Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 01 - Spouse Trap (11 page)

“I can’t believe that asshole is forcing you to move out.”

“There’s no way I could stay in the same house with him, not after all the crap he’s pulled on me. He told me I could stay at the beach house until the divorce is final.”

“That was big of him.”

“But I’m not going to. My P.I. thinks it’s probably bugged.” Mike huffed. Madeline could feel his body tense beside her. She looked up at him and saw the muscles in his jaw quiver. In the old days, this was the only warning before he threw a fit of rage. She put her hand on his arm.

“It’s okay, Mike,” she said, trying to calm him.

“Bullshit!” he snapped. “Nothing about this situation is okay,” he said. He wiped his mouth with the paper napkin and tossed it on his empty plate.

“I don’t want you to get upset,” she said.

“Too late for that,” Mike replied. “Look, I’m not going to rip the table from the wall or anything like that,” he said, modulating his tone for her sake. “But you can’t expect me not to harbor thoughts of tearing that tight-assed sadist into little pieces.”

“That makes two of us.” Mike grunted and shook his head.

“Maddie, God knows I was no angel when we were together, but the number Steven’s doing on you is beyond sadistic. It’s criminal, probably on many levels.”

“I know, I know…”

“Did your attorney talk about pressing charges against him?”

“Yes, but we have to prove he’s behind the photos—and the drugging, and the…” Madeline let out a long, sad sigh. Mike gave her hand a squeeze. When she smiled to reassure him, she saw his eyes were blurry with tears. She held his hand tighter and turned toward the window. Seeing a meter maid pass in front of the restaurant made her aware that time was ticking away.

“I should get going,” she said, reaching for her wallet. Mike gave her a stony look as he took a money clip from his pants pocket. Madeline had to laugh.

“Another part of your inheritance?” Mike proudly displayed the 14 karat gold dollar sign that held a fat wad of cash.

“Classic Milton Delaney,” he said, taking a twenty and a ten out for the bill. “I’m telling you, the guy was stylin’ all the way.” They both laughed. The waitress laid a ticket on the table and cleared their plates. Mike took a quick look at it and laid the cash on top of it.

“So, what’s the plan? Do you want me to try to sell your bitchin’ wheels for you?” Madeline looked out the window as she followed Mike out of the booth.

“I guess that makes the most sense. Thanks for offering.” He put his arm around her and led her out into the harsh afternoon glare.

EIGHTEEN

Madeline made it back to the fitness club ten minutes to four. Luckily for her, the traffic through L.A. hadn’t been at a standstill yet. She grabbed the bag with her workout clothes and raced up the steps. She breathlessly told the young man at the counter she wanted to become a member. He looked up at the clock, excused himself and bounded down the hallway to a door marked Employees Only.

A couple of anxious minutes later, he emerged with a woman in her mid-thirties. Though she wasn’t snarling, Madeline could tell she wasn’t happy with the prospect of staying beyond her shift.

“Hi,” Madeline said as the woman walked around to the back of the counter. “I know you leave at four, so I’ll make this as easy as possible. I’ve already had the tour and I know what kind of membership I want.”

“Fantastic,” the woman said, her mood brightening as she slid an application across the counter. “All I need is for you to fill this out, and then I’ll need to photocopy a picture I.D. and a credit card to keep on file. You can pay your monthly dues by check or credit card, but we need to open a house account for incidentals.”

“That’s fine,” Madeline replied as she filled out the form. She went ahead and used the Park Lane address so there wouldn’t be any discrepancy with the driver’s license. The last thing she wanted to do was explain her twisted state of affairs. Because no charges would be put through, she gave her the “hot” Visa card to match her other ID. She’d give them a new card number and address later. It hit her how dubious her once upstanding life had now become.

As Madeline was waiting for the woman to return from the back room, she glanced around the club. It was much quieter than it had been in the morning, as Burt said it would be. She was putting her cards back in her wallet when the front door opened, letting in a gust of cool air.

At first Madeline couldn’t tell that the man entering—backlit as he was by the low-slung sun—was the man she had arranged to meet. For one thing, his hair was dark brown, as opposed to Burt’s black turned mostly grey. Dark sunglasses obscured his eyes. But when he took them off and winked at her, she realized it was him, incognito. She clamped her lips together to keep from laughing as the wig-topped P.I. passed behind her and down the ramp toward the locker rooms.

When Madeline entered the gym, there was only one other person using the equipment besides Burt. By the layout and the direction the woman was moving, she figured they’d be alone in the room before too long. Burt looked at Madeline casually as she walked to the first machine in the rotation and went about adjusting the weights down from where Burt—who appeared much more fit in tank top and shorts—had them.

As soon as the woman left the room, Burt got up from the weightlifting bench and sauntered over to Madeline with the pretense of showing her the proper technique for doing the lat pulldown bar.

“How’s it going?” he asked.

“Okay, I guess. I think I found the right attorney.”

“That’s good.”

“How are things going with you?” Out of habit, Burt surveyed the room before replying.

“Good. I now know where your husband is staying in Boston.” Madeline eased the weights down and let go of the bar. “My source was able to trace him to the limousine service he used from the airport. He was dropped off at a house in Beacon Hill, 141 Chestnut Street. A title search of the property shows it’s owned by Elizabeth Collins-Wainwright. Ring any bells?”

“No,” Madeline said, a sudden weak and dizzy sensation coming over her.

“I did a search online and found quite a bit of info. Her name and picture came up in connection with many social events, as well as the gossip columns. It seems her real claim to fame came with her marriage to husband number two—Logan Wainwright III. The Wainwrights are an old Boston family going way back. They were married just shy of three years. She received an undisclosed settlement, but everyone my contact spoke to said it had to be in the eight figures. Just before I left the office, my source emailed me photos of Mrs. Collins-Wainwright and your husband leaving the Chestnut Street house.”

Madeline listened to this report with a look of astonishment on her face. Inside, her mind was suffering a series of mild shockwaves, making her feel as though she was bouncing through space. After all she had been put through in the last week, she would’ve thought it impossible to be surprised by anything Steven did. His latest act of treachery hurt her in a way she didn’t think was possible at this stage. But the thought of Steven with another woman made her feel completely wretched—unloved, discarded and replaced.

How bloody convenient for him,
she thought bitterly, tears stinging her eyes. But she was too angry to cry. What she wanted to do was scream at the top of her lungs and slug something or someone very hard.

Two men entered the gym, forcing Madeline and Burt to relocate separately. Madeline found a new machine and was taking her aggressions out on it in the most punishing way. As the newcomers struck up a conversation, Burt decided it was safe enough to talk to Madeline without being overheard.

“I’m sorry about dropping that bomb on you. It’s never easy to tell someone they’ve got a cheating spouse, even in a situation like this.” Madeline acknowledged his apology with a slight nod. She executed a few more leg lifts, then gave up, letting the weights clank loudly as they hit the stack. She slid off the machine on wobbly legs and cracked open a bottle of water. She observed Burt out of the corner of her eye while she drank.

“Even though finding out he deceived you doesn’t constitute proof that he set you up at The Edgecliff, it does give us some clues to work with,” Burt continued, undeterred by his client’s reaction to his report.

“What kind of clues?” she asked. The only clue she’d gotten was how deaf, dumb and blind she’d been where her husband was concerned.

“I don’t think it’s a coincidence that he ‘received’ incriminating pictures of you the same week he lies about having a business meeting in Dallas. I think he orchestrated every detail of this scenario. The only question in my mind is why did he decide he no longer wanted to be married to you?”

As the two men had advanced their way through the various exercise machines and were now within hearing range, Burt led Madeline over to the far side of the room, where there were padded mats for floor exercises.

“I’ll show you a good exercise for your abs,” Burt said, motioning for Madeline to lie down on the mat next to him. “Now, if a man has a beautiful, charming wife who is not only a good companion but a business asset as well, what reason would he have for suddenly wanting to be rid of her?” Burt posed hypothetically. “It really comes down to three things—sex, money and children.” Madeline stopped mimicking his movements and sat up.

“I think I hit a nerve,” Burt surmised between crunches. Madeline glanced around the room, the muscles along her jaw and neck tightening as she wrestled with some unseen demon.

“We’ve been ‘officially’ trying to get pregnant for three years,” she finally admitted. Burt sat up, giving her his full attention. “We tried in-vitro four times. I actually carried a pregnancy halfway through the second trimester, but lost it.” Burt let his head drop. Madeline could tell, despite his line of work, that Burt didn’t relish learning all the gritty details of a failed marriage.

“Did you officially stop trying?” he asked after a respectful pause. Madeline shook her head.

“No. I’ve been chasing one weird treatment after another. So far, nothing has worked.”

“Who was more anxious to have children, you or Steven?” Madeline arched her brows as she considered this.

“I always thought of it as a mutual quest,” she said, looking inward. “But thinking back, having an heir has always been something Steven thought a great deal about. When I failed to become pregnant by the time I was thirty-seven, we started seeing fertility specialists.”

“So, would you say that not having children with you would be reason enough for Steven to start looking elsewhere?”

Madeline let out a heavy sigh—part contemptuous, part bemused. “You might be asking the wrong person. Apparently I don’t really know much about the man I married.” Madeline took stock of the growing crowd. Burt was on the same wavelength. He helped her to her feet.

“Time for a change of venue,” he said, looking at his watch. “I think this would be a perfect time to take a stroll on the Douglas Preserve. You know how to get there?” Madeline nodded. “Let’s meet there in fifteen minutes. Park by the main entrance. I’ll meet you as you come into the park.”

NINETEEN

The sun was just setting as Madeline pulled into the Douglas Family Preserve parking lot. She was grateful Mike had put the top up on the Mercedes, as the late afternoon air had lost all its warmth. The park was mostly in shade, except for the slanted rays emanating from the horizon. Madeline pulled her sweater tightly around her as she walked straight into the breeze coming off the ocean.

Burt came out of the shadows as she hit the walking path. They walked without speaking for a couple of minutes, as walkers and dogs found their way out of the park. Closing time was near and soon they were the only ones heading the wrong direction.

“It’s going to be a spectacular sunset,” Burt said, as he canvassed the area. Madeline shivered as the wind blew her hair in several directions at once. Burt walked her to the cliff’s edge to watch the evening’s vibrant display of color against the darkening sky, then took pity on her and led her back in the direction of the exit. They found a bench shielded by a stand of trees and took a seat.

“I spent some time at The Edgecliff today,” he said. “I showed the front desk staff photos of Steven and Russell Barnett, and gave a description of the mystery man, but nobody remembered any of them checking in last week. I don’t suppose you can remember the room number you were in?”

Madeline thought back to the horrible morning when she had awoken completely disoriented. She remembered looking at the phone—that’s how she figured out where she was. The number would’ve been on the front of it.
If only I’d thought to look…

“No,” she said. “I left through the French doors.”

“Do you think you’d remember what area you were in? If we went back there, do you think you could recall which path you took?”

“Possibly.” Madeline shivered harder at the thought of reenacting her getaway from the scene of the crime.
If only I’d known it was a crime scene then…

“We’ll try that then. We’ll go back this evening when it’s dark.” Madeline nodded woodenly.

“Anyway, I got them to check the reservation log and neither Steven’s nor Barnett’s name showed up. No big surprise there. I imagine Steven’s managed to keep several degrees of separation between himself and everyone he’s used to frame you. I’ll go back there later when the shifts change and see if I have any better luck. I wish I could have access to the entire reservation log. If we can get
something
we can take to the police, their detectives will have complete access to that and the surveillance cameras. Those things would give us what we’re looking for.”

Madeline took this news in only superficially. Her mind was still preoccupied with thoughts of Steven and the woman in Boston. It was like another character had joined the macabre performance that waltzed through her head on a continuous loop. She felt as though she was suffering a mental breakdown. This was lasting way too long to be a nightmare. Perhaps her mind had slipped a cog and she was now drifting into insanity.

“I’m sorry… What were you saying?” Burt looked at her features in the fading light.

“I said, maybe it’s time to turn this matter over to the police.”

“What?
Why?”
she asked, alarmed.

“Because a crime was committed against you, Madeline—several, in fact.” Her eyes welled up again, an occurrence that was becoming all too common. Burt put his arm around her tentatively. That simple act, coupled with his last words, caused the dam to burst again.

“I’m sorry,” she said, pulling away from him, ashamed of her breakdown.
I really am ready for the rubber room,
she thought, disgusted with herself. “Are you quitting?” she asked, her voice raspy with fear and embarrassment. Burt coughed lightly.

“No, I’m not quitting. But I do think you should get some counseling.” Madeline looked at him aghast. She was losing her mind, and everyone could see it. Burt almost laughed at her distress.

“Madeline,” he said, taking her hand in his, “don’t get me wrong. I don’t think you’re crazy. And I’m not going to abandon you. I feel a personal need to get satisfaction in this case. But you’ve been dealt more crap in the last week than most people see in a year. You need to talk to someone—an experienced grief counselor.” Madeline sniffed and looked him in the eye.

“It’s not that I don’t think you’re handling things. You’re holding up amazingly well. But you’ve been severely traumatized, over and over.” He held his tongue for moment while Madeline absorbed what he was saying. “You need to talk to someone who can take you through the process of acceptance and healing.”

“I’ve got my friend, Mike—and I’ve got you,” she said. “At least I have two people who know the truth and believe me.”

“There’s no question of that—not anymore.” This remark struck Madeline as odd.

“You didn’t believe me when I came to see you…what day was that…yesterday? God, I can’t believe that was less than 36 hours ago…” she removed her hand from his.

“It’s not that I didn’t believe you then,” Burt said. “I don’t make judgments about my clients. In my line of work, I have to stay open to every fact that comes my way.
You
probably never considered this, but not only innocent people employ private investigators. Take your husband, for instance.”

“So, you were going through the motions, regardless of whether I was telling the truth or not?” she asked, her tone hard and aggrieved.

“Yes. I’m doing my job, the job you hired me to do. But in your case, I know on whose side the truth lies.” Madeline regarded him, trying to gauge his sincerity.

“How do you know?” she asked. Burt stood and held out his hand to help her up.

“The park’s about to close,” he said. They walked in silence a short distance before Burt spoke again. “I’ve become pretty good at assessing people, regardless of what I told you earlier. But like I said, I postpone judgment until it’s all said and done. There have been several cases where—if I hadn’t held to my credo of not mentally assigning guilt or innocence—I would’ve been completely duped.

“But I don’t believe that anyone who erroneously claims to have been forcibly raped while drugged—and has photos to prove it—would shed a tear upon learning her husband was cheating on her. If you were trying to frame your husband, and not the other way around, that news would not come as a surprise to you. You would’ve been looking for a way to get even with him for hurting you, and this would all be more ammo to use against him in court. Then it would be up to the judge to sort out who was the bigger louse. But I think you’ve been completely broadsided by what’s happened to you.”

“So, you know I’m telling the truth,” Madeline said, testing the words out loud.

“Yes. And I’m breaking my personal code by telling you that,” Burt said, shepherding her out of the park.

“I really appreciate hearing that, Burt,” she said as he walked her to the only other car in the parking lot besides his. “It means more to me than you can imagine.”

“Where’d you get the car?” Burt asked, admiring Mike’s babe magnet.

“How did you know it wasn’t mine?” she asked.

“I checked for all the vehicles registered to you, Steven and his company. This one didn’t show up on any of my searches.” Madeline was slightly taken aback by this news. When she went seeking a private investigator, it didn’t occur to her
she’d
be investigated. Burt read her discomfort.

“When I take on an assignment, the first thing I do is run searches on all the public databases I have access to. Like I said earlier, I have had clients who’ve hired me for less than honorable reasons. Compiling every verifiable fact I can get my hands on is standard operating procedure for me. Think of it as wanting to have all the jigsaw pieces before trying to put the puzzle together.” Madeline had to admit that a proactive detective had to be a plus as far as she was concerned.

“Everything I unearth will remain strictly confidential, unless I’m subpoenaed to give evidence in court,” he added. “By the way, have you gotten a copy of the guest and donor lists yet?”

“I should be getting them at the meeting tonight.”

“Sorry, I don’t mean to push.”

“Well, I’d rather have a too-thorough P.I. than a lazy one. You and the attorney are the only weapons I’ve got right now,” Madeline replied as she held out her hand. Burt took it solemnly.

“We will nail this bastard. It might take a little longer than we’d like, but we will get him. Call me later and we’ll set up a time to meet at The Edgecliff.”