The Loyal Wife_A gripping psychological thriller with a twist

by Natalie Barelli

“You need to come clean, Mike.”

  He jolts. “What do you mean?”

  “She’s dead! This has gone beyond your reputation, wouldn’t you say?”

  He jumps off the bed, like his ass is on fire. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

  “Listen! Listen to me! Maybe it’s related, have you thought of that?”

  He stares at me like I’m speaking in tongues. “Related how?”

  “I don’t know! Maybe she killed herself! Maybe she ran away and fell with the wrong crowd? Shouldn’t we tell the cops that we gave her all that money? Maybe that’s a motive for someone, I don’t know, or at least they could check if she—”

  Suddenly his face is inches from mine. He jabs an index finger in my direction, over and over. “If you tell anyone about that, I swear to God—”

  “Jesus, Mike. Relax, I’m just pointing out that things are not as simple as we thought, okay? I mean, I didn’t know she was dead, did you?”

  He stumbles backwards, his jaw slack. I’m enjoying myself way more than I expected. This is going to be fun.

  “Well, did you?” I ask again. I can’t help it. It’s like picking at a scab.

  “Jesus, Tamra! Of course not! How would I know that? Last I heard she got on that plane and that was that! You know that! What are you trying to say?”

  Yeah, I didn’t think he would, confess that is. But I have to give it to him, he’s a good liar.

  “Well, obviously, she came back. Which is odd when you think about it. She had a half a million bucks in her bank account, why wouldn’t she take a vacation on an island somewhere? I know I would.” I look at my nails when I say that, but I’m attuned to his every vibration. I know we never paid her, in the end. I just want to see if he twitches.

  But he’s had enough of my insinuations, he says, and thanks me so much for having his back before snatching his jacket from the back of the chair and storming off. First, he slams our bedroom door shut, and minutes later I hear the front door slam. I get up with a sigh and walk across the hall to Madison’s room.

  She’s lying on her bed, both thumbs flicking up and down on the screen of her iPhone.

  “You’re okay?” I ask.

  She frowns at the screen and without looking at me she says, “Where did Dad go?”

  “He went for a walk. To clear his head.”

  I take a look around her bedroom. I rarely come in here. I don’t feel welcome, and contrary to what Madison might believe, I respect her boundaries. So it’s a strange feeling. Here I am, standing in my own house and yet my surroundings are surprisingly unfamiliar. Jack and Zach also had bedrooms, back in the day when they needed their own space here—when they were still kids, basically. Now they’re just guest bedrooms, generic. They don’t need their teddy bears enshrined in these walls.

  Not Madison. She needs her own, special bedroom, and she has it. And it’s very pretty, all girly pastels and gold. It’s a corner bedroom and the two tall windows let plenty of light in. Her walls are peppered with framed self-affirmations in various cursive fonts. Be bright, be happy; Never forget how talented you are; Love, love, love; This girl is not throwing away her shot; There are so many beautiful reasons to be happy; You got this; I LOVE ME.

  Everywhere you look feels like being trapped in a self-help workshop run by a demented sign-writer. I sure never had a bedroom like that. Maybe that’s why I’m bitter and twisted.

  “What did you say to him?” she asks, thumbs flicking.

  “What makes you think I said anything?”

  “Because he popped his head in here and said he had to get away from you for a few minutes.” She looks up at me now.

  She is so pale and drawn that I get a little stab of guilt. I sit on the corner of the bed, just the teeniest little corner, only as much as would hold me so I don’t fall off, but still she makes a show of moving away from me, like I’m in her space.

  “You don’t need to be so upset about the article. If anything, I’m the one who should be upset.”

  “You don’t think I should be upset, when all these filthy lies and insinuations are being said about my dad?” she snorts with derision, and I wonder why she feels the need to parrot her father.

  “It’ll be okay, you’ll see. It’ll blow over.”

  She snorts again. “How would you know?”

  If I had thought it through, instead of acting on impulse as per usual, I might have waited until after Madison had gone back before spilling the beans to Fiona Martin. She wouldn’t have been so affected over there in Nexw York. And she’d have her mother close by.

  And I wouldn’t have to put up with the attitude.

  But then again, I didn’t have any time to lose. He was about to walk out on me.

  Sorry, but that trumps Madison’s feelings.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jack called. He lives in LA. He studied architecture at Berkley and later he and a classmate formed their own firm over there. He’s single, or so he says, but I secretly believe that he is gay and he doesn’t want his father to know. Of Mike’s three children, Jack is the one I get along with the most. His other son, Zach, is a film director, and he’s based in New York, but currently, he’s in London, working on a feature. I don’t think he’s that close to the family, and he hasn’t called. Yet.

  Jack has read the article online, and Mike spun his tale that this was the work of his detractors, as he now calls them. But the paper was going to publish a retraction and an apology, he said, tomorrow. Mike’s lawyer had just confirmed it, so there was nothing to worry about.

  I heard all that from just outside the door of his office, and I couldn’t believe my ears. And the fact that he hadn’t bothered to tell me any of this. Like I don’t count. And maybe I don’t, not anymore, because after our argument yesterday, he didn’t come home until late and I knew he’d been with her. I pretended to be asleep when he slid into the bed. I wanted him to touch me, to spoon me the way we did sometimes, but he didn’t. He just lay there like a piece of driftwood and no doubt stared at the ceiling while my eyes became hot with tears and I scrunched them up to stop myself from crying. It was all I could do not to turn around and put my hand on his soft chest. Or punch his face.

  I imagined the two of them, limbs intertwined in between satin sheets. What did she say? I wondered. She saw the article, I know that because when it was barely dawn, and he was crying out in his sleep beside me, I got up and went through his pockets and bingo! Jesus, Mike! Can’t you at least try to be discreet?

  Thinking of you. Just remember. I’ve got your back. Love you

  Was he on his knees, swearing that he had done nothing wrong, just like he did with me two years ago? Did she believe him? Of course, she did. He was getting a retraction, for fuck’s sake. You had to admire the nerve of the guy. How long could he keep this up?

  I shudder. Forever… says my paranoid brain. I took that note, crumpled the pale yellow paper into a ball and hid it in the back of a drawer. But there’s something about it that tugs at my brain. It’s the handwriting, I think. Something that feels, dare I say, familiar?

  These are the thoughts twirling in my head as I stand here outside the door of his study, rigid with anger, and it occurs to me that he may well be lying to Jack and there is no apology coming. No doubt when tomorrow comes he will have come up with something else.

  Yeah, my legal team is working on a package, yeah, it’s going to be huge, but they can’t talk about it until all the legal details are resolved.

  Clearly, to Mike, lying is as easy as breathing is to the rest of us. I need to get my phone and check at my end. Fiona would have texted or called. I’ve only taken one step when Madison’s voice booms at the top of the stairs.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  She’s looking right at me and my stomach does a back flip because I’ve been caught. I can feel my cheeks blushing crimson. I can tell from the tingle spreading over my face.

  “I’m waiting for your dad to finis
h, that’s all.” I don’t look in her direction, I am too busy to indulge in such juvenile games.

  “No you’re not, you’re listening at the door!” she shrieks. I want to say something back, something clever, something justifying, something that will shut her up, like Oh, go read your wall, Madison, but the words don’t come and Mike’s office door opens. With the phone still cradled in the bend of his neck, he frowns at me and motions me inside with the crook of a forefinger. I don’t look back at Madison as I go in and close the door behind me. I pretend it was the plan all along.

  “Okay, Jack, I will. You too, buddy.” After he hangs up, he sits down heavily and rubs his hands on the top of his thighs. “It’s going to be okay. God! What a relief!”

  Am I hearing him right? Is that it? I go through all this, I dig up bodies in the dead of night, I talk to the press, then Mike just waves a magic wand and everything is okay again?

  “It is?” I ask. I try to inject some enthusiasm in my tone, even though I can feel the corners of my mouth pull down, like I’m about to cry.

  “Alex Pace has secured a retraction and apology. They’re printing it tomorrow,” he says.

  “Really? Wow, that’s great, Mike, I’m really happy for you.”

  “Are you?”

  I cock my head at him. Something in his eyes creeps me out. I cross my arms. Defiant. “Of course! You know I am. Why would you ask?”

  But a small sliver of doubt has creeped in my mind. Has Fiona said anything? That it was me? I return the small smile but mine is tight and forced.

  “Because I’ve been racking my brain, trying to figure out who knew so much, all that detail coming together like that, in the article.” His eyes are fixed on mine, in a kind of unspoken blinking competition.

  I blink first because you have to pick your battles and he’s welcome to that one.

  “And? What have you come up with?” There’s a small twitch on my upper lip. Something that only happens when I’m nervous. I rub two fingers along the corners of my mouth.

  He lifts his hands, palms up, shakes his head. “Search me.”

  “Well, I’m glad it’s over.”

  “Me too.” He claps his hands together and swivels in his chair so his back is to me. “Not quite over. Alex is negotiating a payout as we speak.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “You bet. And it’ll be significant. They’ve trashed my reputation and that doesn’t come cheap. It’s going to cost me some hard-earned money in lost business, and I’m going to get back, trust me on that.”

  I’m screwed. I knew I should never have recorded that stupid video. Oh my God. I don’t know what to do. Mike will take them to court, and they’ll use my video statement as their defense. Everyone will know, that it was me. Maybe I should talk to Alex Pace. Explain. Ask him to do something so it doesn’t go this far.

  Mike swivels his chair back to me, surprised that I’m still here. “Everything okay?” he asks.

  No. Everything is not okay. Everything is fucked, actually.

  “Yes, fine, sorry, deep in thought. I’ll leave you to it,” I say, brightly.

  I fully expect to find Madison outside the door, but she’s gone. I wonder what Ms. Victoria Secret will make of Madison? That brings a small smile to my lips.

  Later, I call Fiona.

  “Did you tell him it was me?” I blurt out when she picks up.

  “What?”

  “Did you tell my husband that it was me, who spoke to you?”

  “What do you take me for? Of course not. I haven’t spoken to your husband. We have lawyers for that.”

  “Did they know? That it was me?”

  “Hey, Tamra, if you can stop thinking about yourself for a second—”

  “Does anyone know it was me!” I shout.

  “No! No one knows but me, okay? That’s how it works. But I’m in big trouble with my boss, in case you’re interested. Your lawyers—”

  “They’re not my lawyers.”

  “Your husband’s lawyers have pulled out the heavy artillery. Only a full retraction and a sincere and detailed apology will do. You’re sure this really happened, Tamra? Because normally, we might get asked to issue a correction, but your husband seems real confident of his position.”

  “Did you go to the clinic?”

  “Yes! What do you think? Nothing, zilch, nada. Management denies she was ever there.”

  “I told you, that’s because—”

  “Yeah, because the doctor in charge performed the operation and did not keep records in exchange for a fee. But you don’t even have a name for that doctor, Tamra. I’ve spoken to all the doctors I could, and no one will admit to performing abortions in secret for an extra fee, or off the record, if that’s the term.”

  “He’s not going to admit it to a journalist, is he?”

  “Every one of the doctors there asked the same thing: Why would a health professional put themselves in that position? Abortion isn’t illegal, there’s no reason to perform it in secret in a back alley somewhere. What if something went wrong? What if the patient went home and bled to death?”

  I grit my teeth in frustration. “Because Mike didn’t want to risk it,” I hiss into the phone. “I explained all that already. He paid handsomely so that her visit was never recorded.”

  I can hear her sigh at the end of the line.

  “There’s no CCTV, Tamra.”

  “Sure there is! I saw the cameras!”

  “Not after two years. They don’t keep data that long.”

  Shit. This is really bad news.

  “Do you have anything else? I need a name for that doctor, someone. Anyone that will corroborate what you told me.”

  “Did you check the clinic’s bank records?”

  “I may have had a guy look into it, yes, and he may have come back to me saying there’s nothing to see there, nothing out of the ordinary. No red flags.”

  This is so wrong. There’s got to be something. “You’ve got to keep looking, okay? I’m telling you the truth!”

  “So bring me something, Tamra. I’m not going to lose my job over this just to protect you.”

  I can’t begin to imagine what Mike is going to do to me if he finds out I’m behind the article. And he gets away with it? This was not supposed to happen this way.

  Afterward, I have this strange feeling with me all day—something Fiona said that tickles the edge of my consciousness, but I can’t put my finger on it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I’m on the phone with Lauren; she talks about lawyers, settlements. How dare they? She’s so outraged it almost makes me feel guilty. “I know Mike is no saint,” she says, “but this is something else. I’m so angry I could scream. I’ve called and left a message for that bitch Fiona Martin–”

  “You did what?” I blurt, my voice an octave higher than normal.

  “I told her, you can’t print gossips and lies like that, there are consequences. This is unacceptable–”

  “No Lauren, please, I know you mean well but don’t call the papers, you’ll make it worse! Mike’s onto it, really, his lawyer’s already–”

  The doorbell rings, interrupting our conversation, and I just know it’s them. Even before I hear the loud bangs on the door. I tell Lauren that I’ll call her back and hang up.

  Madison materializes at the top of the stairs and I stare at her, and she stares at me, and there’s a split second where it feels like we know exactly what the other one is thinking. It’s the best communication we’ve ever had.

  Before I have time to reach the front door, Mike’s office door has flung open. He sees me, and we both freeze. Madison’s flown down the stairs and she’s the one who greets the cops.

  “We have a lot more questions, Mr. Mitchell,” O’Brien says. It’s nothing like last time. There’s no pat on the back, you’re just doing your job, detective, this time it’s silent warfare on both sides.

  Mike asks if he can have a lawyer present and they say yes, if you must, a
nd I volunteer to call Alex Pace.

  “He’s not a criminal lawyer,” Mike whispers to me.

  “He’ll know one. I’ll take care of it,” I whisper back.

  At first, he hesitates, but then he relents, nods. Mike insist that Madison go back upstairs to her room, but she wants to sit in, and he tells her it’s out of the question. Her little chin trembles and she looks twelve, but she does what she’s told.

  Mike takes the cops to the front room and closes the door, and I grab the handset from the living room, the one that sits in a cradle and that we rarely use since we all have cell phones. I dial the number and just as the call is picked up, I press the mute button, ready for one of my finest performances. That’s how good I am. I actually prepare for the extremely unlikely eventuality that Mike will later check that I made the call, and how long I was on the phone.

  I ask for Alex Pace, I tell my imaginary friend in a voice that cracks with anxiety that it’s really urgent, and yes, I understand that he’s not there, and he’s not reachable right now, but if she could give him the message as a matter of urgency, I’d really appreciate it. She’s hung up by then. She could only say ‘hello? Can you hear me? Are you there?’ so many times.

  Then I check my fingernails for any dirt, just to pass the time, really, because I know they’re really clean, I mean I’m not some trailer trash, not anymore anyway. I wonder if I’ll get half of everything in the divorce now? When he’s found guilty and goes to jail for murder? Or will it be more? I ponder what kind of house I might buy, until I decide I’ve played long enough and I knock on the door of the small sitting room.

  Mike’s face is white. His lips are a thin line, and while his chin juts forward, I see he’s making a show of being super relaxed and completely in control. I can tell how scared he is—it’s all I can do to stop myself from grinning.

  “He’ll be here as soon as he can,” I say, somber.

  “Mr. Mitchell, I’ll be straight with you. We couldn’t care less what you get up to in your personal life as long as it’s not illegal. No offense, Ma’am,” he says to me, as an afterthought.