The Guilty Husband

by Stephanie DeCarolis

  ‘I was supposed to teach a pre-natal yoga class this morning, but I’ve just emailed my clients to tell them that I’m feeling ill. I don’t want to have to explain to my clients why they have to pass through a gang of reporters to get my to studio. Explaining why they have to pass through security guards wouldn’t be much better. This is Loch Harbor, it’s supposed to be a safe community. A security team marching around the front gates is going to scare all of my clients off for sure.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Nic.’

  ‘So you’ve mentioned.’ She sounds tired, defeated. I hear her release a sigh, followed by the sound of her stomach rumbling.

  ‘Go relax by the pool. I’ll bring you out some breakfast.’

  ‘Okay,’ she says tentatively. ‘I guess.’ Her eyes barely meet mine. I know she hasn’t forgiven me, but at least she’s letting me try to make things right.

  Nicole changes into a cornflower blue bikini and tops it with a white sheer cover-up, while I run some water through my hair and try to wrangle it into something presentable before I give up entirely. I quickly put on a pair of olive green board-shorts and a plain white T-shirt, and by the time I’ve finished, Nicole has already gone downstairs.

  I hurry down the stairs and into the kitchen where I can see Nicole curled up on a sun lounger, her nose in a book. I begin to prepare breakfast for her, something I know she’ll love. I don’t expect her to want to share a meal with me, but I want to do this for her. I open the refrigerator and pull out an assortment of fresh fruits, mangoes, strawberries, raspberries, peaches, and watermelon, and I begin to slice them and arrange them neatly on a large platter. I pop four slices of bread into the toaster, reminding myself to set the toaster to medium heat so as not to burn it, and pour two brimming glasses of orange juice.

  The meal reminds me of our honeymoon in Hawaii, where Nicole and I would wake early in the morning to sit on our secluded balcony with a plate of fresh fruit between us and watch the dolphins swim past our little bungalow. That trip cost us a what felt like a fortune at the time, nearly all of our meager savings after our wedding, but it was worth it for ten days of sun, making love on the beach, and feeling like the luckiest man on earth to be sharing it with Nicole.

  I balance the platter of fruit on one arm and hold a glass of juice in each hand. I manage to push open the sliding door to the yard with one foot, and I’m feeling quite pleased with myself. I see Nicole laying on the lounge chair in her bikini, soaking in the early morning sun with her book in her hand and her cover-up thrown over the back of the chair. After all these years the sight of my wife is still enough to take my breath away. I don’t know what I was thinking getting involved with Layla. It’s a mistake I will regret for the rest of my life. But right now, I need to focus on Nicole. On getting us back to where we used to be.

  ‘Breakfast is served, Mrs Taylor. I brought you the Hawaiian honeymoon special,’ I say, giving her a little bow.

  Nicole offers a tight smile at the sight of me holding the platter of fruit. It isn’t much, but it’s something. And now I’m really feeling very pleased with myself. Nicole stands up, letting her long locks fall around her shoulders, and at that very moment a camera flashes, the sound of a shutter click reverberating around our yard.

  I instinctively drop the platter, the clattering sound making Nicole jump, and look around for signs of the intruder. I catch a glimpse of a man in a baseball cap jumping off of the stone wall that surrounds our yard, but he’s gone as quick as his camera flash.

  I look back at Nicole, but she’s already running towards the house, holding her cover-up to her chest. I’m left standing alone by the pool, the forgotten fruit and shards of glass glistening in the sun at my feet.

  I clean up the mess and walk back inside. What is that smell? The toast. Burnt, of course. It seems like ever since I met Layla, I can’t seem to do anything right.

  Chapter 11

  Vince

  BEFORE

  ‘Eric?’ I call out of my office. His desk is just down the hall. ‘Were you able to get those copies I needed for my three o’clock?’ No answer. I walk past his desk but he’s not there. He’s probably wrapped up with the launch advertisements. It’s been a hectic week. Oh well, before I was a CEO, I was a programmer; I’m sure I can figure out a copy machine. And besides, I’m not above making my own copies. I swipe the folder of revenue projection I left for Eric earlier off of his desk and make my way down to the copy room.

  ‘Good afternoon, Vince,’ one of the secretaries says with a little wave as I walk by. What’s her name again? Tiffany? Brittney? Something like that.

  ‘Good afternoon to you too.’ I give her a wink and a crooked smile. She looks like she just might faint. I will never get used to that. Before I was the Vince Taylor, King of KitzTech, women weren’t exactly falling at my feet. I had to ask Nicole out six times before she finally agreed to go for coffee with Vincent, the nerdy computer programmer that worked in the office upstairs. I suspect that the expensive clothes, over-priced haircuts, and flashy car have something to do with the change. I have to admit, it does feel good though, and I don’t mind playing along. Even though I’ve never been the ‘playboy’ type, it’s part of the Vince Taylor persona.

  I make my way into the copy room and shut the door behind me. This copier is far more complicated than the one I bought second-hand when I was in my tiny rented office space. I’m studying all the buttons and settings intently when I hear the door open. I turn around to see a young woman with tears in her eyes, a wadded up tissue in her hand.

  ‘Oh, Mr Taylor! I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize you were in here!’ she says, her embarrassment apparent.

  ‘It’s okay, please, don’t worry about it. You’re Layla, right?’

  ‘Yes, oh my god, this is so humiliating, crying in front of my boss!’ A blush begins creeping up into her cheeks. ‘I’ll go, I can come back to make my copies later.’

  ‘No, I’ll be done in just a second. As soon as I can sort out this damn machine. Why don’t you take a seat while I finish and then it’s all yours.’

  Layla walks into the cramped copy room and takes a seat on a stack of bankers’ boxes piled up next to the copier.

  ‘Is everything, okay?’ I ask her.

  ‘I’m fine, really,’ she says. ‘This is going to sound ridiculous, and probably way more information than I need to share with my boss, but today would have been my grandmother’s birthday. She raised me, and she recently passed, so it’s been a rough day.’

  ‘I’m so sorry to hear that. You know what, why don’t you make your copies and then we’ll take a walk down to the Café. They make an amazing red velvet cake. We can have a slice in your grandmother’s honor. I was planning to get something to eat before my next meeting anyway.’

  ‘That’s just about the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,’ Layla responds as she rises up to stand next to me at the copier. ‘I’d love that.’

  Ours eyes meet and I know I’m in trouble.

  Chapter 12

  Allison

  DAY 3

  High Tech Hottie Under Heat

  By Kate Owens for World View

  Once again Vince Taylor, CEO of the famous technology development company, KitzTech, finds himself in the spotlight. But this time it’s not for dropping the latest app we all have to have.

  As previously reported by World View, Vince Taylor is a person of interest in the investigation into the murder of the lovely Layla Bosch (age 23), an intern at KitzTech, and it seems that things are certainly heating up. A source close to the investigation has informed World View that Taylor, everyone’s favorite high tech hottie, was having a steamy affair with the late Layla Bosch. Vince Taylor and his wife, Nicole Taylor, have declined to comment on the alleged affair, but we’re now told that the NYPD is in possession of Layla’s personal diary that describes, in sordid detail, her hot and heavy relationship with her boss. We’ve been informed that Vince was brought in for questioning by the police yesterday
morning.

  What exactly was going on between Layla and her boss? Was it just lust? According to Layla’s diary, it seems it may have been love. My my, Mr Taylor. What will they find next?

  I cannot believe what I’m seeing. How the hell did World View know about the diary? I read the online article again and again hoping that somehow I had it wrong. But no, there’s no denying it now, someone is feeding information to the press. This article was published along with the same photos of Layla and Vince that were featured in the previous article, as well as a new photo of Vince’s wife, Nicole, which appears to have been taken in their backyard. She’s undeniably beautiful, with long, icy-blonde hair and a flawless figure which is on full display in her little blue bikini, but the poor thing looks like a startled doe in this photo, all wide-eyed and open mouthed.

  I have to feel bad for the woman. She just found out her husband was having an affair with an intern (so cliché) and now she has reporters poking at the wound. I’ve been in her shoes. I get it. Well, sort of. Before Josh, I dated this guy, Mark, for three years. It was serious. We moved in together, adopted a puppy, and when he got down on one knee I immediately said ‘yes.’ I just knew he was the one. But then I found out about Beth. Mark had been seeing her for months and I, blinded by love, hadn’t seen any of the signs. Some detective I am. I only found out about the affair by pure, dumb luck. Beth texted Mark’s phone, and I mistakenly picked it up while he was in the shower, thinking it was mine. As soon as I saw her message on the home screen, ‘I can’t stop thinking about you, xoxo,’ I knew things would never be the same. I gave Mark his ring back, he took the dog, and he left. But Mark did teach me one very valuable lesson: never take anyone at face value. More often than not, the ones that seem too good to be true, are the ones hiding the biggest secrets.

  I know one thing for sure though, McFadden is not going to be happy about the newest World View headline. I pick up my phone and call Lanner.

  ‘Before you even ask, yes, I saw the World View article, and no, I don’t want to talk about it. But we need to find out who their source is. Now.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Lanner says. ‘I’ll pick you up.’

  Lanner is outside my building within fifteen minutes. I waited outside on the sidewalk for him. I was too pent up in my apartment, feeling like a caged animal pacing back and forth; an angry bear that hadn’t been fed. I need to get to the bottom of the World View problem. The way I see it, there are two possible scenarios here: either someone from our department is leaking information to the media, or there’s someone else out there who knew about Layla’s involvement with Vince Taylor and has chosen not to come forward about it. Someone who knew Layla well enough to know the contents of the private diary she kept.

  I slide into Lanner’s passenger seat and aim the air conditioning vent at my face. I was only outside for a few minutes but I can already feel the sweat pooling at my lower back and seeping through my white dress shirt. ‘This weather is disgusting.’

  ‘You know what they say, bad things happen in heat like this,’ Lanner replies.

  ‘No one says that. You just made that up.’

  ‘No, really! I read a study about it. Crime rates increase when the heat index rises.’

  ‘Well if that’s true then I expect we’re about to get saddled with a ton of new cases because this is ridiculous,’ I conclude, fanning myself.

  ‘What’s the plan for World View?’ Lanner asks, getting back to the task at hand. ‘You know they aren’t going to give us their source, right?’

  ‘Can’t hurt to ask. Maybe showing up in person will be a little more persuasive. I looked at the last two articles. They were both covered by the same reporter: Kate Owens. She’s the one we need to speak to.’

  ‘Kate Owens …’ Lanner repeats to himself. ‘Why does that name sound so familiar?’

  I can see the wheels turning in his head as he works it out. ‘Oh! I remember her!’ I see his face light up with recognition. ‘She was that reporter that used to write for The Minute! Big scandal. She was fired suddenly and then did a whole talk show circuit about how her boss had made inappropriate advances towards her, but there was no proof so she couldn’t prove that she was fired for rejecting his old wrinkly ass.’

  ‘And she ended up working at World View? Quite a fall from The Minute.’

  ‘Yeah, I doubt any other paper wanted to touch her after she cried harassment.’

  ‘Men are dogs,’ I grumble.

  ‘Present company excluded, I assume?’ Lanner asks with a smirk.

  ‘That’s up for debate. Anyway, I doubt it’s a coincidence that Kate Owens is the one receiving these tip-offs given her history. She seems like the perfect fit to run a story about Vince Taylor and his dead intern.’

  ‘That much we can agree on.’

  Lanner pulls out a bagel and offers half to me. I take it, and although I don’t say it, I appreciate that he remembers that everything bagels are my favorite.

  ‘We’re here to speak with Kate Owens,’ I say to the frizzy-haired older woman behind the front desk at the World View offices. I flash my gold detective’s badge for emphasis.

  ‘Let me see if she’s available.’ The woman sighs as though we’ve asked her to do us a favor and not the very job she presumably gets paid to do.

  ‘Kate,’ she says into the phone, ‘couple of detectives here to see you.’ The woman gives us a distrustful glance as she listens to Kate’s reply on the other end of the line. ‘Come on,’ she finally tells us. ‘She’ll meet with you in the conference room.’

  The surly woman lifts herself from her chair with what appears to be great effort and slowly leads us down the hall to a dated and drab room at the back of the office. ‘She’ll be right with you,’ the woman says, as she leaves Lanner and I alone in the room, shutting the door behind her.

  ‘She was pleasant, huh?’ Lanner comments as he looks around the room, at the peeling wallpaper, faded green carpet, and array of mismatched office chairs clustered around the table in the center of the room.

  ‘Shocking. Given that she works for such a classy publication.’

  Just then Kate breezes into the room. Evidently no one informed her that she no longer works for The Minute. She’s dressed in a professional, but stylish, navy blue sheath dress, accented with a crisp white blazer and patent leather peep toe heels. Her golden blonde hair is cut in a short, angled bob that only a woman with Kate’s desirably narrow face and defined chin could pull off.

  ‘What can I help you with today, Detectives?’ she says as she sits down in a leather desk chair crossing her long, tan legs in front of her.

  ‘We’re here to talk to you about the pieces you’ve put out about Layla Bosch and Vince Taylor,’ I tell her.

  ‘I figured as much.’ Kate gives me a small but warm smile. ‘But if you’re here to ask who my source is, you know I can’t give you that information. And even if I wanted to,’ she adds, ‘these tips came to me over an anonymous e-mail.’

  ‘So you ran these stories without knowing if they were true?’ I follow up.

  ‘All I can tell you, Detective, is that the e-mails sent to me gave me enough detailed information that I felt I could confidently print these articles. And the fact that you two are sitting here today leads me to believe that what I wrote was, in fact, accurate.’ Her voice is calm yet confident. It seems that Kate Owens has not been rattled in the least by the presence of two NYPD detectives.

  I catch a glance of Lanner looking down at his phone under the table. ‘Barnes, we have to go,’ he tells me.

  ‘Just a moment, Detectives,’ Kate interjects as we’re standing to leave, ‘there is one more thing I want to tell you before you go. But this stays between us. My boss wouldn’t be happy if he knew I told you.’

  I nod in agreement, encouraging her to continue.

  ‘That photo we ran with the article this morning? The one of Vince Taylor’s wife in her backyard? Our guys didn’t take that photo. Someone anonymously dro
pped it in our mailbox early this morning, just before the article went live online. I didn’t want to include it. I don’t agree with that kind of thing. This is about Vince Taylor, not his wife. She doesn’t need some sleazy photographer trespassing on her property to get photos of her in her bikini. It’s trashy and I don’t think we should be encouraging people to behave that way, but the Powers That Be wanted to include it. This is World View after all, so …’ she concludes with a shrug.

  ‘Thanks, Ms Owens,’ I tell her, shaking her hand firmly. ‘If you come across any information that could assist in this investigation, we would appreciate it if we were your first call.’

  Kate nods affirmatively.

  Lanner and I briskly walk out to his car. ‘What was that about?’ I ask. ‘Why did you rush us out of there?’

  ‘Chief wants us back at the station. There’s a witness waiting to talk to us. Says he has info about Vince and Layla.’

  ‘Let’s go.’

  Chapter 13

  Vince

  DAY 3

  ‘Hey, Jeff, I know it’s a Sunday, but would you mind coming by the house today? I don’t know if you saw the latest World View article yet, but this is getting out of hand. They used a picture of Nicole on their website. I won’t have her dragged through the mud. I think it’s time we got ahead of this thing,’ I say.

  ‘Yeah. I’ll be there. Give me about a half hour.’

  ‘He’s coming,’ I tell Nicole. ‘We’re going to take care of this. There will be no more reporters hounding you.’

  ‘Of course there will be, Vince,’ she replies with an exasperated sigh. ‘You invited this into our lives. You’re a public figure, everyone wants to know our business, and you handed them plenty to run with.’