The Loyal Wife_A gripping psychological thriller with a twist

by Natalie Barelli

  “Okay.” Then just before he hangs up, “Mike?”

  “Yes?”

  I picture him with the phone tight against his ear. Sweat beading just under his nose. “How did she find out?”

  “How the fuck should I know?”

  * * *

  In my memory of that night, the night that Mike killed her, everything is hyperreal. The leaves and trees illuminated by the car’s headlights are so green as to be almost fluorescent. It was late summer, so still too early for that almost kaleidoscopic foliage, those vivid shades of reds, ochres and golds that North Carolina is famous for, and that we enjoy even in those foothills.

  I don’t like to remember, obviously. But that doesn’t mean that I forgot. First there was the affair, then the payout and the abortion, and that was supposed to be the end of it.

  Except I saw them. I saw her get into his car when he wasn’t even supposed to be there. I followed them, from a distance. What else was I supposed to do? First it was a mile, then another. I understood, finally, that they had tricked me. That they were running away together.

  I kept following them, not knowing why or what I would do when they arrived at their destination, but I kept up with them. We drove like that for maybe half an hour, until we came to the edge of the forest. They turned off the well-lit avenues, into the darker roads. I had to switch off my headlights and put more distance between us, or else they’d see me. That’s how dark it was.

  We weren’t far from Badin Lake by then, so I figured that they must be going to our old house, but I couldn’t understand why. We’d already sold the house at that point, but the paperwork had only just exchanged hands and it was sitting empty. Off for another tryst maybe? In somebody else’s empty house? Just for kicks?

  Then out of the blue the passenger door opened. The car was still moving, and it lurched to an abrupt stop. For a moment I thought they’d seen me, and my heart skipped a beat. I had nowhere to go. I quickly stopped and turned off the motor, blood pounding in my ears, and in the distance, I watched Charlene get out of the car. The light came on inside and I saw Mike in profile through the darkened rear window. He was wearing that Panthers cap. The cap that was always in the back of the car somewhere. It’s not there anymore, I threw it away. I couldn’t bear the sight of it.

  Charlene disappeared into the woods and the car sat there, idling, the headlights illuminating the rain that had begun to fall. I thought he’d never move, but it was probably only ten or fifteen minutes before he took off again. I didn’t want to turn on the engine yet because it was so quiet. I was worried Charlene would hear me out there, so I waited. Then, just as I was about to turn the ignition, I saw her. She had run back into the road and stopped like a deer in the headlights, and Mike just drove right into her. It was so fast, so brutal, almost as if he’d accelerated when he saw her. I watched her body bounce on impact and in my mind’s eye, it’s as if she was flying. But I know she wasn’t. It all happened in the space of a second. My hand flew to my mouth and I stifled the scream that roared in my throat so hard it hurt. The car sat there, the rain fell some more, and when his door opened I reversed out of there as fast as I possibly could.

  * * *

  I reach for Fiona Martin’s crumpled card that has fallen on my lap, and that’s when I notice there’s something scribbled on the back of it.

  “Joe’s Bar & Grill, Jamestown, 1 hour” it says. Then below that, she’s added “call me if you can’t make it.”

  I can make it. It’s a twenty-minute drive but that’s fine with me. I don’t know anyone who lives around there so I’m less likely to run into someone I know.

  * * *

  “I talked to my boss,” she says, by way of introduction. “We’re running with it, but I need more specifics. Dates, names, places. Also, you said earlier that he convinced her to have an abortion. Can you clarify what you mean by ‘convinced’?”

  “He offered her money.” I’m about to say more but the waitress has arrived with our coffees. We wait silently until she leaves.

  “Blackmail money?” she blurts out. I can see how excited she is by all this. I can’t tell if it’s the cloak and dagger angle, or if she really thinks it’s a great story.

  I shrug. “I guess you could call it that. We had to sell our second house to pay her out, so yeah, I guess that would qualify as blackmail money.” We didn’t pay her out in the end, because she was dead, and dead people don’t need money. But I’m not ready to tell Fiona Martin that.

  She makes a low whistle and scribbles furiously. “And then she went back to Austin?”

  I nod. “We paid for her ticket too, believe it or not.”

  After a few minutes of scribbling, she puts her pen down and sits back. “Why are you telling me all this?” she asks.

  “I thought you would have figured that out. Revenge, of course.”

  “For what?”

  “That’s my business.”

  She cocks her head at me. “You must hate your husband very much.”

  I flinch. “Quite the opposite, in fact, but let’s say that I have my reasons.”

  She makes a note. I crane my neck to see what it says. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, probably. Funny, but Mike taught me that quote, in jest of course. Little did he know. Fiona catches my eye and closes her notebook.

  “I looked you up on the Tribune’s website, by the way, you haven’t written up much lately, not like you used to. Why is that?”

  She shrugs. “That’s my business.”

  I laugh, in spite of myself. “Touché,” I say. But she’s all work and no play and doesn’t even smile. She pushes her notepad across the table and hands me her pen.

  “Can you write the address of the clinic? And the exact date, I still need to confirm.”

  “Yeah, there’s a bit of a problem,” I say, writing it all down.

  She raises an eyebrow. “What problem?”

  “The doctor, who was going to… who performed the surgery. He’s incredibly discreet. So discreet, in fact, that he keeps no records whatsoever. Or those were the exact words that were told to me at the time. But I believe it.”

  She looks incredulous. “You’re saying there’s no proof at all?”

  “Had there been, I would have left an anonymous tip.”

  “I’m not touching this.”

  I chuckle. “It’s a bit late now, you just announced it all in the parking lot of Best—”

  “That was a mistake,” she snaps, leaning down to pick up her purse.

  I reach across and put a hand on her arm. “Wait. There was an exchange of funds. The clinic, they got paid. I could check at my end, go through his bank account, can you crosscheck with the clinic’s bank?”

  She stops, waits, then she says, “I don’t know. Maybe.” She chews her bottom lip. “You’re going to tell me all this again, and I’m going to video you, okay?”

  I scoff. “You must be joking.”

  She puts a hand up, palm out. “I won’t use it, but I have to show my boss where my information comes from. No one will ever know you told me. You have my word. But I’m not going to get sued just because you want to indulge in a spot of revenge.”

  I try to argue, but there’s no point. It’s that or nothing. We leave and she records me in her car. It’s harder to tell my tale with an iPhone pointed at me, but she prompts with all the right questions and we get it done. Still. By the time I get home, I feel the weight of anxiety in my stomach.

  When Mike walks in after his day at work, it’s as if nothing happened. He’s completely relaxed and he and Madison immediately settle themselves in the living room, and within minutes they’re crapping on about the merits of offshore outsourcing in a global age. I mentally shoot daggers at him. I am calling him every name under the sun, silently. It must have worked because he finally notices me, leaning against the doorjamb.

  “Do you have a minute? I could use your help in the kitchen.” I mean it as a joke because I want to keep things light-hea
rted for Madison’s sake. I mean, it’s obviously a joke, since I don’t spend that much time in there. Just on the days that Sophia isn’t here. But I guess the 1950s are still well and truly with us, because neither of them react. Instead, he dislodges his arm from her shoulders while Madison frowns at me.

  “Sorry princess,” he says. “Hold that thought.”

  Madison shoots me a look that speaks volumes of her disapproval before running back upstairs, and I lead Mike into the smaller sitting room at the front. The one we never used until recently. Now we seem to live in it.

  “You seem to be very relaxed.” I look into his face. “Shouldn’t you be worried?”

  “Of course I’m worried!” he snaps. “I’ve called Alex Pace, and he’s onto it. Cease and desist.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know if that’s enough, I’m waiting to hear back.”

  He is anxious. I see that now. No, it’s more than that, he’s terrified. It brings an unexpected jolt of pleasure to me.

  “Fuck them. I’ll sue them. That fucking bitch!”

  “Keep your voice down! We need to figure out who told her, don’t you see? Do you have any ideas?”

  “Don’t you think I’ve been racking my brain? I have enemies! It’s called politics!”

  I almost laugh. He hasn’t even officially announced his candidature yet. “It’s not that, surely. It’s more personal than that,” I say.

  He flashes me a look, somewhere between anger and loathing. Suddenly I feel so alone in this house, surrounded by people who hate me.

  “I thought it was only Pastor Frank and the doctor at the clinic that knew about the abortion,” I say. “Was there anyone else?”

  “Other than you, you mean?”

  I stare into his face, trying to gauge whether he really believes that. “Because I really want my name plastered on the front page in connection to that… episode. Is that what you think?”

  He turns away from me. We’re both silent, lost in our own thoughts. I pretend to rack my brain. “So there’s Pastor Frank,” I resume, “and—”

  He scoffs sharply. “You can’t possibly suggest that he would have been the one—”

  “To tell the papers? How would I know? I’m just going through the list of people who definitely knew about the abortion.”

  He winces at the word, the sight of which also brings me a rush of pleasure. I resolve to say it a lot.

  “There’s the doctor at the abortion clinic, obviously,” I continue.

  “He was paid handsomely.”

  “Maybe his costs went up.”

  “He would have approached us first, surely.”

  Us? Wow, that’s something else. Suddenly we’re a couple, a team. Us vs them. This from the man who comes home with sexy lingerie in his back pocket.

  “Sophia?”

  “You must be joking,” he scoffs, then catches himself. “Unless you told her?”

  “Hardly.”

  “That’s it, then.”

  “What about Patti? Does she know?” I ask.

  “No. Of course not.”

  But there’s a sliver of hesitation, then a determination in his face that does not ring true. I think he’s lying. I think Patti did know, about the whole sordid affair and its sordid conclusion. That makes sense. That would be why she didn’t snitch on me the other day. She knows it’s probably true. What about the new one, Miss. Victoria’s Secret, does she know? I wonder. “Fiona Martin knows about you running for governor,” I say.

  He bites at the side of his thumb. It’s funny, it’s the kind of thing Madison would do.

  “I mean, it’s not top secret, obviously,” I continue. “We talked about it with Rob and Bethany—”

  He closes his eyes briefly.

  “—but it does make you wonder.”

  He turns to me. “Wonder what?”

  I shrug. “She must have been making calls. She must have asked around, about you. She’d have to, right? They have to get their facts right, do their research…” I know she’s done no such thing, yet, I just like seeing him squirm.

  “It doesn’t matter. Pace will take care of it.”

  He sure doesn’t look like it doesn’t matter. I almost feel regretful.

  Almost.

  “I think I’ll go and make some calls,” he says, rubbing a hand across his face. “Don’t tell Maddie about all this, okay?” he adds.

  “I won’t. But speaking of Madison…”

  “What?”

  “How does she seem to you?”

  “What do you mean? This has nothing—”

  “No! God! I know that, I mean, don’t you think she’s really thin?”

  “Maddie? No, not really.” He frowns at me, impatient.

  “She’s lost weight since we last saw her. She’s not eating much.”

  “Okay! So what? She’s a young woman. She’s taking care of herself. Good for her. What’s wrong with that?”

  “I don’t think she’s taking care of herself. Just look at her. Look at her hair!” I blurt out. He stares at me like I’ve got two heads.

  “I really don’t have time for this, Tamra. Not now, okay?” He retreats to his study and I sit here a while longer. Why is it I’m the only one who can see that there’s something wrong with Madison?

  Madison has long blond hair, with chemical highlights, that she flicks away from her face constantly, especially if she’s nervous. She’s like all those twenty-something women around here. A collection of Barbies. But heck, who am I to judge? I have long blond hair with chemical highlights that I flick away from my face every five minutes.

  But now her hair is listless. It’s lost its sheen, and Madison is very conscious of her good looks. Too much, sometimes. Which, coming from me, is saying something. She used to have a small mole on her right cheekbone. The size of a freckle. She hated it. I told her about Cindy Crawford, supermodel extraordinaire. “She had a mole on her lip. It became her trademark, almost. It made her stand out.” When she came back to us the following summer, it was gone.

  So much for my ‘love thyself’ pep talks.

  Chapter Twelve

  EXCLUSIVE: North Carolina Self-Proclaimed Family Man and Political Hopeful had Links to Charlene Donovan.

  * * *

  By Fiona Martin

  * * *

  You may not have heard of the man who is at the center of this story, but that’s about to change. Meet Mike Mitchell: self-made billionaire, fifty-two-year-old father of three, investment guru. Unless you’re cashed up and looking for some solid returns with one of the most profitable boutique investment firms in this state, Mike Mitchell will mean nothing to you. But this successful businessman allegedly had an affair with a young woman whose body was found two days ago near Uwharrie National Forest.

  Some people may question why Mike Mitchell’s private life is in the public interest? There are a couple answers to that: The first one is that two years ago, Charlene Donovan completed an internship in Mike Mitchell’s office. Then she disappeared. The investigation was concentrated in Austin, Texas, where Charlene Donovan resided, and was understood to have returned. The Tribune does not suggest that Mr. Mitchell is in any way involved with the disappearance of Ms. Donovan, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a case to answer. What makes Mike Mitchell’s role in the case particularly relevant, is that not only did he have an affair with Charlene, but she fell pregnant and Mike Mitchell allegedly insisted, and then arranged, for her to have an abortion. The police did not have this information when they searched for Charlene and Mike Mitchell was never questioned in relation to her disappearance.

  The other thing you need to know about Mike Mitchell is that he is planning to run for the office of governor on a platform of family values and conservative principles. It’s one thing to engage in an extramarital affair while pushing strong family values from the political pulpit, but quite another to coerce your mistress into having an abortion. We understand the principles of social conservatism touted by Mik
e Mitchell do not include advocating adultery or pregnancy terminations.

  It’s still dark when I wake up, but I see the glow of his phone first, then I realize he’s awake, sitting up against the headboard. But it’s his breathing that woke me up. He’s like a caged animal, his nostrils dilating.

  I put my hand on his arm. “Hey, how bad is it?”

  When he turns to me, and I take in his face—the dark rings under his eyes that tell of a sleepless night, the paleness of his cheeks—I figure it’s pretty bad.

  But later, for the sake of Madison, he pulls himself together and I have to say, I’m a little impressed.

  She’s beyond upset. She’s shaking and crying, and I want to take her into my arms and console her, but hey, I’d have more luck getting that sort of trust from a turnip.

  “Shh… it’s all right, sweetheart,” Mike whispers into her hair. He looks at me with a pained expression and does little shakes of the head. He doesn’t know what to do. I put a tentative hand on her back, and she shrugs it off without looking up.

  “It’s all lies sweetheart, you understand? It’s politics darling,” he says. Then he looks at me with an apologetic smile and I understand that I’m not wanted, thanks very much. There’s nothing I can possibly do down here, so I leave them to their sweet nothings and rush back upstairs.

  Twenty minutes later I’m sitting on the end of the bed checking under my nails when he joins me.

  “How is she?” I ask sweetly, matching his expression. What I want to ask is, has she grown up yet? Because she’s taking her sweet good time. Does she know the world does not revolve around her? No? I didn’t think so.

  He sits next to me and runs a hand over his face. “She’s lying down. She’s scared, she thinks something is going to happen to me. It’s not easy for her,” he says, and I wait for him to give that little worried smile and say, just like it’s not easy for you, baby doll. But waiting is all I do.