The Invisible Wife

by Thomas Fincham

  There were no noises of any kind to break the tranquility. Callaway felt a wave of serenity wash over him. He shut his eyes and let the silence take hold of him.

  His eyes snapped open when he heard a noise.

  He turned and saw Isabel Gilford standing next to the house. She was wearing a long white dress that went down to her ankles. Her silver hair was covered by a sun hat. She was not wearing dark sunglasses like before. Instead, her gray eyes were staring at him.

  “I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she said.

  “Um… I… I…” he stammered, searching for the right words.

  She smiled. “It’s okay. It’s so beautiful here that I too find myself savoring each moment I’m here.”

  “I knocked on the door several times,” he said.

  “I apologize. I was in the backyard and I didn’t hear you. I knew you’d be coming soon, so I came out to check, and that’s when I saw your car parked out in front. Please follow me.”

  She took him through the side of the house. Callaway said, “I noticed that your driver is not here.”

  “I sent him away,” she replied. “This is my retreat. I don’t invite a lot of people here. Cary’s only been here a handful of times. Remember I told you I had sold an expensive brooch Cary had given me? Well, I used the money from the sale to purchase this place. I bought it without even visiting it. I saw the real estate listing when it came up and I knew I had to have it.” Her smile widened. “I think I made the right decision, don’t you think?”

  “It’s amazing here,” he said.

  The dark bruise under her eye was still noticeable, but this time she was trying not to hide it.

  “Wait till I show you the backyard,” she said with a gleam in her eyes.

  They entered through a gate. Callaway’s mouth dropped. The garden looked like it had been pulled out of a magazine. Flowers of all colors imaginable covered the space, and a wide variety of plants were carefully arranged on the ground. In between the horticulture was a pebbled walkway, and manicured green grass lay beyond the garden.

  They headed down the walkway. Callaway saw the path led directly to a gazebo.

  “I have a confession to make, Mr. Callaway,” she said.

  “Um… sure, and please, call me Lee,” he said.”

  “Okay, Lee,” she said with a smile. “I’m afraid I don’t have a green thumb. What you see around you has nothing to do with me. I have a professional gardener who comes once a week to make sure everything is taken care of.”

  “How many times do you come here?” he asked.

  “I never used to come here often, but lately, with things being... complicated with Cary, I’ve been coming regularly.”

  “If I had a place like this, I’d come here often too.”

  They stopped before the gazebo. She said, “In your telephone call, you said you had something urgent to show me.”

  Callaway reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope.

  Her eyes widened. “Are they what I think they are?”

  “They are not exactly what you had requested, but I think you’ll find them very useful.”

  She paused and then slowly said, “Perhaps we should go inside. I could use a drink. Do you drink, Lee?”

  “I sometimes drink more than I should,” he joked.

  SEVENTY-FOUR

  Isabel Gilford laughed and then giggled.

  Callaway and Isabel Gilford were seated in the living room. They each had a glass of wine in their hand.

  Earlier, after they had gone inside the house, Callaway had shown the photos he had taken of Cary Gilford and Brooke O’Shea. Isabel Gilford went through each photo slowly and carefully, as if she was trying to burn the images in her mind. When she reached the last set of photos, she put her hand over her mouth. She then reached for the nearest chair and sat down. She looked at him as if to confirm what she was seeing.

  “Yes, your husband struck his mistress,” Callaway had said.

  Her initial reaction was anger. She could not believe she had married a monster. But then her mood changed to excitement. She could use these photos in her divorce. But then, just as quickly, her emotions turned to sadness. She covered her face and began to cry. She knew her marriage was over, but it was the years she wasted with Cary that she most regretted.

  She confessed to Callaway that her husband had been unfaithful twice before in their marriage. Each time she vowed to leave him, but he somehow managed to win her back. He was always contrite, and he would turn into the most devoted husband imaginable. He would take her on amazing trips around the world. As a child she had travelled to exotic locations. Her father was a successful businessman, after all, but with Cary it was different. He doted on her and made her feel special. For a moment she always believed everything would be okay. But then time would pass, and he would go back to his philandering ways.

  Cary, she admitted, could be so caring, but also so cruel.

  Isabel Gilford snorted out another laugh. She turned beet red. “I’m so sorry. I haven’t laughed this hard in a long time.”

  Callaway grinned. “Don’t worry. I blame the wine.”

  She smiled. “Okay, Lee, your turn.”

  His brow furrowed. “My turn?”

  “You know a lot about me, but I know very little about you.”

  “What would you like to know?”

  “Everything.”

  He took another sip. “Alright, I was married once.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “I never saw you as the married type.”

  “I’m not, or at least, I wasn’t when I got married.”

  “And what happened?”

  He paused.

  Well, why not? he thought.

  He told her an abbreviated version of his life’s story.

  When he was done, she said, “If you ask me, you still harbor feelings for your ex-wife.”

  “That’s exactly what someone else said too.” He was thinking of Fisher. She and Callaway had dated once, and she quickly ended the relationship because she believed there was a chance Patti and Callaway could get back together.

  Isabel Gilford grabbed his glass. “Let me get you some more.”

  “Um… I don’t know…. I have to drive back.”

  “Don’t worry. If you’re too drunk, my driver will take you home.”

  He watched her leave the room. A moment later, she returned with his glass; it was filled to the brim.

  “Isn’t that a lot?” he asked.

  She smiled and winked. “We have all night to finish it.”

  SEVENTY-FIVE

  Callaway tried to lift his head up, but when he did, everything swirled around him. He shut his eyes and waited until the spinning went away. He blinked and then looked around. He was in a room, and by the looks of it, it was someone’s bedroom.

  The sun shined through the open windows. He squinted as the light hit his eyes.

  How long have I been asleep? he thought.

  He slowly lifted his head again and this time he managed to sit upright. He spotted a photo frame on the dresser. He blinked to clear the fog from his eyes. He saw the photo was of Cary and Isabel Gilford, and it was taken on their wedding day. They were both younger, although, when he stared at the picture carefully, Isabel Gilford looked… different.

  That must’ve been taken twenty years ago, he thought. The years have not been kind to her.

  He grimaced as a wave of dizziness struck him. He covered his face and tried to remember what happened last night.

  When he had arrived at the house, the sun had started to set. He remembered sitting in the living room with Isabel Gilford, sharing a bottle of wine. He remembered they talked about her marriage and his. He remembered feeling guilty about not asking Patti out again. He remembered feeling worse when he thought of Dr. Michael Hayward. Patti had found someone that was in every way better than him.

  He then remembered Isabel Gilford kissing him. He could tell she was a little drunk and so was he
. He did not stop her. They were both heartbroken, and they needed someone to make them feel wanted.

  But... but he could not recall what happened next. It was as if he had blacked out.

  He looked down and realized he was only wearing his boxers.

  He frantically searched the room and found his pants, shoes, and coat on the floor, but not his shirt. He got dressed, sans shirt, and hurried downstairs. The lights were off. He thought about calling out her name.

  Maybe she’s in the garden, he thought.

  He winced as another sharp pain ripped through his head. He leaned against the wall for support. When he got his bearings, he left the house.

  He saw his beloved Charger parked where he had left it. He looked around and saw no sign of the limousine.

  She must have gone back to her house in Milton.

  He got behind the wheel and started the engine. He pressed the accelerator and revved it a few times, waiting to see if Isabel heard the noise and came out. She did not.

  He drove away from the house. He was racing down the gravel road when he slammed on the brakes. In front of him, not two feet away, was a man with a Basset Hound. They had emerged from the forest and were crossing the road.

  The man glared at Callaway. The dog barked at the Charger and its errant driver.

  Callaway rolled down the window. “I’m really sorry,” he said.

  The man did not reply. He shook his head and dragged the barking dog away. They finished crossing the road and disappeared into the forest.

  Callaway took a deep breath to steady his nerves.

  He carefully drove away at a slow speed.

  SEVENTY-SIX

  Callaway pulled up to the hotel’s underground parking lot. He realized he was missing his room key and parking access card. He double-checked his coat pockets, but the cards were not there.

  I must have dropped them back at Isabel’s house, he thought.

  He was not about to drive sixty miles both ways to retrieve them. He drove around and parked in the hotel’s visitor parking lot.

  He approached the desk clerk.

  “A rough night?” the clerk asked with a wry smile.

  I must look like crap, Callaway thought.

  “Yeah, you can say that,” he replied to the clerk. “Um… I seem to have lost my room key and parking card. Can I get another?”

  “Of course. We get that a lot. But we do charge for replacement keys and cards.”

  “Sure.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small bundle of cash. He dropped a bill.

  The clerk took the bill and said, “Give me a minute.”

  While Callaway waited, a thought occurred to him:

  Where’s my camera?

  He left the front desk and hurried back to the Charger. He scanned the interior. The camera was not there. He opened the trunk. The camera was not there either.

  He frowned. He had gone to an instant-print shop, printed out the photos he had taken of Cary Gilford and Brooke O’Shea, and then driven straight to Isabel’s private property. He did not stop at the hotel or his office.

  So where could it be? Did I leave the camera behind at the instant-print shop?

  He felt another headache coming on. He could not believe the day had started off so badly. Today was supposed to have been celebratory. After delivering the photos to his client, his job was complete.

  Luckily, his digital camera required a password to access it. He had little concern someone might see the camera’s files.

  Regardless, the camera had cost a substantial sum, and he would have to fork over more money to buy a replacement.

  He returned to the front desk.

  The clerk said, “You know what?”

  “What?”

  “I found your key.”

  He blinked. “Found it?”

  “Apparently, someone—likely a cleaning staff member—had left it in our lost and found bin.” He held the key up for him.

  Callaway grabbed the key.

  The clerk smiled. “You may have been in a hurry and it might have slipped out of your pocket. It happens more than people realize.”

  Callaway stared at him. “Um… yeah, sure. But what about the access card? I do need to park my car in the underground garage.”

  “Here you go,” the clerk said, handing him a white card.

  “Thanks for your help,” Callaway said.

  He took the elevator up to his room. He could have taken the stairs, but his headache had turned into a full-blown migraine. The pain was sharp and unrelenting.

  He entered his room and headed straight for the bathroom. He opened the top cabinet, found the bottle, and downed two painkillers with a glass of water.

  He pulled off his coat, dropped it on the floor, and then fell on the bed. He rested his head on the pillow and shut his eyes.

  Within minutes he was passed out.

  SEVENTY-SEVEN

  Callaway rubbed his eyes. He checked the clock on the wall.

  I can’t believe I slept for three hours straight, he thought.

  He slowly got up. He felt much better than before, but not by a whole lot. At least the throbbing pain in his head was gone.

  He thought about Isabel Gilford. He knew he had spent the night with her, but why could he not remember any of it? Maybe he should call her. But what would he say? “Hey, I know something happened between us last night, but can you tell me exactly what?”

  He shook his head.

  You dumbass. No woman wants to hear that. They want to feel loved and special.

  If Callaway could not recollect what happened, that meant he was drunk out of his mind.

  There had been a few occasions in the past where he was too wasted to remember who he had been with, but at least he did not have to see them again.

  He hoped that was the case with Isabel Gilford. He could see no positive outcome to them being together. She was a married woman. She was also his employer. A rival divorce lawyer would chew him up on the stand about his relationship with a client.

  He had his money and she had her evidence. Case closed.

  He got up and decided to take a cold shower. He then dressed in some comfortable clothes and left. He took the stairs down and walked to his Charger.

  He still could not believe he had lost his camera. He decided to head for the instant-print shop. Once he was there, he spoke to all the associates and the manager. No one had seen a digital camera.

  Someone must have taken it, he grumbled. Likely another customer. I can’t track it down. Guess I’ll have to shell out for a new one.

  But that would be another day. Right now, he was famished.

  His stomach grumbled as he drove to Joely’s restaurant.

  He found a table by the windows and waited for her to finish serving a customer.

  When she came over, she had a smile on her face. “Is it a late breakfast or an early lunch?”

  “I would say a late breakfast,” he replied.

  “No freebies. You know the rules.”

  He pulled out a bill and placed it on the table. “I can pay for my own meal, thank you.”

  “Great, so what would you like?”

  “What do you recommend?”

  “We have the best waffles in the city.”

  “Don’t they all say that?”

  “They do, but you won’t know if ours is the best unless you try them for yourself.”

  “Sure, waffles it is, and a cup of your fresh brewed coffee.”

  “Coming right up.”

  Joely left.

  He turned his attention to the window. The sun was shining bright, and for a moment he felt complete and utter peace.

  He smiled.

  With the case over, it was time to think about what he should do with all that money. He debated whether to go on a long overseas trip or maybe even buy nice furniture for his new apartment.

  Speaking of which, he thought. I still have to hand over the first and last month’s rent to the ne
w landlord.

  Callaway wanted to do so the moment Nina and Patti had approved of the apartment, but the landlord had requested a certified check instead of cash, which required him to go to a bank nearby and get one prepared.

  He would get the check right after breakfast.

  Joely brought his plate and cup. “Enjoy,” she said.

  He grabbed a knife and fork and dug into his meal. The waffle was warm, and the coffee was hot. Just the way he liked them.

  He was cutting a piece of the waffle when he felt someone next to him.

  He looked up and smiled. “Dana, what’re you doing here?”

  Fisher had a grim look on her face, and her hand was on her holster.

  “Lee Callaway, you are under arrest for the murder of… Isabel Gilford.”

  Callaway dropped his knife and fork.

  SEVENTY-EIGHT

  When Fisher received the call early in the morning, she never imagined the case would end up in Callaway’s arrest. The call was simple, one she had heard dozens of times before. A body had been found in a house some thirty miles outside of Milton. The body had suffered trauma which led the police to believe it could be murder. Until she or some other detective confirmed otherwise, the death was going to be treated as suspicious.

  She had debated whether to pass the case to someone else. She already had three unsolved deaths on her desk: Big Bob, Chase Burley, and Debra Coleheim. She had a strong feeling they were all linked. A break in one case would solve the others.

  Reluctantly, she agreed to take on the new case.

  After notifying Holt, she made the long drive to the house where the body had been found. She was surprised to find Holt waiting for her. Next to him was another man. He identified himself as the husband of the deceased.

  His name was Cary Gilford. He told them the house was registered under his wife’s name; she was known to stay there for days on end, but she was supposed to be home last night. They had planned to meet with a group of her friends. He called her several times, but he figured she was not answering because she was still upset with him. He confessed that they had been going through a rough patch and he may have said some horrible things to her in the process. When she did not return home by morning, he decided to drive over to check on her.