos, which she slipped into a new envelope, and rolled the one with the other six to fit inside the box. That was her insurance policy. With the way things had been happening, she couldn’t afford to take any chances.

Feeling somewhat in control again, she stopped for coffee and a muffin to go at Starbucks. When she got on the freeway, she called Mike and updated him on her schedule. They arranged to meet after her appointment with the attorney.

“Wish me luck,” Madeline said as she signed off.

“Hey, you’ve got something better than luck going for you—you’ve got me in your corner,” Mike said with his usual bravado. Madeline laughed weakly.
Oh great,
she thought ending the call on that doubtful note.
Now I’m really in trouble.